Face in the Frame

by Heather Atkinson

  “Wit ya wantin’?” called a voice through the peeling, scabby door.

  “We’re from the electric company. We think you’re due a rebate,” Brodie called back. He smiled when he heard the frantic rattle of the key. The promise of cash never failed to get people to open up.

  Warm, foetid air washed over them when the door was flung open, a combination of sweat, dog piss and stale food, most of which appeared to be on the dubiously stained t-shirt the overweight, stubbly man wore. His expectant smile fell when he saw Brodie standing there. “Oh shit.”

  “Aye Norrie, ya fat bastard. I’ve been trawling the city for your wobbly arse.”

  When Norrie tried to slam the door in his face, Brodie threw himself at it. It banged off Norrie’s corpulent belly, knocking him backwards. Brodie and Cass entered the house together, the latter slamming the door shut behind her.

  “Killer,” cried Norrie, winded.

  Brodie thought this was referring to the sheer menace he radiated and was bristling with the compliment, until a Doberman launched itself out of a side room and placed itself between them and its wheezing master, growling and snarling. Brodie and Cass immediately went still.

  “That’s stopped you in your tracks, hasn’t it you bastards,” grinned Norrie. “Killer will rip your nuts off. Well, not yours,” he said, gesturing to Cass. “Maybe your…errrm…your…”

  “Call your wee poochie off before I rip it’s nuts off,” yelled Brodie, which only had the effect of making the dog growl louder.

  “That’s no happening. Killer’s a girl, ya dick. Now do one before she turns you into a wee lassie.”

  “If you think I’m going to turn around and leave after I’ve wasted so much time tracking you down then you’re off your fucking heid,” roared Brodie.

  “Take it easy,” Cass told him when the dog’s ears went back, making it appear almost demonic.

  “I mean it Norrie,” continued Brodie, regardless. “Call off Killer or…”

  “Or what?” he sneered before releasing a groan, eyes rolling back in his head.

  Killer’s growls abruptly stopped when she saw her master lying on the floor, out cold, thanks to Christian and his cosh.

  “Nice work,” said Brodie.

  “Thanks,” replied Christian with surprise, unused to compliments from his employer.

  Brodie glared at the dog, who ceased growling and slunk back into the room it had run out of with its tail literally between its legs, Cass closing the door behind it.

  “What a prick,” commented Brodie. “Well don’t just stand there, go and fetch the car. I’m not carrying that fat bastard all that way.”

  “I’ll go,” said Ross. “I can try and get this dog shit off my shoe while I’m at it.”

  “You’d better. Don’t you dare get any of it in my car.”

  “As if anyone would notice,” mumbled Ross.

  While Ross exited the house, scraping his right foot along the floor as he went, Brodie turned to Christian. “You, guard that lump of lard while me and Cass have a wee poke about.” He clapped his hands together and grinned. “I can’t believe I used to be restrained by things like search warrants.”

  “What are we looking for Bossman?” said Cass.

  “Anything. This shifty bastard has been up to more than burglary, I can feel it in my gut. Let’s start with his pockets.” Looking down at Norrie he saw the only pockets he possessed were his jeans pockets, over which his pendulous sweaty belly hung. “Christian, check his pockets.”

  Knowing protest was futile, Christian pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and tentatively slid his hand into Norrie’s right pocket, grimacing when his hairy belly touched the back of his hand.

  “Careful, you don’t want to turn him on,” quipped Brodie.

  Christian’s gaze was cold. “Would you like to do this instead?”

  “No, carry on. You’re doing a great job.”

  Christian scowled at him before extracting his hand and sliding it into the left pocket.

  “I’ve got something.”

  “I shudder to think what,” said Cass.

  “It’s a phone,” he said, retrieving it and holding it out to Brodie, who took it from him.

  “He likes texting his mummy,” said Brodie, flicking through the menu. “Bless the stinky shite bag, she must be so proud.” He sighed and tossed the phone to Cass. “See what you can lift off it back at the office.”

  “Will do,” she replied, slipping the phone into her jacket pocket.

  “Right, now have a good poke about. You take down here, I’ll check upstairs.”

  Cass nodded and started to nose around the messy, smelly room while Brodie jogged up the equally smelly stairs, grimacing at another huge dog jobby right in the middle of the staircase.

  “Dirty bastard,” he muttered, having to leap up two steps to avoid standing in it.

  At the top of the staircase he abruptly turned left, away from the manky bathroom on the right, the smell emanating from it turning his stomach. Brodie was a bachelor, so his flat wasn’t exactly pristine but even he had to wonder how people lived in such filth.

  He came to a halt in the doorway of an extremely messy bedroom, clothes scattered all over the floor. Something small with lots of legs crawled across the carpet in the far corner of the room but he decided it would be better for his peace of mind to ignore it. Instead he focused on the figure in the bed, the crusty sheets pulled up to their chin.

  “Well, what do we have here?” he said.

  The skinny blond practically snarled at him, displaying a mouth full of blackened teeth and gaps.

  “You’re the only person in the world manky enough to sleep with that ugly bastard Mags,” he added.

  “We’re in love,” she said in a scratchy voice.

  “Well I’m afraid your romance is going to be cut short. I need to borrow Norrie, well not me actually, the polis.”

  “Borrow him, for what?”

  “About six years. That’s what he’ll get with a guilty plea anyway. He’s pissed the polis about too much so he’ll probably get more added onto his sentence.”

  “Bastard,” she shrieked, her hand frantically rummaging under the covers.

  “You carry your knife even when you’re on the job Mags?” said Brodie just before she leapt stark naked from the bed, a dagger clutched in one hand, screeching.

  She charged Brodie, thin saggy breasts jiggling up and down, making him feel quite sick. He merely sidestepped and she sped right past him and out into the hallway. He could have stopped her but Brodie MacBride didn’t hit women, especially not wee, scrawny ones. Fortunately he knew someone who did.

  “Cass, stop her,” he called down the stairs.

  There was a thud and the screeching stopped. Brodie peered down the stairs to see Mags flailing at the bottom of the stairs, dog shite stuck to the sole of one white foot, Cass standing over her.

  “She’s been stopped,” said Cass as Brodie jogged down the stairs.

  “Nice work hen.”

  “I didn’t do anything. She slipped in the shite and fell down. At least it made her drop this,” she said, holding up the knife.

  “Bloody dog,” groaned Mags. “I told Norrie not to bother with it. Fat lot of fucking use.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Brodie. “It put up more of a fight than Norrie.”

  “Found this Bossman,” said Cass, nodding her head towards a crooked cabinet leaning against a wall in the front room that appeared to be held together by dust and willpower. Cass opened a creaky door to reveal a large wrapped package.

  “My guess is it’s cocaine,” she said.

  He was pleased she was talking normally to him again. It seemed he’d been forgiven. “Now what is this numpty doing with a huge heap of drugs?” said Brodie, staring thoughtfully at the package. He turned to Norrie for the answer but he was still unconscious. “Well you’re not much help.” His eyes alighted on Mags. “Where did he get all the coke Mags? Isn’t a join
t and a beer more his level?”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” she said, voice rising to a screech again as she recovered from her fall.

  “I think you’re lying to me Mags. Want me to call my old pals and have the drugs squad come in here and take a peek at your skinny, wrinkly arse?”

  “What do I care. Most of them have seen it anyway.”

  “Urgh. Those people have no standards. But I’ll still gie’ them a bell.”

  “Alright, it came from Big Malc,” she sighed, sitting up, legs splayed, giving him an unpleasant view.

  “Jeezo Mags, close your legs will ya? I know it’s been a while but try hen.”

  “You always were fucking funny Brodie MacBride.”

  “At last, someone gets my name right. Maybe the drugs haven’t destroyed all your brain cells yet Mags?”

  “Get tae fuck ya wank,” she retorted, flinging her legs about.

  “Oh jeezo, will someone please get her a blanket or something?”

  Cass dragged the stained knitted orange throw off the couch and wrapped it around her.

  “Get off me,” protested Mags while making no attempt to push Cass away.

  “There, now I can talk to you seriously,” said Brodie. “I heard Big Malc had started dealing but he must be desperate if he’s using Norrie as a runner.”

  “He’s not. Norrie bought it off him to cut up and sell on.”

  “Where did Norrie get the cash to buy a wedge of coke on that scale?”

  “His dad died a few weeks ago, left him some cash, so he decided to invest it.”

  “Invest?” chuckled Brodie. “Yeah, he’s a regular Gordon Gecko. What a turnip.”

  “Don’t call the love of my life a turnip.”

  “You’re well paired, seeing how you’re a cabbage.”

  “You’re a fucking bawbag,” she screamed.

  “And you’re noisy,” he replied, ears ringing. “How did he make the approach? Did he just wander up to Big Malc and say I want to buy some coke?”

  “Course not, he would have ripped his head off. Malc likes to pretend his operation’s a big secret when actually everyone knows. Norrie just hung around Malc’s favourite pub and waited until he’d got tanked up before asking. Malc’s really generous when he’s pissed so he got all benevolent and even let him have it at a knock-down price.”

  “Doesn’t sound like good business to me.”

  “Malc’s not a businessman, he’s playing at it but he thinks he’s a real contender to go up against Toni. Pass me those fags over there, will you?”

  Brodie picked up the packet and lighter sitting on top of the wonky cupboard and tossed them to her. She caught them, lit one up and blew smoke into the air in a satisfied stream before continuing. “Malc’s after the city. He thinks he can take it too and he has loads of back-up. There are a lot of sexist pigs who don’t like a woman being in charge. Personally I think it’s great. Equality in all things, even drug dealing and murder.”

  “Who’s backing him?”

  “Almost everyone, that is everyone with the balls to go up against Toni. It’s amazing how many so-called tough guys are afraid of her taking their eyes.”

  She threw back her head and laughed, which quickly turned into a hacking cough. Brodie grimaced when she spat a glob of greenish phlegm out on the carpet.

  “You should really stop smoking,” he said.

  “Love you too,” she said saucily, pursing her lips and blowing smoke at him.

  He coughed and waved his hand in the air in a vain attempt to disperse it. “Malc’s going to get his arse handed to him on a plate.”

  Mags’s look was sly. “You sure about that?”

  “Why, what do you know?”

  “Nothing,” she shrugged.

  “Come on Mags, you get about, you’re well in with the local lowlife. Malc’s got a hidden weapon, hasn’t he?”

  “Why should I tell you? You’ve just made sure the love of my life goes to prison.”

  “I tell you what I’ll do. Tell me what you know and I won’t hand you over to the polis along with your great love.”

  “Alright,” she said, quite willing to leave the love of her life to his fate. “It’s someone close to Toni.”

  “You mean, a turncoat?”

  “A what?”

  “A traitor in the ranks?”

  “Aye, if you like.”

  “Who?”

  “How the bloody hell should I know? Can I go now? I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Aye, go on then.”

  “Thank you,” she said haughtily, chucking off the throw, getting to her feet and stalking naked to the front door.

  “Don’t you think you should get dressed first?” Cass called after her.

  Mags stopped and looked down at herself. “Oh aye, might be a good idea,” she said before casually striding up the stairs.

  “Keep an eye on her Cass,” said Brodie. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had more daggers hidden in her clothes, she’s a stabby wee sod.”

  “Will do,” she replied, climbing the stairs after Mags. Brodie smiled when he heard Mags snap, “what are you doing? After a wee perv?”

  “Are you really letting her go Boss?” said Christian.

  “Yep. We came for Norrie and we’ve got him. Looks like he’s waking up too.”

  Norrie’s folds of flesh wobbled as he groaned and shifted about on the floor. “I’ve got a bloody headache.”

  “Serves you right,” said Brodie. “You should know by now not to piss me about.”

  “It wasn’t you who hit me,” said Norrie, sitting up. He glanced up at Christian and smiled wickedly. “You’re getting too old for this lark Brodie. You need the young pups to back you up. Killer would have torn you a new arsehole if this one hadn’t come along.”

  “I hate to tell you this pal, but Killer did one the second you were out cold. Maybe you should change her name to Soft Arse?”

  “Killer, sic, Killer…Killer,” Norrie frantically called.

  The only response was a small whine.

  “Bugger,” he sighed, hanging his head.

  “Looks like you were ripped off there,” said Brodie cheerfully.

  They all looked round when the door opened. “Car’s outside,” said Ross, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

  “I hope you got all the dog shite off your shoe first?”

  “I found a puddle to wash it in.”

  “Good.”

  “Are we getting him in the car then?”

  “Things just got a little complicated.”

  Both Ross and Norrie looked at Brodie, puzzled.

  “How?” said Ross.

  Brodie nodded to the cupboard and Ross peered inside. “Is that drugs?”

  “It is, isn’t it Norrie?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, swallowing nervously. “Mags must have brought it in.”

  “You lying bastard, I didn’t,” screeched a voice.

  Norrie, who had failed to notice his love descending the stairs, started to stammer an apology. “Sorry hen, I didn’t mean it. I got hit over the head and I’m confused.”

  “Confused my arse. You’re trying to stick the blame on me. Well you got that coke, not me and there’s no way I’m getting blamed because you’re a fucking daftie.”

  “Daftie? You were already planning what to spend all the cash on that I was going to rake in,” he spat back.

  “Well you’re not anymore dickhead. And to think I loved you.”

  “I never loved you. All I wanted was a free shag and you opened your legs the second you thought I was going to be earning lots of cash.”

  Mags’s smile was vicious. “That’s all you ever were, a pay-packet and you’re crap in bed.”

  With that she stomped out and Norrie watched her go, his lower lip wobbling. “I didn’t mean it,” he called after her.

  “Well I did,” she yelled before leaving, slamming the door shut behind
her.

  “Aw Jesus, don’t cry,” said Brodie, pulling his phone out of his pocket while Norrie quietly sobbed.

  “What are you doing Bossman?” said Cass, who had returned downstairs with Mags.

  “Calling Pete. This situation just got a little more complicated.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Half an hour later Pete strode into Norrie’s house followed by three uniformed officers and two detectives.

  “I thought I told you to come in low key,” said Brodie. “You couldn’t have made more of a spectacle if you’d arrived in an ice cream van.”

  “You seem to forget Brodie, you’re not a detective inspector anymore but I am and I say how things happen.”

  “Alright, keep your wig on.”

  “I do not wear a wig,” thundered Pete. He rounded on his two detectives when one of them sniggered but, as he had no idea which one was responsible, he just glared at them. “Get some bloody work done and search the house,” he barked at them. He looked to the uniforms. “Get that in the car,” he said, pointing at Norrie

  “I want to make an official complaint,” blustered Norrie as he was cuffed and hauled to his feet. “These people burst into my house and attacked me.”

  “It’s not true,” said Brodie. “We knocked on the door to ask for directions, he invited us in for a brew then I recognised him from his wanted poster and he went mental. We were in fear for our lives, weren’t we?”

  Cass, Ross and Christian all nodded while Pete rolled his eyes.

  “I was hit,” cried Norrie. “Look.”

  “Look at what?” said Pete.

  “My injuries.”

  “What injuries?”

  “He hit me round the back of the heid and knocked me out,” he said, pointing to Christian with his cuffed hands.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Touch it. I bet there’s a lump there.”

  “I’m not touching you,” said Pete, screwing up his face. “Get this clown out of here so we can get the job done and go home.”

  While a protesting Norrie was led out, Pete took Brodie by the arm and escorted him into the kitchen.

  “What the bloody hell are you playing at Brodie?” he said after slamming the door shut behind him.

  “I’m doing my job. You’ve been after Norrie for months so I thought I’d do you a favour. Only a prick like that would give up his freedom for a quick leg over with a manky tart.”