by Jack Dickson
It was the truth, and he knew it.
Grudges ...
The thought came from nowhere, unwanted in its sudden clarity. As the arresting officer, he’d only been doing his job. Mhairi’s betrayal had been rewarded by the arc of a Stanley knife.
How far did a Johnstone-grudge extend – through sister ...
... to brother? Had Neil been intimidating Paul, more punishment by proxy for Mhairi?
“Sure ye canny put names tae faces? Ah’ll gie ye as much protection as ah ...”
“Did ye offer protection tae McGhee?” The thought formed in his brain, tripped from his lips seconds later.
Exasperation. “Whit ye talkin’ aboot?”
“Ye ken there’s old scores tae be settled, between me and Johnstone – an’ ye must ken aboot McGhee’s sister an’ her part in puttin’ Johnstone in here.” In his grip, the water shivered.
Ian Dalgleish turned to the filing cabinet, opened a drawer. “Whit wis the name again?”
Jas frowned at a broad, grey back. “McGhee ... Paul McGhee – in fur possession, got early release ...”
“Twenty-seventh o’ September ...” The sentence ended for him. Turning. Folder lowered, gunmetal eyes raised. “... C-Hall. That him?”
“Aye – wis he Hadrian’s grass?”
Eyebrow raised.
“Wis Paul McGhee battin’ fur both sides?”
File closed, returned to cabinet. “The snitch system ainly works wi’ long-termers, – you should ken that.”
He placed the glass of water on the desk and began to collect upturned chessmen. Grey legs edged into his line of vision. Jas looked up at the ramrod figure.
“Dae yersel’ a favour: forget aboot this ... McGhee – an’ try an’ keep oota Johnstone’s way.”
Jas stood up. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
“He’s ...” Eyes on his swollen face. “... made his point. Keep yer head doon, an’ this’ll be the end of it.”
He stared. “So Paul wisney gettin’ ony hassle fae Johnstone?”
Pause. “McGhee’s oot, noo ...” Thoughtful. “..an’ Johnstone’s got – what, three brothers?” Gunmetal stared back.
Jas considered the implication, watched ex-sergeant Dalgleish do the same..
Then the eyes looked beyond him. “Hadrian were aware o’ the ... relationship between McGhee an’ Johnstone, but it seemed amicable enough an ...”
“Whit relationship?” The word echoed in his head.
The question ignored. “If ye won’t identify faces, there’s no’ much more ah can do ...” Large fingers pressed a small button on the desk.
Behind, sounds of a door opening.
“... want tae take the day aff cleaning-duties? Git some rest?“
“Whit relationship?”
Ian Dalgleish frowned. “Ah’ve no’ got time fur aw’ this, Anderson – dae ya want the day aff or no ?” Impatient – and back on the opposite side of the fence, with a second Hadrian-presence now in the doorway.
Frustration tingled on his skin. Jas sighed, remembering the reason he had taken duties in the first place. And what went through his mind when it wasn’t otherwise occupied. “Ah’ll keep on the move.”
Tight smile, then a nod beyond him. Another voice:
“Come on, Anderson ...”
Flanked by Brodie-clones, Jas left the room.
On the ground floor of B-Hall, a tall, tangle-haired figure made its way towards him. “Okay? Ye didney ...?”
“Ah didney lag, if that’s whit ye ...”
Scowl. “Ye didney see a doctor, ah wiz gonny say!” Stevie edged around the metal trolley, eyes narrowed. A hand on his shoulder.
Jas closed his eyes. “Ah wiz wi’ Dalgleish.”
Snort. “Whit did that bastard want?”
Good question ...
Relationship.
... his conversation with the ex-polis flapped about in his mind, neither taking flight or settling to rest. “Whit wis goin’ oan between Johnstone and Paul McGhee?” Eyelids opened.
Stevie stared straight ahead, ignoring the question. “Listen, ah wanna ken, Jas-man. Ah wanna ken why ye’re attractin’ aw’ this trouble.”
He almost laughed.
Stevie. Head cocked, expression a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
Jas shivered.
The hand tightened, trying to absorb the shakes.
He remembered Dalgleish’s words of warning. His mind wouldn’t leave things alone ...
... Paul McGhee ... Neil Johnstone ... grasses ... Hamster ...
Sigh. “We’re oan tray-collectin’. Come oan ...” The hand lingered, then removed itself. “... tell me while we look busy.”
The trays were from prisoners confined to cells.
New prisoners.
Old, arthritic prisoners.
Ill prisoners.
Stevie pushed the increasingly heavy trolley. Jas walked beside him and talked.
About old news ... Neil Johnstone ... Mhairi.
About Paul.
About why he was in here ...
... and the price of his release. He stopped talking, as they approached a locked gate.
Stevie waved at a red-eye.
The gate slid open.
They walked through.
One of the trolley’s wheels developed a squeak. The sound punctuated Stevie’s silent thought processes.
Jas sighed: he had to trust someone. Despite Stevie’s reputation, the man who’d bathed and cleaned him earlier seemed a better bet than most.
He could be wrong.
He’d been wrong before ...
... the squeak fell silent. Stevie leant against a yellow-brick wall and stared at him. “Ah thought Johnstone arranged last night cos he thought ye were dealin’ – or cos he jist disney like polis.”
Jas scowled. “So did ah.” He looked at Stevie. “Noo you tell me more aboot Paul and Johnstone ...”
Last night.
The gymnasium.
No stay off my patch.
No this is for being polis.
No this is fur putting me here.
Just ...
... keep yer nose oota whit disney concern ye ...
He listened to the squeaky wheel. Then Stevie’s low voice:
“Dunno much, Jas-man – dunno there’s much tae tell. Wee Paul served his time as Johnstone’s cunt. Four months ...” Brown eyes narrowed. “None o’ onywan’s business ...” The pale face reddened, looked away. “... but theirs.”
Neil Johnstone and the brother of the woman whose testimony had put him here?
His own uncertain future, and Mhairi’s ability to alter it pulsed in his brain. “If ah’m gonny get oota here at aw’, it’s ma business.” He wondered if Mhairi knew her beloved brother had been taking it up the arse from the guy who had scarred her for life.
Three brothers. Two on the outside ...
... he considered the other implication of an ex-Gorbals sergeant’s words. “Mebbe Johnstone arranged a Welcome Home party fur Paul, efter they let him oot.”
“So ask him.” Head still averted.
“Ah asked everywan but Johnstone ...” Along with flashing heroin around, every second word from his lips in the past two days had been either Paul or McGhee.
... keep yer nose oota whit disney concern ye ...
Jas frowned. “... an’ he let me join his mates in their wee work-oot last night an’ telt me tae keep ma nose oot.”
Angry voice. “So take the advice, Jas-man.”
... keep yer nose oota whit disney concern ye ...
He couldn’t – not if he wanted to walk free from the Sheriff Court on December 4th. Rocks and hard places filled his mind. Something occurred to him: maybe he and McGhee had attracted Johnstone’s unwanted attention in the same way. “Wiz Paul tryin’ tae deal?”
“Get real, Jas-man!” Snort. “Wi’ Johnstone an’ Dalgleish workin’ hand in hand?”
Jas seized the trolley. The squeak stopped, ech
oed around him. He stared into amber eyes.
The shaggy head shook. “Fur ex-polis, ye’re affy stupid sometimes, Jas-man ...”
His throat was dry. He continued to stare.
“... how dae ye think the H is gettin’ in here?”
Jas remembered Mhairi, and her pains. “There’s dozens o’ ways ...”
“Aye – an’ the easiest is if ye’re no’ wanna the wans that gets searched!” Scowl.
He remembered an ex-Gorbals sergeant’s innovative policy. “Mebbe Hadrian are turnin’ a blind eye tae Johnstone’s dealin’ but ...”
“Ye’re no’ listenin’, Jas-man.” The trolley was wrenched away from his grip. The squeak disrupted his thoughts. “Ah’m no’ talkin’ aboot Hadrian allowin’ stuff tae happen: ah’m talkin’ aboot Dalgleish floggin’ heroin, cos it flushes oot yer system quicker than the hash, an’ disney fuck up their precious drug tests ...”
Jas blinked.
Stevie’s face was a thunder-cloud. “... an’ strong-armin’ onywan who disney buy fae his pal Johnstone!”
Jas stared. His brain ground into gear. Amidst the other implications of Stevie’s words, an unwanted thought surfaced. Drugs ...
... he’d given the last of Mhairi’s H to Hamster. If the kid was caught in possession of ...
Jas gripped the trolley and heaved.
The door to David Hamilton’s single cell was unlocked. And empty. Stevie’s presence and four cigarettes confirmed none of the men returning from breakfast had seen David since lock-up last night. Jas didn’t question screws.
They didn’t pass any to question.
The squeaky wheel increased in volume. As did his frustration. Then no squeak:
“Hold oan – ah need a piss.” Stevie veered left, into C-Hall’s showers.
Jas lit a cigarette, stared down then up a deserted corridor.
The reason for the relationship between Paul McGhee and Neil Johnstone was semi-explained.
The reasons for the relationship between Ian Dalgleish and Paul McGhee tossed and turned in his brain, refusing to lie down.
Snitching still seemed the more probable motivation: every police officer knew the value of a grass.
Paul: inmate under both SPS and Hadrian-rule. Small-time, first conviction, good behaviour, early release.
Hadrian:taking over from the SPS. Eager to make their mark in a new environment. Eager to find out Johnstone’s source of supply, the extent of the dealing.
There was logic to Dalgleish’s denial of Paul McGhee as a paid informer.
Just as Paul wouldn’t want the fact made public ...
... amongst inmates, at least.
If Paul had been integral – via his status as Johnstone’s cunt – in securing information for Hadrian on exactly how the man was organising his drugs deals ...
“Oi! Jas-man?”
An urgent voice cut through his thoughts. He followed it into the shower block.
Stevie stood at a urinal, still zipping up. He nodded towards the last, doorless stall.
Jas stared, then walked past nine cubicles. He paused at the tenth.
A crouching back.
A crouching, padded back.
Step-cut hair.
Ears hidden by expensive headphones. Jas leaned in towards the shape which cowered beside the toilet bowl. He tapped a shiny, nylon shoulder.
Hamster shrieked, tried to burrow further into the corner.
Footsteps behind. Stevie pushed past, grabbed a thin neck and hauled David Hamilton from the stall.
A games console clattered to the floor.
One headphone dangled blaringly from a naked ear. A rodent face stared up at him, eyes taking in the facial injuries. Fear fading to horror at the state of another face.
Hamster’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
Jas stared at wordless lips, then grabbed a padded arm and hauled the small boy out into the corridor.
“Dalgleish is after me, fierce man!” Once the talking started, it was hard to stem the flow.
Back in his cell, Hamster fiddled with the games console, vainly attempting to fix the unfixable. Badly concealed panic burbled up from the lowered head.
Stevie stood in the doorway, eyes on the corridor.
No mention of the heroin. Jas stared at the top of a step-cut head and tried to make sense of garbled words:
“... wants ma computer – bastard goes oan an’ oan aboot it. Ah thought he wanted me tae grass fur him! He jist wants tae ...”
“Yer play-station?”
The babbling stopped. Hamster glanced up.
“Aw’ this is over a fuckin’ games console?” Jas eyed the cracked plastic at present between small, trembling hands.
“Naw! No’ this – it’s fucked onyway ...” Cracked plastic thrown on the bunk. “... ma PC.”
Jas blinked.
“The Epson.”
Jas frowned. “Whit ye oan aboot?”
Sigh. Slow words, like talking to a child. “Ma personal computer.”
“Whit’s he want wi’ yer computer?” Jas ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t making sense.
“Fuck kens – fierce thing’s worse than useless, onyway ...” Scowl. “... see some folk an’ technology? See idiots? Bet it wiz insured onyway, ah ...”
“Start at the beginnin’.” Jas tried to focus his ears.
“Right at the beginnin’?”
Jas nodded. “An’ go slowly.” He sank to a crouch.
Deep breath. “Me an’ ma best mate did Hadrian!”
Jas stared.
“We did Hadrian’s headquarters in Livingston an’ ...”
“When?”
“Fuckin’ ages ago – last year sometime.”
“Okay ... and?”
Laugh. “We hud a van, clip-boards ... fake ’taches an’ ID ... jist waltzed in an’ cleared an office fae right under theirs noses!” Headshake. The step-cut hair flopped and flitted around the rodent face.
“Ah thought you wur oan remand fur joy-ridin’, no’ deception an’ theft?”
“Ah am, man! We got away wi’ it!” Giggling. “Telt the doorman we wur takin’ them tae git serviced: two photocopiers, coupla laser printers, a scanner still in its box.” Hand through step-cut hair. Shrug. “Did it fur a laugh – we didney hurt onywan, an’ they’re proabably insured tae the hilt ...” Serious. “... fierce, ya shouldda seen us – in an’ oot in minutes!”
“Very clever, ah’m sure – but if Mr Dalgleish wants the stuff back somewan obviously saw yous an’ ...”
“Naebody recognised us, man! Only me an’ Fierce Paul kent aboot it ...” Frown. “... goat a guid price fur the resta the stuff, but ah wiz wantin’ tae upgrade onyway, so ah kept the PC ...” Frown. “... dunno why, noo: fuckin’ thing’s fucked – tried tae load Windows 98 onto it, hard drive wiz fulla shite ...”
His brain stared to work. Mhairi’s information, concerning a friend in Longriggend. Black Bill’s words, about the friend Paul intended to visit, when he got out.
Same age ... even the same hair-cut. Jas raised an eyebrow. “Paul McGhee?”
Eyes alight. “You ken Fierce Paul, man?” Beaming. Voice increasing in volume. “Ah, Jesus! Whit’s he up tae?” A hand through step-cut hair. “Christ, ah heard he got early release. Fierce Paul an’ me ur mates, yeah? Best mates – ah’ve kent him since ah wiz a kid ...”
Jas smiled at the teenage Methuselah. His head hurt.
Hamster continued to talk.
Jas let him, pausing to clarify terms and names. Early last year: TV and newspaper coverage of the break-in escaped him. From time to time he glanced at Stevie.
Head averted, eyes on the walkway for unwanted interruptions.
After a while, David stopped talking.
After another while, Jas’s head ceased to hurt. He peered at the rodent face. “Dalgleish wants this stuff that you an’ McGhee stole fae Hadrian?”
Head shake. “Naw, just the PC.”
“How diz he even k
en ye’ve ...?”
“Accordin’ tae Paul, he’d hud a hand in everythin’ fae the Ice-Cream Wars tae stealing Shergar!” Stevie’s sceptical voice.
Jas looked up.
Stevie was frowning. “Paul telt onywan who wid listen ...” Pupils narrowing towards Hamster “... but he never mentioned ony partner.”
Offended. “Ah wiz wi’ Fierce Paul – ah wiz there! Ask him, man! He’ll ...”
“Paul’s no’ here tae tell onywan onythin’!” Jas stared from Hamster’s half-open mouth to Stevie’s scowl and back again.
The unravelable was beginning to unravel.
Paul McGhee: first offence – eighteen months. A second offence – even for the lesser crime of breaking-and-entering – would mean a longer sentence. Amid lies and fictions, and in his attempts to impress more experienced men – like Neil Johnstone – had Paul’s boasting brought the boy’s crime to Hadrian’s attention, giving ex-polis Dalgleish the leverage he needed to persuade McGhee to act as Hadrian’s snitch?
Jas stared at the skinny figure in the padded jacket. “You were in Longriggend wi’ Paul?”
Nod. “He turned eighteen three months afore me ...”
“Wiz Paul grassin’, in Longriggend?”
Horrified. “No way, man! Fierce Paul’s straight up – always! He widney ...”
“Well, he wiz grassin’ in here.”
Stevie: “Ah don’t believe it!”
Jas glanced up at the doorway: Black Bill had no reason to lie. but there was logic to Stevie’s ignorance, given the status of grasses. “Paul wiz friendly wi’ Dalgleish. How ye think he got oot early – Brownie points?”
Vociferous, rodent denial. “Naw, no’ Paul – he widney grass up his mates tae save his ain skin.”
The conclusion was inevitable. “If you an’ Paul wurney spotted doin’ the job, how come Dalgleish kens you’ve got this PC?”
Sullen, rodent stare.
Stevie: “Ah canny see it, Jas-man. Wee Paul wiz sussed: he kent whit wid happen onywan found oot he wis grassin ...”
“Mebbe it’s in the genes: his sister grassed up Johnstone.” Jas frowned. “An’ Johnstones tend tae haud grudges.” He thought about the gallus, bullet-headed kid he’d met three years earlier. He thought about the screams of the boy three cells down, and the silence which had followed ...