by Tony Black
I couldn’t speak now. The pain was too much; I passed out.
When I came to, Shaky was stood over me, smoking a cigarette. He put the filter-tip in my mouth, played up to me. ‘Answer me this, Dury… what’s your fucking game here, eh? Who’s working your strings? Cos either you have some serious back-up or yer on a death wish… which is it?’
I had nothing to lose by laying my cards on the table so I said, ‘I’m not the one you need to worry about.’
‘Eh? What you fucking on about?’ I had his attention.
‘There’s worse than me you could cross.’
He arked up, grabbed my hair and pulled back my head, ‘Stop pissing me about here, son. Say what you’ve got to say or I’ll put you back up on that fucking hook, and no’ by the hauns this time.’
He let go my hair, my head slumped forward. ‘I know about Ben Laird and Gemmill… about the money he owed and that you want to see the case closed so it doesn’t come back to you…’
‘Well, if you know that, what are you fucking playing at?’
I gasped for breath. Took a gamble: ‘This goes higher up than you think… the filth are all over this.’
‘Are you on about that mad Irish bastard?’
‘You’ve met Fitz?’
‘Creeping about, rattling folks’ cages… He’s no’ playing the game.’
I spat, ‘And neither are you.’
Shaky’s eyes burned. ‘What the fuck you on about?… Now, spit it oot!’
I played my one and only card; it was no ace, but it was all I had. ‘I know you don’t want the kid’s murder laid at your doorstep, so you need to let me get Gemmill out the frame… Trust me, if he didn’t do it, I’ll find out.’
‘He didn’t fucking do it! But you think that’s gonna stop the polis hanging it on him, and my business out tae dry with him?’
I felt my breath seep out slowly. I was close to collapse again. Had little or no energy resources left to draw on. ‘If I get Gemmill off… are we quits?’
Shaky nodded. ‘Aye, oh aye…’
‘And Hod?’
His answer came slower this time: ‘You get our Danny in the clear and yourself and Hod are of no interest tae me.’
I managed a dim smile before my eyes closed on me and the room fell into blackness.
Chapter 32
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN GRATEFUL for the run back to town, but somehow the pug in the trackie wore down my enthusiasm. He played Slowhand on the CD, did the chords on air guitar when ‘Layla’ kicked in. When he got to nodding along, I thought he was a bit too used to banging his napper, didn’t want to find myself on the end of it later on. As I sat beside him I could see he was carrying some meat: his gut pressed against the wheel when he turned corners and his neck shook on the cobbles. I was unnerved most of all by his bonhomie. The man was far too happy, made me think he had a surprise in store for me. Like maybe he wasn’t running me back to town after all.
We flew through Musselburgh and Porty, hit Meadowbank in good time. At London Road the pug turned to me, said, ‘I know a good spot.’
‘A good spot?… Here’ll do.’
That made him laugh. His meaty neck wobbled on his chest. As he smiled sharp lines cut the corners of his eyes. It was a face I could never tire of punching.
At the stadium he chucked a left, hared it past a Skoda garage and took another left, followed the road round to a little industrial estate. He allowed himself a handbrake turn in the car park before slapping the wheel and starting to remove his watch. I got the hint; went for the door handle. It was locked.
He laughed, ‘You thinking of going somewhere?’
‘Are you as daft as you look, fella?’
He didn’t like that. ‘What the fuck did you say?’
‘I said, are you as daft as you fucking look? If you’re thinking of working me over… it’s not gonna help your boss out.’
His smile returned. ‘See me, I’m funny that way.’ He smacked me in the mouth with a backhander, let out a ‘Yee-haa!’ I yelled as my head banged off the car window. After all I’d been through already, it should have been enough to call lights out, but I hung in there.
The pug walked round to my side of the car, opened the door – I fell out. As I crumpled on the tarmac he started to lay into me.
‘Mouthy little cunt!’ he roared out.
I watched his face contort then redden. He took his work seriously. I could tell that by the way he put his back into it. I tried fending him off for a bit – put up arms, curled into a ball – but it was only incitement to him.
‘Get yer hands out the road, y’prick!’ he yelled.
Like I paid any notice. It was only when he started belting my gut, and the blood came up into my mouth again, that I held off. In no time at all, I’d lost consciousness.
I woke up in hospital again. The frequency of these visits was becoming embarrassing now. Not just for me, but for the staff. A nurse loomed over me with a thermometer. She seemed to have just taken it from under my armpit.
‘Oh, you’re with us, are you?’ she said.
I didn’t have an answer for that. I didn’t feel very with it. I couldn’t remember too much; the lights hurt my eyes. ‘What happened?’
‘I believe you were found in a pool of your own…’ she left a pause for emphasis, ‘blood.’
‘Makes a change from my own sick!’
She didn’t see the funny side. I tried to pull myself up. A strong smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, made me feel like chucking up again. As I settled down I noticed there was a figure at the bottom of the bed. I squinted, tried to make my eyes focus. ‘Mam?’
‘Hello, son.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I felt embarrassed for her. Heat flashed in my cheeks.
She walked around the bed, patted the nurse’s arm, ‘The hospital called me.’
The nurse spoke again: ‘We thought we might lose you… it was touch and go there for a while. You know, you’d be better off playing Russian roulette, Mr Dury.’
I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ My second attempt at raising a smile on her miserable coupon fell flat as well. She shook her head and went for the door. I was glad to see it close with her on the other side.
My mother came and helped me to stand. ‘I didn’t know what to make of it when they called.’ There was a tear in her eye. ‘I thought… well, I just thought.’
I couldn’t bear to see my mother so hurt; I patted her hand. ‘Mam, I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, Gus.’ She took a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘Whatever happened to you?’ I thought at first she was talking about my latest hospitalisation, but as she moved to the chair by the bed she said, ‘How did it ever come to this?’
I knew what she meant. She was wondering how I had come to this level of despair. Was it the way my career went tits up? The wreckage of my marriage? My childhood? Christ, I wish I knew. I was a disaster, seemed like I always had been.
‘I don’t know, Mam.’
She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. ‘I wanted so much for all of you… I had so many dreams and hopes. Every mother does.’
I heard the words, and I registered her hurt, but for reasons beyond me I thought of Gillian Laird. She was a mother too, she had lost a son. She needed answers, and she wasn’t going to find them with me in here. I had lost too much time already. I needed to act.
‘Mam, did the nurse say when they were thinking about letting me out?’
‘Oh, it won’t be for weeks. You need a good rest, and to heal up… They thought you were a goner, son… didn’t you hear her?’
I didn’t want to believe her. Jesus, how many times had I heard that in the last few weeks? I was ready to take my medicine like all the other times and move on. Figured, if I hadn’t carked it yet, I was on a winning streak. And I was still standing – it couldn’t be that bad, could it?
I said, ‘That’s not going to be possible…
I’ve too much to do.’
My mother double-blinked. She dropped her handkerchief as she rose. ‘But you can’t go anywhere… there’s people to see you.’
‘What?… Who?’
She walked over to me. ‘Out there… they wouldn’t let them all in together.’
‘Who’s there, Mam?’
‘Everyone… I had to call them, they said it was near the end for you… Was like your father all over again.’
My mind flipped out. I watched my mother go for the door. She said, ‘I’ll send them in…’
When the door opened again, the last person I expected to walk through appeared. ‘Hello, Gus…’
‘Debs?’
She clutched at the shoulder strap of her bag, a blush spreading on her face. I watched her eyes flit from me to the window, as if she was too embarrassed to look at me. Christ, it was a heartscald.
‘Your mam called… when…’
‘She said.’
Debs put down her bag, sat in the seat with her knees together and her legs turned to one side. She looked tense. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Like shit… thanks for asking.’
She laughed. ‘I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that’s how you look!’
I smiled, ‘Boom-tish!’ Knew I deserved that. Worse, probably.
We looked at each other. It was great to see her again, but I felt nervous – tweaked at the hair on the back of my hand as I spoke. ‘I got your text.’
‘Gus, I don’t want you to think that I’m re-establishing contact.’
I shot up a hand. It seemed to take more of my energy than I’d imagined it would; blood rushed to my head. ‘No, Debs… I know.’
‘That text-’
I cut in: ‘Look, I just wanted to know you’re okay, and now I do, so all’s cool.’
She turned in the chair, fiddled with her watch strap. She searched herself for a new topic of conversation. ‘I, er, met your friend, Amy.’
I flung back my head. ‘Christ, is she here too?’
‘She was in bits last night… thought she’d lost you.’
‘Oh, bollocks… I’m sorry if you felt awkward.’
She stood up, smoothed out the creases in her jeans with the flats of her hands. ‘No, Gus… not at all.’
‘You sure?’
‘She seems lovely… You deserve a break. I hope she makes you happy.’
‘She does.’
Debs’s face hardened, her eyes thinned. I wondered if she ever played over all those conversations where we’d come to the conclusion that we could never make each other happy. No matter what we said or did, or how hard we tried… it just wasn’t in us. As I stared at Debs now, I understood we were never meant to be. We had spent so long together, but it had all been for nothing. We were never fitted as people. I hoped we could both take the lessons we had learned and move on.
‘I’m glad, Gus…’ Debs picked up her bag from the floor, slipped the strap over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to go now.’
I didn’t know what to say, went with, ‘Okay.’
‘You’ll be all right now?’
It was her way of asking if we were ‘good’. Had we drawn a line under things once and for all. I believed we had. It was hard to admit it, but I knew it. I’d seen her now, spoken to her, and understood where she was at in her mind. Now was time for a fresh start.
‘I’ll be fine… And you?’
She smiled. ‘I’ll be fine too.’
As Debs left the room it was like a part of me left with her; I no longer felt the need to go over the old times. The ground was covered. We’d parted, and we’d parted on good terms. I was happy about that. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I was happy about something.
When the door opened again, Hod, Mac and Amy came in. Amy rushed to my side and put her arms around me. Her long hair fell on my face, then she jerked back her head and stared at me. Her eyes were red and swollen but she seemed to have collected herself now. I was glad to see her.
‘Oh, Gus… you daft prick.’
I smiled. ‘Stop that… it only hurts when I laugh, y’know.’
‘What the fuck happened to you?’ said Mac. He took his hands out of his jacket pockets, weighed them in the air.
‘Take a wild guess,’ I said.
Hod answered: ‘He got rubber and ended up in a ruck… Was on the pish again, after all his warnings of late.’
I sliced the air with my arm. ‘Only half right, smart-arse!’ I motioned Amy to sit on the bed. ‘This was Shaky’s doing.’
‘You saw Shaky?’ said Mac. ‘And you’re in one piece?’
‘Aye, impressive, eh.’
‘What’s going on, Gus?’ asked Hod.
I filled them in on the deal I’d struck with Shaky, on the mental pug in the trackie who was desperate to take a shot at me, and on one or two other things that I’d learned recently from Stevo and Fitz. Things were hotting up. If we didn’t find Ben’s killer soon, I seriously feared there would be another death. Maybe mine.
‘It’s fucking madness,’ said Hod. ‘I can hardly get my head around it.’
Amy placed a hand on her hip, butted in. ‘It’s this city all over. Jesus, you should see some of the brats on my course: they think they’re entitled to lord it over the rest of us… probably always have done. It’s just utter fantasy.’
Hod wasn’t impressed. ‘You’re saying it’s just deluded kids? Those wee bastards are feral.’
‘Those arseholes like Ben Laird got carried away with it all,’ I said. ‘It’s a boys’ gang, silly wee boys playing silly wee games… but they took it too far.’
Mac was listening with his chin in his fingers. ‘You’re forgetting the drugs… they were tanning all kinds of shit. And the Laird boy was dealing… See, when a fair whack of poppy starts coming in, and yer off yer heid on something or other, it’s easy to lose it.’
We had them sussed. But this was a group that was protected, in high places. The Craft was watching over them; and not one of them wanted to see old wounds reopened.
‘There’s a way forward from here,’ I said. ‘But we need to get moving.’
Hod laughed. ‘We… moving. You’re not including yerself in that, are you?’
‘Oh aye.’
Amy slapped her hips. ‘Gus, you’re going nowhere. You nearly died, or have you forgotten that?’
I started to take my clothes out of the cabinet by the bed.
‘Gus, did you hear the lassie?’ said Mac. ‘Yer no’ going anywhere.’
I grabbed the bundle of neatly folded clothes. They were caked in dried claret. ‘Well, I’m gonna need some new gear before I go, that’s for sure.’
Chapter 33
I WAS DOING OKAY ON the wobbly pins; my knees felt loose, but then so did my ankles. Between them they seemed to work at keeping me upright. My main concern was the craving for alcohol. The hair of the dog that bit me. I needed to down some sauce soon or the shakes would be back. The hallucinations had stayed away; it would take a good few days of no intake before they kicked in. But I knew they were in the post.
I was determined to make a go of things with Amy. Christ knows why she had stood by me, but she had; I’d be an idiot to question that. In a strange sort of way, now that I had seen Debs, it was like I was given a free run at some happiness. If I had that feeling in me, life couldn’t be all bad. Well, could it?
I turned down Leith Walk. Some wanky arts events had kicked off in a couple of the bars, some Student Grant types were hanging about in rugby shirts and ripped jeans. A few of them had on chunky basketball boots, and to a man they had the customary three to four inches of undercrackers on display. Throw in the foppy hairstyles and they were an accident waiting to happen down this end of the town. Hardmen with Staffies go looking for this type of action. Finding it in their own manor was like all their Christmases come at once.
I sloped passed the yaw-yawing mob, kept myself moving. Much as I despised their ilk – they got my
goat, plain and simple – I’d come to feel for the parents of the brats. Ben Laird had been a piece of work, no question. He’d graduated from dabbling in drugs to dealing them, and more besides. Pimping out girls to his well-off buddies must have made him popular, but the boy had been out of control. Add that to the mix of teenage arrogance, and the hothousing of ego that went on in that moronic good old boys’ group of his, and the lad was knocking on trouble’s door. I had my suspicions that the very public coming out of his mother with Tina could have pushed him over the top. Dropping the ‘Bender’ Ben tag smacked of oversensitivity. One thing the lad needed to get straight from the off was, the world he was moving in had no place for sensitivity.
I took a turn off the Walk at Robbie’s Bar, headed down to Easter Road. This part of the East End attracts some numbers on the weekend, match day, but the rest of the week it’s dead at the far end.
The tenements are falling apart down here. In Edinburgh scaf-folding multiplies in the summer months as roofers and the council conspire to squeeze even more out of the hard-pressed townsfolk. But round here, the roof could be in before a stick of scaffold was seen. Some yuppie flats had been stuck up by a foreign firm that didn’t know the postcode was unattractive: I’d been watching the prices drop steadily on their adverts, wondering when they’d be giving them away.
As I turned for the caff I caught sight of Fitz’s Lexus. I’d arranged to meet him to go over what we had turned up on the case so far. He was parking up over the road; I left him to get on with it, went in and ordered up some coffees. For the first time in months I felt like food: all my appetites seemed to be returning. I took that as a good sign – so long as the main one could be held in check.
‘Could you do me a bacon roll too?’ I asked.
Got some nods. Waitress shouted the order through the serving hatch.
I sat in the far corner, away from the window. It didn’t do to be seen with Fitz in public. We were both agreed on that. When he came in he was sweating hard, his face was flashed red and thin wisps of grey hair stuck to his brow. He looked aggravated, ready to blow off some steam, perhaps.