Cry Uncle

by Russel D. McLean

  For a little while.

  EIGHTEEN

  Malone said, ‘If I ever suspected anyone would be a turncoat … well, it would be you.’

  Best I could do was shoot for a poker face. No sense rising to it. He was playing with me. Didn’t even care if I was listening.

  ‘Really, if you were a betting man, you’d say, “that cunt McNee, he’s the kind of shitebag would rat out his friends.”’

  ‘There you go,’ I said, finally giving in. ‘Shows why you never won the fucking pools.’

  ‘Sure. Right enough.’ He didn’t know what to do now that I’d responded. Except keep running. He was dressed in jogging bottoms and a white vest, pounding out the miles on the ceaselessly humming treadmill. The sound of the machine and the padding of his feet only amplified the emptiness of the building.

  I’d been called out just past six. Escorted inside this faceless, near empty office building, thinking that maybe this was finally the end. Convinced when I saw the expression on Malone’s face. It was the kind of expression you were sure would wind up being the last thing you ever saw.

  But this wasn’t the end. Not for me. Not yet.

  ‘Still can’t believe it. You think you know a man …’

  I knew how he felt. I was still trying to figure it out, put all the pieces together. Clearly Sandy had leaked word that Findo decided to roll over and expose his belly to the cops. Making him public enemy number one in the Burns camp. But what purpose did that serve? Sure, it made me look good in the old man’s eyes. But only for a moment. The truth could easily rear its head. Griggs had played a dangerous hand. For me more than him, of course.

  What I was beginning to realize: in this game, I was expendable. And there was no end to the board. No way the lowly pawn could become an all-powerful Queen. All I had to look forward to was the endless drudgery of manoeuvring to the front lines until I died.

  If, like Ernie before me, I fucked up, Griggs would just find someone else to manipulate.

  ‘Explains a few things,’ I said, still trying work out whether what Malone had told me was the truth.

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Why he was nervous with me around. Fin was playing both sides against the middle. He had everyone sussed and then I come in, screw with his head.’

  ‘You’re the one screwed in the head.’ He spat out the words, working a good sweat. The machine revved faster. Malone got red in the cheeks and across what would once have been his hairline.

  ‘All the same, the boss wants you to keep in with his nephew …’

  ‘Babysitting duty?’

  ‘Aye, he doesn’t think you’re cut out for what he has in mind. Neither do I. Fin may have had the wrong idea about you, but you’re still not ready for some of the more … hands-on aspects of this little fracas with Nairn.’

  ‘You mean he doesn’t think I have what it takes to break some heads?’

  ‘Know your problem, McNee? You still think like polis. Not good guys and bad guys, all that shite. More … you’ve a polis morality. See, you’d put a man in jail – maybe give him a beating, too, but that’s alright – when what he really deserves is having barbed wire shoved up his fuckin’ piss-hole, know what I’m saying?’

  ‘I’m soft on crime, soft on the causes of crime?’

  ‘Also …’ He slowed the machine down. The sweat showed through his shirt, now. His dome glistened. His legs quit pumping so hard, taking him down to a walking pace. ‘Also, McNee, the fact is that you’re a real bloody smartarse. And frankly we’d rather have you not upsetting anyone else. This shite with you and Findo was bad enough, know what I mean?’

  I knew what he meant. I wasn’t popular. The old man had a soft spot for me, but most folk thought he was mad or senile. Maybe losing his touch. So while the pressure was on, I was to be relegated to the kind of duty where I couldn’t do any harm. A pariah in all but name.

  Reminded me a little of my time on the force. Towards the end. After the accident in particular. No one had really wanted to work with me. My attitude, apparently. This, despite my reputation as an up-and-comer. But then most people thought my move to CID and the buzz around my name was more to do with my friendship with Ernie Bright than anything else.

  No matter what side of the law I was on, I didn’t seem to make friends too easily.

  But being assigned to look after Rabbie was a real slap in the face.

  Like I told Malone, it was babysitting duty. They could dress it up any way they liked, it wouldn’t change a bloody thing.

  NINETEEN

  ‘I’m out.’

  ‘What do you mean, “you’re out”?’

  ‘Just temporarily.’

  ‘What do you mean, “you’re out”?’

  Griggs sat in the car opposite, window down, engine ticking over. Anyone came by, he was ready to get out and fast. So was I. Face to face meets could be dangerous, but when it came to major developments, they were necessary. There are some things you can’t communicate in text or email. Or even down a phone line.

  Also, I could see his face. He wasn’t taking the news well.

  ‘All this time, this effort, this risk …’

  ‘All my risk.’

  He looked at me. His eyes betrayed what he was thinking. That kind of anger can’t be pushed down. Not for long, anyway.

  The man I had known was a good copper. Considered to be one of the best. The good guy with the bad past. Living proof that circumstances don’t always predict a man’s future.

  His father had beaten him. Killed Griggs’s mother. The rumour mill said that the young Griggs had killed his father, too. But there was no proof of that, only talk. Station gossip, especially about our own, is rarely worth listening to.

  However he started out, Griggs became a good man. And a better policeman. He had a weakness for domestic abuse cases, wading in like he was the hand of God. But then, most cops you talk to have a bug up their arse when it comes to certain kinds of criminal act. He was known for his even-handedness, for his honesty, for his ability to work – more or less – within the confines allowed by the law. He made enemies along the way of course – a crooked politician once tried to set him up on a corruption charge – but when you’re police, you can’t help making enemies. And when you have the kind of zeal that Griggs had, sometimes those enemies are going to try and take you out any way they can.

  The man in the other car no longer had the eyes of a good man. He looked at me like he wanted to crush me beneath his shoe and walk on. I was worthless. Useless. Meant nothing to him. He was fuelled by anger. Bitterness. Didn’t care about anything except achieving the singular goal of getting revenge on David Burns. He wanted the bad man to suffer. And he didn’t care about the cost of achieving that.

  So what was I doing allowing this man to manipulate me? Why had I let him bully me into betraying principles I would have fought for in years gone by?

  Because of his reputation? Because of the man he used to be?

  Griggs wasn’t that man any more. And I was beginning to realize that. Maybe he never had been. Maybe everyone had deluded themselves about the kind of man he really was. Or maybe he just changed. Slowly. Incrementally. In ways that no one would really notice.

  Susan had told me that Griggs and I were alike in many ways. Maybe once. Certainly, I once had that same sense of focus, that same hatred of the universe and everyone in it. That same intensity.

  How had people looked at me?

  Had they seen the same look in my eyes that I saw in his?

  ‘Do you think there’s a chance that you’ll get back in?’ he asked.

  ‘With Burns? I don’t know. Your little stunt with Findo has them watching their back. Jesus, what the fuck did you do?’

  ‘You’d rather he told them what he told us? That you were a traitor? That you took the side of the men you had been sent to hurt?’

  ‘He wanted to kill them. What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Whatever it took not to fuck up your cover.�
��

  ‘You were in my shoes, you would cross the line?’

  There was a moment of silence. In the distance, there was the slow rushing sound of traffic crossing the bridge. Car headlights illuminated us for a moment on their way past. But no one came into the car park. No one joined us. This time of night, the only people looking for other vehicles in deserted places like this were doggers and undercover police.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about lines, McNee. Don’t tell me you won’t kill. Don’t tell me you haven’t killed.’

  Using my own past against me. The way he had from the first time he barged into my office.

  ‘You know what’s at stake here,’ he said. ‘You know why we’re doing this.’

  ‘I know why I’m doing this. But this isn’t like you, Griggs.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘We worked together. I remember who you were.’

  ‘One time only. You were in uniform back them. The rules were different.’

  ‘And so were you.’

  ‘I was more innocent.’

  ‘You were a DI.’

  ‘So?’

  What was the point in arguing? He was in control. Same as he had always been. Except back then I had trusted men like Griggs with my life.

  And now?

  I didn’t trust anyone.

  Especially men like Griggs.

  Men who lied and manipulated. Believed they were on the side of the angels. Called themselves the good guys. Believed the label entitled them to do whatever it took to achieve that end.

  Griggs took my silence for capitulation. ‘There’s going to be a war,’ he said. ‘And it’s your fault if it escalates.’

  ‘What do you want from me? I’ve given you everything.’

  ‘I need cast iron—’

  ‘—No,’ I said. ‘Between what I have and the evidence I know Ernie gathered, you’ve got more than enough to take the old man out. There’s something else going on. And you need to tell me.’

  He looked about to say something. His lips curled. His incisors showed. But he bit back whatever response he had.

  I let it go.

  What else could I do?

  He said, ‘Get close to Burns. Place him at the murder of Jason Taylor. Place him at as many killings as you can. The ones he did personally, the ones he ordered. Not just your word. Definitive proof. I want him on tape. I want him to confess to murder. No more hearsay, no more we-said-he-said. Nothing a lawyer can twist to the point of reasonable doubt. No more Not-Proven verdicts. I want the truth. From his mouth to God’s bastard ears.’

  ‘With you playing the part of Our Lord?’

  Griggs shook his head, peeled out of the parking space and took the turn on to the road back to the bridge far too fast.

  I watched his car vanish into the black.

  Realized I was alone.

  TWENTY

  ‘McNee, ya crazy bollocks!’ Robert reached over from the back seat to clap me on the shoulder. His long fingers wrapped round me. I thought of the film, Nosferatu. Tried not to shiver too hard. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘You too,’ I said, not bothering to sound like I meant it. Like he would give a toss. ‘Where’s the girl tonight?’

  ‘New night,’ he said.

  ‘New girl?’

  ‘You were young once, right?’

  ‘Still am.’

  ‘So maybe this one’s got a friend.’

  ‘Thought we had established boundaries,’ I said.

  ‘Aye, you’re not my friend.’

  ‘I’m not even here. I’m the invisible man.’

  He settled back. Even in the rear view I could see that he’d been drinking. His eyes were glazed over. The night was young. A few hours, and he’d be wide-eyed and tripped out.

  I drove us to the city centre, parked down on Brown Street near the old student halls of residence. Remembered being called out to them every so often as a uniform to investigate petty theft and the occasional recreational drugs charge.

  I kept my pace slow, remaining a few feet behind Robert as he swaggered up towards the club. Jesus, he claimed to have come to the city to see his uncle, and all he did was go out and get high. Maybe half an eye on making the old man’s connections. After all, Burns wasn’t getting any younger and when he did eventually cark it there was going to be a power vacuum in the North East. Maybe wee Rabbie wasn’t as spaced out as I first suspected. Maybe he was smarter than he looked. Wouldn’t be too hard.

  He met some folk in the queue. The way they acted, they knew each other well. I didn’t recognize them, but figured they were his crew over round these parts. Guys who liked hanging around with someone they thought was a bit dangerous. I kept my distance, but made sure I got in a word with the guys on the door. One of them knew me. We’d met at SIA conferences over the years. Got on well enough and we’d had some drinks at the bar, but our professional relationship existed only within the confines of anodyne hotel bars and overheated conference rooms.

  ‘Heard your licence got suspended.’

  ‘ABI,’ I said. ‘And it’s a temporary thing. I can still work as an investigator.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Come on, Brownlie. You know me.’

  He gave a tip of the head that was noncommittal at best. His arms were folded. Showing off the black and white tats on his biceps. Even in the depths of winter, he wore short sleeves just so he could show off the ink.

  ‘I know you, alright’ he said. ‘You moody wee fuck.’

  He had me on that score. We’d met during the dark days, when all I’d been interested in was burying myself in work, forgetting who I was. I hadn’t been looking to make friends, and I guess it had been more than obvious. You hadn’t needed to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out.

  ‘Right-oh,’ he said. ‘They get in, you get in. I know how it is. Besides, what they’re saying about you, I figure I still have to go with my gut. Which says you’re all right.’

  ‘Even if I am a moody wee fuck?’

  He shrugged. ‘But if they start something and you don’t shut it down …’

  ‘Sure, sure.’

  ‘Want a smoke?’

  I laughed, shook my head.

  ‘You aren’t all bad, then? Fuck, you gone vegetarian, too?’

  ‘Not to say I wouldn’t kill for one some days.’

  ‘You’re only human.’

  ‘Right.’

  Brownlie let us through without incident.

  As before, I spent most of the night walking the floor, wishing I was anywhere else. Preferably somewhere with soundproofing.

  Or a torture chamber. That might have been better. Relentless white noise blasted through headphones would have beaten the relentless boom-boom-boom that echoed through the crowd of dancers, vibrating their bodies and minds. The ones that had both.

  About an hour or so into the evening, someone stood next to me. Arms folded. About as relaxed as a cat in a box full of angry dogs. Not looking at me, but making sure I knew she was there. The kind of pose only another copper would recognize.

  ‘DI Kellen,’ I shouted, bending down to yell into her ear over the thump-thump. ‘Nice to see you know how to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ she shouted back. Not looking at me. Watching the floor. Eyes on Robert and his friends. The grim determination you might associate with a bird of prey. There had always been something of the hawk in her features: a sharpness that made her seem alert and utterly focussed.

  Her colleagues called her single minded. They meant it as a compliment.

  ‘So what are you drinking?’ I asked. Sarcasm high on the agenda.

  ‘Water. Otherwise I might be tempted to jump your bones.’

  ‘Not sure I’d resist.’

  ‘Except you’re a gentleman.’

  ‘Sure. There’s that.’

  She shifted weight from foot to foot, deliberately out of time with the beat of the bass. ‘So why don’t we quit the flirting?’

  ‘Why no
t? The night’s not going to end with you cuffing me to the bedpost.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the bedpost.’ Hard to tell in amid the flashing strobes whether she was smiling. ‘So, what, this is legitimate work for you?’

  ‘I’m a tax payer.’

  ‘Who’s been suspended from a professional body, accused of unlawful conduct.’

  ‘You don’t have a case to make.’

  ‘They took the case away from me.’

  ‘You sound paranoid.’

  ‘I am. Somebody up there likes you.’

  ‘And you don’t like that?’

  ‘Anyone assisted by divine intervention is suspicious, McNee.’

  ‘So you’re not a believer, then?’ She didn’t say anything. ‘I wouldn’t call it divine intervention, DI Kellen. More that someone saw sense.’ On the dance floor, Robert was throwing shapes. Dangerously big shapes to throw in a space where people were pressed so close together. ‘You never told me who set you on to me in the first place.’

  ‘I like lost causes,’ she said. ‘Catch the ones who got away.’ She thought about that for a second. ‘The ones who think they got away.’

  ‘And that’s me, is it?’

  ‘One among many.’

  ‘Nice to feel special.’

  The whole time I had one eye on Robert. A moment’s distraction could result in serious trouble. First thing you learned about close protection was that your eye always had to be on the target. No matter what else was happening. And sure enough, some guy was giving Robert the look. The one that says, ‘stop being a dick.’ Robert was oblivious. His friends were whooping and hollering.

  ‘Never a quiet moment,’ Kellen said.

  ‘We’ll see.’ It wasn’t a situation yet. Just one guy shaking his head. Hardly a riot.

  ‘My problem with you,’ she said, ‘is not rumour. It’s the people you hang around with. Like you want us to look at you a certain way. Showing off your guilt. Flaunting it.’

  On the dance floor, the man with the pissed-off face had finally got Robert’s attention. They were squaring up. The kind of swaggering confrontation most guys have after a few pints. Already a space had formed around them on the floor.