by Tony Black
56
I looked in the hall and out the window, but saw no sign of Nadja. She’d cut out with the pile of mail.
I paced the house looking for something that the key might fit. I spotted a couple of linen chests, a drawer on Billy’s desk, but the key I’d found fitted none of them. It looked like an old door key, probably for an exterior lock of some kind. I pocketed it and, on a hunch, decided to check the one room I’d left out so far, the bathroom.
Call it a cliche, but I reckoned the cistern was still a safe bet to find stuff people don’t want to put out on open display. Especially, I thought, if Billy was keeping something from Nadja — there was no way she’d risk breaking a nail poking about at the shitter.
I lifted the lid, depressed the ballcock. Nothing. The cistern held only water. I put back the lid, turned for the hall. On my way, a board beneath my feet creaked. I looked down, the floor was carpeted, but at the wall there seemed to be a few tacks missing.
It took some work but I managed to loosen the carpet, it was rubber-backed and moved freely once I’d taken out the grips holding it down.
‘Bingo!’
One of the boards had recently been lifted, nails removed, chips at the edges where it had been prised up.
I banged on the edge with the heel of my hand and the board shot up. Hidden beneath was a small Nike holdall. I reached in, pulled it out. Inside, I found Billy’s passport, bank books, a heap of unsigned credit cards and about twenty gees in used notes.
‘Planning a quick getaway, Billy Boy?’
I put the board down, stamped down the carpet and slung the bag on my back.
I tried to leave Billy’s apartment as I’d found it — think Hiroshima aftermath.
Outside I strolled along casually. Not an easy task when you’ve twenty large flung over your shoulder. I’d never been mugged in my life, I prayed it wouldn’t be my turn today. Not because I feared losing the cash, but because I still carried the Glock. Didn’t want to be caught warding off a hoodie with such a serious weapon, had a feeling the consequences might be disproportionate.
At the Wall, the same old faces were in residence. The gadgie spied me, got to his feet. If I’d no time for him when we last met, I’d less now, greeted him with, ‘Fuck off.’
His face, skin as patchy as kebab meat, failed to detect any hostility. He swayed about, looked far gone, then sat down again and drooled into his pint.
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Col. ‘That’s a customer you’re talking to.’
‘I’ve no time for pleasantries.’
A frown, shake of the head. ‘I know we’re hardly the Ritz, but a man deserves a bit of common courtesy.’
Felt in no mood to debate the fineries of Edinburgh’s carefully cultivated class system; I threw the holdall on the bar.
‘What’s this?’
‘Open it.’
Col tipped the bag on its side, struggled with the zip fastener on the pocket.
‘Here,’ I said, grabbing it off him, undoing the cord at the top, ‘have a look at that.’
Col peered in. ‘By the cringe, there must be-’
I put my hand on his mouth. Some of these people would do a lot worse than kill for half this amount.
‘Picked it up from Billy’s gaff.’
‘You went round?’ Col ferreted further into the bag, removed the passport. As he saw the page with Billy’s photo on he touched his lips.
‘Col, the place has been turned over. It seems Billy had got his hands on something that attracted a lot of interest.’
‘Like what?’ Col was genuinely confused. I wondered if this episode might be the one to tip him over the edge.
‘Something he shouldn’t have.’
Col’s features stiffened. He flared his nostrils then yanked the cord closed on the bag. ‘Here, take it.’
‘Uh-uh. If anyone’s due some of Billy’s earnings, I think it’s you.’
He forced the bag into my hands. ‘I’ll never touch it.’
‘Think about it. You take it or Nadja does.’
A dog barked outside, Col vacillated.
I said, ‘Take the money, Col. Dump it in the collection plate the next time you’re at church.’
Slowly, he slid the bag off the bar. His hands trembled as he tucked it underneath the till.
‘This is all very unsettling, Gus.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘If I’d known… Well, I’d have found a way to intervene, sooner.’
‘Sooner?’
Col touched his brow, looked like he’d just remembered something burning in the oven. ‘Christ, listen to me! Here’s you chasing all over the place on my behalf and — will you have a drink?’
I nodded. Col poured out a Guinness, and a chaser.
‘We’re a bit quieter tonight, I think,’ he said.
‘How so?’
‘ Big Brother… it’s eviction night.’
‘Holy shit, even your punters watch that garbage?’
‘Oh yes, it’s like an obsession with them.’
‘Where’s the attraction of recording every cough and fart of a bunch of nobodies?’
‘I agree. I think it’s like watching lab rats myself.’
‘We’re all of us guinea pigs in the laboratory of God.’
‘Is that a quote?’
‘Tennessee Williams.’
‘I like it. Do believe he’s right you know.’
I drained my whisky, Col picked up the glass, raised it to the optic behind the bar. As he went, I took out the key I’d found at Billy’s apartment.
I turned it over on the bar towel, trying to guess where it might fit. The key looked older in this light, I noticed some ornate markings on the hilt. It looked Victorian.
‘Where did you find that?’ Col said, as he placed the whisky before me. His voice seemed to suggest he wasn’t unfamiliar with the key.
‘This?’
‘Yeah. It’s my old cellar key, isn’t it?’ He turned quickly from me, went back to the till. A felt board with brass hooks held all the keys for the bar. ‘Oh, hang on… it’s here.’
He brought over his key, placed it next to Billy’s. ‘My, they’re almost identical, aren’t they?’
‘I found this key at Billy’s place. It was tucked away in a shoe, out of sight.’
Col took the key, raised it to the light. ‘Do you think he got hold of a spare or something?’
‘I don’t know. I wondered what it was for, to tell you the truth.’
Col put the two keys together on the bar towel. ‘Well, that’s the queerest thing.’
‘For the cellar you say?’
‘No. No. We’ve a proper cellar down there,’ Col pointed to the floor. ‘This is for the old cellar up the back there, it’s more like a coal house.’
‘What’s in it?’
‘In it? Nothing, nothing at all. Last time it was used, to my knowledge, was in the war, you know, as a kind of shelter.’
I stood up, took the first sip of my Guinness. ‘Have you got a flashlight?’
‘Sure. You going to check it out?’
‘Och, I think I should. So you coming?’
‘No, you go, I’ve got the bar to mind… was near impossible to get staff tonight.’
I huffed. ‘ Big Brother?’
‘You wouldn’t believe it, would you?’
I shook my head, took the flashlight from him.
Outside the cold bit like a bastard. I tested the bulb. It looked to be dimming but would do the job.
The key slotted into the lock without effort. As I pushed the door open a waft of dampness caught in my throat. ‘Christ Almighty!’ I closed my mouth and descended the stairs.
As I reached the floor, I checked for a light switch. None. The walls had been painted white at some stage and caught the light I shone on them, throwing off more into the room. The smell of damp rose like poison gas. I brought my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose.
I moved about, the place se
emed to be empty. No shortage of cobwebs, streams of moisture on the walls and general grit and dust blowing about the floor. But nothing worth hiding a key in your shoe for.
‘Come on, Billy Boy. What’s your big secret?’
The flashlight started to fade. The bulb dimmed to a faint orange glow. I slapped the butt in my hand. It went out.
‘Fucking brilliant.’
I searched for my matches, struck a clutch of five or six. The fizzing flame heated my hand, threw shadows on the wall. I lit another batch, raising them aloft. For a good few seconds I’d a fully lit view of the room. It was empty. Not a thing there.
I returned to the stairs, at the top pushed open the door and gasped for breath.
‘Jesus… that was rough.’
Felt good to taste fresh air once more. So good, I sparked up a Marlboro. First of a new pack. Red top, proper fatal.
A few drags in I clasped the tab in my teeth, turned to lock up. A damp old donkey jacket hung on the back of the door. I’d always wondered how they got the name, I saw now it was because they smelled like them.
I pushed the door, and the hook holding the jacket snapped, dropped it on the ground.
‘Oh, shit.’
I picked it up, about to throw it down the stairs, when something fell out of the side pocket.
‘Hello…’
I bent down to see what it was.
‘Billy, you sly old bastard.’
A disk.
I took it back to the pub. Col sat in front of the bar, watching television.
‘You’re actually watching Big Brother?’
‘Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.’
I picked up my Guinness, drained half of it in one go. ‘You disappoint me, I had you down as a man of some taste and discernment.’
‘Bollocks! Did you have any luck?’
I held up the disk.
‘What’s that?’
‘CD or DVD.’
‘And what do you think it’s for?’
‘I don’t know. Will we have a look?’
Col stood up, leaned over my shoulder to stare at the disk. ‘What are you doing?’ I said.
‘Having a look!’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I meant, on a player. I’m presuming you don’t have one, then.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A CD or a DVD player?’
‘Oh no, no. I’ve a video recorder, but I never use it. The wife used to hire the old films. Howard Keel’s her favourite.’
I was mystified. Drained the rest of my pint. As I did so the phone rang, Col went round the bar to answer it.
‘One minute. It’s for you,’ he said.
‘Me?’ I wondered who would call me at the Wall when I had my mobile. Took the mobi out my pocket, it was still switched off.
‘Will you take it? It’s your sister.’
She had no news I wanted to hear. I got to my feet.
‘Tell her I’ve left.’
‘I can’t do that. I’ve already told her you’re here.’
I buttoned my jacket, pocketed the disk. ‘Not any more.’
57
Hod had the Clash cranked up full when I arrived. ‘Tommy Gun’ blaring out, felt surprised the neighbours hadn’t complained.
‘You’ll get your door rapped,’ I said.
Hod flared out his chest, took a strongman stance. ‘Who’d mess?’
Took his point.
The place looked spotless as usual. Even the kitchen shone like a show home, every surface gleamed. The shine as the uplighters hit the stainless-steel kettle and toaster set almost hurt my eyes.
‘Do you know what this joint needs?’ I asked him.
‘What’s that?’
‘A man about the house.’
Hod took the opportunity to dip into mince mode. He had it down pat, sorta Dale Winton doing Freddie Starr… Whoa, there’s an image.
‘Oooh you are awful,’ said Hod, slapping me on the arm, ‘but I like you!’
We cracked a couple of Stellas and went through to the lounge. Joe Strummer wailed, ‘Someone got murdered, somebody’s dead for ever…’ I got up and turned down the CD.
‘So, the wanderer returns,’ said Hod.
I raised my bottle. ‘Here I am.’
‘ Slainte. What’s the story?’
I filled him in on my brush with the law and everything I’d unearthed about Billy’s demise.
Hod listened carefully. ‘What do you think he feeds it on?’
‘What?’
‘Zalinskas — the wolf?’
‘How the fuck would I know? Probably dog food.’
‘You reckon, like, just from Tesco?’
I couldn’t believe this, after all I’d revealed to Hod, the one thing that had provoked any response was Zalinskas’ pet wolf. ‘Definitely not. A man like Zalinskas, with all his cash, he’s doing his shopping at Waitrose.’
Hod coughed into his fist, made a clearing noise in his throat. ‘You wouldn’t be mocking me would you, Gus Dury?’
‘Never.’
We exchanged some childish dead arms, then Hod fell back onto the sofa.
‘Christ, it’s good to get you back in one piece, mate.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You had us worried for a while there. Amy-’ Hod checked himself, sat up.
‘What about, Amy?’
Hod touched his knee nervously, then looked at his open palms. ‘Think you’re going to have to set her straight, Gus.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s totally, I mean totally, sold on you. It’s not fair on the girl.’
I tried to laugh it off. An involuntary reaction.
‘Or fair on you, you sly bastard,’ I said.
‘No. No way. Seriously, Gus. I like her, for sure, but I’m not talking about that. She’s off tapping brassers for bits of gossip in the hope she can impress you. She’s gonna get herself in trouble.’
I sucked at the Stella. ‘I’ll have a word.’
‘Will you?’
‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’
‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ finished up and the CD slowly ejected. I reached over to my jacket, took Billy’s disk out of the pocket.
‘Here, chuck this on,’ I told Hod.
‘What is it?’
‘Billy had it hidden away.’
‘Had quite a bit hidden away our Billy Boy.’
Hod took the disk, popped the plastic wallet open and slotted it into the player.
‘It’s data.’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s for a computer.’
‘Do you have one?’
‘Gus, for fucksake, does the Pope wear a funny hat?’
Hod left the room. Returned with a Sony Vaio. I should have known better than to ask, the man had a breadmaker in the kitchen for crying out loud.
‘Is there a gadget you don’t own?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, there’s one I can think of.’ He made a buzzing noise, vibrating his Stella bottle in my face.
‘You surprise me. Thought that would have been right up your alley!’
‘Ha-ha. It was, until your mother borrowed it!’
The old dis your mother joke struck a chord, I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I’d been ignoring my mam’s pleas to visit my dying father.
I grabbed the laptop. ‘Let’s get this booted up.’
Hod seemed unfazed, left me to it while he went for some more Stella and some munchies, a bag of Doritos and some salsa dip.
‘Nice,’ I said.
‘You’ll like it. Though I think Pringles might have been a better option.’
‘Hod, I’m not talking about the fucking crisps. Check it out.’
The disk showed a video taken with what looked like a good-quality camera set in the corner of a room. Footage from Zalinskas’ club’s camera; though the image was anything but the kind of thing normally sho
wn on Crimewatch.
‘Social Security style,’ said Hod.
‘What?’
The picture was clear, a brasser straddling some geezer on a double bed. All the scene missed was some dodgy electronic organ music and it could have been sold as a tug movie.
‘Like I say… Social Security style.’ Hod pointed to the screen, mirrored the see-saw motion with his finger.
‘I don’t get you?’
‘Well, you see, Gus, this is what you call Social Security style because the girl’s getting the full benefit.’
He was right about one thing. She was only a girl, no more than fifteen, and at that I was being generous. The face of the guy underneath was harder to make out.
‘Can we forward this?’
‘Oh yeah.’
Hod’s first effort put the video into reverse. ‘Och, hang on… here we go.’
In no time the girl jumped off, moved away to get dressed. Then we saw the guy’s face clearly. My heart tripped.
‘He looks familiar,’ said Hod.
‘I’m not surprised.’
Hod turned to face me, slit his eyes. ‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s on the telly every other night.’
Hod grabbed the screen, leaned in close and creased his nose, the look was concentration. ‘Who is it?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No… I mean, yes, I recognise him, but I can’t place the face. Who is it?’
I took up the laptop, pointed, could hardly believe I was about to say the words, ‘That’s our Minister for Immigration — the Right Honourable Alisdair Cardownie.’
58
I opened the doors to the balcony. Fired up a Marlboro. Hod followed with two fresh bottles of Stella. Neither of us said anything, just stared out at the city, lit up like a fair. A taxi sounded its horn below and two young girls ran out from the flats across the street. The clack of their heels drowned out their giggles as they tried to dodge puddles.
‘Look at them,’ said Hod.
‘Just daft wee lassies.’
‘That’s it, though — so they should be.’
I knew what he was trying to say, I didn’t need to hear the exact words. The girls looked little older than the one we’d just seen with Cardownie. They had their whole lives in front of them, and every right to enjoy them. Somehow they no longer seemed half as annoying as the rest of their age group.