Free Broken Faith by James Green

The bar-restaurant overlooked the parking area for the ferry terminal and the sign above the entrance showed a bull’s head with big horns, a ring in its nose and a grin on its face. Next to the bull, in large red letters was El Toro Restaurant Bar . Inside it was big, clean, and functional, with plastic-topped tables and plain wooden chairs. In the UK it would have been a fish and chip restaurant on a sea-front promenade set out to deal quickly and efficiently with a sudden rush of customers when the summer rain pelted down at lunchtime.  Here it wasn’t the weather that produced the crowds, it was the ferries. The café got busy as the cars rolled up to await a ferry, and when a ferry unloaded there were always plenty of people who wanted to eat before setting off to wherever they were headed. The local British ex-pats were scrupulous in avoiding places like El Toro, always careful to guard their status as residents not visitors. The loss was theirs because, in spite of the façade, the interior décor and inevitable burger and chips on the menu, the food was mostly well-cooked dishes using local produce and gave excellent value for money.
    Mercer and Henderson sat at a table well inside the café away from the main window and the entrance. There was no ferry due in or out and only two other tables were in use by what looked like port workers. Mercer was sitting facing Henderson and had his back to the bar where a solitary barman was reading a paper. Had he been facing the other way he certainly would have noticed when a man slipped out of the staff door behind the bar and joined the barman. The new arrival spoke quietly to the barman then picked up a towel and began to wipe a glass that was already clean. Henderson was too preoccupied to notice anything except Harry, what he was saying and the way he was saying it. There was a bottle of red wine on the table between them. Henderson’s glass was half-full, Mercer’s was empty and hadn’t been used. While Harry did the talking Henderson did the drinking, his role limited to listening, looking worried and fiddling with his glass between drinks.
    â€˜I’m not a happy person, Henderson, and the way things are going I’m getting unhappier by the day. Do you know what I do when I feel unhappy? I hurt people. I used to use these,’ he held his hands out and turned them over, looking at them, ‘but they’re not up to it any more. Now I have to use something else, an iron bar maybe, or a chisel.’ Henderson looked more worried and fiddled harder. ‘I know it’s irrational, deviant even, but what can you do? You see, with me, old habits don’t die hard, they don’t fucking die at all so if I get much more bad news someone is sure to get hurt and it’s usually whoever comes to hand. How about you cheer me up and tell me why Jimmy Costello is here?’
    Henderson’s voice was a nice blend of fear and panic but he managed to keep it low.
    â€˜I don’t know, how would I know?’
    â€˜Because you said Costello and that woman Inspector came to see you before they came to me. I knew Costello from London, years back, so I started chatting about old times and she pissed off without saying what the visit was all about. I got nothing out of Costello except, did I know Jarvis? I told him no, so I never got to find out what about Jarvis. That means I’ll have to ask you what has them doing a second round of visits, won’t I? What was it they wanted?’
    Henderson took a drink.
    â€˜It was something to do with Dorothy being a Catholic and which church she went to.’
    â€˜What else?’
    â€˜Nothing else. Just Dorothy being a Catholic and which church she went to.’
    Harry sat and thought for a moment and then spoke quietly, more to himself than to Henderson.
    â€˜No, there’s nothing for them to find. We’ve been careful, Jarvis didn’t use the same church to meet