by Alan Parks
He stood up, started walking in that direction. The shape seemed to move again. He strained his eyes, cursed the rain. He thought it was a man, but it was hard to tell if it was real or just the shifting of the shadows across the rain. Only one way to find out. He started running. Was about fifty yards away when he suddenly worked out what it was. It was a fountain, a huge fountain about the height of a double-decker bus.
He could hear shouting now, and it was coming from there. Someone screamed ‘No!’ in a terrified voice, and then there was the noise of splashing, a scream.
He started running faster, got down to the bottom of the hill, ran onto the concrete surrounding the fountain, tried to stop and skidded in a puddle. He went down hard, banging his head on the ground. He lay there for a minute, head feeling like someone had got a good kick into it. Got up on his hands and knees, then pulled himself upright using the low wall.
There was someone on the central tower, between the columns. Looked like he was on something, a rug or a pile of clothes. A rumble, another flash illuminated the park in a silvery light and he saw who it was.
Wee Tam was standing there. Grinning. It wasn’t a rug he was standing on, it was a body. Laura Murray’s body.
McCoy stepped into the pool.
‘Stop there, McCoy,’ said Wee Tam, drawing back his leg and stamping on the body beneath him. There was a moan and Laura doubled up. ‘She’s no dead yet, but she will be if you come any closer.’
McCoy stopped, could make out the glint of a blade in Wee Tam’s left hand.
‘So why don’t you stay exactly where you are.’
McCoy stood there, knee deep in the water, looking up at him, unsure what to do next.
‘You’ve interrupted me, McCoy. I was busy.’ Wee Tam grinned again. ‘Was almost done, in fact.’
He held the knife up to the light, then used it to scratch at the line of stitches running down his face. Blood ran down, red path on his wet shirt.
‘Thought it was about time I finished what I started.’ He giggled.
Laura started to moan again, tried to get out from under Wee Tam’s foot. She looked over at McCoy, pale face terrified in the moonlight. ‘Harry, help me, please.’
‘Let her go, Tam, come on,’ said McCoy. ‘Just do it, son.’
Wee Tam looked down at Laura. ‘Everybody thinks they can tell me what to do. Always have. You, my mum, Alec Page. All of you think I’m just some wee prick who can’t run with the big boys. Even she thought that.’
He stamped on Laura and she moaned.
‘Made it clear I wasn’t good enough for someone like her.’ He crouched down, pulled Laura’s head up by her hair. ‘Not so stuck up now, though, are you?’
Laura looked up at him with terror.
‘Bet you’ve changed your tune now, bet you’d be happy to fuck me now, bet you’d do anything I asked, eh?’
He looked up at the sky, rain and blood pouring down his face.
‘Tam, don’t do this,’ said McCoy. ‘Please, I’m begging you, it’s not . . .’
Tam bent over, wrapped his arm around Laura’s neck and pulled her up, holding her into him. Held the knife to her stomach.
McCoy was panicking now, didn’t know what he could do, how he could stop him. Shouted at him. ‘Tam, Jesus Christ, she’s just a wee girl!’
Laura was putting up a struggle, looking over at McCoy with wild eyes.
Tam tightened the arm around her neck and the fight gradually went out of her. She slumped against him, head back against his body, just trying to breathe through the choke hold.
‘Chit chat’s over, McCoy.’ Wee Tam held the sharpened blade to her neck. ‘Time for you to fuck off.’
McCoy started wading through the water towards him.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Tam,’ he said. ‘Not a fucking chance. Put her down.’
‘I don’t think so, McCoy,’ said Wee Tam and slowly pushed the blade into Laura’s shoulder. She screamed, tried to struggle, realised that was making it worse and started sobbing. Wee Tam pulled the stiletto out and held it up, blood running down the blade onto his hand.
‘One more step, McCoy, and I’ll put it in her fucking neck while you watch. Now, fuck off. I mean it.’
McCoy started to back away, careful not to fall over in the water. Was going to try to keep him talking. ‘Just leave her, Tam, you’ve done enough. Just leave her now. You can get away.’
Wee Tam held the blade up at her neck again and Laura screamed.
‘I mean it, Harry, get tae fuck, I’ve work to do.’
McCoy held his hands up and climbed out the bowl of the fountain. Started backing up the path, water pouring off him, keeping his eyes on Tam, trying to buy time. Wondered what was going on with Wattie. If he was here, maybe the two of them could rush him. Chances were he’d manage to stab Laura before they got within ten yards of him.
‘Stay calm, Tam. There’s still a way out of this,’ he shouted.
Wee Tam looked at him. Said it slowly and clearly. Like he meant it. ‘Not for me, there’s not.’
And then he pushed Laura off the base of the column and she plunged six feet into the water below. She landed with a cry, stood up and tried to run, but it was no use. Tam jumped down after her and was on her in a second. He punched her in the back of the head and she fell head first into the water. He reached down, pulled her head and shoulders out the water and she spluttered, coughing up water. Another lightning strike. Wee Tam standing there, grin on his face, knee deep in the water, holding Laura by the hair in his right hand, the blade in his left.
‘Tam, for fuck sake!’ shouted McCoy.
And that’s when he saw a figure coming down the path behind the fountain, weaving, sticking to the shadows, making its way towards them. Wattie at last. He felt a surge of hope. If he could keep Tam talking for a couple of minutes, Wattie could maybe grab him from behind.
‘Tam, I can get you out of this, you just need to—’
Another booming thunderclap and then a lightning flash. And in that flash he saw it wasn’t Wattie at all. It was Raeburn. His heart sank. Must be still following him, waiting for his moment to have a go at him.
‘Can you fuck, Harry! You think I’m fucking stupid?’ shouted Wee Tam, face contorted in fury. ‘Get going! Now! Or I swear I’ll fucking carve her up!’
That’s when Raeburn appeared from behind the central post of the fountain and grabbed him.
McCoy started running. Tam dropped Laura and spun around, batted Raeburn aside and drew the blade down and across his chest. Raeburn stopped, looked down as his white shirt split and the blood started flowing. He put his hand to the cut and collapsed into the water. Tam turned back just as McCoy jumped off the edge of the fountain and threw himself at him.
He felt the knife go through his shoulder first, didn’t feel spiky or like a cut, it felt like someone hitting him with a sledgehammer. Then he felt his head collide with Tam’s and they both went down into the water.
Both struggled up at the same time, coughing and spluttering, and McCoy brought his hands up, tried to get them round Tam’s neck. Just as he did he slipped on the slimy floor of the fountain and fell backwards, pulling Tam down on top of him. He screamed as Tam fell onto the knife sticking out his shoulder, pushed it in another few inches. A wave of white-hot pain hit McCoy. Felt like he was going to pass out. He opened his mouth to scream and took in a mouthful of water.
Wee Tam was properly on top of him now, hands around his neck. McCoy tried to get his up, tried to pull Tam’s hands off, knock them aside, anything, but it was useless. Tam had the weight advantage. He kept trying, but he didn’t seem to have any real strength in his arms any more. He was beginning to see stars, starting to feel pleasantly warm instead of cold. He could make out Tam’s face above him – grimacing, neck all cords, straining to hold him down, to strangle the life out of him.
McCoy inched his hand along his shoulder, feeling for the knife. He touched it and the vibration sent another wave o
f pain through his body. He couldn’t hear anything now, just rushing in his ears, vision getting blurry. One last chance. He had to take it before it was too late. He said a prayer to a god he didn’t believe in, gripped the knife handle and pulled as hard as he could.
The pain was unbelievable, twice as bad as it was going in. He felt the blade come out, felt the rush of hot blood against his cold skin. He moved his hand down his body to stomach level, twisted the knife up and pushed up with all his might.
There was another gush of warmth and the pressure on his neck slowly released. Tam fell down on top of him, face falling into his neck. McCoy managed to roll out from under him and sat up, trying to get some air into his lungs.
He looked up. Raeburn was standing on the path, Laura laid out at his feet.
‘Is she dead?’ McCoy said, trying to get up.
Raeburn looked up at him and shook his head. ‘She’s alive. I think she’s unconscious.’
McCoy nodded, sat down in the water, let the rain fall on him, tried to get his breath back. He looked round and saw Tam floating beside him, red cloud around him.
‘Never thought I’d say this, but thank Christ you were here, Raeburn,’ he said.
Raeburn walked towards the fountain, climbed over the side and dropped into the knee-deep water.
‘I think I’m okay,’ said McCoy. He touched the skin around his wound, groaned as more blood flowed out. ‘It hurts like fuck, though.’
He looked up and Raeburn was standing over Tam. He knelt down, put his hands round the knife sticking out his stomach and pulled.
McCoy winced again. ‘Christ, Raeburn, you should leave that in. It’s evidence.’
Raeburn held the knife up, looked at it. Then he looked over at McCoy and smiled. ‘Knew if I bided my time something would come up,’ he said. ‘Just didn’t think it would be this easy.’
McCoy’s stomach suddenly dropped. ‘What do you mean? What you on about?’ Tried to stand up but he was too weak.
Raeburn waded towards him through the water. ‘You and Wee Tam. A fight to the death. He stabbed you, you stabbed him, then he came at you again, managed to stab you in the lung just before he died.’
‘Raeburn . . .’
‘Both of you dead. I live to tell the tale. How I discovered the bodies, gave poor Laura the kiss of life. Looks like I’m going to be back in the good books, eh?’
Raeburn advanced towards him, blade out in front. McCoy tried to stand up again but he’d lost too much blood, was too weak, couldn’t even kneel. He slumped down again.
‘You’re getting off anyway, Raeburn,’ he said. ‘Murray told me. You don’t have to do this.’ And then he laughed. Even though it was true, it sounded like the lamest excuse to get him to back off.
Raeburn was getting closer now. All McCoy could do was watch. He closed his eyes, held his face up to the sky, let the rain pelt down on him. Was definitely feeling warmer now. Thought about his son, how happy he’d been when he was born, how he’d have liked to see Angela again, hold her hand.
‘Raeburn! Get the fuck away!’
He opened his eyes and Wattie was climbing over the fountain edge. Raeburn turned just in time for Wattie to punch him in the face. He went down and Wattie was on top of him.
McCoy tried to stand up, to say something but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hear anything any more. All he could see were the shadowy outlines of two figures fighting, rolling round in the water, then he fell back and felt the cold water close over him . . .
22nd September 1973
Two months later
McCoy walked out the kitchen and into the garden. Cooper was sitting on a chair by the wooden table, Daily Record folded at the sports pages in front of him. He looked up.
‘You’re out, then?’ he said.
McCoy nodded, eased himself down into the other chair, tried not to grimace too much.
‘You’re like a bloody old man,’ said Cooper.
‘I feel like one,’ said McCoy. ‘Still bloody hurts.’
He nodded over to the hulking figure at the back of the garden. ‘What’s Jumbo doing?’
‘Topping the hydrangeas,’ said Cooper.
‘What’s that?’ asked McCoy, getting his fags out.
‘No idea,’ said Cooper. ‘But he’s been at it all day.’
They watched Jumbo for a while, scissors in hand, tongue out in concentration. There was the first hint of autumn in the air, a sharpness, a warning of the cold air to come. Might be the last time they would be sitting out in the garden this year.
‘I still can’t believe you’ve got a garden,’ said McCoy, lighting up. ‘Not very gangland boss, is it?’
‘Aye well, it’s not all I’ve got,’ said Cooper. ‘That came this morning.’
He nodded at an envelope on the table.
McCoy peered at it. American stamp.
‘From Angela,’ said Cooper.
‘My Angela?’ asked McCoy, surprised.
‘No,’ said Cooper, ‘some other bloody Angela we know who fucked off to America. Who’d you think?’
‘Sorry,’ said McCoy. ‘What does it say?’
‘Have a look for yourself,’ said Cooper.
McCoy picked up the letter, grimaced again. Knife wound from Wee Tam was still bothering him; would do for another couple of months, according to the hospital. He slipped the letter out the envelope, started to read.
Hi Stevie,
Bet I’m the last person you expected to hear from!!
I’m sorry I took the money but I needed it for a few weeks. I’ve paid it back into the slush account the accountant has. Should be with you any day. Destroy the photos, they were the only copies, I promise. Sorry I messed you about. Hope we’re okay.
Angela
McCoy put it down on the table.
‘Is she?’ he asked.
Cooper shrugged. ‘Maybe. She’s in America, probably never see her again.’
McCoy nodded. Had no real idea whether Cooper meant it or not. What Angela had done couldn’t be undone, even if she had paid the money back. People like Cooper lived by their reputations. Angela’s only real hope was that just he and Cooper knew she’d taken the money; any more public than that and justice would have to be seen to be done.
Cooper stood up. ‘You know what’s really good for the pain of being stabbed?’ he said.
‘Smack?’ asked McCoy.
Cooper grinned. ‘Smart arse. Getting pished. Come on, I’m feeling generous, I’ll even go to that shithole of yours, the Victoria.’
‘Not my shithole,’ said McCoy, struggling to get up. ‘Everybody in Partick’s shithole. You buying?’
Cooper nodded. ‘Why not? Looks like I’m in the money.’
ATLANTIC PRESS RELEASE
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
FROM: BOB POLONTZ
October 1st 1973
The Rolling Stones are pleased to announce the release of a lost classic. In collaboration with Bobby March Snr. and Angela Burton and Ellie Cohen of AC Management they will release the recordings made on the second day of Bobby March’s audition for the place of Rolling Stones guitarist. Famously referred to as “The best version of The Stones I ever played in” by Keith Richards, “DAY TWO” contains ten tracks. It will be released on December 1st.
Jumping Jack Flash
Blood Red Wine
Ventilator Blues
Sympathy for the Devil
Street Fighting Man
Maybeleen
Soul Survivor
Jiving Sister Annie
Brown Sugar
Sway
Rolling Stones Records would also like to announce the signing of Glasgow band The Holy Fire to an exclusive world-wide deal. The band, consisting of Jake Scott, Davey Webb, Mitch Rae and Andy Lester will release their first single, “Mr Crowley,” in the New Year. World-wide representation by Angela Burton and Ellie Cohen of AC Management, New York.
For further information, please call 01-434-1423.
P
eace and Love
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Francis Bickmore, Jamie Norman and all at Canongate. Thanks to Tom Witcomb, Isobel Dixon and all at Blake Friedmann. Thanks for the expert advice to Alex Malone, Stephen Fox, Damian Armstrong, Francis McKee, Alex H.N. Gilbert, Derek MacKillop, John Niven, Stephanie Nash, Anthony Michael, Debs Warner, Alison Rae, Peter Simpson and all at the Mitchell Library.
Full disclosure, I moved the date of Allen Ginsberg’s appearance by a few days. All other inaccuracies are unintentional. And my fault.
FIND OUT WHERE IT ALL BEGAN . . .
‘So noir that he makes most other Scottish cops seem light grey’
The Times
‘Pitch-black . . . with an emotional heart that’s hard to ignore’
Daily Mail