by Ed James
Hunter took a sip of his. ‘I’m not drinking that.’
‘Go on, you big jessie.’
‘Come on…’
She raised her eyebrows, trying a bit of peer pressure. ‘Got to keep up the cover.’
‘Sod it.’ Hunter threw it back. ‘Jesus.’ He gagged, like Ricky was still grabbing his throat.
A gaggle of women in pink piled in through the door, a middle-aged one waving her free shot voucher. ‘Woo!’
The music turned up a notch, the off-kilter beat rattling her fillings. Typical Scottish diet growing up. Too many sweets.
Hunter leaned in to whisper into her ear. ‘When did music get shit?’
Chantal started swaying to the beat. ‘I like two-step.’
‘This is just… Ugh.’
‘Wow!’ Bekah, the skinny girl from the hotel bar, wrapped her arms around Chantal. ‘Oh, this is so cool!’
Shite, the state of her. She should be in bed.
43
HUNTER
* * *
Hunter stepped away from Chantal and Bekah. Wasted. Someone needs to keep an eye on her.
The dance floor filled up with a group of lads. One wore full Highland gear, a dangling foam cock hanging below the line of his kilt. Completely out of his skull.
Hunter walked outside, his throat burning. Either from being strangled or the turps he’d necked.
Captain Morgan was still handing out vouchers. People were taking, but nobody was buying.
Hunter smiled at him and held up his phone, showing the photo of Tulloch. ‘Have you seen this man tonight?’
A gang staggered towards him, dressed as Australians in outback gear, corks dangling from their hats. One took a voucher and tripped over. He hit the ground at the pirate’s feet, scratching at the ground for his voucher.
‘Have you seen him?’
The pirate shrugged. ‘I’ve seen a lot of things, my friend, but I try to forget them.’
Chantal stepped outside, her forehead creased. ‘Good news. Ish. Bekah’s lot stayed with Matty and Brownlee. They’ve seen Tulloch tonight.’
44
CHANTAL
* * *
Chantal left him behind, chatting to Captain Morgan.
Footsteps rattled up behind her. ‘We should call Quaresma.’ Hunter, trying to grab hold of her wrist.
Chantal stopped and trailed a couple walking arm in arm on the other side of the road. ‘Jesus, can you see that?’
Hunter frowned over. ‘What?’
‘It’s Ricky and Kerry!’
‘How the hell—’ He started across the road.
Chantal grabbed his arm and stopped him. ‘Come on, Craig.’
Hunter let them go.
Kerry swung round and scowled at them. ‘Here you, you Paki bitch!’
Chantal clenched her fists. ‘Say that again.’
Ricky took one look at Hunter and knew he was beaten. ‘Come on, love. She’s not worth it.’
‘She’s a dirty bitch!’ Kerry spat at them. ‘Go back to your own country!’
‘You’re in Portugal, you daft cow.’ Chantal’s heart thudded. Like all those pricks at school. Everyone who spat on her dad’s shop. Everyone who put shit through their letterbox. Like that lecturer at uni who tried it on and got knocked back. Like any stupid scumbag she picked up as a cop. ‘And Scotland is my country!’
She let them go down the Strip.
Hunter grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. ‘It’s okay.’
‘It’s far from okay.’ She shrugged him off and sighed. ‘Right, let’s get Tulloch.’ She barged round a group of women guarding a girl vomiting on the street. ‘She said they’re over here.’
Mambo thudded out into the night, enough neon to light up the sky. A bar in the middle, ad hoc dancing and drinking all around it. Just inside the door, a woman who looked about twelve danced with a man who looked about forty.
Over the other side of the bar, two of the guys from the hotel were drinking and chatting to two blonde women, both of them struggling to stand up. Matty and another beefcake, similarly big. Not Brownlee, but not far off.
And between them, perched on a stool, Sean Tulloch.
At bloody last.
He got up. Six and a half foot of muscle and rage. Looked bigger in the flesh. Thick muscle padded his shoulders, a tight shirt showed off his physique. What no photo could get across was how the light caught his eyes, almost sparkling. Mischief and danger hidden in his grin, suggestive of something worth risking.
45
HUNTER
* * *
‘Come on.’ Hunter stomped off towards Tulloch.
He felt Chantal grabbing his shirt, pulling him back. ‘Wait. I’m calling Quaresma.’
‘Fine.’ Hunter kept his eyes on his target.
Tulloch stood between that Matty guy and another lump of gristle, chatting to an older woman, dark haired. Another couple of girls lingered around. Tulloch’s target tried to stand up from the stool but fell over. Her eyes were rolling back in her head. Tulloch picked her up and plied her with another sip from a tall glass.
‘Shite.’ Hunter shut his eyes. ‘Do you see that?’ He got out his mobile and called Quaresma. Two rings and it went to voicemail. ‘Cheeky bastard’s bounced it.’ He redialled.
Didn’t even ring. Quaresma breathed hard into the receiver. ‘What is it, Constable?’
‘We’ve got sight of our target.’ Hunter locked eyes with Chantal. ‘We need two or three of your officers to secure him.’
‘This is going to have to wait.’ Quaresma was out of breath, panting into his phone. ‘We’re in the middle of a complicated operation. Tomorrow, as agreed.’
Click.
Hunter pocketed his mobile. Tulloch’s hands were snaking all over the woman. ‘Looks like we’re on our own.’
Chantal stared at Tulloch, shaking her head, nostrils flaring. ‘He’s not getting away with this.’
‘We should tail him. Keep an eye on him until—’
Tulloch shoved the woman’s hand down the front of his shorts and snogged her.
‘Sod this.’ Chantal barged into the bar, separating the child-woman and her sugar daddy, and made straight for them.
Hunter followed her in, getting a grunt from sugar daddy.
Tulloch towered over Chantal. ‘What’s up, princess?’ He grabbed his crotch. ‘You want a portion, do you? Never had a Paki before—’
Chantal scratched at her eyebrow. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘There’s enough of my knob to go around.’
Chantal gritted her teeth. ‘Paisley Sanderson sends her—’
‘Shite!’ Tulloch pushed the woman into Chantal. She tumbled across the dance floor. Tulloch lurched forward and cracked Hunter with a punch to his left cheek.
Stung like a bastard. Hunter windmilled his arms as he staggered backwards. He bumped into someone and hit the deck in a heap, landing in stale beer and sticky cocktails. Somebody landed on him, squeezing the wind out like an accordion.
Then the heel of a flip-flop cracked into his side and Tulloch barged through the dance floor.
Hunter freed himself from the man on top of him and pushed himself to his feet in one go.
No sign of Matty or the other squaddie.
Chantal lay prone under a pair of bar stools.
Hunter grabbed her under the armpits and pulled her up. ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded and rubbed at her chin. ‘I’ll look after this lot. Go get him!’
Hunter followed the parting of the crowd. The Strip thronged with drinkers up and down the hill. Walking, always walking.
Across the road, Tulloch cut down the lane where Quaresma had been earlier. No sign of any police.
Hunter darted over the Strip and tried to pick up speed, a spearing pain digging into his side. Felt like he’d cracked a rib or something.
Tulloch had slowed to a jog, his flip-flops going shlup-shlup-shlup. No doubt thought he’d got away
from them.
Hunter hurtled into the back of him and pushed him over. Tulloch twisted to the side as he rolled.
Hunter landed on the ground, cracking his knee off it. Pain seared up his leg, up his left side.
Tulloch was on his feet already, scanning around the area. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ He moved back slightly and lifted his hands, one foot forward getting into the basic stance.
Hunter pulled himself up to a sitting position and flipped up to standing. He stepped into the pose, trying to ignore the burning pain in his knee, trying to give the immediate area a once-over. No obvious danger. ‘I know what you were up to in there.’
Tulloch was bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘You fucking jealous, you big poof?’ He lurched forward and launched a punch at Hunter’s head. Missed by miles.
Hunter got a punch to his gut as he followed through. Then Tulloch pushed him against the wall. Another missed punch, hitting brick. Tulloch yelped. Hunter deflected another blow and smacked Tulloch on the chest. He crunched his knee into Tulloch’s groin and pushed away from the wall, then stepped back into the stance.
Tulloch shot backwards into his pose. Then jolted forward and lashed out with his left fist. Then feinted right and crunched a rising knee.
Hunter tried to parry it with his hands but staggered back.
Tulloch jabbed at Hunter three times, each blow rattling the bones in Hunter’s forearm. Fists darting towards his hands, blocking his face.
Footsteps thundered from behind.
Hunter blocked another blow and backed away from Tulloch. He glanced behind him.
Tulloch got a shot into his left knee.
Hunter tumbled over, cracking his shoulder off the ground.
Another kick hit his back.
Footsteps raced away. Shlup-shlup-shlup.
Another blow hit Hunter’s spine. Felt like it’d shifted his kidneys a few inches. Hunter lashed out with his feet and smacked his sole off something. The crunch of a cheek. Something metallic clanged off the ground.
He tried to spring to his feet. His knee wasn’t having it. He did a quick scan of the area.
Tulloch was gone.
‘You’re a nosy bastard!’ Ricky was staggering towards Hunter, holding a length of metal pipe over his head. ‘That was between me and my fucking wife!’ He swung it down, aiming for Hunter’s skull.
Hunter kicked up with both feet bending back the fingers of Ricky’s left hand. The pipe clattered to the ground and rolled away.
Now!
Hunter pushed up to his knees and jumped low at Ricky. He caught his legs and pushed him back into the wall.
Hunter tore his knee into Ricky’s gut and lashed a fist into his face, then grabbed hold of his throat. He looked around, his heart pounding. His breathing sounded distant, like someone else’s. Blood pumped in his ears, poured into his mouth from somewhere.
The pipe rolled down the lane. A man stopped at the end and looked their way, then walked off.
No sign of Tulloch.
No sign of anyone else, either.
He tightened the grip around Ricky’s throat.
‘Pare!’ A voice roared out from the right. ‘Stop!’
Hunter spun back towards the Strip.
A local cop stood a few metres in from the main drag, his rifle trained on Hunter. ‘Get off him.’
Hunter raised his hands. ‘You need to arrest this guy.’ He kicked at the pipe. ‘He threw that at my head!’
Quaresma appeared alongside the cop, shaking his head. ‘Constable, Constable, Constable.’
46
CHANTAL
* * *
Chantal gasped out her breath. Felt like a cracked rib and a load of bruising. She tried to sit up, but her chest screamed out. Probably hadn’t cracked the rib, but it still hurt. The dance floor had pretty much emptied, the sight of two big lads fighting enough to send everyone fleeing.
The two girls swayed around next to her, nowhere near controlling their movements. One blonde, one dark-haired. Both skinny.
The blonde girl opened her left eye and tried to focus. ‘Where’s Sean?’
A tall woman wandered over, head tilted to the side. ‘I’m the bar manager.’ West Country accent. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m a police officer.’ Chantal couldn’t find her warrant card. ‘These women have had their drinks spiked.’
‘What can I do to help?’
‘Call the police.’
‘Sure thing.’ The manager disappeared through the crowd of rubberneckers.
Chantal hefted the stools upright and rested them against the wall. Much heavier than they looked. ‘Sit here.’ She helped the first woman onto the seat, like a small child or an old lady. ‘Take your time.’
‘I love him.’ Both eyes clamped shut. ‘I looooove him.’
Chantal rested a hand on her shoulder to stabilise her. ‘What are your names?’
Dark-hair burped, eyes shut. ‘I’m Nora.’ A melodic rasp, Belfast by the sounds of it. ‘This is me cousin, Siobhan.’ She patted blondie on the back. ‘Have you seen Heather?’
‘Not for aaaaages.’ Siobhan wobbled around on the stool. ‘Where’s Matty? He’s lovely.’
‘Nora, I need you to focus, okay?’ Chantal looked around the place for the drinks Tulloch had been forcing on them. Some crumpled plastic cups and a big puddle. A cleaner swept his mop through the liquid.
Shite.
The bar crowd were all outside, looking back in. The manager waved over, her hand in a telephone shape, then gave a thumbs up.
‘Where’s Sean?’ Nora opened her eyes, but her pupils were swimming around. ‘He’s got a massive wanger.’
Chantal held her shoulders. ‘Can you understand me? Sean spiked your drinks.’
‘Whaaaat?’ Nora’s head lolled forward. ‘He’s lovely. He bought us cocktails! They’re lovely!’
Getting bloody nowhere.
Someone grabbed Chantal’s arm. ‘Step away, miss.’
She swung round.
Two uniformed police officers, one male, one female, both armed. The female officer stepped forward. Lantern jaw. ‘What’s going on?’
Chantal looked at the two girls. Barely in their twenties. She had to hold Nora tight. ‘Their drinks have been spiked.’
The uniform stared at her partner. ‘One second.’ The uniform stepped away and spoke into her radio.
Chantal smiled at the girls, though only one of their four eyes was open. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
Keep telling yourself that…
‘Okay, madam.’ The uniform was back, her jaw set even squarer. ‘My partner is going to take them to the hospital.’
‘I’m going with them.’
The uniform shook her head. ‘That’s not going to happen. I’ve to take you to the station.’
47
HUNTER
* * *
Quaresma thundered down the single carriageway, the patchy street lighting not exactly giving a clear view of their route. Palm trees lined the road, not quite blocking out a brilliant white monstrosity hulking on the left. It looked like it’d been built upside down.
Hunter was in the back, cracking his knuckles. He stretched out his knee and got a different timbre of crack. Felt about twice the size of the other one. His arms were peppered with tiny burns where Tulloch had punched him. Felt like he needed a new back.
The car smelled new, like the leather seats were fresh from the tannery. Local radio droned out at a low volume, loud enough to make out that it was people speaking, just not which language.
Hunter got a click from somewhere in his ribs. He pressed a bruising hand to it, red welts rising up his forearm. ‘I said, where’s DS Jain?’
‘I heard you.’ Quaresma swung right through a tight gap into a car park next to the white building. He slammed into a space by a bare brick wall and killed the engine. Then he sat there, drumming his thumbs off the steering wheel. ‘Get out.’
Hunter tried the door and i
t clicked open. The pale grey mosaic glinted in the street lighting. Bloody stuff was everywhere. He leaned against the Audi’s roof. ‘I can’t see her.’
‘Constable, come with me.’ Quaresma waited for Hunter to shut his door before plipping the locks, then he marched over to the station. He held the front door, breathing slowly. ‘Inside.’
Hunter shook his head and stood his ground. ‘What happens if I go in there?’
Quaresma rolled his tongue across his teeth. ‘Get inside, Constable.’
‘You’ve not arrested me or anything, so…’
A squad car trundled to a halt nearby. The officer with the rifle got out and opened the back door. Ricky seemed to take a week getting out. He scowled over at Hunter, then burped into his hand.
‘Come with me.’ Quaresma marched inside.
Hunter followed him in. Couldn’t even be bothered to shrug.
The station was quiet, a bored desk sergeant in full uniform sticking his nose into a local newspaper. Harry Jack’s cherubic face stared out of the front, haunted and lost, like the kid was already missing when the photo was taken.
Quaresma nodded at him as they passed and put his hand on a metal door handle. Looked gloomy inside, but not a cell. ‘In here.’
Hunter stopped on the tiles, a few metres away from the door. ‘This isn’t a cell, so what is it?’
‘Come with me.’ Quaresma rolled his tongue over his lips. ‘Now!’ He grabbed Hunter’s arm and tugged him into the room.
48
CHANTAL
* * *
Lantern jaw held a door open for Chantal. ‘You wait in here.’
The room was spartan at best. Bare white walls, functional desks. Only one window in the room, six vertical slices of glass lit up sodium yellow from outside. The place was quieter than the grave, just the occasional drone of a passing car. A vehicle thundered past and screeched to a halt somewhere nearby.