Page 5 of The Circle

“I—What?”

“You asked why we didn’t put a Watson on the roof.”

“Oh.”

Alec’s eyes narrow at me and he cocks his head as if searching. “Where did you just go there, Danny boy?”

“Nowhere. Nothing. What?”

“Danny. I just said we don’t need comms to communicate. What’s going on?”

“I dunno. I can’t figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“All of this,” I say, the exhaustion and exasperation of my whole life creeping into my voice despite my effort to keep it away. “I’m just trying to—”

“Stop,” Alec interrupts. “Stop, man. Don’t let your head go there. Be here. Now. Or, better yet, be two minutes ahead. Put your mind on the task in front of us. Don’t focus on what’s behind. Focus on what’s in front.”

“The past is prologue. If you don’t know where you’re coming from, it’s hard to know where you’re going.”

“Danny Fortnight,” he sorta coos. “My little philosopher.” He goes to stroke my cheek, but I slap his hand away.

“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me.”

“All right. I won’t.”

We stand there for a moment, staring at each other. After a beat, he smiles.

“Fuck you,” I say. “I still don’t love the idea of Christine all alone on that roof.”

“It’s where she’s at her best. She’s fine.”

I know Christine has always said that the view through the lens helps her feel like she’s dialed in, in control of something in a world that can otherwise feel out of control, but, if recent events are any indication, it also keeps you from seeing the whole picture. Having eyes on what’s happening all around you.

Shit, man. I dunno.

“Are you ready?” Alec asks.

“Yeah. I guess. Let’s go over it again real quick.”

He sighs, as if I’m somehow the problem here as opposed to being the only one who bothers to fucking think anything through. “We open this door, you flank left, I flank right, we ask if anyone knows where a walking dead man called Brasil Lynch might be, if they say they don’t, we shoot them. If they say they do, we get them to tell us. And then we shoot them. It’s not terribly elegant but it’s efficient. Aces, man?”

It’s not aces. It’s not aces at all. But I want to find and hurt Brasil just as much as everyone else. I hate the fucker. Not for any of the same reasons as anyone else. It’s not my child he took and it’s not my brother he killed. But he did lie to me. He did expand our business from just selling stolen cars and goods to selling people, and the thought that I was a partner in that makes me sick to my fucking stomach even if I didn’t know it was happening at the time.

But mostly, I hate him because he represents the time I spent away from Alec and Christine. I’ll never say that aloud. I may never even think it to myself again. But, in simple terms, he is the remnant of a life I lived only because I didn’t seem to be capable of living the life I really wanted. I hate him because he is a lie and Alec and Christine are my truth.

Not really a reason to kill somebody, but when you add it together with all the other stuff… Eh. People have probably been killed for stupider reasons.

“Yeah. Aces,” I say.

Alec winks at me and places his hand on the doorknob.

When he turns it and it opens, I’m mildly surprised. But, then again, I don’t suppose Declan Lynch gives too much thought to security. I only met him once, a couple years back, but he presents very much as the kind of person who isn’t worried about a lot.

If what Brasil told me about his uncle is true, he has no reason to worry. According to his nephew, Declan sits atop the food chain of the Irish underworld, at least here in Belfast. He is, by all accounts, the biggest, baddest, most fearsome leprechaun in this whole damn town. Follow any rainbow and it will lead you to Declan. Because he is the one who’s there guarding every pot of gold you can think to try to find.

I suppose I should be glad that I’m holding a semi-automatic shotgun and not a fuckin’ shillelagh.