Gutted gd-2

by Tony Black

  I felt my whole arm turn to cork. Tried to move it, couldn’t, cradled it with my other arm.

  ‘Bring him over here.’

  A fist in my back. Felt the imprint of every knuckle.

  At the table I saw three folders had been laid before me. Two were closed. On top of one sat sheaves of paper.

  ‘Right, Mr Dury… settled down now, have we?’

  I rubbed my elbow.

  He spoke again, ‘Glad to hear it. Now, I’m quite certain you know why we’ve invited you here today.’

  ‘Help with your inquiries,’ I tutted.

  ‘Indeed.’

  I leaned forward. ‘Which I am more than happy to do.’

  From behind him, the door opened.

  I said, ‘DI Johnstone enters the room… That’s what they say on The Bill isn’t it?’ A wide smile. ‘“For the benefit of the tape”, that’s the other bit.’

  Jonny Boy hid hands in his pockets, strolled over to the desk and stared at me.

  I said, ‘Hello there, Jonny. Looking well… My ex must be taking good care of you.’

  LA Law spoke: ‘DI Johnstone is assisting me; a mere observer.’

  I flicked my index finger, said, ‘Gotcha!’

  Jonny lunged, grabbed the digit, said, ‘Don’t get fucking smart, cunt… We’re putting you away.’

  He had a firm hold on me. I reached out with my other hand to work on his grasp, but the pain in my shoulder was too great. Couldn’t have been a good look — verged on capitulation.

  ‘Keep that look, Dury, that’s the one we want you to show when they throw away the key.’

  As he let my finger go I gasped uncontrollably, said, ‘This would be playing hardball, I guess?’

  LA Law answered, ‘No, Mr Dury, this is checkmate.’

  ‘Come again?’

  He flicked on the tape recorder, made his spiel, announced himself as McAvoy. He raised a polythene bag from the sheaves of paper. Inside was the skunk I had taken from my nephews. ‘Yours, I believe, Mr Dury.’

  I said nothing. Shrugged.

  ‘Oh, it is. Let me assure you.’

  I looked at the bag, said, ‘You’re seriously doing me for a bag of puff?’

  McAvoy looked to Jonny. The pair exchanged thin smiles.

  ‘Oh aye, Dury,’ said McAvoy, ‘there’s laws against this kind of thing.’

  ‘How about I take the caution and go back to my life?’

  McAvoy’s smile faded. He tipped himself back in his chair; the legs creaked on the tiled floor. As he shuffled his feet I saw his socks. They matched the colour of his shirt. He read out the charge.

  I looked to the ceiling, scratched my head, said, ‘Fucking hell.’

  McAvoy switched off the tape, threw himself at me, brought his dart of a nose to within an inch of my face. ‘I’m just getting started on you…’ he bellowed. I felt my ears throb. ‘I’m watching you very closely, Dury, and if I hear you’ve been near the Crawfords again you’ll have plenty to worry about.’

  I held up a hand. Had seen this done on Oprah — knew it would get a reaction.

  ‘Whoa! Who’s pulling your strings? You have precisely fuck all on me, McAvoy. Jonny couldn’t fit me up, so you’re having a go now, is that the game?’

  ‘This is no game, laddie… A man’s dead.’

  ‘I make it two… one a witness who confirmed to you I was nowhere near the scene when Moosey was killed.’

  McAvoy gave a silent laugh, pointed to me as he winked at Jonny. ‘You hear this shite? That fucking jakey was away with it. He was off his nut on meths.’ He laughed louder this time, shook his head.

  I wanted to put a boot in his teeth. ‘He might have been a jakey but he wasn’t a ponce, and he had more of a clue about this case than you.’

  He waved to the pug, who raced to the desk and put me in a headlock as McAvoy yelled in my ear. ‘Listen to me, you scrawny little shitkicker. If I say you killed Tam Fulton then that’s the way it’s going to be and you’ll be begging me to take a confession so’s to keep Rab Hart from chopping you into fifty grand’s worth of tiny fucking pieces.’

  My head felt about one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. There was no way I could form words.

  ‘Aye, that’s better, adjust your attitude… We know you’re short of cash, Dury. Now, the missing money might get you out of a big hole — that’s some incentive, is it no’?’

  I still couldn’t speak.

  McAvoy continued, ‘You see, these days evidence can be made to tell any fucking story you want. You’ve seen CSI… a fingerprint here, blood smear there, it’s magic! But things like motive, that’s what can’t be faked — and that’s what gets folk put away.’

  I went for a gob in his face. Fair sprayed out, caught some of his shirt.

  The pug squirmed. ‘You dirty prick.’ He lost his grip on me.

  I roared, ‘Mark Crawford either killed Moosey or knows who did and you fucking know it too!.. He’s been running with the young crew and playing the dog-fighting scene to get his chance and he took it.’

  ‘You’re off your scone, Dury,’ said Jonny. ‘He’s the son of a fucking judge!’

  ‘So what? You’re both law and as crocked as all fuck.’ I was still roaring, banging my chest with one hand and fingering the air with the other. ‘Someone’s got you pair told to look the other way and you think I’m gonna let you put me in your sights. Fuck that! Fuck the lot of you… You want a fight? I’ll give you one.’

  I saw Jonny Boy make a lunge for me, but I missed the pug trailing him. As I dodged Jonny’s blow the hefty biffer caught me above the eye. With the shortness of my breath it was more than enough to call lights out.

  The floor swallowed me.

  Chapter 37

  It felt like being dropped from a cliff into the ocean.

  The pug leaned over me after throwing the bucket of water in my face. I could tell that the sight of my eyes flickering felt like incitement to him. He was stupid enough to confirm it, said, ‘You want me to give him a slap, guv?’

  McAvoy intervened: ‘No I bloody don’t… Get him back to the table.’

  He lifted me by the collar; this guy had been working out. Although the weight of me, I’d guess I was the lower end of his warm-up reps.

  The chair skitted across the floor as I was flung into it. I got a size ten in the back to push me under the desk.

  McAvoy perched over, poised to strike like a cobra. He grabbed me by the ear. ‘You listen to me, Dury… You are a washed-up piece of shit.’

  Like I could argue that, said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘You think you’re it, think you’re a name cos you brought that grief on this place.’ He raised his other arm to the roof, waved it around. ‘Well, let me correct your thinking, cockhead: you are nothing. Less than nothing.’ He twisted my ear harder, brought my head down to the tabletop, pointed to the skirting. ‘See that? See down there, where the roaches and the vermin crawl about? That’s your home. That’s where you belong. Down among the filth and the scum of the earth.’

  ‘The filth?’

  That got him — knew it would. He released my ear, slammed his fist into the side of my head. My vision blurred. Room spun. As I tried to focus, to see what was coming next, I caught sight of him looming over me, yelling. Shit knows what he said. He was mad angry. Going Lou Ferrigno on me. I imagined a tear ripping down the back of a flannel shirt. Eyes bulging. Bottom row of teeth on show. Fury wasn’t in it. This was beyond rage.

  I reined it in, stood up. Faced him. Jonny Boy and the pug lunged for my arms. I pushed all the buttons. ‘C’mon, then, let’s fucking have ye, McAvoy.’

  Meet rage with rage. Always seemed to work in my boyhood home.

  I struggled. Put my jaw out. ‘You think you’ve got something on me? Let’s fucking have it.’

  He looked shocked. Slunk back. His face changed shape.

  ‘I said, let’s fucking have it, McAvoy… Give it your best shot. You want to put me away, yo
u better be fucking smarter than the other pigs that came before you.’

  He drew a fist. Launched it in my gut.

  I buckled over. Wheezed. ‘I said “smarter”. Not every bit as pig-shit thick.’

  He drew his fist again. Planted it back in my gut.

  I grinned at him.

  The days of me taking this kind of punishment were well over; I’d be crumpled on the floor in no time. But something — stubbornness, bitterness, whatever — kept me sticking my hand in the fire.

  ‘Like I thought: you’re all the same. Dumb as fuck.’ I knew I was risking a booting to end all bootings, but I also knew this guy’s anger would be his undoing. If I could get him noised up enough, he’d balls up. How I knew this, well, it takes one to know one.

  It was Jonny Boy who surprised me. Called five. Gathered up the papers and evidence. They left me alone, to catch my wind.

  My head throbbed. My body felt hollow, empty. Like there was nothing from my chest to my groin. It felt so numb, until I touched it, then every muscle and sinew in me shrieked in agony.

  Inside ten minutes the three returned.

  McAvoy looked as if he’d combed his hair, straightened his tie. I’d have guessed maybe mopped his brow with a towel. He spoke with a different voice entirely now, the one I presume he reserved for brown-nosing his superiors. It put the shits up me. There was a grin delivered on every word.

  ‘All right, Dury… get out my sight.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Shift it. I don’t want to see your skanky arse round here… today.’

  I opened my arms wide, turned up my palms. ‘Finally — some common sense.’

  Jonny walked over to McAvoy’s side, whispered in his ear. McAvoy’s eyes shot left, caught the Boy Wonder’s gaze. For about a minute they played this over between the pair of them, then the cobra was back.

  ‘Just one more thing, Dury. Tread very carefully with your press friends.’

  I went for cocky. Scrub that: cocksure. ‘Yeah, well, you work your side of the street, I’ll work mine.’

  Another glance shot at Jonny Boy.

  Tension.

  McAvoy’s face hardened. ‘Out! Get fucking out of here!’ He jumped up so hard his chair left the ground, smacked off the cell wall. Jonny ran at his heels, clipping them like a gundog. The pug’s lower lip drooped in utter confusion.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Shut yer yap!’ the pug barked, then he followed the others.

  The door closed tightly behind them. Keys in the lock. An hour later I was given back my bootlaces and belt. Pointed to the front desk by a uniform.

  ‘No more cosy chats with Detective Inspector McAvoy?’

  A shove towards the door.

  I collected my things from a dour thirty-something with tied-back dirty-blonde hair. She looked unfussed who she offended. Thrust the lot at me, pointed a chipped pink fingernail to the box I should sign, said, ‘Off to get blootered, are you?’

  I looked her up and down. This one wouldn’t need a mask to do ET in fancy dress. Said, ‘Jealous?’

  She snatched back the clipboard. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

  Hit back: ‘Do I look like a fucking magician, love?’

  Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets. Edinburgh rain falls straight as stair rods and is liable to do as much damage. I hunkered in the doorway, fed my belt through the loops, laced up my Docs. My stomach turned over in agonies with every move. I wondered how many others they put through that treatment. Was it just me, or all those they knew wouldn’t stand a chance of carrying a complaint?

  I was about to move off when:

  ‘You are piss weak, Dury.’

  Jonny Johnstone stepped beside me, hands in his pockets. He looked out into the rain. He waited for a response. I gave him none. He turned, looked me up and down, said, ‘Piss weak.’

  ‘I heard you the first time.’

  ‘So bad hearing’s not one of your flaws, then?’

  I knew this was going somewhere, only Jonny’s little intimidation didn’t wash with me. I saw through him. He was a type I’d turned up too many times before. Shiny-arse on the make. Loose-moralled little brown-noser with an eye on the big office, the Beemer, the whole ball of wax.

  ‘Pal, I’d take my flaws over your virtues any day.’

  I let that fry a few brain cells.

  He ruffled. ‘Look, shithead, I’m warning you…’

  I squared up to him, met his eye. ‘What are you warning me?’

  ‘I’m on your fucking case.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I know that already… Do I look frightened?’

  ‘You look like a fucking nobody.’

  I laughed. This from him. Went with, ‘A tip, Jonny Boy… Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is for ever.’

  He turned down the corners of his mouth, mumbled, ‘Is that supposed to be like a quote or something?’

  ‘Napoleon. You should look him up, you share some… traits.’

  Guess he didn’t take it as a compliment. He put his finger in my chest, was close enough to smell the — what was that, Obsession?

  ‘Know this, Dury: Debs is with me. I’m the one she comes home to every single night.’

  I felt my facial muscles tightening. He had some moves after all.

  ‘Every single fucking night… and that’s how it’s going to stay, you get me?’

  I said nothing.

  He went on, ‘I have Debs. You don’t. And I am going to give her everything you never could — the big house, the two cars parked out front, the foreign holidays, the kids — we’re gonna be living happily ever after and you…’

  He trailed on for so long I lost interest. My mind was stuck on the little dream scene he’d created for him and Debs. It didn’t square with the facts. Either he was totally deluding himself, or Debs was doing it for him.

  I turned to walk away.

  ‘Hey, I’m talking to you.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  I took a few steps, turned to see Jonny spraying Gold Spot on his tongue. He looked smug; I’d be wiping that look off his chops before long.

  I trudged off, collar up, into the rain.

  Got as far as the Tesco Metro on the corner when I noticed two raincoats following me, making it all too obvious what they were about. I stopped and pretended to read an ad in the window for Nigella Lawson’s latest cookbook. The raincoats stopped behind me, stamped their feet.

  Thought: Fuck me.

  Chapter 38

  Sparked up a bensons, my last one. Scrunched the pack, dropped it in the bin. Made a show of looking up and down the street. I darted for a newsagent’s across the road. My fan club followed suit while I smoked the cig near to the filter.

  Outside the shop, I stubbed my tab. Went in.

  ‘Twenty Marlboro, mate… red top.’

  Paid the man, then made a call on my mobi.

  ‘Hod, you about?’

  ‘Fucksake, Gus… where you been?’

  I stalled him, ‘Around.’

  ‘Don’t give me that — where?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Well, yes, actually… we’ve had a bit of a stroke of luck.’

  Luck. What was that? ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Well, my dog-fighting contacts came up trumps.’

  ‘You what?’

  A sigh on the other end of the line. ‘We have a pit fight on.’

  I knew where he was going with this: catch Sid in the act, see who was pulling his levers. But I also needed to grab hold of the dog-torturing wee bastards. Things were getting desperate.

  I played Hod along: ‘Good.’

  ‘“Good”. That it?’

  ‘Well, I’ve kinda got a fair whack on my mind right now, Hod.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  It was time to spill. ‘I had my collar felt again. Now I’ve got two of Lothian’s finest clocking my every move.’

  ‘ Christ.’

  ‘What’s he got to do with it? Alth
ough they do look a bit like Jehovah’s on the door-to-door.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Just out the nick.’

  ‘Got any ideas?’

  ‘You know me — Mr Creative.’

  ‘Well, c’mon, let’s hear it.’

  I filled Hod in. Told him to jump in his motor and wait for me outside the Cameo cinema. I tucked away my mobi, hit the street again.

  I took plod onto Lothian Road. At St Cuthbert’s Church I stalled, took a deck at the graveyard. They have a watchtower in there, a remnant of Burke and Hare’s grave-robbing antics. I always stop to stare at it — reminds me there’s more to this city than most people imagine.

  Made for the Lavazza coffee stall and bought up a large black. Kept my shakes at bay till I could get hold of something stronger.

  A Romanian beggar approached me. She carried a cardboard sign that read: PLEASE HELP ME FEED CHILD. GOD BLESS YOU. I looked at her. Her face was dark, heavily lined. She wore a red shawl; intricate stitching and beads fell all the way round the edge of her face. Below she seemed to be wrapped in a blanket. Popping out beneath were a set of Nikes, the swoosh on show.

  She made to open her mouth, brought pinched fingers up. Thought: The international symbol for I’m friggin’ hungry, right?

  I said, ‘You want a feed?’

  She looked at me, put out her hand.

  I’d read a story in the local paper recently, said people had reported seeing vanloads of these Romanian beggars being dropped off at strategic locations around the city. I thought it sounded like a typical slow news day beat-up. This woman looked dirt poor, starving.

  I pressed: ‘Look, you want food? I’ll buy you something to eat.’

  She put her hand out, ran a finger over the palm. ‘Money. Money.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I’ll buy you food.’ Slit the air between us with my palms. ‘No money.’

  Her face turned, twisted. The teeth gritted as she ranted at me in Romanian, a hail of curses, then she spat at my feet. Could have sworn I heard laughter following me; turned to check my stalkers were still on plan.

  Guess she wasn’t so hungry after all. Was that me cursed now?

  I made my way up to the top of Lothian Road and followed the dog-leg round to the Cameo cinema. It is one of the few remaining places in the city you can go that hasn’t been taken over by one of the multinational chains. Still looks like a cinema — cornicing, old-fashioned balconies, ornate plasterwork. Not a hint of plastic cup-holders. It still has chairs that feel like they’re stuffed with horsehair.