"I think you'll fit right in," I said.
"Come back in a year or two," he replied. "I'll be top dog."
They drove off in a small convoy, the jeep, the 4 X 4 and the van, leaving Arcand and myself alone on the shore as the sun came up.
*****
I got back to Glasgow two days later.
Betty wasn't happy, George was rebuilding a wrecked bar, and I had to spend two days in Partick police station going over the same ground until they got bored and threw me out.
But I'd found a check for one hundred thousand dollars in my pocket on the flight home, so it wasn't all bad news.
CHAPTER 12
Dog Tired
When I felt ready for it, I visited Mark Turner in hospital.
He looked pale and wan, but managed a smile when I entered the room.
"Mr. Adams," he said. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again."
"I had to come," I replied. "I owe you a story."
*****
I ate his grapes and told the tale. He took it all, without speaking. When I'd finished, he nodded.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For not letting them kill me in the bar for one. And for telling me the full story."
"That's not all I came for," I replied.
I handed him an envelope.
"There's a check for thirty grand in there. The rest went to George for services rendered."
"I can't take that," he said.
"You can, and you will. It's my price for helping you."
Turner actually laughed. "Well, it'll cover most of what the bookies ripped me off for," he said. "Looks like you took my case after all, Mr. Adams."
"Looks like I did at that, son," I replied. "And I've got a souvenir for you."
I handed him the remaining silver clasp.
He had a tear in his eye as he turned it over in his hand. "I miss it," he whispered. "Dear God, forgive me, I miss it."
"Well, lad, you know where to go," I said quietly as I left and closed the door gently behind me.
*****
As I walked away along the corridor I knew exactly how he felt.
Since my return, Glasgow has been nothing but cold, gray and empty. I'm just going through the motions, sifting paper, answering the phone, and not getting any work.
I daydream of open spaces, hills and streams, of moonlight on water, and the smell of pine in the wind.
Every night I find myself reading Fraser's Journal. And every night the last line haunts me.
It haunts me still.
I feel the call of the wild.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with a dozen novels published in the genre press and over 200 short story credits in thirteen countries. He is the author of the ongoing Midnight Eye Files series, among others, and his work appears in a number of professional anthologies. He lives in a remote corner of Newfoundland with icebergs, whales and bald eagles for company. In the winters, he gets warm vicariously through the lives of others in cyberspace, so please check him out at williammeikle.com.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Skin Game - 03 Page 21
