Bridge of Doom

by George McCartney

  'So?'

  'So, if you lose it, or some little toe-rag steals it from you, it's a really big deal, right? That's what I'm saying.'

  ‘But surely it’s no biggie. They just claim on their insurance and get a brand new one.'

  'That's where you're missing the point, because it's not just the phone itself that has value. It's all the stuff the person has on the phone that could be irreplaceable. Think about it … the messages, the contacts list, the banking password, the diary entries and saved notes. And in your case, Danny, those pictures of your last three girlfriends, with their ankles wrapped around their ears, who are wearing a big smile and fuck all else. Wait till your mother sees them, by the way.'

  Fazzo blushed furiously and whined, 'oh come on da, for fuck's sake, you've no been lookin’ at my phone again, have ye?'

  'That's right, you dirty wee bastard, I have. And that's exactly how I know that the real value here isn't just the iPhone. It's all of the content, the intellectual property, that's unique to the owner. Okay, some of it, the apps and music, will definitely be backed up in the cloud somewhere. But you'll never know for sure about all that stuff, until some bad shit happens. Maybe the fancy back-up and encryption systems work the way they’re supposed to and maybe they don't. So, first off, the owner is completely stressed out over losing the phone and having the hassle of dealing with the police and their insurance company. And on top of all that, there's the even bigger worry about being completely out of touch with everyone they know.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Come on, think about it, Danny. If it was you, how long would it take to get back to where you were before your phone was stolen? A week maybe, if you're lucky. And for those seven days you're completely out of the loop of instant messages and texting pish that you and your pals obsess over. Absolutely anything could be happening with the rest of your crew and the other local teams, and you wouldn't know a fucking thing about it. Your best mate could be shagging your girlfriend silly behind your back. And everyone you know gets a text inviting them to a party, to check out the pictures of the happy couple on the job. But you would know fuck all about any of that, because you don't have the precious phone that keeps you in the loop of hot news and gossip. You've suddenly entered a social media disaster zone … you're now a non-person, Danny. You don't exist anymore, son. You see what I'm getting at?'

  'Yeah, right. I get it, I do.'

  'So I'm prepared to bet good money that most iPhone owners would just bite the bullet and cough up the cash to get their own phone back as fast as possible. Then there's the other stuff, like the guy who owns this baby. Believe me, this guy is not your average punter. I’m pretty sure he’s some kind of IT hot shot. He's got loads of notes and other shit to do with his work stored on this phone. I don't understand any of it, but I can absolutely guarantee that this guy will want his phone back pronto and be prepared to pay big for it. So, instead of scoring a hundred quid, we might get four or five hundred for it. That's got to be worth making a simple phone call, right?

  'I see what ye mean. Very cool, da.'

  'Fucking right, it's cool. But, so far, this is just a theory. What you have to do is make the call and find out if I'm right. So here, take this sheet of paper. It's a script I've written out for you, to save you having to think. So when you make the phone call, just follow the script and steer the conversation along, as if this is all just routine business.'

  'Thanks for that, da,' said Fazzo sourly.

  'Obviously you can't speak directly to the guy, because we have his phone, so I've written his three most dialled numbers at the bottom of the page. So that's your allocated job for to-day, to phone round his pals and see if you can magic one hundred pounds into four or five.'

  Tommy’s son and heir took the sheet of paper, but still looked apprehensive and uncertain.

  'Look son, I know that I give you a hard time sometimes, but it's for your own good. Trust me, you can do this.’

  Chapter 6

  The young female doctor pulled a plastic chair to Jamie Boyd’s bedside, put her hand gently on his arm and began to speak. 'Hey there, welcome back. How are you feeling today?'

  Oh my God. Instant panic and confusion. Jamie was aware of being in a strange bed, but it was really hard to move. He also had a splitting headache and was finding it difficult to breathe. In fact, every part of his body felt strange and disconnected. A fuzzy figure dressed in white was leaning over him talking to him, but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus properly. 'What's going on? Where am I?' he blurted out. 'I don't remember being blind.'

  'Try to relax, you're not blind,’ said the friendly female voice. ‘You can't see properly because of heavy bruising and swelling around both of your eyes. You're in Glasgow Royal Infirmary and I'm doctor Marshall. I’m one of the medical team who’ll be looking after you for the next few days.'

  'Hospital? What happened to me? I don't remember being sick either,' said Jamie, becoming increasingly agitated as he tried to sit up, before falling back wincing in pain.

  'Look it's difficult, I know, but try to keep calm and let me explain. It's not clear, but we think that you must have been involved in a fight, or some kind of street robbery. You certainly didn't have a wallet or a mobile phone when you the ambulance crew brought you in. So we don't actually know who you are, and we've not been able to contact your family. And although you’ve been here for two days, so far no-one's reported anyone matching your description as missing. Are you new to Glasgow, or do you maybe live alone?'

  'No, I think I still live with my parents,' said Jamie after a moment’s hesitation. 'I'm not sure, but they might be abroad on holiday somewhere. This is really stupid, because I'm trying … but I can't seem to remember where they went.'

  'That's okay, don't worry about it. What's your name?'

  'I … this is so crazy. I can't remember that either. Or where I live.'

  'Look, don't rush things. You suffered a severe concussion and it's not unusual to have partial loss of memory for a few days with this type of injury. You've also been heavily sedated since you were brought in, so you'll feel woozy for a while. The good news is that you don't have any broken bones, apart from your nose. Once the bruising around your eyes and face goes down, in maybe two or three days, we'll be able to re-set the nose and then you should be okay to go home. We also taped up your ribs as a precautionary measure. Your injuries are consistent with someone head-butting you in the face, and then you've banged the back of your head on the pavement as you fell down. That's probably when the injuries to your ribs were sustained. It looks like they gave you quite a kicking.'

  Jamie groaned and again tried unsuccessfully to sit up.

  'Look, if you need more painkillers, just press the button on the left side of your bed and a nurse will sort that out for you. I've had several patients with similar injuries and I've found that it usually helps to try and work backwards, to go back to the last thing you can clearly remember. You know, before you woke up in here covered in bandages. Do you feel like trying that with me now?’

  'Yes, I'll try. I really want to remember what happened. What day is this?'

  'Tuesday. You were brought in early on Sunday morning and you've been unconscious since then. We were slightly puzzled because, as far as we could tell, you didn't have any traces of drugs or alcohol in your system. So can you remember what you were doing on Saturday night?'

  'No, I don't … wait, I remember seeing a film. That's right, we had a meal first and then went to the cinema.'

  'Who's we? Were you out with a girlfriend?'

  'Yes, no … I don't know. But she's definitely a friend.'

  'So after the cinema … what did you do then?'

  'The taxi dropped my friend off at her place and then …’

  'Did you perhaps go back into the city centre and then get caught up in some kind of trouble?'

  'No I think I just went straight home. Yes, that’s right, I can remember getting out of the taxi on the c
orner at the end of my street and I then I tripped over something. No, not something … it was all so weird. There was this young guy, just lying there stretched out on the pavement. At first I thought he'd been taken ill, so I was trying to help him. But when I tried to lift him up he suddenly became really angry and aggressive.'

  'Do you know what was he angry about?'

  'I've no idea and I'm pretty sure I'd never met him before.'

  'Was he on his own?'

  'Yes. I don't think there was anyone else, because I looked around.'

  'Okay, the police will probably want to go over this with you again, in a day or so, in case you remember anything that might identify your attacker. The police can maybe find out more by checking round all of the taxi companies but, obviously, it will take some time for them to do that. In case they ask, do you think you would recognise the man who assaulted you, if you saw him again? They might want to show you some pictures.'

  'I'm not sure. It was pretty dark on that corner, that's why I didn't see him at first. And it all happened so quickly. One minute he was lying there on the pavement, then I helped him up to his feet and that's when he must have nutted me.'

  'A passer-by found you lying unconscious on the pavement and phoned right away for an ambulance. Look, I know it won't feel like it now, but you were probably lucky. It could have been a lot worse. I'm confident you'll get your memory back soon and walk away from this, to make a full recovery. Unfortunately, some of the young guys we see brought in here, who've been viciously kicked and stamped, just like you, don't get to do that. So for now, just lie back and try to rest. I'll get someone to organise a bite of lunch for you.'

  'Doctor?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are you sure my iPhone's not here?'

  'Yes, I’m sure. All that's in your locker is your street clothes and shoes. Your wallet, watch and phone must all have been stolen. I'm sorry.'

  Chapter 7

  Just after lunchtime, Annie James sat alone in the office of JD Investigations staring at the desk and empty chair opposite, normally occupied by her mentor and partner, Jack Davidson. It had been a steep learning curve for Annie, holding the fort on her own, while Jack was recovering from a serious head wound suffered six weeks before, in a deadly confrontation with the psychopath, Thomas Burke. She had successfully dealt with several routine missing person enquiries. But things were definitely quiet and some existing clients had preferred to temporarily divert work to other firms, pending Jack's return. Her only current job was trying, unsuccessfully, to assist a department store which was suffering heavy losses due to shoplifters. She’d basically managed to blag the job under false pretences and now felt completely out of her depth and at a loss how to proceed.

  Giving herself a shake, she picked up her iPhone to make her daily Facetime call to Jack at home.

  He immediately answered, using his iPad, and after yawning widely, said, 'morning Annie, what's happening?'

  'For a start, it isn't morning, some of us have been at work for over five hours.' Then peering closer at her iPhone screen, she said, 'I don't believe it. Stand up and let me see … are you still wearing your pyjamas? It's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, for God's sake. And what's that big red stain on your chest? You look as if you've been stabbed.'

  Jack hurriedly wiped his front and then licked his fingers with relish. 'Since you ask, I've just had a late gourmet breakfast, comprising a hot mince pie on a white roll, with lashings of tomato sauce poured on top and then mixed in. Since I've been off the booze, because of these pills I’m taking, comfort eating is my last remaining pleasure. When I took the first big bite of the roll, it kind of squirted right down my front. I email the takeaway round the corner and they deliver right to the door within ten minutes. You really should try it, Annie … it's a Glasgow fine dining classic. And thanks to this wonderful little iPad that you gave me, I've discovered that I actually don't need to go out of the house at all … for anything. I even managed to renew my gym membership online, which is great. That saves me going anywhere near the damn place.'

  'Oh God, please don't go all Howard Hughes on me, boss. If you don’t get your act together soon, you’ll end weighing sixty stone and have to be removed from your flat through the window, by a crane.'

  'By the way, time is actually a relative concept, Annie,' said Jack loftily. ‘And I think you'll find that many of the great thinkers in history, people like Russell Brand and Jeremy Corbyn, all have a somewhat relaxed attitude to their personal appearance.'

  'Yeah, but what about you? And you've not shaved for days either. You look like shit.'

  'That was very hurtful, Annie. I'm not a well man.'

  Despite the usual banter and insults freely exchanged between them, Annie was worried that Jack's recovery was not going well. As they were speaking she could see that he was constantly yawning. In addition, the dark heavy bags under his eyes seemed to be even more pronounced than she remembered. He was also showing absolutely no inclination to return to the office, even on a part-time basis. More worrying still, he was having difficulty pretending to be interested in her brief update, regarding current developments at work.

  'Sorry, boss, I'm not boring you am I?' replied Annie, with a definite impatient edge creeping into her voice.

  'No of course not, Annie,' said Jack, surreptitiously checking the time on his watch. 'It's just that the latest Jeremy Kyle show starts in about five minutes. I saw the trailer for it yesterday and it should be a really good one. It's about a woman who's fighting for the right to be able to marry her dog, a cute little Dachshund called Ralph. She's taking her case all the way to the European Court of Human Rights, apparently.'

  As ever, Annie was unsure whether Jack was being serious, or just winding her up. But actually she didn't care. She felt it was way past time for his card to be marked, regardless of hurt feelings. Definitely time for a short sharp shock, Mr Davidson.

  'I can't believe you're spending all your time watching trailer trash television. Trust me, what's left of your addled brain will rot away and start to dribble out of your ears. Like the doctor said, you're supposed to be out walking in the fresh air, getting some exercise and speeding up your recovery, instead of lying around covered in tomato sauce and pastry flakes, watching crappy daytime television.'

  'Well that's where you're wrong, actually. Before I only used to watch football and the ten o'clock news, when I got home from the pub, and I thought it was just boring horse racing and repeats of soaps that were on television earlier in the day. I didn't realise there was so much good stuff on.'

  'Look, there isn't any good stuff. It's all cheap and nasty rubbish … that's why it's on during the day. It's aimed at old age pensioners, who've lost the will to live, and the unemployed. Hint-hint, no names mentioned.'

  As they spoke, Annie could see Jack's upper arm start to slide rhythmically back and forth. 'I'm almost scared to ask, but what are you doing down there with your left hand?'

  'Oh that,' said Jack dismissively, 'I'm just having a scratch. That's the only downside of my new fast food diet. I've put on a nearly a stone already and I think I might be suffering from advanced chub rub.'

  'Excuse me, what on earth are you on about?'

  You know, it's a painful itchy chafing which affects the inner thighs. There was a very interesting piece on 'Loose Women' last week about how to alleviate the symptoms. It's a very common condition, you know.'

  'Yes,' snapped Annie. 'I do know and it's especially common among people who sit around on their fat lazy backsides watching television all day, in between stuffing their faces with big greasy pies on rolls and God knows what else. And what was that rat-a-tat noise? It sounded like a machine gun being fired. Is there somebody banging on your front door?'

  'Sorry about that, Annie,' said Jack, looking shifty and embarrassed as he desperately fanned the air with his free hand. 'It's the side effects of homemade soup.'

  'What?'

  'It's the fault of an old dear who
lives in the flat upstairs. She keeps handing in gallons of the stuff every other day, to try and perk me up.'

  'Well it sounds as if you're perking away quite nicely. Although I suppose it's really nice of her to do that.'

  'It is. Apparently it's her own Scotch broth recipe. Very nutritious, no doubt, but heavy on the split peas, lentils, butter beans and with her secret ingredient, a dash of chilli powder. It's delicious, but absolutely lethal. Do you remember years ago when there was all the publicity about the 'flying yogis' who claimed to be able to levitate in mid-air for a few seconds?'

  Annie sighed and said, 'no, I must have missed that somehow.'

  'You can still check them out on YouTube. Anyway, I think I've discovered their secret. Home-made Scotch broth. There are three stages of levitation, apparently, and I think I'm at level two already without even trying. But it's not all bad news, because I read last week that the hydrogen sulphide in farts has been scientifically proven to be beneficial to our immune systems.'

  'Well you know what they say, boss … it's an ill wind. I've got an idea, maybe you could give a demonstration of your new found skills for Jeremy Kyle. From the little bit I've seen of his show, it would probably raise the tone quite a bit. But don't you dare try it here in the office. And speaking of the office, when are you coming back to boring old work?'

  After a long pause, Jack looked away before replying, 'I'm not sure, Annie, I've actually got quite a lot on at the moment.'

  'That's rubbish. Like what? Look, boss, this nonsense has gone on long enough, so here's what's going to happen. I'm coming round to pick you up tomorrow morning at ten o'clock to take you out for a couple of hours, just to ease you gently back into things. How does that sound?’