'Deek? Deek? Open the door you roaster.'
He must be expecting someone after all. What Deek had forgotten was that his flatmate had nipped to the shops for a bit of grub somewhere between five minutes and five hours ago. He'd quadruple locked the door as soon as he left and promptly forgotten he'd ever existed. Posting the unlit joint in the corner of his lip he unravelled himself from the couch and went to start unlocking the door. The chain slid out of its flimsy runner easily enough and the deadbolt retracted in two movements as he rotated the lock clockwise. When he did the Yale lock though, the door wouldn't budge from its frame. Maybe it was a push door? Tentatively leaning against it yielded no different result. Releasing the Yale, he took a step back and looked at the door the way an astrophysicist would look at a whiteboard covered in equations that just wouldn't balance out. To his surprise the door spoke again.
'Have you done that bolt at the bottom man? My arms are getting tired.'
Eureka – There was a backup deadbolt located about half a foot below the first. As he stooped to release it he first wagged his finger at it, to let it know it had fooled him this time but no more. Retrying the Yale, the door exploded inwards in a burst of light, thumping off his face which was all but leaning against it and sending him sprawling in the hallway. The jig was up. He was getting raided. He'd been betrayed by his own door. The shame. The ignominy. Looking up from his back he saw a messianic figure silhouetted in the light carrying bags of shopping - Mark had returned with the food. The sound of the door closing and each lock being reapplied was accompanied by a deep sighing.
'Get up you tube. How much have you had?'
Deek felt arms looping under his armpits and hoisting him roughly to his feet. He was assisted back to the couch where he resumed his sprawl with the satisfaction of a man who'd undertaken a massive journey and was relieved to be back home. Mark brought the shopping bags through to the kitchen and returned with various snacks which he threw onto his friend. Deek puffed twice on the joint that had remained in his mouth throughout his ordeal and offered it to Mark who had sat down on the chair beside him.
'That's not even lit man. I was only gone like an hour and half.'
Mark was the same age as Derek and was equally culpable in their ongoing business venture. However, he made an effort to not be so heavily involved in the testing of their product as the pool of skin and worry on the sofa, who was now studying the unlit joint carefully as if trying to find an on switch. Mark sighed and found his lighter. Leaning across, the spark startled Deek who recoiled before carefully pouting his lips and edging his face towards the flame until it barely grazed the tip and lit once more. Leaning back again he stared at the TV but saw nothing. Mark considered only a minute before shrugging for the benefit of no one in particular and begun skinning up himself.
He was shorter than Deek but then again so was everyone. They both had brown hair although he wore his long, down to his shoulders and made a half-hearted effort to keep it controlled by a bandana. The earring in his left ear was just a gold stud but with the plaid shirts and skate shoes he came across as a student to most. Derek was never out of his joggers and loved nothing more than offensively white trainers and the occasional polo shirt with his chain hung outside. Tale as old as time - The Ned and the Baggy. They were an unlikely double act but they had been friends for too long now to ever be any different way. Mark finished rolling and sparked up himself.
'I nipped into the “Boat” for a quick pint on my way to the shops. Just a quick one and a few goes on the bandit ken?' Checking if his lanky pal was listening he saw nothing to indicate positively in either direction. The meticulously maintained sprawl made it look like he was glued to the leather on the sofa and Mark was put in mind of a long sloth. 'Oi! Cloth Ears! I'm speaking here.'
'I heard man, I heard. Stop stressing Jackanory.' His glazed eyes were still facing the telly. The joint rotated slowly in his hand in front of him. 'Carry on with your rubbish story and I'll carry on pretending I'm interested.'
Highly amused at his own razor sharp wit Deek dissolved into a fit of the giggles that bounced his slender rib cage and creased his face inwards. Mark watched him until they had died off to the occasional titter.
'You listening?'
'Aye man. I'm listening. You was in the Boat getting your breeks pulled down by the puggie as per usual. Losing your shirt to the bright lights and noises. Pumping it full of money for the next radge.' His long neck craned and twisted to fix his eyes on Mark. 'It's a great story so far man. Real edge of my seat stuff like.'
Mark was not fond of his habitual gambling losses being mocked. Puffing away, his retort was far snottier than he expected.
'I won £12 as it goes.'
'When are we moving to the Bahamas then mate? Retiring on your winnings?'
Fingering the stud in his ear was always the tell-tale sign that Mark was making a great effort to pretend like he was totally calm. Deek watched him reach towards it then stop, placing it in his pocket instead. Almost there. Almost. Deek took another toke and asked as casually as he could:
'How much did you put into it before you pulled out that life changing £12 then?
'Two quid. Maybe three.'
It had actually been closer to twenty.
'And how much of it did you put back in?'
'None.'
It had all gone back in and he'd even broken a ten at the bar to have another pop. No one who played a bandit thought about these things properly or answered these questions honestly, mainly due to the fact that the output outstripped the winnings so badly that it made them confront the stupidity of continuing to play. Mark was well and truly in the huff now and the shine had been taken off his win.
'None? Pffft. You sure it wasn't dropped in there against your will by the flying pigs that were going about as soon as you walked away from the bandit with winnings?'
The only response was silence and Mark casually massaging his ear lobe. He'd got his man. Satisfied in his victory he made an abortive attempt to sit up and abandoned it after two seconds of effort. The only tangible result of his effort was that he was now further on his side facing his pal.
'Right man. What were you trying to tell me anyway?'
The massaging stopped and Mark reclined back into his seat, looking at the telly instead of Deek. His intention to make him ask again for the story before he told it was thwarted by the fact that Deek was so stoned he'd probably lie there staring at him for a full hour and as long as he didn't move too much the assumption would be that he had started immediately anyway. The joint was starting to mellow him out anyway, topping up the drinks he'd had. He took another few short puffs and started again.
'Right. So I'm in the Boat...'
'Yup. In the Boat.'
'Aye. Like I said. I'm in the Boat having a pint....'
'And playing the bandit Mark. Mind you won £12?'
Despite himself he burst out laughing. The look of innocence on his friend’s face also dissolved into laughter as he placed his head down onto the arm of the sofa and his body was wracked by big gulping sniggers. Once it had abated again in both camps, Mark held both hands palm down and lowered them slightly towards the carpet in an attempt to induce calm.
'Right man. Right. I'm in the Boat having a pint...' Deek had raised his hand to interject but was pre-empted 'AND playing the bandit. OK, Happy? Good. Now. Seen they two coppers in that drink in there sometimes. You know? One's older and one's younger?'
“Great powers of description Mark” he thought, aware that he was making an absolute meal of this story but it seemed to be capturing the attention of his audience who was actually participating.
'Aye, one's called Steve. He's sound as anything for being filth.' Deek considered a moment before continuing. 'The other one takes himself a bit serious but he's an OK guy too.''
'Aye. The other one's David something. Anyway. They're yapping away about something to do with the job and usually I'm no bothered about what sort of
nonsense their wasting time on but I caught a bit here and there.'
Mark glanced to make sure that he was still holding the interest of his friend and was pleased to see he was staring with rapt attention. Taking another hit, he relaxed further into the seat and continued.
'They were on about something they were called to this morning. I didn't catch what it was about but that Steve boy was on about phoning an old mate of his to give him some information and that Dave guy was a bit unhappy with it. Talking about protocol and stuff like that eh?'
'Aye. Protocol. Sure man. I love a bit of protocol, me. Then what happened?'
Mark was a bit surprised at his friend’s indifference.
'What do you mean “what else”? That was it.'
'That was it?'
'Aye. I find out that there's a bent copper in the local and you're no bothered?'
Derek studied the end of his joint which was burnt down almost to the roach and thought carefully before replying.
'Mark, you can't call them that any more. You shouldn't care what he's into. It's meant to be a modern world.' He puffed carefully. 'Acceptance and that. Besides, I'm sure he has a wife and kids.'
Mark was now thoroughly confused. 'Aye he's married. And what?'
'I just don't think you should be running in here telling me about how he fancies dudes as if it's any of either of our business...'
The laugh that came from Mark was loud, long and entirely genuine. He rocked forward in his seat with tears streaming down his face before composing himself to look at Deek who was looking as hurt as a kicked kitten. Mark held up a hand towards him in apology.
'Sorry man. Sorry.' He snorted and covered his face with his hand. 'I meant bent as in on the take. Giving out confidential information to folk, usually for money. No the way you were thinking.'
It took a second but the penny dropped and Derek's face softened. He smirked a little but Mark was worried he might have offended him now. He had turned away on the sofa.
'Here Mark?'
'Aye?'
'How'd you manage to hear them over the bandit dropping that fortune you won all over the pub?'
They laughed together for longer than was necessary and the telly that no one was watching continued to blast over the top of it all.
Steve and Dave had finished their shift and headed back to the station to change. Standing at the entrance in their civvies, they both paused. Tomorrow was a day off and it was barely 3pm now - surely there was time for a pint before home? Neither wanted to be the one to suggest it. Steve looked older than his compatriot by an additional measure when they were wearing their street clothes: it had been well over a decade before he'd even given a thought to the fickle winds of fashion. Dave told anyone who would listen that he didn't care about how he looked while meticulously planning and executing every detail of each outfit with military precision. Why on earth garishly coloured chinos ever became the next big thing was the sort of question that kept Steve up at night. They both lived up past the Commonwealth Pool in Craigmillar and Niddrie respectively. As they jumped into Dave's car and started the drive back they chatted amiably over the radio, along Fettes Avenue and up to Queensferry Road. It was only when they were nearing their destination a quarter of an hour later that Steve finally asked the question they'd both been waiting for.
'Pub?'
Dave nodded as he accelerated past his flat and onwards to the Boat.
'Just the one mind, I'm driving.'
Steve stared out the window absently: his mood was always at its best when the beer came so close he could almost taste it.
'See how we go. You can leave the car if you fancy a few more.'
No matter which one of them was driving that day, they invariably ended up leaving the car and getting a taxi or lift round to collect it the next day, after the effects had worn off. Most of the coppers they both knew seemed to drink in places like “The Ox” but neither was the sort of man to forgo a local within stumbling distance to spend more time with people of their own profession. Dave was taking it slow, not rushing, savouring the promise of beer to come. Turning the radio down slightly he kept his eyes ahead while he posed his question.
'How did you know that guy from earlier anyway. Were you in the army together or something?'
Steve shrugged and didn't turn his head away from the passenger window. As well as he got on with the younger man, there were limits to what he was happy to discuss. It wasn't worth falling out over but he supposed his hesitancy and silence would be enough to stop any follow up questions. The sound from the radio increased slightly back to its previous level and he was happy to be proven right again. Presently they arrived at the pub and parked the car behind it. The paint on the sign was peeling and the wood underneath rotten but it was the sort of thing that you could try to pass off as “rustic charm” if you really stretched. Through the door at the front, they entered into an almost deserted lounge occupied by only two or three people who all looked up, nodded in recognition then returned to their papers. Dave had driven so Steve went to get the first round in while the younger man approached the jukebox and dropped a pound in it. Before the pints were fully poured the sounds of Iggy Pop had filled the silence. The pints were carried carefully to their usual seat near the window which you couldn't see out of but which gave a stellar view of the TV, the door and any nice barmaids who had the misfortune of working in there.
'You always play the same songs.' Steve said, handing over one pint. 'Every time we go anywhere with a jukebox you rock up to it and I know full well what's going to come on.'
`'That's not true.' Dave sipped the head from his lager then took a deep swallow.
'Aye it is. “I wanna be your dog” then “Lust for life” then “The Passenger.'
'So? They're good tunes.'
Steve considered a moment and substituted a drink for a reply. Smacking his lips loudly he held his glass up across the table.
'That's another one we've gotten in on them bud.'
They touched glasses and drank. The first went down far too easily. It really hit the spot and they both relaxed properly. The next was just as good, if not better and the third was definitely ticking all the right boxes. They chatted back and forth, loosening up a bit as the lager began to work its magic. Once the third was gone, Steve didn't even bother asking before taking the glasses back to the bar and getting the fourth round in. Dave was happily not watching the television and listening to the AC/DC selection he'd gotten up to choose just before the Iggy Pop had finished when the door opened and Mark walked in. Giving Dave a nod, he went to the bar where he greeted Steve in the passing and ordered a pint. Watching the back of his head as he leant on the bar waiting, Dave was struck by the weirdness of the set up they had here: the two of them were Police and everyone knew but didn't care. Mark sold hash with that lanky idiot Deek and everyone knew but cared even less. The glass that landed in front of him brought him back to reality.
'Here, Steve? How come we don't just go round to their gaff and bust them both for possession with intent?' His eyes were still fixed on Mark with his bandana and earring now moving (as expected) towards the bandit. 'It's not like they even try to pretend they aren't up to anything.'
Steve took a thoughtful sip and replaced the glass on the beermat. There had been a time when he too was just starting out and although he had never managed to muster up the zeal that his compatriot seemed to he could understand his frustration. Police work was not the sheriff kicking in the Saloon door and gunning down all the criminals any more. Far far from it.
'You know full well that we need a warrant or anything we seize can't be used in court. I mean, you are the walking police handbook after all...' Instead of the usual dirty look Dave laughed into his pint just as he went to take a sip and ended up spraying foam all over his face. Emboldened by the unusually buoyant mood of his partner, he continued. 'Besides, all they do is sling a bit of hash. It's against the law and illegal and drug dealers are scum blah blah b
lah but I'll tell you one thing.' Leaning forward and speaking a little lower he pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb. 'If we busted they two muppets then someone else would be shifting their stuff and the rest within days. And who knows who it'd be. I'm well aware that I'm meant to hate them but I can't. Neither of them has ever used strong violence. Or sold smack or even a bit of ching. All they do is hash and green and they do it with as little outfall in the community as possible. Better the devil you know I guess.'
Dave had listened intently while drying his face repeatedly with his right hand. For some reason the explanation seemed to make sense to him as he watched Mark returning to the bar for more change. Most of the dealers they ended up taking down were pushing big amounts of class A's or enforcing their collections and defending their territory with bats and blades. The booze was making him warm to the man with the long hair feeding pound coins into the bandit.
'That almost makes sense man. I guess I can see that.' He took another sip and wiped his face once more to make sure it was clean of foam. 'Bit of common sense policing.'
'That's out of a handbook isn't it?'
'Maybe.'
They both laughed. Suddenly, Dave realised that it was the final chorus of his last AC/DC selection and jumped up to pick more songs.
'Any requests?'
'I fought the law? Anything by Sting and the Police?'
'You don't even like these songs. You're just on the wind up.'
'Yup.' Steve took a sip. 'I request that you just pick some tunes and stop harassing me.'
Shadow of the Castle Page 11
