Referendum

by Campbell Hart

  Walking through the mass of food left for pick-up Karen read some of the signs that had been left. There was one which dominated, one that was being photographed most often.

  And there’s a hand my trusted friend

  And gie’s a hand o’ thine

  We’ll take a cup of kindness yet

  For auld lang syne

  Karen couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly was happening but every day more people came. Saltires on white plastic poles cast long shadows across the Square. There were hundreds of young people, people like her that until recently she wouldn’t have expected to be political. The TV crews were there nightly too, reporters from around the world trying to make sense of something that no-one had expected to blossom so quickly. Even so, the expectation was for the ‘No’ campaign to win. Karen didn’t know it then, but that was all about to change.

  ***

  The meal had left a slight strain on the conversation. Beckie knew that their relationship had taken a step back. It wasn’t dead in the water but Beckie had hurt John’s feelings, she could see it in his eyes. She’d asked him back to the house after the meal and brought him round, teased him and seduced him. Two hours later he was asleep, definitely; content, perhaps.

  Arbogast slept with his hand draped across Beckie’s side, his face wet with perspiration. Eventually she pushed him away, waking him.

  Checking the time he could see it was still early. 3:30am. It had been quite a night and he felt physically and emotionally drained. Walking through to the bathroom he stopped to look out of the landing window. It was the dead of night but the city was still at work. Beckie’s split-level flat in Anderson was part of a redeveloped high rise complex. It had been transformed from tawdry to top-of-the-range. It was the kind of place he should be staying himself. Why did she say no? It made sense to live together. He had also failed to mention the thing he really wanted to raise – he was going to have to speak to Rose about the situation with Donald. It was a risky thing to do and it could easily backfire. But he wanted to do the right thing; he wanted Beckie to know he would be speaking with his ex. If she found out later she might expect he’d been trying to get back together with her. The chance of that happening was practically zero but he wanted to reassure her he was still committed. Arbogast wondered if that was why he’d thought about moving in here, just a simple gesture to show how much he cared. Ach, John, it’s late and you’re talking shite. There’s plenty of time to think about this tomorrow. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep. A hundred different plans were trying to get his attention and his subconscious couldn’t cope. He became aware of the fact that he was cold, cold and naked and standing by an open window. Across the street a light flicked off. Did someone see me? Does it even matter? Arbogast went back to bed and put his arm around Beckie. Whatever happens next, this is good enough for now.

  29

  The electricity went off at 11:38am. With every turn of the meter’s wheel came fresh debt, the price of modern living. Channels switched, irons hissed, phones charged, the world kept turning. But it all stopped at 11:38am.

  Lorna had been expecting it. After the court case it had been even harder to get work. Her record meant there was an issue of trust, it put people off. Suddenly she wasn’t the kind of person they wanted. And that was just for customer service jobs. At a DIY superstore she’d been asked to do aerobics as part of the interview, a dispiriting experience; each of the 20 people there felt the same. They were the first batch of five, all of them chasing just two jobs. She hadn’t got far with that one. Then the letters had started to arrive. Letters she didn’t even open. Unpaid bills and no money coming in, but she was past caring and couldn’t pay. Let them do their worst.

  They did. Sitting cold and alone on her couch Lorna wasn’t sure what to do. She’d sent Leona to stay with her aunt in Paisley; after the incident with the loan sharks it was the best thing for her. Of course she’d wanted to stay and help but it was too late for that. She’d tried to take matters into her own hands but she was young and didn’t know how things worked. The debt was starting to creep up again and the worst thing was that she couldn’t imagine circumstances where it would ever go away. There was one thing Lorna could think of that might help but the thought of it made her feel sick. But there was no room for pride. They’d gone from a happy family to destitution in the space of a year. There was no-one to look out for them now; she’d just have to find a way to cope. Tonight was going to be the start of a new life; one she hoped would be short lived.

  ***

  He knew the flat would be empty for the next two hours so he took the chance to turn it over. Ian Davidson had been cautious for the last few weeks. He’d taken the time to learn Niall Murphy’s routine, sussed out who his main contacts were and documented everything. The evidence against him was now pretty damning, certainly enough to keep Donald happy. Or so he’d thought. His boss was getting jittery, said there was evidence against him from the old days, evidence that might be at the flat, so he’d gone to look.

  It wasn’t much to look at. Murphy was living in a one bedroom tenement flat in Sword Street. Davidson assumed he’d taken the digs as a joke, a blunt reminder of his hard man status. It was all a bit comic book but it seemed to be working for him. He could hear the younger ones mouthing off about ‘Mad Murphy from Sword Street.’ The ground floor flat had once been a shop, with empty units on either side. The front had been concreted over and painted red in an attempt to match the sandstone. It hadn’t worked. The close door was lying open with the metallic security strip hanging off. Davidson thought it was an unusual mistake to find at this flat, the gateway to one of the city’s up and coming money men.

  Inside, he wasted no time and put his weight behind the flat door which swung open quite easily, held shut by a flimsy Yale lock. Another surprise. Perhaps he doesn’t think he’ll be targeted. Inside there was nothing much to see. It looked as if the flat had been furnished some time back. A matted, blue shag pile carpet welcomed him to the hall. There was a musty cigarette smell. The place needs an airing. Davidson was looking for a specific item but it was unlikely that it would be left out in plain view. There were only three rooms including the kitchen so he worked quickly, pulling everything out, making it look like a random break-in. Clothes, cutlery, and furniture were dragged out and tipped over but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Then something in the bedroom caught his eyes. In the corner there was a section of carpet that bulged out slightly as if it wasn’t nailed down. Pulling back the fabric Davidson saw the floorboards had been replaced by chipboard. There was a finger hole in the wood which he grasped and pulled at. About a foot below he saw what he’d come for. Murphy had been naive to leave it behind.

  ***

  Graeme Donald was pacing again, something he’d been doing a lot of lately. Murphy was starting to get a bit above himself these days. He’d heard the stories from Ian Davidson. The man’s doing a good job, but the time for watching’s coming to an end. Murphy had been in touch again. He’d leapt out on him in the city centre a few days ago trying to be funny.

  “What do you want? We can’t be seen together, you know that.”

  “I need a favour.”

  “You’re not due any. You seem to be doing OK; don’t forget that’s something in my power to take away.”

  “I’ve got too much on you, Graeme; you don’t get to call the shots.”

  But Graeme Donald had had enough. He grabbed his self-styled nemesis by the throat and pushed him back into an alley, “Now you listen to me, Murphy. This is a two-way process. You’ve got shit on me but I’ve got a whole lot more on you, so watch your step.”

  Murphy was smiling, “Hey, what’s with all this aggression, man? I thought we were just talking?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m allowing you to grow and you’re allowing yourself to stay the fuck away from me. Don’t push too far.”

  “Don’t forget we go way back and I’ve got a long memory. My inf
ormation will do you more harm than yours will to me, so maybe it’s time to consider what it is you really want from life. It might just have been me a few weeks ago, but I’ve got clout now. People respect me and I’m growing, we both know that. But sometimes there are complications which need to be dealt with. Now is one of those times. I need your permission to deal with it.”

  Graeme Donald wanted to walk away, he shouldn’t be doing deals with parasites like this but for now he had to grin and bear it, “Let’s hear it then.” Donald listened as Murphy talked; he had a lot to say, some of it surprising. After he’d finished, though, one thing was clear – he now had options, and Murphy’s demise was just a matter of time.

  30

  Times changed and these days Arbogast had to make an appointment to see Rosalind Ying. It wasn’t so long ago that his former partner would have welcomed an illicit visit, but that life was gone and today’s meeting was strictly business. She kept him waiting for half an hour while she talked on the phone. He knew it wasn’t a work call by the tone of her voice, that and the constant giggling, something she only did when she was flirting. Arbogast was starting to get annoyed. Would she have kept anyone else waiting this long? I doubt it. Finally he heard the phone clatter back onto its cradle and he was called in. There was nothing in Rosalind’s eyes to suggest she was happy to see him.

  “DI Arbogast. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  So impersonal, is this the way it needs to be? He supposed it didn’t really matter. Still, she’s got a way of getting under my skin. “You’re looking well, Rosalind.”

  “That’s DCI Ying to you. Let’s not stray off the path. Don’t forget who you’re speaking to.”

  No need to be such a bitch about it. Her expression suggested he’d said that out loud but he was pretty sure he hadn’t. She just knew how his mind worked, had probably guessed what he was thinking. Stop dwelling on the past and get to the point.

  “I’ve got something I need to discuss with you that is of a particularly sensitive nature, something that I need to ask for your complete discretion on.”

  “Sounds serious, I hope it’s not a personal issue because you already know my feelings on that.”

  Arbogast nodded, “It’s not an issue you’ll be familiar with but it’s one which needs to be looked at. It needs to be you that deals with it. I’m not sure who else to trust.”

  Rosalind wasn’t sure what was coming but it didn’t sound like something she was going to enjoy, “You’ll find no favours through flattery, but I have five minutes if you want to make your case.”

  No need to make sound so officious. Arbogast wasn’t convinced this was a good idea but he wouldn’t be able to see it through by himself, “It’s about Graeme Donald.”

  “For fucks sake, John. Not this again. Didn’t you get burned enough the last time when you went chasing this ball?”

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “Well guess what? The ball’s burst. Donald’s pretty much Mr Teflon these days and you have no proof to suggest otherwise.”

  “I didn’t the last time—”

  “—but this time’s different? Look I don’t want any part in it.”

  “I’ve been to Belfast. I’ve spoken to people he’s been involved with over there, people he’s intimidated and tortured. I have evidence linking him to a loan shark in Glasgow, someone who has been making people’s lives a misery. It’s also possible he was involved in the death of Ian Wark.”

  It didn’t happen very often but Rosalind Ying was speechless. She sat with her jaw hanging open, like she was groping for words, “You’re off the scale. Do you seriously expect me to get involved?”

  “He’s dangerous, Rosalind. You have to know how difficult it’s been for me to come to you. He’s set the dogs on Sandy as well. You might remember the pictures in the paper?”

  This time she laughed, “And you’re telling me Donald did that? Anything else or are we done at murder, torture, and conspiracy?”

  “I know how it sounds.”

  “I don’t think you do, because if you did we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “I know we’ve had our differences in the past but this isn’t personal.”

  “No, there would be no reason for you to be gunning for the man that gave me my job would there? No personal agenda at all. It was great to see you, John, but you need to leave. I’m going to do you a massive favour and not mention this, but if I hear anything more you’ll be hammered for it, do you understand?”

  It had been the response Arbogast had expected but he had hoped for better, that the trust they used to share might count for something. Obviously I was wrong. “If it’s proof you need then here it is,” He threw a brown A4 envelope onto her desk, “There’s a lot in there: photos, tapes, and signed statements. It’s all pretty damning.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Like I said, I went to Belfast.”

  “Which has never seen the light of day before because?”

  “Why do you think? Because Donald was the man in charge, because the information was suppressed, because what he did over there he’s now starting to do over here, with impunity. Because people like you are happy to turn a blind eye.”

  That last one got her. Rosalind could be accused of many things but dishonesty wasn’t one of them. He made to leave the room, “Just do me the favour of looking at the files and make sure it’s not left out for anyone to find. If you still don’t believe me feel free to destroy it. But take my word for it, Rosalind – the man’s poison.”

  As he went back to his desk he wasn’t sure if the hard boiled routine had been such a good idea.

  ***

  With no electricity Lorna McMahon was reduced to the basics. With the shower off the grid, she washed herself with cold water. She was thinking about tonight, didn’t really know what to expect. For the most part she didn’t want to think about it. She’d done her research and asked around; it seemed as if she might be able to make decent money if she played it smart. If she could work for just a few months she was certain she should be able to pay off the debt. Then she could maybe think about having something like a normal life.

  She wore the red dress again. She looked good in it and she wanted to be noticed, that would be important. Lorna didn’t have much make-up left but what little she did, was applied.

  At 11:00pm she left the house, walking down parallel to the railway line at Duke Street and then along towards the brewery. She knew where she was going. She’d heard that the wasteland was a hot spot, somewhere people avoided late at night. The pub had shut; it was the last part of a long gone tenement block, a lonely survivor for people who refused to give up on tradition. That was one thing that couldn’t be said of her. The roads were still set out in the shape of the housing estate that had once graced this part of town. Long demolished there was a ghost grid of forgotten properties. She took up her spot in one of the roads parallel to the main drag. She waited, was nervous. She didn’t feel safe; jumped when an urban fox dislodged gravel behind her as it sloped past. She watched as the street lights made lasers of its eyes, its penetrating stare shining back at her in the night. How long have I been here; how long will I need to wait? Time passed and a few cars went by, some slowed down but sped off. Maybe I’m not standing the right way? Is there something else I need to do to reel them in? Why does everything need to be so bloody hard? The only thing Lorna could think of was the hunger she felt. She hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, so anything she could earn tonight would help her survive. She was out of options.

  Finally someone stopped. The passenger window of the white van rolled down and a middle aged man peered over. He gestured to her to come closer.

  “How much?” he said, an impersonal question for what was apparently a routine transaction.

  “A hundred.”

  “Expensive,” again the blasé response caught Lorna unawares; her nerves were starting to get the better of her. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good
idea. I don’t really know what I’m doing. She heard a clunking noise from the back of the van and the engine switched off. The man came round the back and opened the double doors. He was just an ordinary guy, slightly overweight, with bad clothes, but he could have been anyone. He said he’d pay and was pointing inside. Looking in, Lorna could see a few blankets in the back. He’d done this before but it wasn’t how she’d imagined.

  “I have a house we could go to,” but he shook his head, “I need to get back, do you want the money or not?”

  This was the point where she could still walk away but he was handing her the cash, “I’ve only got £80, is that OK?”

  As Lorna lay in the back of the van she tried to switch off, to think of better days ahead, but she was overwhelmed by the smell of pickled onion crisps. She wondered why he hadn’t brushed his teeth. Afterwards, he said he had expected more, something better, but he looked guilty. Lorna knew the man wouldn’t give her any trouble. She waited until he’d driven off before she threw up. Crouched down by the kerb she knew she had finally crossed the line. The old Lorna was gone. But regardless of what happened now, she at least had options and a way to care for the family. That was the only thing that mattered.