Blood City

by Douglas Skelton

  ‘A wee favour, hen…’

  * * *

  The first time Davie set eyes on Audrey Burke, she was standing at the head of the stairs leading to the upper bar of The Curlers on Byres Road. She was with two friends and they were looking for somewhere to sit in the crowded lounge, which was filled with enough cigarette fumes to smoke haddock. Despite Rab’s vow to avoid students, the bar was filled with them, some carefully dressed in slightly tatty casual wear, others simply because that’s all they could afford. Downstairs was where you went if you wanted to throw a dart or two or talk about politics and sport. Upstairs was where you came to chase fanny. When Davie, Rab, Bobby and Mouthy had arrived earlier, they looked around and concluded that most of the women there had been chased – and caught – many times before.

  Then Audrey arrived, dressed in a suit so white it hurt the eyes, her soft blonde hair thick and tangled to her shoulders. Davie couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  And then Sinclair had moved in.

  They had spotted Boyle and his mate as soon as they arrived. They had debated moving somewhere else, but it was Rab who said, ‘Fuck em. If they start something, we’ll finish it.’

  Rab was in a good mood. Earlier that afternoon, he and Davie had come clean to Joe about their antics of the night before. Joe hadn’t been pleased, but he was by no means surprised by the news and Rab knew they had done the right thing. How the old man had known they were responsible, Rab would never know. As he told Davie, Joe the Tailor had a way of knowing things. He warned them against any further freelancing without checking with him first and then promised he would make it right with Barney somehow. He asked them if they had sold on the gear – which they hadn’t – and told them to keep it safe so it could be returned. Perhaps if Barney got his merchandise back on the quiet, he would be satisfied with making a killing on the insurance. Barney would accept Joe’s word that the young men had no idea they had transgressed against him. There would be a solemn undertaking that they would help Barney at some point in the future in some way and that, as they say, would be that.

  So it was with a lighter heart that Rab forced Davie to change out of his customary jeans and trainers and into something more presentable in order to head up the West End. Davie chose a pair of slightly flared, high-waisted black trousers and a dark jacket over a white shirt. Rab forsook his usual bulky army surplus jacket and denims for a stylish black two piece with a very faint cream pinstripe. He shaved his chin as closely as the razor would allow, but still looked like someone had coated his jaw in black paint. Mouthy turned up at Rab’s flat wearing a three piece suit and a lightly coloured floral shirt with a matching tie. His thick head of wiry hair was, for once, neatly combed and he smelled strongly of Brut, prompting Rab to comment that if the pub ran out of alcohol they could always just lick his cheeks. Davie could steer a car but he had no license, so Bobby Newman agreed to be their designated driver, not being much of a drinker anyway. He was wearing a pair of tight, flared fawn trousers and a brown-flecked jacket over a cream shirt. The idea was to be well turned out without appearing too dressy.

  Davie was as smartly-turned out as was possible for someone who paid no attention to fashion but, even so, he felt like a tinker as he looked at the girl. She was, he thought, simply stunning. Sinclair thought so too, because he was on his feet like he was on springs and inviting her and her pals to join him and Boyle at their table. She looked unsure, but her pals agreed readily. Davie, sitting at a corner table, narrowed his eyes as unease washed over him. He recalled what Bobby had once said about Boyle and Sinclair – that they didn’t chat girls up, they relied on a half brick and a back alley.

  Before she arrived, he had been thinking about peeling away from his pals and heading home. But as he watched her settle at the table, he decided to stay.

  11

  ‘C’MON, FRANKIE BOY – lighten up, for God’s sake…’

  Knight had on his most placating smile as he steered the car through the streets towards the Gallowgate. The roads were quiet at this hour on a damp Saturday night, so they were making fairly good time. But Donovan was not happy with his partner’s extra-curricular activities.

  ‘Jimmy, it’s no on,’ Donovan said, the anger stretching his voice thin. ‘If the boss ever heard of you copping freebies from a tout he’d have your balls in a vice.’

  ‘Ach,’ said Knight dismissively, ‘I’ll bet he’s had a few good ones on the house in his day. He’s no squeaky clean, is Bannatyne.’

  ‘Have some consideration for me then.’

  Knight glanced sideways at his partner. ‘How? Did you want a go at her? You should’ve said, man!’

  Donovan sighed. ‘Naw, I did not want a go at her.’

  ‘Oh, sorry – forgot! You’re happily married, aren’t you? Although to my mind that’s one of they whatchamacallits – an oxymoron…’

  ‘Jimmy, we’re supposed to be working together. Now, I don’t care what you get up to when you’re alone, but I’m telling you – don’t involve me again.’

  There was a silence in the car for a moment, then Knight said softly, ‘Or what, Frankie boy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or you’ll do what? Rat me out? Clype on me to the boss? Cos let me tell you, that wouldn’t be advisable.’

  Donovan gave the other man a long, hard stare. ‘You threatening me, Jimmy?’

  Knight smiled again. ‘Just saying how it is, my friend. You might be fuckin holier-than-thou, but it doesnae do to be telling tales. The Job frowns upon it, if you know what I mean. And you don’t want to be frowned upon, do you, Frankie? Cos you’d soon find yourself up shit creek without the proverbial. Out in the streets alone at night, with no one to back you up. Not a good place to be, son.’

  Donovan fell silent. Most cops were honest – maybe the odd bottle of whisky here and a free meal there – but it was unacceptable for one of their number to stick his neck out and inform on the others. The force was a brotherhood, and brothers stood by each other. They knew who the rotten apples were, but seldom was there anything done about it. Donovan had serious doubts about Knight’s honesty, illicit sex aside, but he was not about to take it any further. Nevertheless, Knight’s threat brought the bile to his throat and he wanted to reach out and smash his smiling, dark good looks into the steering column.

  Donovan was still silent when Knight pulled the car up outside a four storey, red sandstone tenement on London Road, near the site of the Barras street market, and turned the ignition off. Knight nodded towards a ground floor flat and said, ‘This is it – Sibby Colston’s place.’

  Knight had told him everything he needed to know about Sibby Colston. His Christian name was Simpson, but it had been shortened for whatever reason to Sibby, rather than the usual Simmie. It didn’t bother him because he didn’t like the Christian name Simpson, which to him sounded a bit poofy. And the last thing Sibby Colston wanted was to sound poofy. He hated the shirtlifters, the very idea of what they did to each other horrified him. That was why, when he saw Knight and Donovan pulling up in the street, he must have decided that flight was his best option. Donovan had just stepped into the closemouth, Knight at his heels, when he saw a young man pounding towards the rear door and the back court.

  ‘Sibby!’ shouted Knight as they took after him, clattering down the three steps that led to the big door leading to the rear of the tenement. The back courts here were separated by lines of railings about three feet high and Sibby had already propelled himself over the first set when they came out and was haring off into the darkness.

  ‘He’s a nimble wee fucker, I’ll give him that,’ said Knight. ‘Frankie boy – you’re fitter than me. I’ll get the car...’

  Before Donovan could protest, Knight had doubled back and was through the close. Donovan sighed and began to climb the railings, seeing the young man up ahead laying his hands on the next set and springing over them in one bound.

  I’ll never catch him, Donovan thought, but all the same he leaped o
ver the fence and ran on to the next one. Knight was right – he was the fitter of the two and he took the next fence with ease. But Sibby was evidently in better shape, for he was already over the third and last fence and heading towards another back door.

  ‘Sibby!’ Donovan shouted. ‘We only want to talk!’

  But Sibby wasn’t prepared to listen, let alone talk. He pushed open the door and vanished into the back close. Donovan hauled himself over the third fence and shouldered the door open, hearing the young man’s footfalls echoing round the tiled passageway as he headed for the street. Donovan came out of the closemouth and saw him sprinting across the road in the direction of Glasgow Green. If he reached the safety of the park they’d lose him, Donovan knew. There was no sign of Knight or the car, so he took off after the young thief, hoping his wind and legs could keep up. In his mind he was still cursing Knight for his threat and the anger it created helped fuel his exertions.

  Further ahead he saw Sibby running alongside the park, unable to leap over the fence because it was too high. But he seemed to know where he was heading and Donovan wondered if he knew of a hole in the railings somewhere. If Sibby managed to get into the park he’d be away – no way would they catch him, not in the park. Donovan tried to find the strength to pick up the pace.

  Then he was aware of Sibby slowing down and further ahead he saw why – Jimmy Knight was leaning against the fence, a section from which railings had been taken away at some time immemorial. Knight looked as if he was waiting for a bus. Christ, he was even eating a bag of crisps. Sibby slowed and stopped a few feet away, glancing back towards Donovan briefly as he pounded along behind him. Knight straightened and smiled, holding out his arms as if he was going to give him a hug.

  ‘Sibby, Sibby… that’s no way to treat guests.’

  Sibby looked from him to Donovan, who had come to a halt and was panting like an old horse. I need to take better care of myself, Donovan thought.

  ‘I’ve no done nothin,’ Sibby said and Donovan noted that he didn’t sound in the least out of breath.

  ‘Never said you did,’ answered Knight, his tone friendly, which made Sibby shift his feet nervously. Donovan hoped he wasn’t thinking of making another break for it. He didn’t think he had it in him for another sprint. Knight grinned. ‘We only want a word.’

  ‘I don’t know nothin.’

  ‘Ah now – we both know that’s not true, don’t we, son?’ Knight crooked his finger at him. ‘Get in the motor, Sibby.’

  ‘What’s the charge?’

  ‘Told you, just want a word. But if you push it, I’ll think of something.’

  Sibby took him at his word and grudgingly climbed into the back of the car. Donovan, still breathing heavily after his run, glared at Knight as he passed by him on his way to the other rear passenger door.

  ‘How’d you know he’d head for here?’ He said in a low voice as he opened the door.

  Knight smiled, crumpled the now empty crisp bag into a ball and fired it over the fence into the bushes. He walked around the front of the car, not answering until he reached the driver’s door. ‘Sound copper’s instinct, Frankie my boy.’ He opened the door. ‘Something you should work on maybe…’

  Donovan cursed under his breath and gave his partner a dirty look as he climbed into the back seat of the car alongside Sibby. Knight smirked. What he didn’t mention was that when he had tried to lift Sibby once before, the little shit had slipped through his fingers by squeezing through that same gap in the railings. This time he was ready for it.

  Knight swivelled to turn his attention to the young man in the back seat. ‘Now, Sibby, what do you know about the shooting of Norrie Kennedy?’

  Sibby looked surprised. ‘Fuck all, I – ’

  Donovan snarled, ‘Don’t fuck us about, son. We know you know something so be smart. Tell us about your pal who “made his bones” on the killing.’

  Sibby tried to bluff it out, his expression a picture of innocence. ‘Honest, I only know what I’ve read in the papers an that. And what does “made his bones” mean?’

  That was when Donovan snapped. He wasn’t particularly angry at the boy, but Knight had really got his goat. He twisted round in the seat, pulled back his right arm and drove his fist into Sibby’s face just below his right eye. He cried out, his hands shooting up to cover his face. Donovan felt pain jagging up his arm from his knuckles but tried not to show it.

  ‘Just give us a rest from this shit, Sibby,’ snarled Donovan. ‘Who’s the pal and where can we find him?’

  ‘You hit me!’ Sibby’s voice was muffled behind the two hands folded across his face.

  ‘Aye, and I’ll do it again if you don’t cough up sharpish.’

  ‘He hit me!’ Sibby wailed at Knight who just looked back at him with an amused expression. Sibby looked back at Donovan. ‘You’re no supposed to hit me!’

  ‘We do a lot of things we’re no supposed to do, old son,’ said Knight. ‘Now, I think you’d better start talking before my mate here really loses it…’

  Knight flicked his eyes at Donovan and smiled. Donovan didn’t return the smile. He hadn’t meant to hit Sibby, and now he was feeling guilty.

  ‘Sibby, son, there’s a wee job on our books up at Bridgeton Cross – a grocer’s got done over. We’ve still no got anyone for it. It wouldn’t be hard for me to find some witness or other who saw you there…’

  Sibby’s hands came away from his face. ‘But I didnae dae it!’

  ‘I know, son, but no one said life was fair, did they? Now, who’s this pal of yours and where is he now?’

  Donovan knew that Knight was more than capable of fitting the boy up for the robbery. Knight was rock steady when it came to threats – he always followed through – and Sibby would know that. Now, thanks to the earlier punch, Sibby also knew that Donovan was a bit short in the fuse department. As he examined his options, Donovan sensed him reach the conclusion that he was sitting between a rock and a hard case. And because he didn’t want to end up in jail sucking off some big man’s dick, he told them what they wanted to know. Plooky Mary had been right – Sibby burst no problem.

  12

  THE GIRL MANAGED to stay in their company for just over an hour, which in Davie’s book meant she deserved some sort of medal. Handsome they may have been, and they obviously held some kind of appeal for her friends, but Sinclair and Boyle were no charm school graduates. Davie pegged the other two girls as posh birds keen for a bit of East End rough. But the one in the white suit was clearly uninterested. He’d seen Sinclair put his hand on her arm a few times and each time she pulled it away and edged back, putting more space between them. Occasionally she said something and Davie could tell from her expression that it was something cutting. Sinclair, though, didn’t give up. God loves a tryer, thought Davie.

  Rab and Bobby had returned from a tour of the pub to size up the talent and it didn’t take them long to follow Davie’s keen gaze. Rab immediately sussed that Davie’s interest lay in something other than Sinclair and Boyle. He looked at the girl in the white suit and smiled.

  Leaning in to Davie’s ear, he said over the blare of Queen’s ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’, ‘You gonnae go and talk to her or just worship her from afar?’

  Davie glanced at his pal, unsurprised. He shook his head. Bobby, overhearing Rab’s comment, gave the girl an appraising glance, then turned to Davie and grinned approvingly. ‘How no? All she can say is fuck off.’

  Davie shrugged and Bobby smiled. ‘You know your problem, Davie? You’re shy.’

  Davie smiled slightly and shrugged again. Bobby was right, there was no way he was going over to talk to that girl. He didn’t have the words.

  ‘It’d piss Sinclair and Boyle off no end if you went over there and took her away from them,’ said Bobby.

  Rab nudged him. ‘You want me to come with you, Davie?’

  Davie thought about it, then shook his head. ‘No, thanks. She’s out of my league.’

  ‘Tha
t’s a load of shite, man!’ Rab said. ‘Faint heart never won fair fuck. Shakespeare said that.’

  ‘Forget it, Rab…’

  ‘Too late anyway,’ said Bobby, and Davie looked back to see her standing up and looping the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. She said something to her friends and then her eyes spat fire at Sinclair. Davie presumed he had finally stepped too far out of line. She walked away from the table and Davie could sense the bastard’s eyes roaming hungrily over her as she walked towards the stairs.

  ‘You shoulda gone and spoke to her, Davie,’ said Rab. ‘You’ve been looking at her all bloody night. She even saw you…’

  Davie felt worry stabbing at him. ‘Is that why she left?’

  ‘Fuck no! She clocked you ages ago. She’s left because Sinclair and Boyle are fuckwits. And so are you, come to that. She was a looker, right enough, and you never even had the balls to go and ask her if she wanted a drink.’ Rab shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonnae do with you, mate, I really don’t.’

  Davie couldn’t help but agree. Then he saw Sinclair stand up and head for the stairs. He knew he wasn’t going to the toilet and he wasn’t going to the bar. He was going after the girl – and Sinclair was not renowned for his gentlemanly conduct. Davie rose, picking up an empty Coke bottle and tucking it under the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Go for it, tiger,’ Rab said, settling back with a grin.

  Davie scanned the street downstairs for Sinclair and the girl. A few feet away stood Hillhead underground station and he checked to it see if they were at the ticket office but the entranceway, bright and shiny after its major renovation the previous year, was deserted. He looked once again down the street but saw no sign of them, so he turned and trotted up to the corner of Great George Street just in time to see Sinclair vanish to the right into Lilybank Gardens. He sprinted after him.