by Ian Todd
“I don’t know…I…I was scared,” he sobbed. “Please…let me go and I promise I’ll report him…I’ll arrest him myself,” he pleaded, starting tae really bawl noo.
“See you, ya fucking diddy, ye? Aw the bloody trouble you and they basturts hiv caused me,” Johnboy spat at him, pulling the trigger.
Chapter Fifty Seven
“Right then, Mr Van Dyke…oops, that wisnae whit Ah meant tae say, Mr MacKenzie,” Senga confessed, blushing at the slip ae the tongue, while trying no tae laugh.
“Oh, I see. So, that’s what you call me behind my back?” he asked her, sounding hurt, a twinkle in baith they watery auld eyes ae his, as he fingered his wee grey, goatee beard wae that blue-veined, bony haun ae his.
“So, tell me, will Ah gie Mrs Mackenzie a shout tae come up and gie me a haun?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s terrified of needles, that’s why.”
“Naw, she isnae. No wae her background, and anyway, ye know fine well that baith me and Dolina hiv instructed her oan how tae dae it properly, plenty ae times. Up until recently, she wis daeing it perfectly, so she wis. If anything, it’s you that makes her nervous.”
“Nonsense.”
She looked at the patient. He wis defying aw medical logic. Doctor Innes hid telt her and Dolina that he’d expected him tae be long gone by noo. He looked like a bag ae skin, wae that metastatic bone cancer devastating the body and keeping prisoner an alert mind. Between them, they took it in turns tae turn up and gie him his daily injections, despite demonstrating tae that lovely wee wife ae his how tae dae it. He’d been a pilot during the war. Margaritte Mackenzie, although no professionally trained, hid been a nurse in Paris during the war. She’d ended up getting arrested by the Gestapo, efter being accused ae extracting information fae the sick and dying German officers in her care. Efter being tortured, she’d somehow managed tae escape tae a different part ae France where she’d continued tae nurse the men ae the resistance, including a young, twenty-four year auld, seriously injured spitfire pilot, called The Right Honourable Hamish Stuart MacKenzie. She wis mair than capable ae nursing that man ae hers.
“Ah, Mademoiselle, but of course, Monsieur likes the attention of a young beautiful nurse, no?” she’d replied, smiling, in that still strong French accent ae hers.
Before being struck doon wae cancer, he and his wife hid been the sole specialist wine importer in the whole ae the Highlands. They supplied aw the local castles, estates and big private hooses wae the best ae French wine, including champagne. Seemingly, buyers came fae as far as Orkney and Aberdeen tae buy up his exclusive, famous brands. Despite being a hands-on, touchy-feely, randy auld bugger, Senga and Dolina still hid a soft spot fur The Right Honourable Randy, as Dolina referred tae him as. Despite his discomfort and pain, he wis always willing tae take the time tae explain the difference between the grapes and the regions in France where they wur grown. Dolina and her hid been invited tae a wine-tasting session by Margaritte wae some ae their maist illustrious, moneyed customers. Dolina’s man, John, hid come and picked them up efter the session. Johnboy’d hid tae put her tae bed, she’d been that drunk, efter being drapped aff. Maist ae the male gentry types she’d come across, so far, in the Highlands wur jist like the patient lying there watching her, waiting fur the opportunity tae hiv a wee fly grope. It wis so blatant, that it wis impossible no tae laugh, although the snake ae a haun oan tae an unguarded bum cheek or the tips ae fingers casually raking alang an exposed bit a flesh like an erm, never ceased tae make her jump. It wisnae jist the moneyed class either that hid turned making a pass at a wummin intae a kind ae local sport. Aw the men in the Highlands seemed tae be at it. The fact that she wis in a relationship certainly didnae protect her modesty as she crisscrossed the area, turning up at the big hooses and wee crofts, in a place like Assynt.
“Whatever you do, don’t, under any circumstances, bend over within arm’s length of that randy old goat…and him supposed to be a gentleman too,” Dolina hid warned her before she’d first been introduced tae The Right Honourable Randy.
Seemingly, wan ae the worst offenders wis The Laird ae Lochinver himsel, despite being married wae a wife and two daughters. The Laird hid been at the wine tasting session, bit hidnae spoken tae her. That hid been before she’d found oot aboot whit that manager ae his, Heckie MacLeod, hid been getting up tae. She’d caught him leering at her a few times during the evening, which hid gied her the creeps. She’d awready met his daughter, Heather, no long efter starting at the surgery. She’d nipped up tae Inver Hoose, the estate, tae take oot some stitches in her knee. Heather hid telt her that her ma and da came fae Glesga. She’d also said that her sister and hersel hid been born in the toon, even though ye widnae hiv known by the accent. When she’d asked her how her da hid come tae be the local laird, she’d clammed up. She’d furgoat tae mention it tae Johnboy at the time. She looked intae the patient’s watery eyes. He wis smiling. He hid that randy, wolfie look aboot him. It wis time tae up the ante.
“Right, then, Mr MacKenzie. If that wife ae yours hates the sight ae needles and you’re refusing tae learn tae dae it yersel, then ye’ve left me wae nae choice, so ye hivnae. That’s the second time in as many minutes that ye’ve hid a fly wee grope ae that thigh ae mine,” she accused him, lifting his bony haun aff her knee, while digging doon intae her bag, withdrawing three packets.
“The last time Margaritte tried to administer my jab, it hurt,” he protested feebly, still sporting that dirty auld lecherous grin ae his.
“Right, then, whit we’ve goat here is three sizes ae hypodermic needles. This wee, dainty, slim wan here, is usually whit we use fur the weans when they’re getting vaccinated. Ye widnae even know it wis there. However, unfortunately fur you, it’s too thin tae administer the medication you’re oan. The next best option is this wee beauty here, which is perfect fur the job, so it is…or,” she announced, smiling at his look ae concern, as he quickly glanced doon at the other packet sitting oan her knee. “This wan, is made wae the finest Sheffield stainless steel oan the needle market. Specially made tae go through any bone the body wid like tae throw at it. It’s also wan ae the thickest needles we’re allowed tae use, withoot getting charged fur attempted murder wae a deadly weapon. Guaranteed tae make strong men cry, so it is. Back in the toon, us nurses used tae call this The Demoraliser, so we did. It’s fur persistent offenders who cannae keep their hauns tae themsels. Never fails. So, whit Ah want fae you, is fur you tae choose yer preferred needle...although, Ah know whit Ah’d go fur. It’s between two and three. Number two, if ye promise tae stoap pawing that bum ae mine or number three, if ye cannae take a telling. Which is it tae be?”
“Two,” he quickly spluttered, a look ae alarm finally appearing in that pair ae shining eyes ae his.
“Ah, well chosen,” she acknowledged, dipping her heid in acknowledgement. “However,”
“However? However, er what?” he butted in.
“That man ae mine’s claims that the so-called good, extortionately-priced wine ae yours that me and Dolina hiv been buying tastes jist like petrol, so it dis. Granted, he isnae whit ye’d call a connoisseur ae the grape…or pretty much anything else, when Ah come tae think aboot it, except fur maybe his choice ae wummin, bit certainly no in the auld wine tasting stakes. Anyway, where wis Ah? Oh, aye. Aboot you no taking a telling wae they wandering paws ae yours.”
“Oh, I can assure you, Senga. As an officer and a gentleman, my word is my bond,” he assured her.
“Really?” she exclaimed, sounding surprised. “And that goes fur the quality ae the plonk, as well, dis it?”
“Cross my poor heart and hope to die,” he promised.
“Oh, well, in that case, it looks like it’s number two efter aw. Jist you remember that promises ur there tae be kept and no broken,” she reminded him, as the baith ae them looked at each other and laughed.
“Message received, loud and clear,” he agreed, rolling o’er oan ta
e his side, exposing that arse ae his, his hauns clasped up tae that chest ae his oot ae herms way.
Chapter Fifty Eight
Johnboy looked up fae his ‘How Tae Grow Yer Ain Garlic Book,’ that he’d picked up fae the lassie through the hoose. It hid been sitting waiting fur him tae come and pick it up fur a while. He’d furgoatten that he’d ordered it, the last time him and Senga hid taken a run across, the day efter the meal at Dolina and John Moffat’s cottage. He’d asked fur a mug ae tea, bit wis being rewarded by a miniature teapot and an even smaller cup.
“Anything else, laddie?” the jolly sounding, roond cherub-faced wee wummin asked him.
‘Aye, tell me whit size ae dolls hoose did that cup come oot ae?’ wis whit he wis thinking.
“Naw, naw, that’s fine Mrs. Lovely wee cup,” he acknowledged, nodding at the thimble, as she beamed doon at him, before disappearing tae go and serve somewan else.
“He’s a bigger bum than ten arses, bit ye’ll like him,” Donna hid said.
As usual, she’d been right. Cleftie Hannan wis a right patter merchant and hid Flintlock, Findlay and Ewan eating oot ae the palm ae his haun.
“Tell us a funny story, Cleftie,” Flintlock, Ewan and Findlay wur furever asking him.
Cleftie reminded him ae heaps ae people, comedians, that he’d met in the jail oan his travels. Aw survivors. Fly as fuck, using humour tae disarm any opposition while getting in there and daeing whit hid tae be done. Cleftie jist took it tae a higher level by turning it intae a paying career. Before he’d been drapped aff at Achins Bookshoap, him and Cleftie hid lain oan an auld blanket, covering the flair in the back ae Findlay MacLeod’s auld Landy, as he’d done the roonds ae The Laird’s businesses and hooses in Lochinver, before heidin oot tae the Inver Estate where Hamilton held court. It hidnae been a sightseeing tour, as they’d hid tae lay crouched doon in the back, oot ae sight. Findlay hid drawn up at the side ae the road periodically and Cleftie hid jumped up and quickly leaned o’er the back ae the passenger seat and start clicking away, oot ae the open windae. Findlay hid thought it wid be too risky fur Johnboy tae join Cleftie and him fur the final part ae the tour, as they’d need tae park up the Landy and go oan fit through the trees oan the estate tae get some shots ae the big hoose. If stoapped by any ae MacLeod’s estate keepers, Findlay said that he’d claim that he wis jist showing a wildlife photographer aboot the area. He reckoned that it widnae take them long, so they’d agreed tae meet him back at Achins Bookshoap.
“Whit if somewan clocks us thegither there?” he’d asked Findlay.
“Och, that shouldn’t be a problem, laddie. None of the locals about here read books, unless it’s the bible or there’s pictures in them. Achins is chust a place for tourists,” Findlay hid assured him.
Being oot and aboot hid gied him and Cleftie the chance tae hiv a wee chat oot ae earshot ae anywan. He didnae want tae upset Senga by asking him up tae the crofthoose. Although they’d hid tae be careful whit wis said between them, Johnboy doubted if Findlay wid’ve heard whit they wur talking aboot wae the racket fae the auld engine that sounded as if it wis aboot tae gie up the ghost every time he drapped a gear.
“So, dae ye come across any ae The Mankys when ye’re oot and aboot in the toon then?” he’d asked Cleftie.
“Er, no really,” he’d replied warily.
“No really? Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”
“It means that the last time Ah spoke tae Simon Epstein, he threatened tae waste me…him and that Ben McCalumn wan.”
“Oh, right.”
“Ah wis daeing a wee job fur a client who wis trying tae find oot who it wis that wis pumping his wife. It didnae take me long tae suss oot that the shagger wis none other than Danny Murphy…that wis before him and Peter The Plant baith copped their whack fae The McGregors that night across in Montague Avenue.”
“So, it wis a wee while ago then?”
“Aye, maybe a week or so before the basturt wis shot.”
“So, why wis somewan like Simon involved?”
“Ah’m no sure. He jist said that Danny Murphy telt him tae tell me that Ah wis gonnae end up stuffed intae an oil drum and chucked in the Clyde if Ah didnae drap that client ae mine. Yer other pal, McCalumn, jist stood there, no saying a word.”
“Ah’m surprised Simon wid’ve done somewan like him a favour. He hated the basturt…aw The Mankys did.”
“Aye, well, that’s whit yer pal telt me, in no uncertain terms, so he did.”
“And did ye…drap the client, Ah mean?”
“Too fucking true, Ah did. They pals ae yours don’t mess aboot, so they don’t…bit, then again, somewan like you wid know that.”
“Well, Ah wis aboot the toon at that time and Simon never mentioned anything tae me.”
“Ach, well, Ah widnae worry. The guy that hired me, although loaded, wis a right fucking mental case himsel. A poet ae few words, so he wis.
‘Right, Cleftie, Ah want ye tae find oot who it is that’s hinging oot ae that missus ae mine’ wis aw he’d said.
He never even blinked when Ah informed him ae ma daily rates or expenses. Aw he wis interested in wis finding oot who wis daeing the damage tae that missus ae his. The basturt went aff his heid when Ah’d tae go back and tell him that Ah couldnae work fur him anymair.”
“So, whit excuse did ye hit him wae?”
“Ah telt him that Ah’d jist been diagnosed wae testicular cancer that unfortunately fur me, jist happened tae be terminal and that Ah couldnae cope wae the stress ae ma impending death,” he’d replied straight-faced, before the baith ae them hid cracked up. “Aye, Ah know. It’s no aw glamour being a private dick in a place like the toon, as some ae these so-called ermchair expert pricks wid hiv ye believe, ye know.”
“And did he accept where ye wur coming fae?”
“Oh aye...efter a fashion.
‘If Ah fucking find oot that you’re taking the cunt, it’ll be mair than yer baws that’ll be dying ae terminal cancer,’ he said, telling me tae fuck aff oot ae his sight.
The basturt refused tae pay me fur aw the legwork Ah’d awready put in. Accused me ae breaking the contract. That’s the toon fur ye.
‘Where you’re heided, money won’t be an issue,’ the grumpy psychopath hid the cheek tae say tae me.”
“So, whit else is happening in the toon jist noo then?” he’d asked Cleftie, efter he’d drapped back doon oan tae the flair, preparing his camera fur the next stoap.
“That bizzy wan…Cleopatra?”
“Whit aboot her? We cannae get the news up here. It’s like back in the days ae yore, before TV.”
“Goat hit wae a five-year stretch up at The High Court last month, so she did. They chookter foxes, or whitever she called them, aw trooped intae the witness box and pointed the finger straight at her in the dock, so they did. She copped the rap fur that wee poliswummin fae Possil, tossing hersel aff the Kingston Bridge, efter she escaped fae the funny farm. The newspapers wur aw o’er her like a rash, so they wur. Barbara Allan, the purple clad cooncillor fae Springburn? Fucking roasted her in the dock, so she did. Ah widnae want tae cross that wan oan a dark night, so Ah widnae.”
“And whit aboot Pearl Campbell then?”
“Whit aboot her?”
“Dae ye ever come across her oan yer travels?”
“She’s another wan that’s upsetting a lot ae people. Everywan in authority in the toon is shit scared ae her, so they ur…nice wee pair ae pert tits though…pity aboot that mop ae red hair and freckly face ae hers…oh sorry…er, did you no hiv a thing gaun wae her or something?”
“How did ye get oan then?” Johnboy asked, looking up fae the book.
“Nice set-up,” Cleftie replied, as him and Findlay sat doon, and he nodded across tae Mrs Cherub Face.
“Now then, laddies?”
“Ah’ll hiv a mug ae tea, hen.”
“I’ll have tea too, Malina,” Findlay said.
“And a wee plate ae they lovely looking scones that Ah clocked oa
n the way in while ye’re at it, Mrs…seeing as we’ve goat a famous wildlife photographer in the company who’s paying fur it oot ae they expenses ae his,” Johnboy said. “And Ah’ll hiv some mair ae that tea while ye’re at it.”
“This guy’s goat tae be a zillionaire, so he is,” Cleftie speculated, tucking intae a scone, efter being telt that the thimble he hid in front ae him wis the only size ae cup the café hid. “There’s no way they wages ae his could’ve paid fur aw the property and businesses aboot here. That basturt’s definitely oan the take, so he is.”
“Hiv ye goat everything ye need before heidin back doon the road the morra, Cleftie?”
“Ah widnae mind a wee poke aboot in the offices doon at the harbour the night, efter hours,” he replied, as Findlay jist aboot choked oan his cherry scone. “Ah mean, it wid be a shame tae come aw this way and no be able tae hiv a wee donder aboot inside. Ah might be able tae pick something up. Whit time’s oor rendezvous later oan, Johnboy?”
“We’ve tae be there before midnight.”
“Ooh, Customs and Excise have an office down there, laddie. The lights are on twenty-four seven,” Findlay reminded them.
“Aye, bit is there a set ae wheels sitting ootside, twenty-four seven, Findlay?”
“Och, I’m not sure, now that ye ask, laddie.”
“There ye go then. Don’t you worry, Findlay, they’ll no know that Ah’ve been and gone,” Cleftie hid jist said, when the door suddenly opened and in walked Heckie MacLeod and Angus MacKenzie, the skipper ae The Pride Ae Assynt.
“Shit!” Findlay cursed under his breath.
“Don’t turn roond, bit a few ae The Laird’s main bum boys hiv jist arrived oan the scene,” Johnboy said tae Cleftie.
“Right, Mr MacLeod, jist wan mair wee shot and we kin call it a day, eh?” Cleftie suddenly announced oot loud tae a startled Findlay, practically lifting him up and oot ae his chair. “Left a bit…back a touch…a wee bit mair…perfect! That’ll dae ye.”