Free Beyond the Rage by Michael J. Malone Page B

this story, son. Exactly who was Peter O’Neill to you?’
    ‘Who started these allegations? Who made up horrible fucking lies like that?’ Kenny sprayed saliva with the words, such was his anger.
    ‘Again, son. Who exactly was Peter O’Neill to you?’ Harry narrowed his eyes.
    Kenny turned away from him and forced calm into his centre. He sought the same place his mind went when he was in danger, when he knew he had to be at his best. This man might be a drunk, he might be retired and suffering from the passing of his wife, but he was still a cop. And his eyes were boring into him, demanding his story.
    Without knowing what was going to leave his mouth Kenny began to speak, trusting that his brain would find an answer to appease Harry Fyfe.
    ‘Sorry.’ He turned back to face him. To distract the older man from his reaction he needed to come up with something good. ‘I know Peter’s son. Very well.’ His expression was an apology while his mind searched for a plausible excuse.
    ‘Oh,’ said Harry and offered a smile of understanding. ‘You see so much in my job you realise it doesn’t matter if someone’s light in their loafers. Live and let live, that’s what I say.’
    Fuck, thought Kenny. The eejit still talks like he’s in the job and he thinks he’s telling him that they, he and McBain, were a gay couple.
    ‘Don’t worry.’ Harry patted him on the shoulder. ‘Cops are the worst gossips imaginable, but you’re secret’s safe with me.’ He paused. ‘Unless of course you are out and proud?’
    Kenny forced a grin thinking, what the fuck do you say? McBain was going to kill him. Then the funnier side of the situation bubbled up into laughter. Just how far could he take this?
    Sanity won over and he said, ‘You’re the only person who knows, Harry. I’ll trust your judgement on this.’ He sat back down again. Harry took the opportunity while he was on his feet to top up his glass. He sipped and, bending his knees with effort, he also sat down.
    ‘I often wondered about Peter O’Neill’s son over the years. Kids are the innocent victims in the crap that adults throw into the world.’ He paused and peered into Kenny’s face. ‘How’s he keeping?’
    ‘He’s good.’ Kenny felt odd talking about himself in the third person.
    ‘Boys need their dad.’ Harry sipped and stared out of the window. ‘Sometimes they build their father into some kind of hero when he’s not there to add a dose of reality. I’ve heard rumours over the years.’ His face assumed a doleful expression. ‘From what I hear, you are on the straight and narrow. You’ve a good reputation, Ray, why are you...? Must make things awkward for you being a cop?’
    Oh my God, thought Kenny. This is going from bad to worse. Harry was making some dangerous connections. Answer a question with a question.
    ‘I don’t know too much about Peter,’ said Kenny. ‘His son doesn’t say too much about his father. What can you tell me about him?’
    Harry made a small face of surprise. ‘Peter was, I guess you could call it, an “enforcer”. He worked with one of the Glasgow crimelords. Met him a few times. A personable guy. Popular with the ladies.’ He looked at Kenny, who began to feel very warm. Harry had clearly lost none of the skills that made him a good cop. His gaze penetrated. ‘Same build as you. Shorter. Different colouring. But that was the thing with some of these bad guys... as you know... they might work on the different side of the law but some of them could be good company over a pint. Not that you ’d like to bump into Peter O’Neill in a dark alley.
    ‘Anyway,’ he sighed, ‘Peter disappeared and the rumours started.’ He made a face of apology. ‘Someone kills themselves and people search for a reason. And the reason has to be almost as bad as the suicide, doesn’t it?’
    ‘Did you ever get to the source of the rumours?’
    ‘Nah. Although I remember the sister’s husband was a bit