Maybe he could get a lift back to town with him, or he would let him call a cab. Then it would be back to the flat, a quick shower, a change of clothes, some basics stuffed into a travel bag, passport in pocket and away to the airport as fast as he could. He’d take the first plane to anywhere, he didn’t care, it was all going to work out. His spirits began to soar.
The door rattled and he heard a key being put in the lock with a click. It opened slowly.
“Hiya Nick, howzit gaun doon there?” asked Big Davie, tilting his head comically in the doorway to look directly into Nick’s eyes.
Epilogue
The Easyjet flight touched down with hardly a bump. He had been sitting beside a huge fat guy, and a woman who smelled of chips. The fat guy had farted for most of the flight anyway, so the smell of chips wasn’t the worst of it.
Kats didn’t really bother about either of them. His focus was on getting through immigration and away. He wasn’t certain if all had gone according to plan after he’d left, and so he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t get pulled on his way through.
He would know soon enough; the plane was at the gate.
Grabbing his rucksack from the overhead bin, he filed past the bored cabin crew and through the plane’s door with all the other passengers. He walked at a measured pace trying to hide his limp, staying with the main group as they headed for the immigration desk.
His heart skipped a beat when the immigration officer waved him forward to the desk. He handed over his passport and watched as it was opened and flicked through impassively, then swiped through the electronic scanner.
We’ll know any minute now.
The officer looked at Kats, looked at the passport, then looked at Kats again.
He was conscious of the bruise on his head and waited to see if there would be more questions or, worse, if he was to be marched to another room for interrogation.
“Bueno,” said the officer, sliding the document back to Kats and looking at the line for his next random check.
He retrieved the passport and walked on. He still wasn’t out of the woods as they might wait to see if he picked up any baggage. Going straight through the arrivals hall, he hooked up his ipod and pressed play.
The Kings of Leon filled his head with sound.
Carrying only his backpack he walked straight under the sign marked “Salidas”; the skin on his back crawling with the expectation of a tap on his shoulder.
“Off in the night, Why’d you live it up, I’m off to sleep, Waging war, To shake the cold,” wailed Caleb Followill in his earphones.
The phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. He took it out to check. It was a text from Pete: “You crazy bastard!!! Thanks man. All debts are paid in full!!!”
And suddenly he was outside. It was warm and bright and he blinked involuntarily.
Kats smiled, walking towards the morning sun, and a new life.
~ The End ~
About the Author
Charles McSherry was born in Lanark in 1958 and was raised in Viewpark, a small housing estate, or “scheme” as it is known locally, on the outskirts of the East End of Glasgow. He got the slightly odd, and occasionally embarrassing, nickname of Chic because his mother refused to allow anyone to call him Charlie, and since he hated the spelling “Chick”; Chic it became. It’s a peculiarly Glaswegian nickname shared by very few people, even in that part of the world, and it has proven to be a talking point all of his life. In short, he tends to get remembered.
He was educated in an all-boys Catholic school, his best marks being in English, and went to work in a factory at seventeen. After contracting tuberculosis and spending a year in hospital, he worked in an office until finally leaving day jobs behind to play guitar professionally in a rock band. He toured extensively for seven years before going back to the “real” world as a computer software salesman. Soon after that his band were offered a recording contract so he decided to keep a foot in both camps and start his own IT business in order to maintain his lifestyle whilst giving him the freedom to continue to explore his musical career. Sadly the band split up and his business life began in earnest.
From 1987 until he sold out 2006, he built a successful IT services company based in Scotland which traded throughout the UK and also had spin-offs in the USA, Australia and Europe. During that time he wrote many sales and marketing texts for his company which led to him being asked to write occasional editorial pieces in the business sections of The Glasgow Herald and The Scotsman newspapers. These occasional pieces eventually became a full blown monthly column called “Get a Grip” in Unlimited Magazine and, later, UP Magazine where he gained a reputation for delivering high-quality copy to deadline that required the minimum of editing. He was nominated for “Columnist of The Year” for his work on Unlimited.
He also wrote several travel pieces for Sunday supplements, mainly on his passion for marlin fishing. Marlin, happily, don’t swim in ugly places so the exotic destinations appealed to the editors and several pieces were commissioned on Mauritius, Venezuela, Mexico and Panama. He collected all of his travel stories together, and with the help and encouragement of Andrew Johnston of Quiller Publishing, he published them in book form in the USA as “Game Fishing Diaries” in 2004.
He continues to be a director of four UK companies, one US company and one Mexican company.
His rock band, La Paz, have reformed and now have their first album “Granite” released on Metal Mind Records.
He is divorced with two sons and lives on a farm in Stirlingshire.
Waging War To Shake The Cold Page 24
