by Ed James
Rich held up his pint. "Good effort."
"Not sure they want that sort of punter in here, anyway." Cullen took another sip of lager.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Cullen couldn't even bring himself to think about how he felt.
"Where's my phone?" Rich patted his jacket pocket and ran his hands all over the table. "That little fucker stole it!"
***
Rich pointed down the lane. "You go that way!"
Cullen headed past the Voodoo Rooms down towards the Penny Black. He felt the booze hit as he ran, almost stumbling into a bin. He came to the crossroads. Left was the Guildford and Princes Street, right was a dead end.
Fuck it. Right.
He ran along and looked up and down. No trace. He doubled back towards the Guildford Arms. Two bouncers on the front door.
He flashed his warrant card. "Have either of you seen a wee ned run this way?"
They shook their heads. "Sorry, sir. Just you."
Cullen ran back down the lane to where he'd left Rich. He took a left along West Register Street, coming out onto South St Andrew Street.
He looked around. No sign of either of them.
Fuck it. He needed beer.
He walked back along the lane, past the shut Greggs, and went back inside the Cafe Royal. Their table was already taken - a man and a woman. "Excuse me. That's my table."
A man in tweeds scowled at him. "It was empty."
"We were at the toilet." Cullen pointed at the three fresh pints. "Those are our drinks."
"You can squidge up at the end over there."
"Sorry, mate, clear off. I'm not having the best of nights."
He got to his feet and raised his chin. "I shall report you to the bar manager."
Cullen watched them trudge over to the bar as he sat down. He took a long draught of his pint.
The barman shook his head.
Cullen tipped his glass in toast.
"What the fuck are you up to, Skinky?"
Cullen looked up - Tom. "You wouldn't believe it."
"Cheers." Tom sat down, pulling over one of the pints. "Try me."
"Fine. Rich just had his mobile nicked."
"All those little black book numbers." Tom shook his head. "Where's Sharon?"
Cullen stared into his pint glass. "She's not here."
"I can see that. Where is she?"
Rich collapsed into the far end of the booth, heavily out of breath. "Little bastard got away."
Tom pushed a pint over. "The ned who stole your phone?"
"Aye. Fucking hell!"
Cullen still focused on the surface of the lager, the bubbles popping as they reached it. He needed to get home, get some sleep then think about what the fuck he was going to do.
Tom clapped their shoulders. "You boys up for the Liquid Lounge?"
Cullen looked up from his glass. "No."
"Seriously? I've got half of my department out."
"I need to get back, Tom."
"I've got two hundred quid of bar vouchers on me."
***
Cullen threw the Jaegerbomb down his throat. "That's how it's done."
"Good effort, Skinky." Tom slapped his back. "That's your tenth, right?"
"Right." Cullen got up and staggered to the toilet, having to take it really slowly. He glanced at his watch. Half one. He pushed the door open. For some reason, there was a man sitting by the sinks with a selection of aftershaves.
He leaned his head against the wall above the urinal and pissed straight into the hole, causing the yellow cubes to spin around.
"Seen Rich?"
He looked over as Tom staggered in, undoing his flies. "No. He was dancing with that guy, can't remember his name."
Tom snorted. "He's welcome to him."
"Why, were you thinking of firing into him?"
"Hardly, just not seen him for the last twenty minutes."
"He does that." Cullen finished pissing then zipped up and washed his hands. He made his way back to the table, using the wall to brace himself.
Someone had filled their table with Red Bull and double vodkas.
Rich pointed at Cullen. "Come on, Skinky."
Cullen shook his head and downed the one nearest.
One of Tom's pretty colleagues turned her seat round to face him. "You're the policeman, right?"
"That's me. Detective constable. Useless idiot who doesn't catch the criminal."
"I'm sure that's not true." She held out her hand. "It's Becky."
"Pleased to meet you. Scott." Cullen picked up another drink, tipping it in this time. "So what do you do?"
"I work for Tom."
"Right. Is he your boss?"
"Hardly."
"Isn't he senior there?"
"No, it's just a different part of the project, that's all."
"Okay." Cullen took a sip, inspecting Becky as she looked over the dance floor. Tight legs, thin arms, pretty.
"Whooo! I love this song!"
Cullen strained to hear it - he was so pissed it wasn't quite working. Something about a waterfall. "What is it?"
"Feel So Close by Calvin Harris." Becky grabbed Cullen by the hand and led him onto the dance floor.
Saturday
6th October 2012
CHAPTER 23
Cullen squinted in the early morning sunshine, so incongruous in October, as he unlocked the front door. Buses belched out fumes behind him on Portobello High Street. He put his keys into his suit trouser pocket, still worn from the previous day.
Cullen went inside and slowly walked up the stairwell, head thudding from too much booze and far too little sleep.
A flashback hit him, a song about waterfalls. And a girl, dancing with him, jumping on him.
As he entered the flat, he felt a haze around his head, as if every movement was through an invisible body of water. There was nobody up yet. He slumped down in a chair and tossed the newspaper on the table, along with the bag of morning rolls he'd bought. The way his stomach felt, he had no idea when he'd actually be able to get around to eating any of them.
He got out his phone - his battery down to three per cent. The little green calls icon had the number six inset in a red circle, all from Sharon.
It flooded back to him - the alcohol had only temporarily cushioned the blow. He'd have to face up to it sooner or later.
"Morning."
Cullen turned around.
Tom tied up the belt of his dressing gown.
He grunted acknowledgement.
"You had a good night last night, Skinky. How was Becky's flat?"
Cullen screwed his eyes up. "Who's Becky?"
"That girl you were dancing with. She dragged you up to the dance floor at about one and you didn't stop until the lights came up."
Cullen put his head in his hands. All he could remember was waking up dressed in his suit in the flat and feeling like he'd died. He'd no idea how he'd got home, if it was with Tom or twenty minutes earlier. "Shite. What happened?"
Tom laughed. "You were wasted and she started unbuttoning your shirt on the dance floor."
"Oh fuck. Did I do anything?" Much as he hated Sharon right then, Cullen simply didn't want to be a hypocrite.
Tom smiled. "What do you think?"
"I honestly have no idea. I was buckled."
"True, I've not seen you that bad in a long time."
"What happened?"
Tom let the silence grow. "Nothing happened."
Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.
"I got in there and split the pair of you up just as the lights came on. Your tongue was hanging out of your mouth, though. Pretty young girl like that. Twenty-five, just split up with her boyfriend."
"Cheers, mate."
"Hey, it's what friends are for. Besides, the bouncer made me bundle you into a taxi. You were muttering about Sharon all the way home."
"Yeah, well, it's pretty fucked up."
"Not as fucked up as some of the stuff you were say
ing. Who's Gavin?"
Gavin Tait? Cullen swallowed. "Somebody on the case I'm working."
Tom raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. You were going to stab him."
"Ignore me, I was pissed." Cullen rearranged the rolls and paper on the table. "Is Rich back yet?"
"His door's wide open. Guess he got lucky."
"He disappeared about half midnight, didn't he?"
"Aye, after the free booze ran out." Tom looked inside the rolls bag. "He's doing my head in. Never does the dishes, never cleans the bog. In a way, I'm glad you and Sharon have broken up, cos it won't just be me and him left."
Cullen got up and headed to the bathroom. He sat down on the pan, head in his hands. That song was stuck in his head - it had a line about being a big deal. Like he thought he was. He couldn't get the image of the girl dancing with him out of his mind.
The smell of cooking bacon wafted through, making his stomach lurch. He got on his knees, head over the toilet pan. Nothing happened. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the aroma from the kitchen.
His world was collapsing in on itself. His girlfriend was gone, he was the laughing stock at work and he was stuck in this flat again. He had about fifteen grand saved up for a deposit but that wouldn't cut the mustard, maybe a one-bedroom flat in the arse end of Gorgie.
He tried to make himself sick to purge the booze and Red Bull. Nothing happened. He threw cold water over his face and left the bathroom.
No sign of Tom, but the hall stank and smoke fogged the kitchen. He went in and switched on the extractor.
In his bedroom, he took off his suit. The bed looked tempting.
Shit.
He ran back to the bathroom, just managing to catch his sick in the pan. He sat on the floor, head on the porcelain, waiting for the second wave. It didn't come.
He struggled to his feet and went back into the hall, standing in just his pants, shivering despite the heating being up full blast.
The flat door opened.
Rich hurried in. He stopped and looked Cullen up and down. "Not bad, but nothing compared to what I've just left behind."
Blushing, Cullen reached into his bedroom for his dressing gown and put it on. "You pulled, then?"
Rich sat down at the table and grinned. "Yep. Went to CC's with one of Tom's work mates. Danced to Abba and Hot Chip then went back to his flat down on the Shore. Twenty-four years old. I can show that wee laddie a thing or two. Not that he was wee."
Cullen thought about Gavin Tait again - bumping and grinding to Abba in CC's with Tim and Colin. He wondered if Rich and Tait's paths had ever crossed. "Tom had to wrestle some girl he worked with off me."
"Nice work, Skinky. Not long after you break up with Sharon and you're getting in someone else's knickers."
"Hardly, I was totally locked."
Rich laughed. "Scots are like Eskimos with snow. As well as having fifty words for rain, we've got fifty words for being pissed."
Cullen sat down alongside him. The newspaper was still there - this morning's copy of the Argus. The headlines had moved on to some MSPs' expenses but there were a couple of paragraphs at the bottom about the Aitken and Souness case.
Rich tapped the paper. "Who cares about two neds in West Lothian?"
"I have to care."
"They pretty much stab each other all the time anyway."
"Nothing to do with it pushing the story with your byline onto page two?"
Rich grinned. "You're working that case, aren't you?"
"I'm not telling you anything."
"You did ask me if I knew anything about it last night."
"Beer talk." Cullen's belly rumbled - a sure sign the hangover was passing. He scanned the table - the morning rolls had disappeared. Tom. There was no sign of them in the kitchen. A tub of Lurpak sat on the counter, a fork stuck in the middle. On the counter, the grill pan was swimming in bacon fat.
Cullen returned to the table. "Why does he fucking line the grill pan with tinfoil?"
"He's a barbarian." Rich laughed. "I had a go at him about it as well. It saves on washing up, supposedly. Wastes a load of tinfoil is what it does."
"The barbarian has eaten all four morning rolls I bought."
"That's not much of a challenge. They're just air."
"He used a fork to spread them."
"He's not done the dishes since Tuesday and I'm not helping him out."
"Did you get your phone back?"
"No, couldn't even get Daniel's mobile number, had to give him Tom's. Hate having the ball in someone else's court."
Cullen checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Derek Miller at two - the way he was feeling, he needed to give himself extra time to get there. "I'm going for a shower."
"Well, I'm not joining you."
***
The hangover didn't abate until Cullen got hold of his first pint of the day, an ice cold Stella in the Windsor Buffet. He sunk half of it pretty much straight away, feeling the ache in his joints abate slightly and his head start to clear. There wasn't much he could do about the fuzzy vision.
He looked around. The pub was pretty busy, the navy jerseys giving away the fact it was a rugby weekend, autumn internationals or some other fruitless activity.
Still no sign of Derek Miller. He'd give him till quarter past before calling him.
He headed back to the bar to get another pint.
His phone rang. He looked at the display, hoping it was Derek. Sharon. He let it ring out again. He wasn't ready to think about that yet.
"Get us a Peroni, Scotty."
Cullen looked over.
Derek was grinning at him. He was wearing smart clothes for once - shirt and trousers with a decent jacket - and looked almost presentable.
The barman handed over the Stella, already pouring the Peroni.
"I like this place." Derek loosened off his jacket, untying his Hibs scarf. "Nice atmosphere and it never gets busy without you still being able to get a seat." He also had a black eye.
"It's not bad." Cullen didn't want to know where he got the black eye from. Scratch that - he did. "What's up with the eye?"
"Got mugged. This double-dip recession, man."
"Did you report it to the police?"
"They only got twenty quid, didn't seem worth it."
Cullen paid for their beer then headed back to his table. "You've obviously still got that job, then?"
Derek cleared his throat. "Aye. Got a proper job now. The old man got us into sales at Standard Life. Earn a decent wedge. Got myself a room in a flat on Easter Road."
"Well done." Cullen tilted the second pint.
"You're looking a bit rough there, Scotty. Out last night?"
"Something like that. Had a few after work." Telling Derek Miller about his break-up from Sharon didn't seem like a great idea.
"Got a big sesh tonight. Meeting up with some boys on George Street after the game. Wonder what time the bouncers will chuck me out of Tiger Lily, eh?"
Cullen chuckled. "Rather you than me."
"You're welcome to come along."
"We'll see, I'm feeling a bit tender."
***
Leigh Griffiths stepped up and battered the penalty home. Two nil to Hibs.
Cullen sat still while everyone around him exploded to their feet.
They had decent seats in front of the goal Hibs traditionally attacked after the break. Cullen couldn't remember if it had been up or down the slope back in the day, but he figured they'd play uphill against a tired opposition.
Cullen checked his phone as the crowd still stood - Aberdeen had just equalised away to Kilmarnock. He'd been glancing at the BBC Sport website every minute or two, hoping for it.
He got a notification as he was watching the scores - Jim Turnbull had sent another tweet. Looking to obtain buy-in from public stakeholders at this evening's Community Interlock session. Cullen made a note to add 'interlock' to buzzword bingo.
"You not watching?" said Derek.
"Sorr
y. Bad habit." Cullen pocketed his phone. "When I used to go to Aberdeen matches with my old man, there was always some guy with a radio nearby who knew if Rangers had gone ahead or United had a man sent off. Nowadays, everybody's got their mobiles out."
"You tweeting, Scotty?"
"A bit."
"Who follows you?"
"No idea." Seventeen followers. Tom, Rich, Buxton and a few other coppers. A local crime author, though the book he was spamming hadn't interested Cullen. Aside from the annual Rankin, he wasn't much of a reader and, besides, he wasn't likely to buy a Kindle. "What about you?"
"Not really. Not my bag."
Cullen cleared his throat. "Decent match, though I don't think much of Dundee."
"First Division team. Wouldn't be here if it weren't for the Hun getting nailed."
"True." Cullen nodded. "Still, you lot will be top of the league till Celtic play."
"Aye, there's that. Got the Jambos, haven't they? Should be a walkover for them, Hearts are as fucked as the other cousins of William."
Cullen laughed. "I love that phrase."
Derek pointed to the pitch. "We'll keep it up till Christmas then you just watch us plummet."
Cullen watched him, eyes following the ball as it was hoofed from one end of the pitch to the other, before Hibs suddenly started passing it up the left channel. The black eye looked severe to Cullen. "You sure you got that from a mugging?"
"Still sure." Derek briefly stood up then sat down again.
"I'm happy to listen."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"Does that mean you didn't get mugged?"
"No, it means the next time someone batters me, I've got a friendly policeman to go to."
Cullen raised his eyebrows. "I believe you." He didn't.
A crunching tackle brought the Hibs physio on, stopping play for a few minutes.
Derek glanced at his phone then at Cullen. "You fancy coming out with us tonight?"
Cullen was torn - he didn't exactly have much on. He clearly wasn't going to the cinema with Sharon. "Who are you meeting?"