by Black, Tony
Urquhart double-blinked but stayed silent.
As I sat down, I removed the beanie hat and spoke. 'Rum's the condemned man's drink, Minister ... would you like to join me?'
He stared at my bandaged head and then lowered himself slowly into his chair, his long thin shanks brushing the rim of the table. I could see the knees of his corduroy trousers had worn thin.
There was silence around the table. Amy eyed Urquhart with derision. Once in a while she'd blow out a pink bubble, just to put the knife in him.
'Could you stop that, please?' said Urquhart.
'Why?' said Amy.
He clammed, mumbled, 'It's vexatious.'
Amy fluttered her eyelashes, leaned forward, close enough for the minister to scent the strawberry gum on her breath, 'If someone says stop, do you always stop, Minister?'
His open mouth grabbed for air, 'I beg your pardon?'
Amy smiled, showed wide white teeth, 'Never mind.'
Our drinks came.
The barman left.
I spoke up, 'Now, let's get down to brass tacks. The cash.'
Urquhart ruffled, 'I think I shall have my side of the agreement fully realised before I part with any ...'
I raised a hand, only one. It was enough to silence him, 'Hold it right there.'
Amy slurped rum and coke through a straw. When she clattered down the glass her masticating jaws distracted the minister, set his attention wandering. He shuffled uneasily on his seat, 'I have had quite enough of this performance, Mr Dury. Now I engaged your services to locate my daughter and I demand to know what progress you have made towards that end.'
I leaned forward, mouthed a slow whisper. 'The money.'
Silence.
Amy slapped a palm on the table, set the glasses rattling as she yelled, 'The money!' She drew a fist and spoke again, 'Now.'
Urquhart wet his grey lips and slowly produced a long manila envelope from the inside pocket of his Barbour jacket. I snatched the package and opened up.
'There's no need to count it, it's all there.'
It looked about right. I peeled out a few fifties, gave them to Amy, said, 'Here, you've earned that.'
She didn't seem to agree, but took them anyway. I watched as she pocketed the money and returned eyes to Urquhart.
I resealed the envelope and handed it back to Amy, said, 'Take this to Caroline ... that girl deserves all the help she can get for a fresh start.'
Urquhart's face reddened with bluster, 'Now look here, I paid you to find my daughter!'
My reply was calm, flat. 'I did.'
'Then, where is she?'
I smiled, 'I never said I would tell you that.'
He made a knot of his mouth, then opened wide and started fumbling for the right words. We have a phrase in Scotland, 'Are you catching flies, Minister?'
'I-I don't believe this ... you have swindled me.' He rose on shaky legs, started to fasten his jacket. 'I'm not standing for this,' he said.
I motioned sit, leaned over and patted a hand on his chair, 'Unless you'd like me to fuck up your chances of becoming Moderator once and for all.'
His moist eyes grew wider. He glanced first at me, then at Amy. As she burst another bubble the minister returned slowly to his chair.
Amy shook her head then sighed and got up to leave. 'I've seen all I can stomach,' she said.
Time stretched between us like a great gulch as Amy went for the door. Urquhart watched her jerky movements and persistent stride like each step was a countdown to his own doom. His shoulders slumped. He seemed to deflate before me as he lowered his head and looked into the soft, white palms of his hands. 'What has Caroline told you?'
He was uncomfortable giving voice to her name, almost forcing it over his lips. I tipped up my glass, drained it, 'Everything.'
'She lies, you know.'
'Will the DNA?'
He turned his weaselly eyes on me.
I said, 'Didn't think so.'
I'd made my point, it was my turn to stand up now. I rose, glancing for the door. As I moved towards him and lowered my mouth to his ear, he seemed to anticipate my words. 'If I ever hear you have been within a country mile of that girl, I will personally preside over your crucifixion. Do you understand me?'
He said nothing. Looked away. I grabbed his face in my hand and twisted it towards my own.
'Is your hearing off? ... I said do you understand me?'
He jerked his head away. 'Yes, yes, I understand.'
As I straightened my back and buttoned my Crombie he took out his handkerchief again and pressed it between his hands, then carefully began to fold it away again.
I moved off, left him staring at the tabletop.
As I walked, I expected him to ask about his daughter, either one. But he stayed silent.
At the door, my heart pounded so hard I felt it moving my shirtfront. I turned, thought I might see a broken man, in tears perhaps. He was pouring out the remains of his mineral water. Face, stone.
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About the Author:
Tony Black is Irvine Welsh's 'favourite British crime writer'. An award-winning journalist, he is the author of some of the most critically-acclaimed British crime fiction of recent times. His Gus Dury series features: Paying for It, Gutted, Loss and Long Time Dead, which is soon to be filmed for the big screen by Richard Jobson. The novella Long Way Down also features Dury. A police series featuring DI Rob Brennan includes: Truth Lies Bleeding and Murder Mile. He is also the author of the novellas The Storm Without, R.I.P. Robbie Silva and The Ringer.
Visit his website at: www.tonyblack.net