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...

THE DATE

CHAPTER 7

McCoy drove whilst Quinn sat in the passenger seat and navigated by following Carrie's route on his laptop. The tracking device that McCoy had attached to her car was working perfectly and they could see that she was heading north on the Interstate Highway and was now approximately seventy miles ahead of them.

"What do you think about Estes being the CIA bomber?" McCoy asked solemnly as he turned the radio off.

Quinn sighed and stared out of the window into the darkness, blinking at the occasional headlights that flickered by. He was still processing Saul's shock revelation.

Finally he answered McCoy, gravely. "I think the way Estes used Brody's SUV, he wanted everyone to assume it was Brody."

McCoy pulled a face. "Why would Estes do that? Hardly the actions of a proud Martyr?"

Quinn shrugged. "He was pissed off that I didn't assassinate Brody. I paid Estes a late night visit and told him that I was the guy that kills bad guys. I said if anything happened to a good guy like Brody then he'd find me back in his room one night."

"The guy that kills bad guys?" McCoy snickered. "Perhaps Dar Adal should make you a badge with that on!"

Quinn ignored him and continued. "I think Estes had a lot of reasons to hate Brody. Obviously, Nazir had told him that Brody no longer supported their cause. I also think that Estes had some serious issues about Carrie being with Brody. Maybe he tried to frame Brody, just to spite Carrie?"

"How do you think Estes got involved with Nazir?" McCoy's hand started rummaging across for the tube of salt & vinegar flavoured Pringles, that Quinn was monopolising.

"Perhaps Roya Hammad was the original connection? Maybe she was the honey-trap that lured Estes fatefully to Nazir?" Quinn pulled out a stack of the crisps and started feeding them one by one to McCoy. "I remember hearing a story from Danny Galvez that he saw Roya and Estes in a restaurant together. I wish I'd checked that out, rather than assuming Galvez had too much to drink!"

Always eager to go off on a tangent about religion, women or alcohol, McCoy distractedly considered the latter part of Quinn's statement as he crunched on the crisps. "I don't think Galvez drinks! You know he's a Muslim?"

Quinn snapped the plastic lid back on the Pringles. "I know that now! I'd only just met the guy at the time. There can't be many Muslims named Danny Galvez. I assumed that he was a Guatemalan Catholic."

"Do Catholics drink?" McCoy asked in all seriousness.

"Honestly McCoy! What planet did you grow up on? Is the Pope Catholic?" Quinn hit him on the leg with the cardboard tube and the remaining Pringles rattled. "Of course some Catholics drink! Well they certainly did the last time I visited my father's cousins in Ireland. They're Catholic and drink plenty of whisky and Guinness. When my Great Uncle Patrick drinks, he swears every Quinn in the world is descended from Niall Noígíallach, an ancient High King of Ireland!"

"McCoy chuckled. "You're descended from a King, Peter?"

"A King that helped kidnap Saint Patrick in the fifth century no less!" Quinn smirked and bowed.

McCoy was genuinely impressed with Quinn's historical knowledge. "Wow, that's awesome. Your family have blue-blood running through their veins!"

"Not sure about blue. Irish green maybe." Quinn laughed. "Or perhaps black, from too much Guinness."

"Is there any such thing as too much Guinness?" pondered McCoy cheerfully.

Quinn grinned "How about after this weekend, we go to Maguire's bar downtown and find out?"

"Sounds cool. Will you teach me to how do dance an Irish Jig?" McCoy tapped his foot erratically on the accelerator pedal.

Quinn hit him with the Pringles tube on the shoulder. "Only if you teach me how to dance a Lebanese Dabke!"

McCoy laughed. "It'll take more than two of us to dance a proper Dabke. We'll need a whole line of people."

...

The miles rolled by on their long journey north, on the Interstate Highway through the darkness.

"Do you miss Lebanon?" asked Quinn, interested to find out more about his friend.

McCoy swerved. "Yes. It's a beautiful country. I miss the lovely people and the hustle and bustle of Beirut, it's such a vibrant city. I had some really good fun over there."

"Where are you from originally McCoy?"

"I was born in Boston, but I've lived all over the world with my family."

Quinn wasn't sure what to ask next, so he shared some more of his general knowledge. "You McCoys probably have some Irish blood, like us Quinns. The name McCoy comes from the gaelic name Mac Aodha, who was a Celtic pagan god. It means Son of Fire!"

"Son of Fire! Well, that's definitely true, because I'm so fricking hot!" McCoy flexed his biceps, before grabbing the steering wheel again and adding more thoughtfully. "My ancestors were Scottish and Irish, or Ulstermen, I think."

"Perhaps they were Gallóglaigh?" considered Quinn.

McCoy glanced at him. "Gallowglass? What does that mean?"

"The Gallóglaigh were elite mercenary warriors from the Hebrides and other Scottish Isles. They were descendents of inter-marriages between the norse viking settlers in Scotland and the local Gaels. Lots of them moved to Ireland, after losing their lands in the Scottish Wars of Independence. For over four hundred years these young foreign warriors were at the heart of the Irish armies, in many wars against the English."

"Honestly, Quinn... You should be on Mastermind, or Who wants to be a Millionaire, or something. You're a genius!" McCoy was fascinated.

Quinn grinned and accepted the compliment, enjoying having a friend to share his passions and facts with. "Irish history and genealogy is a bit of a hobby of mine. I expect the lovely Miss Mathison has some Irish blood. And probably Brody. That's an Irish surname too."

"So, basically we're ALL Irish, is that what you're saying?" McCoy chortled. "What about Saul? You'll be telling me that he's Irish next?"

Quinn smiled. "No, Berenson is a Jewish name. It means Son of the Bear."

"Bear or bare?" quizzed McCoy.

Quinn pretended to growl. "Definitely bear, as in grizzly."

McCoy laughed. "That doesn't surprise me. Saul's hairy enough to be a bear."

...

McCoy and Quinn drove along in companionable silence for a while. Their conversations had a habit of tangenting off onto random subjects and it kept them both mostly entertained and only irritated on rare occasions. Neither man was particularly used to having a close friend to talk nonsense to, but on the whole they enjoyed each other's company immensely. It gave some light relief from the usual darkness and intensity of the lonely work of killing.

Quinn drifted deep into thought, his mind back on more serious matters.

Eventually he spoke. "I think towards the end, Brody's allegiance to Nazir was purely political. Brody simply hated Walden because of the drone strike that killed Issa. Basically Brody is a good Muslim, and will never be a religious extremist like Nazir was."

McCoy nodded his understanding.

Quinn continued "However, I think with Estes and Nazir, it was about religion as well as politics."

"What do you mean?" asked McCoy

"Do you know that Estes' ex-wife had moved to Palm Beach in Florida and converted to Judaism and married a Jewish man? Estes desperately missed his wife and son, Kenny and hated that Jewish man for stealing them away." Quinn mused, before continuing. "Nazir's and Roya's families were refugees together from Palestine in 1947. Their opinions of Jews was inherited from their parents, whilst Estes' pain was fresher and he somehow ended up on Roya's anti-Semitic, anti-western bandwagon." Quinn paused. "Perhaps that's what Estes and Nazir had in common? I don't know, I'm just guessing. Clutching at straws. Maybe I'm talking crap!"

"Could be all those reasons, or none of them?" McCoy grimaced. "For starters, how do we know for sure that the transcript between Estes and Nazir was even genuine?"

McCoy's thoughts had been on Saul, rather than Estes. "How do we know that Saul hasn't just invented it and typed it up, to take the scent of C-4 explosives and terrorism away from himself. Framing poor, innocent Estes instead of himself?"

"You're such a Conspiracist, McCoy!" Quinn rolled his eyes. "For starters, Saul can't type!"

McCoy laughed.

Quinn became serious. "Sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. Choose who you're going to trust. After weeks of investigating Saul, I found nothing. Nothing whatsoever."

"You never did get on his home computer though?"

"Honestly McCoy, I bet it's just full of photos from Mira's travels in India."

McCoy smirked. "Perhaps the dodgiest thing you'll find on Saul's computer is the occasional visit to a porno site. I wonder what he likes?"

"Stop right there, you're making me feel sick." Quinn playfully punched McCoy on the arm.

"What? Porn makes you feel sick." McCoy was skeptical. He'd recently found a small stash of magazines in the apartment.

"No, the thought of Saul watching porn makes me feel sick." Quinn shuddered. "Honestly McCoy, you weren't in the same room as Saul, when we were eaves-dropping on Carrie and Brody banging in their motel room. Poor Saul, it was excruciating for him and I made it worse by turning up the volume!"

"I bet you enjoyed listening to them banging though." McCoy finally returned the punch on the arm. "Although you'd probably rather have been watching!"

"I'm no Voyeur, McCoy." Quinn scowled. "I only watch what I need to see. I would never intrude into someone else's private moment. I'd rather have my own."

"Says the man whose job it is to watch people! Shortly before killing them." McCoy scoffed. "Anyway, when did you last have a private moment, Quinn?"

Quinn grinned and replied cheerfully. "This morning. Alone, in the shower. In case you were wondering why I was in there a while!"

…

After they had both stopped laughing and generally exchanging insults, regarding their lack of success with Carrie, or any other member of the opposite sex, then they became silent again.

McCoy turned the radio on. Taylor Swift shrilly bleated "I knew you were trouble when you walked in..."

"McCoy, this song is about you!" Quinn chuckled as he began singing.

Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone. You found me, you found me, you found me...

McCoy joined in and they sang along together, before McCoy jabbed Quinn on the arm. "No it's definitely about you!"

I knew you were trouble when you walked in. So shame on me now. Flew me to places I'd never been. 'Til you put me down, oh...

"How do you know all the lyrics?" asked Quinn, confused. "I thought you were into Classical Music!"

Oh, oh, trouble, trouble, trouble...

McCoy smiled secretively. "There's a lot of stuff you don't know about me yet, Quinn!"

...

After more singing, laughter and good-natured insults, Quinn checked the screen on his laptop. Carrie's vehicle was still heading steadily north, up the Interstate Highway towards the Canadian border and they were making good ground on her.

McCoy deliberated. "You said Saul was the Son of a Bear, right? And I'm the Son of Fire! So who are you the son of, Quinn?"

Quinn's lips curled coldly, no amusement now in his voice or eyes. "I'm just the Son of a Bitch that kills bad guys." He stroked his handgun holster. "And Brody better not forget that, if he even thinks about messing with Carrie's head or heart again."