The Library Bar was a popular watering hole for those in business who liked a drink before going home, and was quite busy when Blake went in just after six. Blake sat at the bar, ordered a whisky and soda and lit a cigarette. Tense, but in control. For one thing, he had enormous faith in Dillon. It got to six-thirty. He ordered another small whisky, and as the barman brought it to him, a porter came in with a board saying McGuire.
‘That’s me,’ Blake told him.
When he went down the steps to the red taxi, it was raining hard. He got in the back and noticed to his astonishment that the driver was a grey-haired woman.
‘Good night to you, sir,’ she told him in the hard Belfast accent. ‘You just sit back and I’ll tell you where you’re going.’
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