The Killer II Read Online Free

‘Maybe I’d better stick to whiskey,’ he added and his efforts were rewarded as the two men at the far end of the bar finally looked in his direction. One of them called the barkeeper over.
    ‘Hey Tony. That suit there, give him a shot of whiskey and make it Bushmills .’
    The barman nodded and placed a glass in front of Liam. ‘It’s on him,’ he explained unnecessarily as he poured the liquid.
    ‘That was quick,’ Liam considered, but he said nothing. He looked from the drink to the man who had bought it and then back at the glass before taking one finger and pushing it away from him until it fell to the floor and shattered. He took another mouthful of the witch piss and fixed his eyes on the wall behind the bar. Who would act first, he wondered; the overcoat brigade or the young Druids? His money was on the latter and within a few seconds a leather-coated youth appeared to his right, his shoulders back, his chest puffed out and a .22 pistol visible above the zip that had been drawn down for that very reason. ‘What the fuck is your problem motherfucker? Think you can act the tough guy in our fucking bar, do ya chief?’ he sneered at the stranger.
    Liam turned to look at him but didn’t speak until the youth took an involuntary step backwards. ‘Fuck off sonny,’ he hissed then in that hard, Irish accent. ‘It’s none of your business, so walk away now and take yer fuckin ’ pop gun with you.’ The lad looked like he was about to say more, but glanced quickly at the men at the end of the bar and then retreated to the jukebox and entered an intense conversation with his friends.
    ‘Now it’s time,’ Liam thought as an overcoat walked casually to his side and asked, ‘New in town?’
    Liam took a drink of beer and nodded. ‘Aye.’
    ‘Where you from buddy?
    ‘Ireland.’
    ‘Not much of a conversationalist, are you?’
    ‘I am when I know who the fuck I’m talkin ’ to.’
    ‘Patrick O’Malley’s the name and this is my local. Lots of us Irish use this bar,’ the man informed him with no sign of offence at the stranger’s rudeness, ‘and I think you need another whiskey.’
    Tony strolled over, this time with two glasses and a bottle of Jameson’s. Liam nodded his approval and the men drank together. ‘So you’ll be wanting something then?’ suggested Patrick.
    ‘ Hopin ’ to find a man called Ryan McKee. I was told he comes here.’
    ‘I’ll make a call,’ said Patrick. What’s the name?’
    ‘Paddy.’
    Patrick raised his eyes but said nothing further as he left. The other man in the overcoat followed his lead and Liam returned to his witch piss while the Druids looked on.
    So the suit and the brash attitude had worked a treat. Two-minutes, he reckoned. Turner would be impressed. To be honest he was pretty impressed with himself. It’s one thing to have a plan but quite another to see it work so perfectly and quickly. He mentally patted himself on the back, and then an hour later he regretted the self-congratulation as a possible jinx because absolutely nothing further had happened. Tony communicated in monosyllables when serving a drink and the only real interaction was the occasional feeling of eyes burning into his back from the Druids at the jukebox. Liam had nothing to do but drink watery beer, though he decided that was probably no bad thing. He needed a clear head and he doubted this brew would dent even the senses of a babe.
    Eventually Patrick O’Malley reappeared accompanied by another man who walked up, held his hand out and smiled. ‘The name’s McKee, Ryan McKee - who sent you?’ he asked.
    For a moment Liam glanced down at the outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. ‘I’m here on a little business,’ he explained. ‘Anywhere we can talk in private?’
    ‘Who sent you?’ McKee repeated, the smile fading a little and the proffered hand dropping to his side.
    ‘Some of the boys back in Belfast.’
    ‘Why did they send you here? Do they have some kind