She dictated and he wrote. There was no offer made for repetition and none required. She paused once she'd been through everything.
'One other thing you might find useful. He works the door on a pub up the town on and off. Might be easier to see him there if all the other options don't really work.'
That was actually a pretty good lead. Every man is entitled to not answer his front door but if he's bouncing at a pub the worst he can do is just not let him in. In fact, he'd probably bundle him inside to stop his questions.
'You get all that Luke? I didn't hear you typing.'
Oh, so now it was Luke? No longer Mr. Calvin? Surely the frost barrier wasn't going to come down that easily.
'I write things down.' It was his turn to pause. 'I've been told Grant's a bit of a rough character. Reckon I'll be able to handle it OK?'
'You could always hit him with your little reporter's notebook...'
A small smile crept across his face as the shadows outside lengthened even more. He could almost feel the castle looking down on him even though his back was turned. The white pawn on the board advanced one square. (8. a3??)
'I'm apparently a Traffic Warden actually. Thanks Claire.'
Chapter 8
The Bull on Leith Walk was under new management, as were many of the pubs in the area. There was a deliberate effort being made over the last few years at rejuvenating the locale and there had undeniably been changes. Whether this was for the better or the worse was down to who you chose to ask about it. Sure, you were definitely less likely to get stabbed for no reason walking around late at night, but a sense of community and an unquantifiable 'improvement' cannot be measured in lack of stab wounds alone.
Student flats were in the process of being completed at the top end of Elm Row (which now had no trees at all) with an express supermarket below it. Restaurants and Bistros were popping up in the abandoned shopfronts on the corners of the side-streets that led out onto the main drag. The main objection that a certain sort of person always used to have to this change was the upset of the status quo: - dislike of change simply because it was different. They argued that the old pubs had character, although this depended hugely on your definition of character. Some of these places were excellent, great wee establishments to go drink and have a laugh. The best banter and patter that you would get in Edinburgh. Others were just bear pits. The difficulty lay in working out which was which before you got too comfortable with your pint when both inevitably masqueraded as the other.
Grant was stood in the doorway, almost filling it, with his arms crossed across his chest and gloved hands tucked into his armpits. It didn't need to be too cold for it to become uncomfortable when you were forced to stand in it for extended periods. The reason he was here was at the request of the new owners. They had sat him down and explained their vision for the pub while he barely bothered to feign interest. He had been busy gaping at the new interior. It still had the feel of the old place but they had done a stunning job at masking almost all of the original features. A veritable whitewash.
'You see Mr. Ferguson...' (Mr. Ferguson indeed. Who was this roaster?!) 'In order for our new business to thrive we need to be attracting the correct sort of clientele.'
The two men were sat across from him in a booth to the side. They each had a sparkling water and lime in front of them and Grant was struck by the similarities between them. Both wore glasses, 'casual' suits and loafers. They most definitely shared some facial features and he had now concluded that they were brothers but not twins. He could not for the life of him remember either or their names. It had been early afternoon when they'd met to discuss the 'terms of employment' and it was only the personal recommendation they'd gotten about him that made him come along. Usually anyone who described talking about how much they were going to pay you as 'terms of employment' wasn't worth the hassle of sitting down with but they were hinting at good money for a good job and he needed both.
'This place has been attracting the wrong sort of people and we want to ensure we get off to the perfect start by carefully controlling who comes in and what goes on.'
They even had the same haircut. Same colour eyes. Maybe they were twins after all. Grant thumbed the neck of his beer bottle a few times and nodded sagely before draining it. No matter how much they tried to dress it up in business terms they were just offering him a bouncing job. Nothing more and nothing less. But it made these sorts feel better about what they were doing. He looked them both in the eyes and gestured vaguely with the empty bottle. They conferred silently before the one nearest the bar got up and brought him another. Grant toasted his thanks and took a mouthful. They seemed to be waiting on him to respond now. Clearly his mime act had only bought him so much.
'I understand what you're saying boys. It's not a hassle. If the money's right, I'm the right man for the job.' He turned his head to look slowly all around the interior again before coming back to face them both. He jabbed a thick thumb over his right shoulder. 'That used to be the bandit over there eh?'
'Yes, we opted to remove that. Although it creates some form of revenue, it isn't fitting with the way we want the bar to feel. The “ambience”.'
Even his brother shot him a slight look at the use of the word 'ambience.' At least Grant wasn't the only one squirming internally. He studied the beer mat carefully then lifted his head to address them both again with a smile on his face.
'I actually got stabbed by that bandit you know?'
The first brother, who he was now calling 'Ambience' looked startled. He shot a concerned glance at his companion who seemed unfazed.
'Is that so Grant?' His face was entirely impartial. 'Might I ask how you resolved that particular issue?'
Grant leant back with his beer. “Ambi” was nervously flattening his hair back down and avoiding his eye. The 'normal' brother, who he was now calling “Norm”, had leant forward onto the table with his hands clasped in front of him. He held his gaze while Grant searched for any hint of mockery and finding none, laughed.
'I resolved it.' Both hands spread outwards and he shrugged. 'No cops were called and nothing more came of it. It was a long time ago'
Norm considered this for a moment before slowly nodding. His brother's surreptitious attempts to gain his attention were flatly ignored as he kept his eyes on the big man across the table. From his inside pocket he produced a crisp sheet of paper, folded lengthways exactly once, and unfolded it on the table.
'To keep it above board, this is the official employee agreement form.'
Another swig of beer was the only response from across the table. Writing and reading legal documents tended to confuse and irritate him as they were intended to but he had no intention of broadcasting that fact. Norm turned the page so it faced towards Grant and prodded the page at various points.
'This is legal nonsense. So is this. Health and Safety. This is about the workplace pension, don't worry about that. The rate is £25 an hour.' He paused and looked back at his new doorman. 'And we'll have a verbal agreement between us that for every day in the next fortnight that there is no trouble and the police are not called, I will give you £100 in cash at the end of the night.'
The squeaking objection that came from Ambi was ignored by the other two. Scrawling along the line, Grant pretended to read the conditions again as he asked his final question.
'What are my limitations on how I keep the peace?'
Ambi sat dejected in his seat sipping his drink. He was fully aware he had failed some sort of test that he hadn't even realised was being administered. Norm smoothed his hair his left hand and then reached his right across the table towards Grant. Rings shone on the pinkie and ring finger. They cost more than Grant could make minding this door for a year straight.
'If you promise not to come into my office and tell me how I should run my pubs and clubs, I can promise that I won't tell you how to do your job.' He smiled broadly. 'No cops, no trouble – no questions on our end.'
Grant’
s meaty paw engulfed the bejewelled hand and he was surprised by the strength of the owner’s grip. 'They call that “plausible deniability don't they?'
'That's the one.'
Tonight had been relatively quiet. The first few nights had been more eventful but that was to be expected. The brothers would have probably referred to it as an “adjustment period” or some other weird term that sounded clever but meant nothing. For Grant it had meant a lot of angry drunks and an endless barrage of threats. He had decided to work the door alone but he had two of his mates in the pub drinking, right inside the door. Two or more doormen would have shown that they were expecting trouble and might have even brought some: There is no dignity in getting your pan knocked in off a solitary bouncer but if two of them chucked you onto the pavement there was always a sense that retaliation was justified. A few of the regular customers who he'd been told to keep out were actually sitting inside at the moment. When they had shown up to inspect the new layout on night one and been told the old regulars were not to be allowed, they had expressed anger only at the management and turned to walk away. Grant called them back and let them in. They were told there was a no warnings policy and they played by the rules. His hands had almost healed from the ones who had attempted to exercise their frustrations on him. Even the ones who had come back with a few of their mates had quickly learned that the sober giant at the door was worth at least three drunk pals in a fair fight and this doorman had no qualms about fighting dirty. Aside from his two-man unofficial backup squad, paid in free pints from the bar, there was a foot-long crowbar propped in a cubbyhole by the door. Ostensibly it was for the crates in the cellar but in reality it had needed a surreptitious cleaning at the close of play a few times. The police had never appeared once and Norm or Ambi had greeted him with ever increasing enthusiasm night after night as the pub livened up in just the right sort of way. The extra cash in his pocket never hurt either.
It was only about half nine but the pub was full. As his hands reached for his cigarettes he began to actually think he might drop in for a drink when he wasn't working. The brothers hadn't impressed him initially but they knew how to run a pub. The barmaids were quick, polite and easy on the eye. Whichever two were on, they'd always bring him a coffee every hour or whenever they were out for a smoke. His favourites would even deposit a beer bottle discreetly in the cubbyhole by the crowbar and take the empty back inside with a subtle wink. He had told them all to feel free to tell any customer that was making them uncomfortable that he was their boyfriend. One girl in particular seemed rather keen on the ploy and he had vague intentions of pursuing something with her if he got half the chance. The lighter flicked and he took a long pull to get the cigarette to light. When he looked up there was a punter almost right beside him with a cigarette hanging from his lip.
'Borrow your lighter pal?'
Grant looked him over briefly before shrugging and extending the lighter towards him. He lit up and handed it back as Grant quickly sized him up; slightly taller, longer reach, a lot lighter but looked fit. He was not worried. His friend leaned against the doorway of the pub and looked up and down the road, watching the cars honking and speeding by. His hair was an untidy mess of curls, extending over his collar on his neck and threatening to drop into his eyes at any minute. They smoked in companionable silence briefly before the punter spoke again.
'Busy the night pal?'
Grant kept scanning the street absent-mindedly. There weren't many other folk about and he didn't mind killing some time with inane chit chat. Came with the territory; helped him to get a handle on how drunk someone was or if they'd be any trouble.
'Aye man. Fair bouncing in there. Not a bad wee place nowadays or so they tell me. Hard to tell from out here.' He glanced at the taller man leaning back on his doorway. 'You ever in here before it got redone?'
Nodding slowly, the punter exhaled fully out of his nose before replying. 'Long time ago. I'd have been 19. Maybe 20.' He ashed carefully and replaced the cigarette in his mouth and looked at the bouncer. 'Used to be a bit rough around the edges as I recall.'
Grant laughed and nodded emphatically in response. 'Aye man. Aye. You could say that'
The punter finished his smoke and crushed it on the lid of the ashtray before slotting it in. Grant moved slightly to the side to open the door but his new friend put his hands back in his pockets and leaned against the wall again. The blue eyes were fixed on exactly nothing across the street and he didn't seem to be struggling with the cold even though he wore only a light jumper. Most people so inadequately dressed would have been hurrying into the warmth and noise, not loitering for no reason. Grant gave him another once over, checking for any tell-tale bulges of weapons. Seeing none and reaffirming that he had at least three stone on the punter he resumed his position squarely in the door. Never hurt to be careful, but the punter's next question threw him.
'Is Rab about?' He hadn't even turned to face him, far less come away from the wall. His tone remained casual. 'I haven't seen him in a wee bit.'
'Rab who?' The bouncer's feigned ignorance was all but transparent and he knew it.
'Rab Reid. I knew him way back. Can't get a hold of him all of a sudden.'
'Couldn't tell you.' Grant sniffed quickly. 'Wouldn't mind clapping eyes on him myself as it goes.
'Oh aye?' The punter had rotated 90 degrees and was now leaning sideways on the wall looking at him. 'Any idea where I could look? Kind of hitting a dead end the now.'
The bouncer turned so that they were facing each other and shrugged.
'If only I knew bud. His old man's been blowing up my phone trying to speak to him.' The punter didn't look surprised in the least that a Magistrate would have a bouncer's mobile number to hand. It probably wasn't the best plan, but Grant felt like talking about it might help somehow. 'We went to the same school, kind of got in tow together. Now we're in our 30's and I'm still having to look out for him.' His hand ran over his shaved head as he looked up into the sky. 'It's no the best gig in the world.'
Nodding slowly, the punter extended his hand. Inside it was a business card with a name and a number. Grant took it carefully, as if it were made of glass and turned it this way and that.
'My name's Luke. If you find anything out give me a shout. There could be something for you in it.'
'What's your deal then?' The bouncer's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'He doesn't owe you money does he?'
Luke Calvin took his hands out of his pockets and placed them squarely at his side, palms out. Completing a deliberate and slow spin, he smiled at Grant. 'Do I look like a loan shark, man? Or a drug dealer? Or an enforcer?'
Grant took in the messy curls that framed his face, the slender neck and the lightly muscled body. He was long and rangy but aside from the coolness behind the eyes, there wasn't a single thing about him that was physically intimidating. Grant actually laughed and took his hand away from the cubbyhole and his steel insurance policy.
'Fair enough. Why do you need to find him so bad anyway? Why should I help?'
'His dad asked me to find him.' Seeing the disgust in his eyes, he quickly continued. 'Look, I don't like him much either. Bit up himself. But a job's a job.' He glanced at Grant's almost-healed knuckles. 'I'm sure you can appreciate that.'
'Sure man.' He itched the back of his neck with the corner of the card before stepping aside and holding the door open. 'Nice to meet you Luke, if I hear anything I might just hit you up.'
Luke smiled briefly and went to walk in. He paused with one hand on the open door and faced Grant in the doorway.
'You sure you're not gonna tune me up with your bar there?' He nodded towards the shadowy cubbyhole. Seeing the two big men inside the door stand up, he nodded towards the pub. 'Or set your pals on me?'
Grant continued smiling. Maybe he was a little handier than he looked, but he could appreciate a man who just came out with the truth instead of burying it under layers of nonsense.
'I'm thinking about it big man.' His
shaved head inclined ever so slightly towards the pub. 'Get yourself in before I change my mind'.
Luke complied, smiling broadly at the two unofficial doormen who glanced over his shoulder before sitting back down with a disappointed air. Luke clapped one on the shoulder jovially. 'Maybe next time pal.'
Crossing to the bar, he ordered a pint and a beautiful girl with crimson hair and sparkling eyes poured it for him with a smile. She leaned across with the pint. The smile on her face was dangerous; he could all but see the hundreds of men who had wrecked themselves on the rocks of its implied promises. Sipping his lager, he found himself hoping Grant wasn't one.
Chapter 9
The sun was rising lazily over Edinburgh's old town, creating shadows and casting them long over the sleepy commuters. All along the mile-long stretch from the West End, the dark was being slowly but surely swept up in the light as it probed here and there, reaching into the corners and sliding slowly up the walls. Trains had begun to move slowly across the foot of the Gardens, pulling in and out with steady precision as the buses and trams ambled up and down at street level. Foot traffic was lighter than it would be later; only a steady stream at the moment instead of the raging torrent that it would be in an hour or so. Schoolchildren, businessmen and the last few stragglers from whatever festivities they had enjoyed last night were the only participants in the early morning exodus where no one wanted to be out in public and they were silently bonded by their mutual hatred of the fact they were forced to be.
The Scott Monument in Princes Street gardens, just off the main drag itself, stood high and proud, a black monolith tapering to an imposing peak. Edges, ledges and precipices jutted out from every angle all the way to the top giving it a Gothic look that brought admiration from many and seemed to bring out the morbid thoughts in an unfortunate few who were looking to leave the gig early. Between the North Bridge, high above Waverley Station and the monument which was visible from it, there had been countless threats of suicides and a sad amount of successful attempts. If the street was ever closed off for an 'incident' it was assumed by the locals that someone had reached their breaking point and taken extreme action. It was assumed by the tourists that some form of maintenance was being carried out. And it was assumed by the despicable few that a man or woman's moment of deepest despair was an acceptable occasion to break out the camera phone in the hopes of immortalising whatever was about to happen on film.
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