Dark Side of the Moon

by Les Wood

  Despite the roaring of the train as it sped through the tunnel, a silence descended in the carriage. The guy lifted one of his crutches, used it to tap the businessman on the leg. ‘Heh, you,’ he said. ‘Ah’m talkin to you.’ The businessman still refused to acknowledge him. He turned to the other passengers. ‘Youse are all the same, ya pricks. Youse all think Ah’m scum, don’t youse? Well, ye can just fuck off.’ He was about to launch into another rant when the train pulled into St Enoch. The people nearest the door streamed onto the platform, many of them glad to just get the fuck off the train and away from the guy with the crutch; they could walk the rest, or wait for the next train – anything but spend another second beside this arsehole.

  The people waiting for the train began to board, innocent and oblivious of what they were about to encounter. ‘Stop bumpin me, ya bastards,’ the guy shouted at the oncoming crowd. Some of them glanced at him warily, others scrambled on regardless. ‘Heh! Ye’re duntin my leg! Can youse smell it?’ Kyle got up and went over to the guy, took him by the arm and guided him to the seat he’d vacated. ‘Here pal,’ he said. ‘Settle down. Just sit here till it’s time to get off.’

  The guy flopped into the seat and propped his crutches between his knees. The people beside him shifted uneasily. He frowned and looked around him, still struggling to concentrate on his surroundings, a thin thread of saliva running down his chin.

  Kyle made his way through the standing passengers to the door and hopped off. Just as the doors slid together, Kyle heard the guy shout in a muffled voice: ‘Ho! This is my stop! Hold on, this is me!’

  The train pulled away and Kyle had a last view of the guy falling backwards in the carriage, taking out two or three other passengers in the process, his face contorted in a furious, wild-eyed yell, crutches and limbs flailing in a tangled confusion.

  ***

  At the top of the escalator, Kyle saw Prentice waiting beside the station exit. Like Kyle, he was dressed for the job: good suit, black polo shirt for that air of careful casualness, clean-shaven.

  He didn’t look pleased though. ‘What kept you?’ he asked.

  Kyle explained about the delayed trains, but didn’t say anything about the crutch-guy. He couldn’t be bothered getting into it all with Prentice. It had been weeks since the meeting at the beach and Kyle had hardly had any contact with him. That was unusual in itself – they normally worked together on everything – but what little time they’d spent together since then had been punctuated by scowls and bad moods. Whatever had been bothering him, Prentice had kept his own counsel.

  Now, he was barely listening to what Kyle had to say. He just turned and headed off to Argyle Street, leaving Kyle shaking his head in frustration and hurrying to catch up. Today was an important part of the plan, a crucial scouting expedition, and there was no point in carrying an attitude onto the job. It would make them too conspicuous. Kyle remembered a slogan he’d seen printed on a T-shirt somewhere – I don’t have an attitude problem, you have a perception problem. Prentice might as well have it printed on his forehead.

  They crossed the road and walked through the Heilanman’s Umbrella, the dank, dismal part of Argyle Street which ran under Central Station. At the far end Kyle could see their destination suspended in the air.

  Trusdale and Needham’s was only eighteen months old, but already it had become a Glasgow icon. The flagship of the Trusdale and Needham consortium (they would never call it a ‘chain’), it was hailed as the most stylish department store in Europe, not just by the glitterati, the fashion gurus and the self-appointed ‘beautiful people’, but equally by the ordinary punters, the Joe Soaps and the merely curious. Architecturally, it was considered a masterpiece – a fusion of old and new, symbolic of Glasgow’s dynamic thrusting leap into the future, springboarded from the solid foundations of heritage and history. Or so the publicity blurb said. To most people it was simply a stunning building.

  Trusdale and Needham had chosen their site well, on the corner of Hope and Argyle. The design had involved demolishing the jaded office block at one end, taking the old Edwardian buildings running up Hope Street and fusing them to a gleaming burnished copper spike which soared and curved over the intersection with Argyle Street, seeming to strain against the tendons of black-coated steel beams which both supported the spire and anchored it to the main building. Below this, a glass bubble, two storeys high, was suspended from the spike, like a giant bead of water caught in a spider’s web of cantilevered cables and struts. The bubble was joined to the main building by a slender walkway, also encased in glass, where customers paraded high above the street below, giving them the illusion of walking on air. The whole structure was an unlikely balancing act, held in place by the subtle interactions of gravity and the biomechanical grace of the suspending cables and stanchions which sprung from the copper spike. After dark, the bubble was illuminated by spotlights and lasers mounted on adjacent buildings and it glittered and sparkled in the night like a mirrorball.

  This was where the Dark Side of the Moon would be put on display. A diamond within a diamond.

  Kyle and Prentice emerged from the gloom of the Umbrella and stood looking up at the giant bauble hanging above them. Despite its glass construction, they noticed it was actually difficult to make out anything inside in any detail. The curvature of the walls had a curious lensing effect which distorted the view from the ground.

  ‘Impressive, eh?’ said Kyle.

  Prentice shrugged. ‘Ah suppose so, if ye like that kinda thing.’

  Kyle looked at him. ‘C’mon, shake yourself. Ye’ve got to admit, there’s nothin like it.’

  Prentice sucked his teeth and stared at the ground, refusing to meet Kyle’s gaze. Kyle grabbed his arm and steered him to the nearest doorway. ‘What the fuck’s eatin you, man?’ he asked. Prentice shrugged him off, turned his back on him. Kyle seized Prentice by the shoulders and spun him round, pinning him against the wall. ‘Don’t ignore me, ya prick. There’s somethin botherin ye. Tell me what it is.’

  Passers-by turned to look at them, curious to see if anything was going to kick off, but cautious of getting too close. Prentice pushed Kyle away. ‘Back off,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t fuckin get me started. You know what Ah’m like and you don’t want to aggravate me, right?’

  Kyle caught the menace in Prentice’s voice, knew it was safer to hold back a bit. But this behaviour wasn’t good. They needed to co-operate, to get their act together. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with, eh? It’ll not take long. In, out… and that’ll be it. We can go get a pint or two later, you can tell me what’s up. Christ, ye’ve got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.’

  Prentice glowered at him, his eyes hooded and emotionless. ‘Let me ask you something,’ he said.

  Kyle nodded for him to carry on.

  ‘Why do you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’ Kyle asked.

  ‘All this stuff for Boddice, all the shite we have to put up with, all the shite we have to dole out, what do ye do it for?’

  Kyle frowned. ‘Ah don’t know what ye mean.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Prentice. ‘Ye don’t, do ye? Ye never stop to give it any thought. Ye just get on with it. Whatever Boddice asks ye, ye just get the job done, no questions asked, no consideration of the ins and outs of things.’ He shook his head. ‘It never crosses yer mind, does it? To ask what it’s all for. What we, personally, get out of it.’

  ‘Boddice sees us right,’ said Kyle.

  ‘Does he?’ Prentice asked. ‘Does he, really?’

  ‘Of course he does. We get our money every time.’

  ‘Aye, and sometimes it’s not much more than pocket money.’

  ‘We do alright. What more do ye want?’

  Prentice laughed. ‘Aye, we do alright don’t we? That’s how you and me are stayin in shitty wee one-bedroomed flats in Maryhill, and not in some big mansion in Blantyre with fitba players and bank managers for neighbours. We’re doing great aren�
�t we?’

  Kyle found himself getting angry. ‘Ye don’t know where we’d be without Boddice. Mary and me are fine in that flat. Christ knows what our situation might be like if it wasn’t for the cash we get from Boddice. How else would we survive? We’ve got zero skills, you and me, what else can we do?’

  Prentice ignored him. ‘All Ah see recently is that Boddice gets all the profits, and the most we can expect is scraps from the table.’

  Kyle jerked a thumb at the Trusdale and Needham building opposite. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘Is that gonnae be scraps?’ He dropped his voice, made sure no-one was listening. ‘The fuckin diamond man, that’s not exactly leftovers from the mince and totties is it?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Prentice. ‘But don’t think for a minute that we’ll be gettin the lion’s share. We’ll be doing all the dirty work, riskin all the danger, maybe even gettin caught, and Boddice’ll be safely out of harm’s way, controllin things from the sidelines, the general commanding from the rear. Make no mistake, we’re the ones that’ll be feelin the heat if things go wrong.’

  ‘Ah don’t understand why ye’re being like this,’ said Kyle. ‘Ye never used to question anythin the big man wanted. Why are ye startin now? Now that we’ve got a chance to do somethin big. Somethin that could set us up, get us to fuck out of they flats in Maryhill. Why do ye not trust him?’

  ‘Kyle, that’s always been your problem,’ said Prentice. ‘Ye’ve never questioned anythin, have ye? Ye just do whitever ye’re told. Ye’re like a fuckin robot, man. When Boddice says jump, you ask how high.’

  ‘Have you ever been any different?’ Kyle asked. ‘You’ve always been the fuckin tough man, Boddice’s Doberman. Ah’ve never seen you soundin off to his face.’

  Prentice looked up at the glass structure hanging above their heads, the blue sky reflecting from its gleaming walls. ‘Aye, well it’s about time we did some thinking, Kyle. Some serious analysis. Stop following blindly.’ He looked Kyle in the eye. ‘You and me, we deserve better. And the funny thing is, Ah think you know it.’ He walked to the edge of the pavement, waiting for a break in the traffic. ‘C’mon,’ he called over his shoulder as he crossed the road.

  Kyle hurried after him, wondering just what in Christ’s name was happening to everyone. Prentice was wrong; Kyle was quite happy in his flat. So was Mary. They had a lot to thank Boddice for and shouldn’t be complaining. Life could be much worse. But there was a strange niggle at the back of his mind, a little seed of doubt, that maybe, just maybe, things were about to get worse anyway. Perhaps the incident with the guy on the subway had unsettled him more than he thought, had queered his pitch for the rest of the day. Bad karma and all that.

  More hippy shite.

  He caught up with Prentice at the entrance to the store. The main door was in one of the older buildings on Hope Street. Neither of them had been in the shop before. They stood outside, staring at the ornate wood and brass doors, the T&N symbol carved in blonde ash inlay on the arch overhead and an array of high-powered micro-spotlights blazing a criss-cross pattern on the walls of the vestibule. Even in daylight, the effect was dazzling.

  They pulled on handles shaped like strange musical instruments and went inside. The store opened before them – a huge, cavernous white space criss-crossed by wooden staircases and walkways which spanned the higher levels, ramps and bridges leading to galleries of clothes, high-end furniture, jewellery, furs. A glass ceiling vaulted over the central sales area where perfumes and cosmetics were displayed on islands of polished black stone, beautiful girls in an assortment of scanty uniforms hovering in anticipation of pouncing on any customer who paused long enough to fall into their trap. Here and there were mannequins set on plinths, dressed in expensive big-name designer clothes and posed in various attitudes of exciting-young-thing-ness. A steady thrum of voices circulated in the air, a buzzing undercurrent of exhilaration at the sheer pleasure of being in such a brazenly opulent environment.

  Dominating the space was an enormous golden arrow, the shaft perhaps six feet in diameter, which looked as if it had pierced the building high on the left-hand wall and plunged into the floor in the middle of the concourse in front of them, the glittering arrowhead burying itself in the polished floorboards. Where the shaft came out of the wall, perhaps seventy feet above them, the brickwork had been constructed in such a way as to make it appear as if the bricks and plaster had been damaged beyond repair, hanging precariously, ready to crash to the floor. The shaft of the arrow housed the supporting cables which ran through the copper spike outside. The cables suspended the Bubble and they travelled down the main body of the arrow to anchor points secured to the underground ballast deep beneath the store. It was a stroke of genius to disguise the structural engineering in such an outrageous and audacious manner, to transform it into a work of art.

  Even Prentice was moved to comment. ‘Now that looks fuckin good,’ he said. ‘Ah like that.’ He rubbed his chin and shook his head in amazement. ‘Could ye imagine if it broke? Some sweep-up operation outside if that happened.’

  Kyle felt a surge of relief as he saw Prentice break into a smile. Whatever had been bugging him earlier hadn’t passed, but at least his mood had mellowed. Kyle considered saying something to break the ice that had formed between them, but thought better of it. It was as well to let Prentice come round in his own time.

  On their right, a sweeping wooden staircase led to the first floor. Slender illuminated cones sprouted from the handrails every few feet to light the way. Kyle and Prentice climbed slowly, taking in the view of the ground floor, checking the layout of the various stalls and sales islands, mentally noting the floorplan. A giant banner slung between two of the overhead galleries announced the arrival of the Dark Side of the Moon in just over two weeks, a photograph of the diamond glittering on a white velvet pillow as its centrepiece.

  As they arrived onto the first-floor landing Prentice nudged Kyle. ‘Look,’ he said.

  Kyle followed his gaze and saw one of the Wilson twins standing in a little alcove set into the wall. He was wearing a smart green uniform, with yellow stripes running down his trouser legs, a green shirt and bow tie completing the outfit. A walkie-talkie poked from a pouch attached to his belt. He stood legs apart and with arms folded, surveying the shoppers from beneath the skip cap pulled down tight on his forehead. ‘Looks the part, eh?’ said Kyle.

  Prentice continued to stare at the twin, Campbell or John, whichever one it was – he could never tell the fuckers apart. ‘Ah’m gonnae test him,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if this bit of the plan works at least.’

  Kyle was about to tell him to hold back, not to risk any exposure, but perhaps there was some sense in this after all. Worth seeing how it goes, he thought.

  ‘Excuse me pal,’ Prentice said as they came up to the twin. ‘Can you tell us where we can have a look at some expensive jewellery? Something rare and unusual? A gift for a friend?’

  The twin didn’t even blink. He turned to them with a studied indifference; unsmiling and cold. ‘Certainly sir,’ he said. ‘You’ll want the second level in the Bubble.’ He pointed to a gantry, two or three floors above them, which led to a mirrored and spotlit doorway. ‘You can gain access from the Stewart Gallery which will take you onto the Sky Walkway. Just follow that, and you’re there.’ He refolded his arms and looked off to the right. ‘There’s an elevator further along here which will take you up.’

  ‘Thanks pal,’ said Prentice. ‘Ah think Ah know where to go now.’ He led Kyle away. ‘Very smart, by the way,’ he said to the twin as they left.

  ‘Sir?’ said the twin.

  ‘Your uniform,’ Prentice said. ‘It suits you.’

  The twin stared after them as they walked to the lift.

  When it arrived, the lift was empty. They got in and pushed the button for the Stewart Gallery. ‘Not bad,’ said Kyle as the lift ascended. ‘Didn’t faze him at all, whatever one it was.’

  Prentice grunted.

  ‘Ste
wart Gallery,' announced a cool, sexy voice from the speaker as the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Ahead of them was an array of hats. Nothing but hats. All colours, all sizes, all styles. Kyle and Prentice stepped out and looked about them. Prentice examined the nearest hat. It was a green and red monstrosity, shaped vaguely like an upturned boat, with yellow feathers spraying out at the back. Or was that the front?

  ‘Who the fuck buys these kinda things?’ Prentice asked. ‘More to the point, who wears them?’ He picked it up. ‘Ah mean, look at the state of this. It’s a joke.’

  ‘Ah don’t know,’ said Kyle. ‘It might go with that yellow jacket Boddice has been wearin recently. Might just set it off.’

  Prentice stared at him, one eyebrow raised, and then burst out laughing. ‘Man ye’re right,’ he said. ‘What the hell is he thinkin? He looks like a bloody banana.’

  ‘Oh aye, and are you gonnae tell him that?’ asked Kyle, laughing now too.

  ‘Nobody’ll tell him. That’s why he’s still wearin it man, thinking he’s the business.’

  They both laughed again. Prentice put the hat back on its stand, noticing the six hundred pound price tag. They walked round the gallery, following the signs for the Sky Walkway.

  ‘Listen,’ said Prentice. ‘Ah’m sorry about before, ye know, outside. Having a go at ye. Ah was out of order.’