Free A Real Job by David Lowe Page B

that’s given us some breathing space. It gives us time to make some more enquiries and my colleagues who are tailing them can link into Jenny Richmond’s enquiry in London.’
    As the lights changed to green, David moved off and said, ‘What’s bothering me is if they’re operating with any others we don’t know who could have been tailing us. I tried to get in touch with George again this morning to tell him what happened, but he’s had his phone switched off all weekend. When you were having breakfast, I rang Steve again.’
    ‘What did he say?’
    ‘He took Lena and the kids to her mother’s yesterday just in case. After dropping them off he went to the office, got his gun then stayed at his house last night in case anyone tried anything, but he said it was quiet. He suggested we meet up with James O’Leary. He’s a snout we used when we were investigating PIRA.’
    ‘That makes sense. Do you still have his details?’
    ‘No, but it won’t take us long to find him. Being Sunday, Jimmy won’t have changed his habits that much. He’ll be in Reilly’s Bar in Manchester. Steve and I went there for a drink a few months ago and saw him as every Sunday he meets up with his Irish ex-pat mates. I just need to square it off with George, but I can’t get through to him and there’s no reply on his phone at home.’
    ‘If you don’t get through to him, do you want me to come with you?’
    ‘No it’s OK,’ David said lighting a cigarette while stationary at the traffic lights on Edge Lane before driving onto the M62 motorway to Manchester, ‘When Steve and I go to Reilly’s, we’ll make it look like we’re going for a drink. If we get the chance, we’ll have a little word with him. He knows O’Byrne and his cronies and he still owes us one. First, we’ll call in at the ISB office, Steve’s meeting us there. We can make a few enquiries before we go and find Jimmy O’Leary.’
    ‘While you’re doing that, I’ll dig around the MI5 and CTU files.’
    ‘That’d be great,’ David said accelerating hard away from the traffic lights. He just wanted to get onto the M62 motorway so he could arrive at Manchester’s ISB office as soon as he could.

Chapter Seven Reilly’s Bar, Manchester City Centre, Sunday, 1 st July, 14.30 hours 
    Walking into Reilly’s Bar from the bright sunlight, it took a few moments for David and Steve’s eyes to adjust to the dark. Illuminated by low wattage light bulbs and only having a couple of windows, the amount of light coming into the bar was limited due to the drinks and satellite television sports promotion posters plastered over virtually the whole of the windows. David viewed Reilly’s as one of those plastic Irish theme pubs. The walls were covered with pictures of the ‘old country’, the odd shillelagh, a couple of team photographs of Ireland’s rugby and football teams along with a huge Irish tricolour hanging behind the bar. Throughout the weekdays this was accompanied with what Hurst referred to as Irish ‘diddley’ music piped through the pub’s sound system. It was nothing like the Irish pubs he went to when he visited his family in County Mayo, but on Sunday afternoons there was a degree of authenticity about the place. It was traditional for many of Manchester’s ex-pat Irishmen to meet up for a few drinks and have a good craic, accompanied by live Irish music that still made the hairs on Hurst’s arms and neck rise as his Irish heritage rose to the surface.
    Walking up to the bar, the musicians started playing, ‘The Boys of the Old Brigade’. ‘I hope they’re not playing that for our benefit,’ David said.
    ‘Do you know this song?’
    ‘It’s an IRA rebel song. I hope we’ve not been clocked,‘ David said taking out his wallet, ‘I’ll get these in. Do you want a Guinness?’
    ‘Cheers mate,’ Steve said. Close to the door he saw what he guessed were a few tourists sitting having a drink. Looking over to the far end of the bar