by Tony Black
It was a lovely image. ‘Thanks for that, mate.’
‘If I won’t tell you … who will?’
I walked back to the clothes rail, pulled down the hanger with my tweed jacket and trousers, said, ‘Right, message received and understood … Get your arse into gear. I’ll see you and Mac out the front in five to ten.’
Swear I could see him shaking his head. Nothing was shaping up like he’d intended – wondered if he regretted getting me on the job. Christ, he probably regretted even getting the cards printed.
Made an arse of pulling out the drip again, but was relieved not to break the needle this time. Soon as I chucked it, the shakes came back to my hands. It felt like I’d been lucky to hold them off. I dressed hurriedly, struggled on the shirt buttons and belt buckle but got there. The Docs were another matter altogether, gave up on the laces, tucked them in.
An old bloke in striped flannel pyjamas, open to the waist and exposing a bony chest, raised himself up. ‘You’ll break yer bloody neck, son.’
My heart seared when he called to me, said, ‘That’s the least of my worries.’
‘Ye cannae go out with yer laces flapping aboot … Here, put yer boots up.’ He motioned to the edge of his bed, tapping the blanket.
I felt blown away by his kindness; walked over and raised my boot. The motion nearly felled me and I had to sit on the edge of my bed to steady myself.
The old bloke said, ‘You sure yer fit for this, lad?’
‘Oh aye, I’m right as rain.’
He widened his eyes, looked over the bridge of his craggy nose as he tied my bootlaces. ‘Well, it’s no’ for me to stick my oar in.’
He tapped the bed for the second boot. As I watched him, I put his age at mid-eighties. He was a rare character. Had I more time to play with, I wouldn’t have minded spending it in his company, but try as I might, the thoughts of Amy and Gemmill wouldn’t subside.
‘Thanks very much,’ I said, ‘very kind of you.’
He smiled at me, a broad toothless smirk. I fired him one back. Could feel the gaps in my mouth where my bridgework had taken a flyer; thought I must look a sight.
I stumbled out the ward, and past the reception desk at the front door.
Sparked up a Regal in the car park as I waited for Hod and Mac to appear. My hands shook so hard now that I could hardly get the tab to my gob without gripping my forearm and grasping for the filter-tip as if I was dooking for apples. Sorry state indeed.
I was on the third tab, though thinking of something much stronger, when Hod and Mac appeared. Hod was driving, chucking the van into the bends and pushing the revs. The vehicle didn’t look like it could handle much more of that punishment – the lean so extreme that the shocks screeched as though they’d entered their death throes.
The pair glowered at me as they pulled up. Mac leaned out the open window; his face held firm, stony. ‘Fucking hell, Dury … you got a death wish?’
‘Yeah. Yeah,’ I barked back – let them know early on that I wasn’t for taking any shit on this. I’d done my best to stop her. Was it my fault that she was out of control? I didn’t want to know the answer to that.
Mac opened the door then slunk back beside Hod. ‘I’m no’ on about the hospital … I’m on about Gemmill. Are you off yer fucking dial mixing it with the likes of yon?’
‘He has Amy.’
‘Aye, so fucking what? If that daft wee sow’s no’ got the marbles to—’
I cut him off, ‘Shut the fuck up, Mac.’
The pair of them looked at me. Hod spoke: ‘Getting a bit protective, Gus? … Bit late in the day for that, isn’t it?’
I knew where he was coming from. I also knew he still held a flame for Amy; I let the comment slide. More conflict, more complication, I could well do without. ‘Where are we headed, then?’ I asked.
Mac spoke, ‘Drinker in Leith. Know a man who knows Gemmill.’
‘Think he’s gonna tell us anything?’
Mac looked at me like I’d tested him, said, ‘He’ll tell us.’
I’d forgotten how connected Mac was. If he said he had a man in the know, that was good enough for me. Hod pulled out. As we drove, the silence in the cab of the van was palpable. I knew the pair of them were bursting to have a go at me, a full-on swipe for getting Amy involved, for getting myself in hospital again … for being the usual cockhead that I’d proven myself to be time and time again. But they held schtum. I was grateful for that – fuck knows I had nothing else to be glad of.
I put my hands in my pockets and tried to draw fists to stop the trembling. Knew it was futile. Felt the tremors spreading along the seat towards Mac and Hod. I was, as they were both dying to tell me, in some shape. I let the shakes mount up, mingle with the tension, then I fired up: ‘Look, I know you’re both itching to cane my arse, so let’s just get that out the way, eh.’
Mac looked at Hod. They both shook their heads. This was worse than I thought. They’d gone beyond that stage. They were in damage-limitation mode. I could tell by the look on them that they thought I was past help. I was at the stage where no one else could reach me. I felt their concern; it made me think of Debs. I’d seen the look on her many times before. She knew me better than anyone. Was that why she wouldn’t speak to me? Was it too painful for her to see me this way? I looked at my mobi, in forlorn hope that she might have returned one of my calls … Nothing. I felt an almighty urge to call her again, to tell her I thought I’d sussed her out, but I fought it. Now wasn’t the time. And I had more pressing matters to worry about.
I dialled Amy’s number.
Ringing.
Three rings in total, then voicemail.
I left a message: ‘Amy, it’s Gus … where the hell are you, eh? Look, I saw you with Gemmill. He’s fucking dangerous, I’m not kidding. Tell me where you are, eh? Get away from him and call … I’ll come get you. Please, Amy. This isn’t a game. It’s serious now, call me right back.’
I put down the phone, caught Mac’s eye on me. It wasn’t one of his more kindly stares.
‘Yeah?’ I said.
‘Think that’ll do any good?’
‘What do you mean?’
He turned on the seat, staring intently at me, pointed a finger in my chest. ‘If Gemmill knows she’s connected to you, Gus, she’s probably already on a fucking meathook.’
I brushed him aside, yelled at Hod, ‘Look, can you drive any bloody slower?’
‘Don’t be sparking at me, boyo.’
I wasn’t taking that. ‘Boyo now, is it? Well, let me fucking remind you whose idea this case was!’
‘Aye, aye … and who told you to keep Amy out of it?’
‘You’ll be accusing me of playing Cilla to her and Gemmill next!’
Mac slapped the dash. ‘Right, enough’s enough! … You heard the pair of you? Like fucking four-year-olds. Cool the beans, eh. If we’re going to find this lassie we need to keep the heid.’
He was right, but I wasn’t admitting anything.
I turned to the window, tucked my trembling hands back in my coat pockets as Hod drove. I could see the hallucinations returning if I didn’t snap out of this frame of mind. I felt myself tripping – falling out with myself again. It was never a good state at the best of times, but in the current circumstances, with Amy’s life on the line, I might as well just check out.
As we hit Leith Walk the place was in chaos. Tram works in full swing, the road dug up. A tailback stretched all the way from the roundabout down London Road. Horns blared, the normal rules of the road chucked out the window. At Festival time you expect such shit, but things were worse than ever with the tram works. Every bin in the street was full, spilling rubbish onto the ground. Tourists and locals waded through the muck, shaking their heads. Don’t think I’d ever wanted out more. Felt an unholy pull towards a new life. Somewhere far away; somewhere I could be someone else. I spiralled out of control … out of hope.
I turned to Mac. ‘So, this mate of yours … he reliable?’
Mac’s voice was low, flat. ‘Well, for a start, he’s no mate of mine.’
‘Sounds dodgy.’
‘He’s a mate of Gemmill’s.’
‘But you know him?’
‘We were in Bar-L together. Gemmill was in for a four-stretch at the time. We all crossed paths.’
‘But he kept in with Gemmill?’
‘Aye … I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Cos the cunt’s fucking radge.’
I knew that myself, remembered his face as he’d stomped on my guts in the King’s Arms. He was wild. Lost it. Out of control. None of this sounded promising. ‘So what makes you think he’ll fill you in on where to get Gemmill?’
Mac rubbed the edge of his Chelsea smile. ‘Nothing … just gonna play it casual, hope he’s too dippit to cop on.’
‘Jesus, this could backfire badly. What if he tips off Gemmill?’
Mac dropped his hand, exhaled a long breath. ‘Aye, well, I thought about that myself … but didn’t come up with an answer. You got a better idea?’
I took my eyes off him, looked to the road in front, said, ‘God help us.’
Hod butted in, forcing his voice high above its natural range: ‘It’s Amy you should be praying for.’
Chapter 23
HOD AND I WATCHED MAC cross the street to the pub. I’d seen more than my fair share of Leith drinkers but this place was a total doss. Two skelky yoofs stood outside like ornamental hoodies, hanging off filter-tips, and watching a pair of Staffies in heavy leather and brass harnesses circle each other in preparation for a scrap. Three yards from the door an old man in an Andy Capp hat and dirty mac took a piss against the wall; he could hardly stand and looked likely to keel at any moment. The snoutcasts, at least half a dozen of them, looked unfazed by either of these scenes – it was just another day in paradise.
‘Some fucking kip, that place,’ said Hod.
‘No kidding.’
At the door, Mac took a hand out of his jacket pocket and pushed his way in. I felt relieved this was his gig and not mine. There was no way I was up to taking on any of the locals if they got uppity at the sight of a strange face. Round here, a fresh coupon is likely taken as filth.
Hod spoke: ‘So, the hospital again …’
‘What about it?’ I was in no mood for a lecture. Had taken more than enough of them in my day.
‘Nothing.’ He knew better than to have a go. Went on, but his voice changed tone again. ‘I, eh, bumped into your mam.’
This was unexpected. At the best of times Hod didn’t hang anywhere my mother was likely to be, and he had been lying low. He was up to something. ‘You did?’
‘Aye, okay … Look, I called her, told her you’d been in the hospital.’
I fired up, ‘You did fucking what?’
‘Gus, I had to … She asked me to …’
‘She asked you to what?’
He scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘She asked me to let her know if you were … y’know, ever in a bad way again, just to let her know.’
This wasn’t good. The last thing I needed was my mother piling on the grief; Jesus, I had enough of that to be worrying about as it was. ‘Oh, she did, did she?’
Hod swivelled on his hip, turned to face me, his eyelids drooping heavily as his gaze fell. ‘She’s worried about you. She’s your mother …’
‘I know that.’
‘Then don’t you think you should let her know you’re okay?’
I shot him a glower. ‘Do I look okay, Hod?’
‘All I’m saying is, I think you should give her a call … pay her a visit, maybe.’
It had been on my mind anyway, for altogether different reasons. I just didn’t know if I had the bottle. ‘Okay, well, thanks for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.’
He turned away again, stared back at the pub. The old jakey in the mac had tried to get back inside but was being thrown out by a biffer with a towel tucked in his waistband and tats down each arm. He handled the old bloke as though he was made of straw. I half expected to see him taken by the breeze. It was a scene that was probably being played out in dozens of pubs throughout the city; though none of the trendy pubs filled to bursting with Festival-goers would see the like. Uh-uh. We keep this stuff well out of their way. No one wants to see the real Edinburgh – no one would pay a penny for that.
Said, ‘Wonder how Mac’ll do?’
‘I’m more worried about Amy.’ The statement came with a cruel look. It was another low blow, but I didn’t doubt I deserved it. I didn’t doubt I deserved a whole lot worse.
‘Hod, you know there’s no way I’d put that girl in any danger.’ It was a long shot trying to make him see that I was on his side with this one, but at the very least I hoped I could make him agree that Amy was a law unto herself. We both felt far too much for the girl to see her hurt; he got that, surely.
‘Yeah, and you know what she’s like, Gus.’
He had me there. It was my fault she was in this situation. I’d been stupid enough to call her in – what had I been thinking? I was in no condition to be keeping an eye on her. I wondered where my mind was? Knew exactly what my intention had been, but held schtum, covered my arse. ‘Yeah, sure … but Hod, we needed to get moving on the case.’
‘You could have kept her out of it, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘I didn’t even hint at her getting anything off Gemmill. I asked her to snoop around at the uni … this was a complete shock to me as well.’
He wasn’t buying it. ‘Gus, have you ever known Amy to do things by halves? … You must have had a fucking inkling she’d go off on one.’
I was getting nowhere. ‘Go on, then, blame it all on me.’ I was trying to do my best by him; I knew he was in deep shit and I wanted to help out. Christ, neither of us were doing great and the case was likely too much for us but we’d taken it on now and I’d be fucked if I was walking away after what we’d uncovered. I’d seen the look on Gillian Laird’s face: she knew her son hadn’t been a gasper. There was more to it than that. Dealing for Danny Gemmill was bad enough, but Fitz’s revelations about the Craft silencing his nephew was tipping tragic. This kind of thing fired me up – I’d never been comfortable with the games the big boys played. If they kicked their ball in my direction, it was going back with a puncture – even if it took my last breath to deliver it.
Mac appeared in the doorway again. He put his collar up and shuffled through the smokers. I tried to read his face but he wasn’t giving anything away. I hoped to Christ his contact had come good; I didn’t want any more on my conscience than I had already. And I certainly didn’t want to lose Amy.
Hod started the engine.
Mac kept his pace casual, not wanting to draw attention to himself in case he was being watched. He fitted in perfectly among the chib-men and heavies; Christ, didn’t he just. You couldn’t do better with an identikit.
When he finally got in the van he said, ‘Right, back to the city.’
‘You got a place?’
‘Corstorphine Road. Gemmill’s been drinking in some hotel out there lately.’
Hod found first, pulled out. The old engine rattled a bit, coughed out some smoke. I hoped it wouldn’t overheat on the way out.
‘So what’s the go?’ I asked.
Mac shook his head. ‘There’s no fucking go … think I got chatty with the cunt? It was casual as fuck. I just asked if he’d seen Gemmill about and if he knew where he was drinking these days.’
It sounded dodge, Mac just dropping by a strange drinker, asking questions. ‘Did he cotton on?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so …’
That lit a fuse. Mac’s eyes turned on me; I saw plenty of the whites, tinged with angry red. ‘No, I don’t. But, y’know, I’m no’ a fucking mind-reader and ex-cons tend to know better than to let their faces give away what they’re thinking.’
Hod slapped the wheel. ‘So, what you’re
saying is he could be on the phone to Gemmill already.’
Mac leaned past me, flattening me in my seat to roar at Hod. ‘Well, we knew that was a fucking option before I went in there! … I don’t remember you having a better plan!’
I pushed Mac back in his seat. ‘Right, enough. We’ll find out when we get there, eh.’
The rest of the journey passed in silence. The traffic got heavy, tram and road works competed with Festival-goers and tour buses. Getting from Leith to Corstorphine was a trial at the best of times in this city; right now it seemed like mission impossible. Hod and Mac fumed, letting out sighs at every turn. We were stopped by every set of lights – both drivers and pedestrians took blastings from the horn. As we got to Corstorphine Road the tension in the cab hung like a fever. I felt my hands start to tremble again; beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I needed a drink, desperately.
‘Thank fuck there’s a bar in here …’ I said.
‘Jesus Christ, Gus,’ said Mac, ‘you won’t be doing any drinking.’
My mind was drifting all over the place. When I got like this I felt inches from unconsciousness. I started to gnaw at my exposed gums with my lower teeth. I had gone too long without topping up my units. I felt seriously drowsy, but at the same time my heart raced.
Mac pointed to the hotel; Hod pulled the van onto the driveway scree. As he parked he caught sight of his Beemer. ‘Well, he’s here, then. Prick’s got a cheek driving my motor, eh.’
‘Perks of the job,’ said Mac.
Hod braked, pulled the keys out of the ignition. ‘If he’s hurt that lassie he’ll no’ be fit for any fucking job … He’ll be on invalidity if he’s fucking lucky.’
As we got out of the van I wondered if we’d suddenly changed seasons – summer to winter. I started to shiver uncontrollably. My neck froze; I felt my stomach tightening. I blamed the stress of the situation. I was worried about Amy, said, ‘I really need a drink.’
‘Will you shut up about drink,’ said Hod, ‘Do you not remember why we’re here?’
‘I really do need a swally … my insides are burning.’
