by Gordon Brown
I had a local taxi number on my mobile and I gave them a call before dipping back behind the house to wait.
Ten minutes later a car turned up and I walked out as if I had just left the back door. If the driver knew the occupants he didn’t ask or couldn’t care. I told him to head for Glasgow and I sat back to think.
I had no place to go. No one to turn to. Martin’s disappearance could mean that Dupree had found out he was harbouring me and that was that for Mr Sketchmore. The hostel was a maybe until I realised that there might be a second goon patrol waiting for me at my old haunt.
The car cruised into the outskirts of the city and the driver asked where in Glasgow.
‘The Gorbals.’
I told the driver the street I wanted and I wasn’t even sure that it still existed. The car soon swung into the road and, to my amazement, familiar tenements sprang up on both sides. I showed the taxi driver which close to stop at and paid him from my ever-dwindling supply of cash.
Standing on the pavement, bag in hand, I realised this was the long shot of all long shots but desperate people do desperate things.
I walked into the close, climbed the stairs to the second floor and stood in front of a large storm door. There was no nameplate. I rang the bell and waited. I was about to hit it for the second time when I heard movement inside.
The inner door opened and the left hand storm door pulled back an inch. I waved sheepishly at the crack and the door closed. A second later and the sound of bolts being withdrawn scraped around the landing. The door opened and a woman in a badly fitting dressing gown looked out.
‘Hi Rachel.’
‘Fuck.’
The awkwardness stretched for a while before she stepped back and let me in. She looked good, better than she had when I last saw her in the prison visiting room. I wondered if she thought the same about me.
‘I take it you want a bed?’
I nodded and she opened the first door on the left.
‘In there! We’ll talk in the morning. I need my sleep. I have to work.’
With that she closed the door and left me. I looked at the room. Well kept. A single bed. Nice carpet. Fresh wallpaper and the various bits and bobs around the place suggested that Rachel wasn’t scraping by.
I kicked off my clothes, dropped them in a bundle next to my bag and slipped into the bed.
I hated using the digital recorder at first and I’ve no idea why I keep doing it. I don’t expect anyone to listen to it but I don’t care. Somehow it seems to keep things in order despite the craziness around me. Sometimes I just whizz the thing back to a conversation I recorded or a little rant from myself and find a little oasis at the end of the day — when I’m in the mood. An oasis that lets me mull over my life in bite sized chunks.
It’s also useful to flick back through time and get a sense of proportion over circumstances. It’s anything but neat and at times sounds like someone spinning an FM dial and recording the output. But it is important to me.
My life is a long way from where I expected it to be at my age. My prospects are shot. I’m a wanted man on the run with little or no one to turn to and I have no resources to fall back on. I thought the low points in my life were the first day in prison or the first day in the hostel. I was wrong. This is far worse.
At least in prison I had some sort of future. Bide my time and I would get out. In the hostel I had the same feeling but now I can’t see the future. I can’t see a way out of this. I can see my death and somehow that seems less important than it should. The alternative is living in fear. Forever on the run. Begging for food. Sleeping rough.
Maybe I could get back on my feet but would Dupree let me?
Surely he would be waiting, a spectre waiting in the shadows. What kind of life would that be? Maybe death is not such a bad option.
Maybe?
Chapter 58
Tuesday August 12 ^th 2008
The conversation with Rachel started as well as could be expected. It was shit. I mean what did I expect? Apart from the brief meeting in prison, when she handed me the letter, I’d had no contact with her from the day I crapped on her and Martin. She had said nothing during the meet in prison but she had plenty to say this morning.
I woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke. I dressed and followed the trail to the living room. Like the bedroom it was neat, tidy and well furnished.
Rachel sat at a small table next to the main window with a cup of coffee in front of her and a ciggie hanging from her left hand. She was dressed in a neat two piece suit with a crisp white blouse and a pair of smart dark shoes with a low heel. The skirt showed off enough leg to tell me she was keeping herself in shape.
She looked up when I entered.
‘I leave for work in half an hour,’ she said. ‘This had better be good.’
I hadn’t planned this conversation and I felt at a loss. Should I tell her everything, nothing or something? Could I trust her? I started by giving her a little potted history about me since prison but she cut me off.
‘Stow it. Martin’s told me it all.’
Now that was a revelation. Martin hadn’t mentioned Rachel since we met up again. I assumed it was over, but clearly it wasn’t.
‘He says you’re trouble.’
Thanks Martin.
‘I can only assume you’re here because he’s thrown you out. So I’ll tell it as it is and then you leave.’
She took another drag.
‘I’m doing ok. I’m off the game and have been for nearly two years. I’ve got a nice little job as a sales rep for a lingerie firm. I’ve put enough cash away to own this place and I don’t need any shite in my life. So here is how it is going to go down. When I leave you leave. You move on and don’t come back. I ain’t scared of you anymore. Martin has told me where you’re at in life and I can’t say I’m sorry. You caused a lot of pain, and hurt a lot of people. In my view God is getting even with you. So I don’t expect to see you again. If I do, I make a call to the police and tell them you are stalking me.
Is that clear? Crystal clear?’
Not much you can say to that really. I nodded and opened my mouth to say something. She didn’t let me get a word out.
‘I’m not giving you any cash. So don’t ask.’
Psychic or what.
‘Pack up your stuff and go.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I didn’t and went back to the bedroom to pack up. A wash and brush up in the neat and tidy toilet and I was ready to go. The problem was where?
I had a thought and went back to see Rachel.
‘When did you last see Martin?’
‘None of your business — now shift.’
‘Only,’ I went on, ‘I haven’t seen him since Thursday. He hasn’t been back at his house.’
She looked away and reached for another cigarette.
‘I haven’t seen him since Monday. He phoned Tuesday night but he was in a bad mood.’
‘I got back mid week.’ I avoided saying from where. ‘He could have been out when I got in but he certainly hasn’t been there since.’
She sat down and lit up.
‘Martin’s been uptight for months now. A real pain in the tits!’
Rachel picked up her mobile from the mantelpiece and hit a few buttons.
‘Answer machine’ she said after a few seconds. ‘No point leaving a message. He never returns the call.’
It occurred to me that Martin had more than one mobile. The number I had didn’t have an answer machine. The clock chimed the half hour and I expected Rachel to move but she sat, drawing in the smoke, staring at the window.
‘What made you come back?’ she asked.
‘Where else would I go? You know the hole I’m in.’
‘Kind of. Martin said you’re in the mire with some French boy. Is that true?’
‘In a way.’
‘So what will you do now?’
‘Back to the hostel and see if they will give me a bed for a while.
After that I’ve no idea.’
She pulled in another lungful and exhaled slowly.
‘Are you skint?’
‘As a cow after a butcher is finished with it.’
She stubbed out the cigarette and stood up.
‘Do you think Martin is in trouble?’
‘I don’t know. Were you and him an item?’
‘None of your business.’
She reached for another cigarette. She had the habit bad or she was nervous. It was hard to tell which.
‘We used to be. Not long after you turned up on the scene,’ she said. ‘At first he was just a good customer. In a way he probably paid for a fair chunk of this flat. Then things changed. I didn’t want to charge and he didn’t want to pay. He didn’t seem to mind that other guys saw me and for a while things went along well. Then he upped sticks and moved south. Not a word. One day he was here — next, all I get is static. I didn’t see him for the best part of ten years and then one day he rolls up at my door and wants to carry on as if he had never left.’
‘When was this?’
‘Four years ago. I told him that I wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t take no for an answer at first and even tried to pay me, but I held firm. He vanished again only to reappear the week before I came to see you.’
She stopped and went back to the cigarette. I waited for her to continue and risked sitting on the settee.
‘He appeared again only this time he wasn’t interested in me. He hands me a letter and says he needs it delivered to you. He puts a thousand pounds on the table and a scrap of paper with the prison name on it. So I do the good girl thing. After all a grand is a grand.’
A thousand pounds? It seemed a hell of a lot for a small errand.
‘But you are back with him?’ I said.
‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. He started pestering me again. Only this time he did it in nice way. He sent flowers. He called, but now he was as polite as I had ever known him to be. Then one night he turned up in a limo. Corny or what. He had two tickets to the Rod Stewart concert at Hampden. He knows I’m a massive fan and the tickets came with a meet and greet with Rod. How could I say no?
He was a changed man. After a great evening he kissed me on the cheek and left. A week later and we were back on again.’
‘But he hasn’t phoned since Tuesday.’
‘Not a word.’
I looked at the clock and so did Rachel but she showed no sign of moving.
‘Is your work far?’
‘Thirty yards. I rep in a car. A Blue Mondeo. My first call isn’t until ten and it’s only a mile away. Fancy a cup of tea.’
I nodded and she vanished into the kitchen. I had no idea why the change in attitude. Like Maria’s change of mind in Spain, women seemed a mystery to me at the moment.
I got up and went to the window. The morning was coming on strong and it looked like the sun was going to be a winner. I spotted Rachel’s blue Mondeo and for a split second I saw a figure to the left of the car before he disappeared round the corner.
On gut feel I stepped back from the window, counted to thirty and stepped back again. The figure was there and, when I reappeared, he bolted. I recognised him and my heart froze. It was one of the goon patrol. How the hell did they find me here?
I did my party trick again and caught him out again. Not the brightest light-bulb in the box. Rachel came back in with two mugs of tea.
‘I need to go,’ I said.
‘Fuck me. One minute I’m throwing you out and you hang around like a wet puppy. I make you a tea and you want to go. Where to — the hostel?’
‘Rachel you don’t need me in your life. I’m trouble and at the moment I’m more nonsense than I’m worth. I didn’t mean for you to get mixed up in this. I just needed a bed for a night and your name popped into my head.’
‘Get me mixed up in what. Are you telling me that there’s more to you turning up than just looking for a bed?’
I dropped my head a little.
‘You don’t need to know.’
But she did. If the goon patrol really wanted me and I did a runner they might decide to use Rachel as a ‘punch and tell’ machine to find where I had gone.
‘There are two men after me. At least I think there are two. There could be more.’
‘And?’
‘And one of them is standing at the corner of your street doing a crap job of pretending he’s not there.’
She crossed to the window and looked out.
‘Black jacket and blue shirt with greasy hair?’
‘That’s him.’
‘You brought them to my house?’
‘Not deliberately. I didn’t know where I was going last night.’
‘So they followed you.’
‘No. I checked. I made sure I wasn’t being followed before I told the taxi driver where I was going.’
I told her the story of last night and she laughed.
‘And you didn’t think that they might check with the local taxi firms for any pick ups?’
‘It ain’t that easy. They don’t just hand out that sort of info to anyone. Plus I left from a strange address.’
‘Big is it? Eaglesham? Do they have a lot of taxi pick ups at two o’clock on a Tuesday morning?’
‘But they would need to have an ‘in’ with the firm.’
‘Or they just lean on the controller. What would you rather do? Give out a fare’s details or have your head caved in? Come on, you did it all the time in the old days.’
She could be right. She was probably right.
‘So why not break in here and take care of me?’
‘Maybe they only just found out where you are. Maybe they didn’t want a witness. I don’t know. Who are they?’
A good question. I really didn’t want to go into the whole story but it looked like she was in this, one way or the other.
‘You know the French man that Martin said I was in trouble with. Well I think they are working for him.’
‘And is Frenchie bad news?’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Brilliant. So now I’m in the crap with you. If you fuck off do you think they are going to let me go freely about my business without answering a few questions?’
I shook my head.
‘Genius. Fucking genius. I said you were bad news and I was right on the money. Shit.’
She stubbed out the cigarette, gulped the hot tea as if it was cold and lit another cigarette.
‘This is not fucking good. Do you think they will risk coming in here?’
‘Maybe. After all they had no qualms about breaking into Martin’s house last night. For all they knew he could have been at home.’
Rachel sat down at the window table and looked out and said, ‘He’s still there.’
‘We need to go. He’s not that stupid that he doesn’t know he’s been spotted. I take it we can get out the rear and through the back green?’
‘Sure and then what? You piss off and I wait for a knock. Good thinking, batman.’
‘Well we can’t stay here.’
‘Why not? We wait on them, I hand you over and I’m home free. I would say that sounds about right for me.’
‘Dream on. They’re not going to lift me, or worse kill me, and let you hang around to ID them. The French man is not stupid. Like it or lump it we are in this together for a while.’
‘I’m not in anything with anyone.’
I said nothing and I saw resignation cross her face. I had seen that look on a hundred people’s faces when they realised there was no way out.
‘I have an idea,’ I said ‘I need time to sort this out. If I can square it with the French man then you are off the hook. I just need space to figure out how. Once I’m sorted then you are sorted.’
‘And if they catch us? Then what?’
‘You are no worse off than you are right now.’
She cracked another cigarette and stood up. I watched her pace around the room and wished
she would just get on with making the only bloody decision that she had available.
She walked up to me.
‘OK. We leave and then you sort out your shit. If you don’t then I’m going to take things into my own hands. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.’
‘We need my car. It’s the only transport I have and we won’t get far on the bus.’
She paced some more.
‘I have an idea how to get to it without any violence’.
Rachel had hidden talents and, as she told me what to do, I smiled thinking that she would have made a fine addition to my team in the old days.
She rummaged in the kitchen and packed some stuff under her coat. We exited the house and made our way to the ground floor. Rachel opened the door to the back green and slipped out of sight. I made for the front close.
I emerged into a warm day. Nice day to die I thought.
The goon was standing at the corner and when he saw me he stiffened. I walked towards him, but kept to the other side of the road. Twenty yards along the pavement I stopped. He stared at me and then his mate joined him. I walked another few feet and then a few more. They started to cross the road and I stopped again.
When they were half way across I lifted my hand and, with a flourish, flicked them a V. They went into overdrive and sprinted to the pavement. I turned and showed them my heels. At Rachel’s close I dived in and ran to the bottom of the stairs and stopped.
The goons barrelled in to the close and saw me. I put leather to concrete and headed out the door to the back green and they followed.
As I ran into the space behind the tenement I hung a sharp left and dropped to the ground. A clothes rope was lying next to the wall and I picked it up, hauling it towards me. With Rachel at the other end the rope was pulled tight about two feet off the ground.
The goon patrol hit the rope at full speed and my palm picked up a rope burn as the material was dragged through my hand. The men went down and Rachel was up and heading for the door. I joined her, but one of the goons was quick and reached out — grabbing my foot. I twisted but he held tight. I shouted out and Rachel turned to see what was going on.