One Hundred And Twelve Days

by Ian Todd

  “So,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Why did ye agree tae come tae lunch then?”

  “I told you. I like expensive restaurants at lunchtime,” she replied, too coyly, she cursed.

  She didnae want tae gie him the impression that she wis flirting wae him in any shape or form or found him even remotely attractive…or interesting. She’d met him a few times…well, more than a few times in the office or when she was in DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE in Buchanan Street, meeting the campaign group.

  “Okay, hiv it yer ain way then. So, whit’s the score wae you and the lassies then?”

  “What?” she asked, surprised and jist aboot falling aff ae that chair ae hers.

  “You and the lassies. Ah heard that there might be a wee problem.”

  “Oh, er, I don’t think we should go there…client confidentiality and all that,” she said, stiffening.

  “Well, Ah widnae let that bother ye. Fae whit Ah heard, ye’ve awready been sacked, so whit clients wid that be then?” he asked pleasantly, as the waiter arrived wae the breid and dipping sauce.

  “Oh” she exclaimed, feeling her heart sink, aw flustered, suddenly losing her appetite.

  “Elspeth, ye’re no gonnae sit there and tell me that ye wurnae aware ae that possibility, ur ye?” he asked, laughing, tearing aff a bit ae the ciabatta and dipping it intae the sauce.

  “Er, well…”

  “Fae whit Ah kin gather, it wis nothing tae dae wae you personally. In fact, fae whit Ah picked up, they wur reasonably happy enough wae the advice ye’ve been gieing them in relation tae that wee nurse’s case…and Johnboy’s, of course. Ah also heard that the wee nurse’s ma and da gied them the go-aheid tae pick the brief tae represent their daughter’s interests at the upcoming trial, seeing as they widnae be paying the fees.”

  “Ah don’t quite know what to say,” she murmured, clearly in shock, feeling the tears well up behind her eyes. “I mean…”

  “Ye wurnae expecting tae be sacked?”

  “No, er, yes, it’s just that…”

  “Aye, they’re some crowd if ye cross them, so they ur.”

  “I hadn’t realised they’d already taken the decision,” she admitted.

  “Aye, bit ye must’ve known the firm wid’ve been in the firing line.”

  “Well, if you’re putting it like that, I suppose…”

  “That boss ae yers, Graham, the senior partner? He wid’ve known that it wid’ve been in the pipeline, seeing as who youse wur aw dealing wae.”

  “Graham? Oh yes, I must admit there was speculation after…after…”

  “Him getting caught in the sack wae Glenda Metcalfe, that wee poisonous fork-tongued procurator fiscal, by Michelle Hope?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Aye, mixing business wae pleasure disnae always turn oot the way it’s supposed tae…it’s jist as well that you’re no operating oan the criminal side ae the firm. Look, eat up. Don’t let this lovely anti-pasti go tae waste,” he said encouragingly, looking at her.

  “Yes, I, we, had heard, that the girls were not pleased because…because of what you just mentioned. And Graham? I assume his position has been discussed… decided upon…about representing the…”

  “The Mankys?”

  “Oh, that’s not what I meant…”

  “Why wid his position as oor brief be compromised, even if he is a randy, clatty basturt?” he replied, smiling. “Whit Graham Portoy gets up tae in his private life his goat naff aw tae dae wae us. If he disnae compromise the client lawyer relationship wae us, we couldnae gie a toss.”

  “Oh, but I thought…”

  Silence.

  “C’mone noo, Elspeth, eat up. Ah kin see ye’re upset, so ye ur.”

  “But why, Simon? Why has this affected me, my relationship with the girls?”

  “Because they’re upset wae Graham. Glenda Metcalfe is the enemy. Fae where they come fae, ye don’t sleep wae the enemy. You jist happen tae be in the same legal practice as lover boy. Ye know whit they say? If ye run wae the foxes, ye get shot wae the foxes. It’s no ma logic, bit there ye go.”

  “Bur I haven’t slept with the enemy,” she hauf-sobbed bitterly, reaching oot fur a piece ae the ciabatta.

  “Right, noo that we’ve established why ye accepted ma invite tae lunch, why don’t ye relax and enjoy it?’ he asked her, failing tae hide another smile, as she looked at him, feeling physically sick in the pit ae her stomach.

  Elspeth wisnae too sure if she’d be able tae swallow the wee morsel ae breid she’d popped in tae her mooth. She felt it sticking tae the back ae her throat and tried desperately no tae gag. She took a sip ae her soda. She wanted tae staun up and dash oot ae the restaurant. She looked across at him. She wisnae sure whit he wis up tae. He wis clearly enjoying upsetting her. Why? Whit hid she done tae deserve this? He’d clearly caught her oot. Wis it something she’d let slip? She noo regretted coming fur lunch. She wis noo kicking hersel. She should’ve listened tae Graham. She’d made a damn fool ae hersel. He seemed so relaxed, sitting there, enjoying practicing that sympathetic expression spread across that face ae his. She’d never felt so humiliated in aw her life…and it wisnae jist wae Mr Young Gangster sitting there opposite her, getting tucked in as if he didnae hiv a care in the world…the basturt.

  “Ah’m sorry,” she said, finally biting the bullet, dipping a bit ae the breid intae the sauce and putting it in her mooth.

  “Fur whit?” he asked.

  “You seemed to have worked it all out…my motive, I mean,” she admitted miserably.

  “Believe it or no, Ah don’t really tend tae judge people…or their motives, fur that matter. People dae whit they dae. It’s a survival thing. Ah kin understaun that. Ah’m jist here tae enjoy the food…and the good-looking company.”

  “I suspected that I was getting bumped, but no-one had informed me. I had heard that Senga and Geraldine were unhappy with us…me.”

  “Loyalty means a lot…especially tae that crowd. Ah certainly widnae want tae cross them,” he said sympathetically.

  “But I wasn’t disloyal, Simon. I was just as surprised as anyone else was.”

  “And Graham? Whit’s he saying then?”

  “He believes he might have been axed as your brief. Has he?”

  “When did ye last speak tae him?”

  “What? Oh, yesterday. Why?”

  “He wis across at The Marine in Partick, springing Peter Paterson oot, two days ago, so he wis. Ye mean he didnae tell ye?”

  Silence.

  “No. In fact, he disapproved of me coming to have lunch with you today. He warned me against it…so did Swansea.”

  “Aye, smart guys. So, why did ye ignore their warnings?”

  “I…I’m not sure.”

  “Aye, ye ur.”

  “I worked hard on Rose Bain’s case…and Johnboy’s as well,” she quickly added. “It isn’t the legal fees. I truly believe there’s been a terrible injustice, for the both of them. I feel I still have a lot to offer. I would have continued without fees if that was the issue. That’s how strong I feel about it.”

  “Aye, well, Ah widnae let that wan slip oot. Christ, they might even consider taking ye back if they hear ye saying that,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s not funny, Simon,” she scowled, turning tae look across at the door, as the waiter took away the dishes.

  “Well, Ah hope that ye’re gonnae stay fur the rest ae the meal, at least.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “It’ll be worth yer while,” he teased her.

  “Are you playing with me, Simon?”

  “Only as much as you wur prepared tae play wae me,” he reminded her, as the main dishes arrived. “Another two-iced sodas,” he said tae the waiter.

  It wis strange. Noo that everything wis oot in the open, she felt hungry. She couldnae believe, wae her experience, she’d walked intae this situation wae her eyes wide open. She still couldnae figure oot how he’d managed tae expose h
er fur whit she wis…a lying, manipulative minx. If the baw hid been oan the other fit, she’d hiv goat up and stormed oot oan the person, yet he seemed quite the thing. Whit wis he up tae, she wondered? She tried tae recall whit Swansea hid telt her.

  “Don’t try and play him. He’ll wrap you up,” he’d warned her.

  God, she felt wrapped up.

  “Be totally open and honest. If you don’t, he’ll smell a rat.”

  God, Minnie The Moose’s bum hid nothing oan how hers smelled.

  “And last, but not least…if you do intend to go through with this…this so-called lunch, enjoy it. He’s a bit of a lad, is Simon, but he can be good company…for a gangster,” Swansea hid said, the wan and only time the Welshman’s face hid broken intae a grin during their exchange.

  “So, how’s yer Mediterranean pasta?” he asked.

  “Excellent. The chicken with the tomato sauce tastes exquisite. And yours?”

  “Ah’m prepared tae come back if Ah’m in the right company,” he admitted. “Whit?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, smiling.

  “C’mone, Elspeth, spit it oot. That’s the first time in the past hauf an hour ye’ve smiled. Christ, it even suits ye, so it dis.”

  “No, I’m sure I’ll have got it wrong.”

  “Try me.”

  “Did you just invite me out for another, meal…after everything I’ve done?” she asked him, praying she’d goat his intentions right and she wisnae making another fool ae hersel in front ae him again.

  “Naw,” he replied, as her smile froze. “Bit seeing as ye’re asking, okay. Bit ye’ll need tae loosen up a wee bit mair than whit ye hiv so far.”

  “But I wasn’t ask…”

  “Ah’m only joking, Elspeth. Ye wur right. Aye, Ah wis asking ye oot fur a meal again…tae start afresh, and Ah’ll pay fur it this time,” he joked, smiling, as he wiped his lips wae the napkin.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, whit dae ye think then?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure what Graham would…”

  “Graham? Him that goat ye sacked by the lassies…that Graham?” he asked, wan eyebrow lifted, as she laughed.

  “Alright, but on one condition.”

  “Whit?”

  “We end up having ice-cream in that Italian café you mentioned. I’ll judge for myself if the ice-cream’s as good as you claim it to be.”

  “D’Jaconelli’s oan Maryhill Road? Ach, Ah’m sure a wee detour up there could be arranged, so it could.”

  They hidnae rushed the meal. She tried tae prise oot ae him a bit aboot his childhood, his schooling, his perspective oan life. She searched, bit failed, tae detect whit she wis obviously missing…the gangster element in his make-up. He didnae come across as guarded, bit she knew he wis being careful aboot whit he disclosed. It wisnae whit he said, bit how he said it. He spoke aboot how he knew the other Mankys and how they’d apparently, as teenagers, planned tae become entrepreneurs. He also confessed that his aspiration wis tae hiv a building named efter him some day. No jist any auld shack, bit a new-build in the city centre. She wis impressed wae his ambition. She wis sure that Simon Epstein wid achieve that dream.

  “Why?”

  “Because the teachers at school jist aw thought Ah wis some sort ae thicko or something.”

  “And what happens if that doesn’t work out?” she’d stupidly asked.

  “Well, Ah’ve goat ma name across the lintel oan the door ae ma wee carpet warehouse,” he’d replied, smiling. “Ye’ve goat tae start somewhere.”

  He seemed fascinated by the boarding school she’d attended and wanted tae know everything aboot it. He wis shocked at the three and a hauf thousand pounds fee her parents hid forked oot fur her education, year in year oot, back in the sixties. It wis only at the end ae the meal, oot oan the pavement in Hope Street, when she wis feeling awkward and regretting agreeing tae go oot fur another meal wae him, that he drapped the bombshell.

  “Listen, Ah widnae worry too much aboot the lassies. They’re fickle, so they ur.”

  “Meaning?” she’d shouted back at him, o’er the roar ae the buses and cars shifting aff efter the lights turned green up at the corner.

  “They’ve goat a plan. It sounds bloody insane, so it dis. We aw aboot pished oorsels when Peter telt us last night.”

  “A plan? What kind of plan?” she shouted.

  “Right, Ah swear tae God, this isnae me taking the Micky. According tae Jean, Peter’s pregnant girlfriend, they’re aw gaun tae …”

  “What?” I can’t hear you, Simon,” she shouted, as the buses and lorries opened up thegither fur another run at the hill efter the same traffic lights turned green again.

  “Come in here, quick” he shouted, leading her by the erm, back intae the inner door ae the restaurant.

  “What did you say?” she asked, suddenly becoming conscious that their bodies wur practically touching each other.

  She tried tae back aff, away fae him. Wan ae the staff must’ve taken in the wee lunch board that hid been sitting oot oan the pavement she’d noticed when she’d first arrived. Her and Simon hid been the last wans tae leave the restaurant. She felt his muscular chest through her breasts. It wis as if they’d touched a bare electrical cable. She gasped, feeling her cheeks burn. She felt dizzy. It must be the exhaust fumes, she telt hersel.

  “Ah said, they mad buggers hiv decided tae go tae a…a medium. Aye, a medium,” Peter said.

  “A what? A medium? But why?”

  “Fur some stupid reason, wan ae them, Ah’m no sure who, came up wae the bright idea that they’d go tae a medium, tae contact that wee nurse, tae ask her, if ye could be trusted,” he replied, grinning. “Kin ye believe that?” he shouted back at her, shaking his heid in wonder.

  “You what?” she shouted back, no believing whit he’d jist come oot wae, the switch oan the electric current that hid been shooting against her breasts, hivving been abruptly switched aff.

  “Aye, that’s whit we aw said as well,” he laughed.

  “I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t understand,” she shouted, clearly baffled.

  “Aye, well, there ye go. Join the company.”

  “But…when? Where?”

  “Ah’m no sure, bit soon. They’ve spoken tae Donna The Prima Donna seemingly and she’s assured them that she knows the best in the business.”

  “Simon, tell me this is a joke. Are you serious?”

  “Cross ma heart and hope tae die. Look, that’s ma wheels. Dae ye want a lift?” he shouted, as a big shiny black BMW quickly drew up tae the side ae the pavement, wae whit looked like a bald heided ogre sitting behind the steering wheel.

  “No, I have to get back to work,” she managed tae shout through her astonishment, as the car forced its way oot intae the traffic and disappeared up the hill in the direction ae Coocaddens.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sammy Elliot, known tae everywan in the toon as Sammy The Rat, sub-crime editor ae The Glesga Echo’s crime desk, looked up nervously, as the set ae swing doors nearest tae the Renfield Street end ae Drury Lane opened. The newcomer’s presence in the doorway caused the punters staunin nearest tae it tae instantly bury their faces intae their pint glasses, praying that whoever Timothy ‘The Goat’ Moffat wis looking fur, it wisnae them. The gangster paused momentarily, before his eyes fleetingly acknowledged the wave fae the wee rodent, sitting oan his lonesome, across in the right haun corner, underneath an auld whisky mirror, jist beyond the lavvy door. The Rat jumped up and scarpered across tae the bar.

  “A hauf pint ae lager and a large Glenfiddich, Peter,” he hauf whined, hauf squeaked tae the barman. “And make it quick,” he pleaded, as the crowd ae punters, hinging aboot that side ae the bar, instantly parted like The Red Sea scene fae that auld film, The Ten Commandments.

  “Here ye go, Mr Moffat,” The Rat squeaked nervously, lifting his hauf empty pint across tae his side ae the table, efter The Goat blagged his seat, allowing him a full sweep ae the bar and the entrance he’d jist da
rkened wae that shadow ae his a few seconds earlier.

  “Cheers, Sammy,” The Goat acknowledged, tasting the whisky before hivving a sip ae the chaser.

  “Er…so…ye, er… wanted a wee word, Mr Moffat?”

  “Me? Naw, Sammy, bit Wan-bob dis,” The Gangster replied.

  The Rat felt his arse twitch, as he nervously swivelled that heid ae his roond and looked towards the swing doors, hauf expecting Moses himsel tae make a sudden entrance.

  “A…Ah don’t understaun, Mr Moffat,” The Sub admitted, turning back tae the nightmare sitting across fae him.

  “Well, ye fucking will if ye shut that trap ae yers, Sammy.”

  “Oh, right. Aye, sorry. It wis jist that…”

  “Wan-bob his telt me tae tell you that aw this shite his tae stoap, Sammy…as ae the day. That applies tae yer pals alang in Mitchell Lane and Albion Street, as well.”

  “Oh right, Ah…er, and whit shite wid that be, Mr Moffat?” he asked the six feet four Munster, glaring at him across the tap ae his nip glass, as he took another wee sip ae the twelve-year auld malt.

  “Ur you trying tae take the piss or whit?”

  “Oh, er, naw…not at all, Mr Moffat. Ah wis jist er, wondering, that’s aw,” he stammered.

  “Ah’m talking aboot aw that shite that you and that other pair ae plonkers hiv been churning oot.”

  “R-i-g-h-t?” The Sub sang slowly tae himsel, still confused.

  “Aw this shite gaun oan aboot Wan-bob and Charlie’s supposed involvement in that wee nurse’s death.”

  “Bit…”

  “Wan mair cheep oot ae any ae youse and youse ur aw gonnae cop yer whacks, so youse ur…and it’ll be permanent. Don’t you fuck us aboot noo, Sammy. There’s too much gaun oan at the minute, so there is.”

  “Bit the story…the public interest element demands that…”

  “Ur you fucking stupid as well as deaf? You tell that poxy pair ae cunts alang that road, that anymair shite written aboot Wan-bob and Charlie and the three ae youse ur gonnae roast…literary. You jist bloody well try us,” The Goat growled, finishing whit wis left ae his dram.