Gutted gd-2

by Tony Black

  Fitz slapped his palms on his heavy thighs, stood up to face me in the narrow cell. As I looked at him I didn’t know where my mind was. I felt lost in some rage, some bitterness, some misdirected hatred… He was nearest to hand, so copping for all of it.

  Fitz spoke, ‘I did my best for you, Dury.’

  Still he played me. ‘Anything you did for me, Fitz, was either to put the boot into McAvoy and Jonny Boy or to keep me from blowing the whistle on how you came by some of your previous collars, so don’t come acting the big benevolent with me. You’re filth, like the fucking rest of them.’

  He straightened himself, pulled at the belt loops on his trousers and fastened his coat. His face flushed red, the whites of his eyes glowing with rage. He held out a hand for the cigarette packet. ‘Come on, then, get that over. I’ll be on my way.’

  As he walked to the cell door, Fitz turned briskly. ‘One more thing, Dury…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s us even.’

  ‘Fuck off, Fitz.’

  ‘No way, laddie. I want to hear you say it.’

  I walked over to him, said, ‘We will never be even, Fitz… but if it makes you feel better, we’ll call it quits.’

  As he walked out of the cell, he spoke in a near whisper: ‘And you are well and truly on your own now, boyo.’

  Chapter 50

  Mcavoy favoured an early start.

  Lights flashed on; must have been all of six in the a.m.

  He came in battering a steel tray with the heel of his hand. ‘Rise and shine, cocksucker,’ he yelled. Leaned in close to my ear, added, ‘Today’s judgement day.’ A laugh. Uproarious. The full demoniac head-tilt to follow.

  Was I rattled? Past caring? I couldn’t judge.

  Flung my legs over the side of the bunk. Too slow for some: a pug in uniform grabbed my shirt, led me to the interview room.

  McAvoy sat, crossed his legs. His socks caught my eye — black with red and green argyle diamonds down the sides. His hair seemed to be carefully gelled into place, but no amount of combing was going to disguise the bald patch.

  As I took my chair, McAvoy pulled the cuffs of his shirt beyond the limits of his jacket. The cuffs, white like the collar, were fastened by black onyx links; gold arrows pointed at me from each of them. I’d seen them somewhere before, those arrows… Oh yeah — on the old prison uniforms.

  McAvoy twiddled with the cufflinks, smiled like a car salesman. ‘Here we all are again,’ he said.

  ‘The gang’s all here.’ A pack of smokes, John Player Specials, sat between us. I reached out for them. From nowhere the pug slammed down his hand, crushed the smokes underneath his giant mitt. I looked at him, said, ‘Little jumpy, are we?’

  McAvoy laughed. ‘Oh, Dury, you kill me. You really do.’

  Wanted to say, I’d fucking like to. Somehow thought it wouldn’t quite fit the situation; went with, ‘You know, you crack me up too.’

  The pug retreated. McAvoy took the packet of tabs, removed the cellophane, smoothed out the crushed edges. He opened the top on the cigarettes, pinged the base until two or three tabs popped up, offered me one.

  I accepted. Put it in my mouth. ‘How about a light?’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He leaned back, ferreted in his jacket pocket, produced a silver, soft-touch lighter. Flame shot up about an inch high.

  This was going too well. I felt unsettled. That was the aim, right? I tried to focus. Remembered I had right on my side. Of course I’d done wrong, many times, but not this time. This time I was in the right. It would take a hell of a lot more than placing me at the scene of the crime with a dodgy motive to get me put away for a man’s murder

  … wouldn’t it?

  McAvoy watched me, curiously. Let me get halfway down the tab, then spoke: ‘You get about, Dury.’

  ‘You mean the Gibby thing… Not gonna try hanging that on me too, are you?’

  A smile. Wry one, maybe. ‘No, definitely not. We have that little, ahem, incident tidied up already.’

  ‘Clean-cut, was it?’

  A laugh. ‘Let’s say we got an early lead on it.’

  ‘Wonders never cease.’

  McAvoy sighed, weary of me already. He leaned in. ‘Your involvement is still something of a mystery, but I’ve bigger plans for you, Dury.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Have ye now.’

  Didn’t register a hit. He reached below the desk, took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. He shuffled them a while. Hummed, hawed. Pointed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, then, ‘Ah, here we are. Now to other matters.’

  He placed two sheets of paper before me. Both held graphs: identical red lines highlighted on each of the two pages. McAvoy peered at them, twiddled with his cufflinks again, made sure they were on show. Said, ‘Why don’t you take a look at those, Dury? A close look.’

  I picked up the pages. They were fingerprint analyses; seemed to indicate a match for the two. ‘Okay, you have two charts, matching prints for something,’ I said.

  McAvoy looked pleased. Too pleased. He smiled, almost giggled, leaned forward. He removed a silver pen from his top pocket, pointed, said, ‘Now, see here… where the two red lines peak?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s a definite match — one hundred per cent — that can’t be faked.’

  I drew on my tab.

  He pointed with the pen again. ‘And here… and here… and here… and here.’ He kept pointing to similar peaks and troughs on the two charts.

  I cut him off, ‘You’ve made your point.’

  ‘Have I? Have I really?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  He looked at the pug, smiled. The pug smirked back like an inbred farmer’s son who’d just received a pat on the back for fucking his first sheep. ‘Are you sure you understand, Dury? I mean really understand?’

  I stubbed my tab. Leaned across my side of the desk, blew out the last of my smoky breath in his face as I spoke. ‘You have my fingerprint from the murder scene.’

  McAvoy’s face changed shape, and colour. His brows drooped. He said nothing, sat back and waited for me to speak.

  I said, ‘I’m guessing you found this on Moosey’s wallet.’

  McAvoy was speechless. I wanted to plug his mouth. He checked to see the tape was running as I spoke. I wondered what his pulse rate was sitting at. He was as psyched as a Formula One driver in the pits, raring to go.

  I played it cool — what had I to lose now? ‘Yeah, I guess I must have left my prints when I took out his wallet.’

  McAvoy couldn’t hold back, ‘You removed the victim’s wallet?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘So, you admit you were on the scene at the moment of death?’ He grabbed his notes. ‘You are telling us you were at the murder scene on Corstorphine Hill on May fifteenth, and removed Thomas Fulton’s wallet

  …’

  ‘I called you in, if you remember.’

  McAvoy nodded rapidly, said, ‘Yes… you admit being on the scene of the murder, we can place you there. We have your dabs on the corpse. What were you after in his wallet — money?’

  I felt my mouth narrow to a small aperture. ‘Fuck no.’

  ‘You weren’t looking for more money… like you knew Fulton was carrying?’

  ‘What money? First I heard he was carrying money was in here.’

  McAvoy swept a hand over his hair. ‘How did you know him?’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  He looked up, flashed eyes on me, then returned to his notes and produced a set of photographs. They were pictures of me talking to Moosey’s wife, with Sid at his house, and with Rab Hart in Saughton Prison. ‘You are one of Fulton’s known associates. Why else would you be seen with this lot?’

  I tapped the table. ‘McAvoy, my next answer might confuse you.. I was doing something known as detective work.’

  That put the needle in him. He placed down his pen. Suddenly he seemed to remember he was here to hitch my arse to the flagpole. He lo
st it. ‘Right, Dury, why did you kill him?’

  I laughed in his face. ‘You think I killed him…? You’re dumber than you look.’

  He stuck a finger in his collar, undid his top button. ‘Stop messing me about. We have you on the scene, the victim was fifty thousand pounds lighter after you left and you are roughly that amount in hock for the pub. I think that’s enough of a reason for me to say we have you bang to rights.’

  I took the cigarettes up. His lighter was still resting on the pack.

  ‘What you have, McAvoy, is no fucking clue.’

  ‘ What?’

  ‘I didn’t kill Moosey — I stumbled across his corpse. He was gutted before I got to him.’

  ‘Oh, I see, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And you’ll be able to corroborate this, will you?’

  ‘I can go one better… I can hand you the real killer.’

  He sighed, shook his head. ‘And that would be?’

  I blew smoke. ‘Well, if you and Jonny Johnstone weren’t taking a nice slice of Rab Hart’s activities, you’d have him in here by now.’

  Someone had obviously been listening, through the way the door was flung open and Jonny Boy strode in. ‘Now I am fucking warning you, Dury, about your allegations!’ He was — what’s the phrase — fit to be tied.

  McAvoy’s eyes widened as J.J. entered. He firmed his shoulders; for a moment I thought he would speak, but he scratched his ear instead. He rose, came round to my side of the desk, said, ‘You are wrapped up in one world of shit, Dury.’

  I spun in my chair, said, ‘So, what’s new?’

  ‘What’s new is I’m now arresting you for the murder of Tam Fulton.’

  Chapter 51

  I heard the words but they didn’t register for a few seconds.

  ‘You’re what?… Are you serious?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said McAvoy. He shuffled his papers again, gave me the ‘you do not need to say anything’ spiel.

  I jumped out of my seat. The uniform pug approached but I flung off his arm and put a halt to any idea that I was taking his shit. ‘Now look the fuck here, McAvoy… I know your game. You are setting me up to take the fall for Judge Crawford’s son.’

  Laughter from Jonny and McAvoy.

  ‘Oh, funny is it? Not so funny that Crawford’s hearing Rab Hart’s appeal, is it? How do you think the courts will look on that when I blow it all wide open?’

  More laughter. The tape was off now.

  ‘Dury, who the fuck do you think is going to listen to a washed-up old soak like you? You’re finished. I am going to put you away and that’s an end to it.’

  Jonny joined in, ‘Get used to the idea, Dury. It won’t be good for your mental health to be so angry when you’re in stir and I’m in my comfortable home banging your ex-wife every night of the week.’

  I lunged at him. My fist got halfway to its target before the uniform pug stepped in and grabbed me round the throat.

  McAvoy backslapped Jonny. He was still laughing when his mobi went off. As he answered it his face changed quickly. ‘Whoa, back up… What the fuck do you mean Complaints are on the way down?’

  The smirk suddenly left Jonny’s coupon. ‘Who’s that?’

  McAvoy flagged him down, listened to the caller more intently. ‘Who told them this? Where did they get the money from?’ As the information was relayed to him, McAvoy’s face firmed — his jaws seemed to pop as he clenched his teeth — and then he turned to Jonny and threw the mobile at him. ‘You fucking silly cunt!’ He ran towards him, roaring, ‘You fucking daft fuck!’

  Jonny backed up, took a pelt in the puss. It was enough to put him on the floor. McAvoy weighed into him with his fists. ‘You fuck, you cunt… you fucking took it, did you?’

  ‘ What? What?’ Jonny was sliding along the ground, the trousers of his Boss suit creasing up.

  The pug holding me suddenly became confused and let his grip slip. He freed me so he could go to the door and call for back-up.

  McAvoy hit his stride. He had Jonny by the throat, strangling him on the floor. ‘You thought fifty Gs was too big a fucking payday to pass up so you stiffed me and took it for yourself!’

  Jonny’s face was reddening. His arms flapped wildly at his sides as he tried to get a hold of McAvoy, but he had no chance. McAvoy was going like ten men, ready to kill. ‘I’ll fucking do you worse than you ever dreamed of doing me.’

  I was ready to take a seat and wait for McAvoy to finish him as a dozen or so uniforms piled in and dragged the pair apart. The door was left open and I contemplated slipping out while the going was good but as I edged closer I was rumbled.

  ‘Sit the fuck down, you’re going nowhere,’ yelled a uniform.

  I did as I was told. The frantic mass left.

  The interview room seemed much quieter.

  I was alone again.

  They gave me a few more hours to sweat. I imagined rows of drink, strung the length of a bar, singing to me. Bottles, barrels, warehouses wouldn’t be enough. I pined for the oblivion it brought.

  I imagined myself walking into the rain, rattling from bar to bar. I didn’t even bother to shield myself from it. I wanted to be soaked, wet through. As I paced, my imagination fed hallucinations. There were people all around me, scurrying on either side, but none could touch me. Where I was, there was room for only one. Did I face a life of pacing like this? Pacing an empty flat, listening to music, alone. Fearing the future, alone. Eating frozen dinners, carry-outs, alone. And the worst: watching television, seeing people enjoying themselves before your very eyes, taunting you. Christ, comedies, on television, how could I watch them? To watch a comedy, laugh, escape yourself and then hear the sound of your own laughter and know there was no one there to share in it. Would there ever be?

  A key turned in the door.

  Pug yelled, ‘Get out.’

  ‘That it?’

  Fat fingers grabbed my shirt, a yank. ‘Move yer fucking arse.’

  In the corridor I caught sight of a familiar face shaking hands with Fitz the Crime. Judge Crawford had his hand on his son’s shoulder as he led him from the interview room. The boy looked fraught, on edge. I knew Fitz would have another collar to his credit soon enough, maybe more than one.

  I muttered under breath, ‘Nice one.’

  I felt a prod in my back.

  ‘C’mon, move it.’

  I turned to face the pug. As he shoved me towards the desk sergeant I managed to straighten my shoulders. As I progressed along the corridor, I came face to face with the judge and his son. The boy’s head was bowed, facing the floor. For a second his father didn’t register my face. When he did, he followed his son, dropped his eyes.

  I tutted, shook my head, leaned into Fitz’s lapels, said, ‘Kids today…’

  Fitz glowered at the pug, yelled, ‘Get him the hell out of my sight!’

  I didn’t recognise the plod on the desk. He handed me my shoelaces, belt, lighter and wallet. Said, ‘That you off to get blootered?’

  I frowned. ‘What is it with you lot — is that line in the manual?’

  Outside a force-ten was blowing. Rain battering the plastic roof of the entrance. I turned up my collar, lit a tab.

  As I started to walk, I caught sight of Debs hunkering down in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Audi. She’d spotted me, I could tell, but she didn’t know how to react. What the hell was she doing here?

  I crossed the street, tapped on the door.

  She lowered the window.

  ‘Debs, you’re here?’

  She seemed agitated, looking round me. ‘I, well…’

  ‘Tell me you’re not… Whose car is this?’

  She sighed, twice, then, ‘It’s Jonny’s — he only just bought it.’

  ‘Och, for fucksake, Debs…’

  She turned in the seat. The rain was blowing in; she had to shield her eyes from it. ‘Gus, it’s not what you think.’

&nb
sp; ‘How have you fucking bought into this guy?’ I threw down my cigarette. ‘Deborah, I credited you with more sense.’

  She shook her head, took the key from the ignition, opened the car door and stepped out. ‘Gus, I’ve been waiting here for hours.’

  ‘Don’t waste your time, Jonny Boy’s had his collar felt.’

  Debs looked confused. ‘You don’t know, do you, Gus?’

  ‘Know what?’

  She smacked her hand off the door. ‘Gus, I–I…’

  ‘What is it, Debs, you’re having a jailhouse wedding?’

  She fired up, ‘Fucking shut it and listen… I shopped him.’

  I stared right at her. ‘You what?’

  Debs poked me in the chest with the car key, yelled, ‘You know, Gus, it’s not all about you and your childish fucking one-upmanship. I did the right thing for once in my life. I found the money, Gus. Jonny had a carrier bag full of used tenners stuffed away in the back of the wardrobe…’

  I kicked a car tyre. ‘It was you… all the Complaints stuff in there was down to you?’

  She calmed, nodded. ‘I called Fitz.’

  I looked back at the station.

  I knew I should be smiling, laughing, but I felt a cloud of Presbyterian gloom rising. I heard the old predestined apophthegm — ‘Man plans, God laughs’. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I watched Debs, I felt sure she’d only one reason for doing this, but I needed to ask her: ‘Why?’

  The rain and the wind lashed us as she spoke; the gale was getting worse. ‘For you.’

  I put my arms around her. She smiled, nuzzled into me. I felt the car key press into my chest again. I took it from her. ‘You won’t be needing this.’ I ran the key along the side of Jonny’s new car, then I dropped it into a drain.

  ‘Gus, that’s shitty.’

  ‘I know.’

  She laughed and we set off into the rain, together.

  By the time we got back to the Wall we’d been drenched, sodden as dock rats. But somehow it didn’t seem to matter to either of us.

  Mac had Usual resting on top of a bar stool. The dog launched himself at me as I appeared.

  ‘Down, boy. Down.’

  ‘Someone’s glad to see you.’