‘But you did trust me,’ Tony says. ‘You trusted me to lead the family and the business forward into the new fucking millennium. You trusted me to listen to all the advice that the old man didn’t want any more. You trusted me to have the balls to give you everything you wanted.’
Dunc’s slumped in an armchair. Old, tired, ready to admit defeat. No fight in him. He lost that decades earlier.
‘And then you betrayed me.’
Dunc finally looks up.
‘My brother comes back from the dead, and you decide that to switch sides yet again? No wonder my dad locked you out. How could he trust you? No principles. You overweight sack of shite. You’re a hoor – unable to shag just one guy and let it be.’
‘I didn’t… What we did…to your brother…it was wrong. It wasn’t –’
‘Attack of the conscience now, eh? You bloated bag of bollocks.’
I’m holding Tony’s gun. Glad of that fact, because I dread to think what would happen to Dunc if the crazy bastard yelling in his face had a weapon.
‘You’re a liability,’ Dunc says. ‘Like all your generation. We gave you everything, and what happened was you turned into psychopaths. All of you.’
‘Yeah?’
‘And, yeah, the coked-up bawbags shall inherit the Earth.’
‘So why’d you agree to back my play with Buchan?’
Dunc shifts in the seat. Doesn’t seem scared any more. Looking directly at Tony. There’s still an air of the dusty old corpse about him. But he’s not scared. There’s something about him that seems to have forgotten the terror. He’s simply accepted where he is.
No matter what he does, he’s dead. If Tony doesn’t kill him here, then it’s like Ray will.
For Fat Dunc, it’s all over. His glory days are long gone. He is now nothing more than a fat man trapped in a room with two men he betrayed.
He is a relic.
And he no longer needs to be afraid.
‘Why’d I agree to back your play, son? Because I was scared. Not of you, you wee shite, but the world. Everything’s changed. I’ve got old. Fat. Out of touch. My kids hate me. My wife’s a distant memory, except for the sodding money she keeps taking.’ He sits forward. ‘I used to be somebody, son. Before your mum and dad knew they had a mistake on their hands, I was the man who scared the shite out of everyone who knew me. I was the hard bastard, hard-nut cock of the bloody walk. You think you know hard, you don’t know the fucking meaning of the word. And I wanted all of that back. Your dad still had it all. And I wanted it. If I could have killed him myself and taken it, I would have.’
‘But you never had the balls.’
‘I had the balls. And the brains, son. The brains. The one thing you’ve managed to fry so completely with all your fucking drugs, might as well not have had any in the first place.’
Tony steps forward, inches from Dunc. Baring his teeth. An animal angered, but afraid to really strike out, just in case his prey really is stronger than it looks.
I see it for a second, beneath the bravado: the fear. Tony’s still a wee kid at heart. Scared of his own shadow. Terrified of the consequences of talking back to his elders. And yet old enough to know how to hide that fear behind aggression.
He steps back, looks at me as though he’s seeing me for the first time.
‘The bollocks betrayed me,’ he says. ‘Betrayed us. You and me and Kat, we’re all that’s left now.’
I nod.
‘You and me and Kat.’ Repeating himself.
I want to tell him that it’s just him. That’s all now. I’m in this for one reason only: to save Kat. When I’ve done that, Tony can get whatever’s coming.
‘Time to clean house,’ Tony says, decisive. ‘Make a fresh start. Show this city we’re not a joke.’
‘Aye?’
‘That prick Buchan’s the key, man. We go play him along for a while…’
‘And then take the power for yourself?’ Dunc says.
‘Way you laid it out, man. Before you got scared.’
‘Before I got sensible.’
Tony laughs. Looks at me. Looks at the gun I’m holding. I figure he’s going to ask for it back. But he doesn’t. He grins. ‘Can’t trust anyone, man. I mean it – absolutely no-one. Everyone’s got their own agenda. Even family. Even a retard like my brother, you can’t trust him either. You know that, aye? That he’s a retard? Why he’s so good at killing. Doesn’t understand pain, man. Doesn’t feel it. Bloody eejit. Dad told me it wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. Always thought he was talking bollocks about that.’ Tony thinks because Ray never speaks that he’s slow as well as quiet. It’s not true. Tonight’s proof of that. Ray had a plan all along. Improvised, sure, but a plan. A goal.
Tony thinks of himself as a predator. He doesn’t know shite. He’s as delusional as me. All Tony is, is a messed up piñata of pure rage. Hang him up, hit him with a bat and all that will spill out is hate and horror and undeserved grudges.
Ray’s the real shark. Hunts with purpose. Kills with reason.
‘What I’m saying,’ Tony says, ‘is that I don’t know I can trust even you any more, man. If this fat prick can betray my dad and then me within the space of a few days, and if my own brother can try and kill me, then, you know, I gotta have some idea that I can trust you.’
He steps forward. His hands wrap around mine. And the gun.
‘You won’t do the powder with me no more, man. So you have to do something else. Aye?’
I have difficulty swallowing. Throat’s closing up. Breathing feels shallow. Head’s filling up with beer bubbles.
‘I gave you the gun, man. I need you to show me you’re not afraid to kill my enemies.’
‘I’m not –’
‘You’ve killed people, John. Thought you did anyway, didn’t matter that the arsehole came back from the dead. There’s no real difference now. Except you can see what you’re doing. You can watch him die. There’s no feeling like it, buddy. Nothing comes close. Drugs, sex, whatever.’
I look at Dunc. If I was in his place, I’d be making a break for it, trying to get out while the two fuckwits in the room had this stand-off about whether or not to end my life. But like I say, Dunc isn’t afraid of death any more. What he is, he’s accepting.
And somehow that’s worse than if he was trying to run, trying to save his own skin.
‘Do it, man,’ Tony says. Sotto voice, now. Making a scene out of all this. Playing it for Dunc’s benefit. ‘Show me you have the balls.’ Still with his hand on mine, maybe worried that I’ll turn the gun on him. Restraining me, making sure I know that he’s still got the power.
I need Tony alive and on my side. For now. He’s my bargaining chip with Ray. The one thing I have that will pull the monster back out into the light. And this time, I’m not going to hesitate. I can’t afford to.
I have to think of Kat.
I’ve been losing myself. Drowning in my cover, losing sight of who I am. I’d figured when I signed up to the operation, that it would help find who I really was. Instead I’m more fractured than before I began.
Time to reassert myself. Make a choice. Pull myself back together. Even if I’m not the same person I once was when it’s done.
I have to be somebody.
‘Do it,’ Tony whispers.
I look at Dunc. His eyes meet mine. Looking older than they ever have before. Near completely black. I think of a wise old owl in a children’s book. Someone who has the wisdom of the ages, who has nothing left to discover, who has accepted their life for good or ill. Earlier, I’d seen a scared old man, someone trying to desperately to save his own skin.
And now?
He nods. Maybe even smiles a little.
Tony steps back.
I’m still holding the gun. I take a deep breath.
Who am I? How far am I willing to go?
Time to find out.
I raise the gun. Fat Dunc, the traitor, the turncoat, the clapped out old bastard, closes his eyes.
I pull the trigger. And nothing happens.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Tony giggles, high-pitched and hysterical. He claps a hand on my shoulder. ‘Should see your face, man! See your face!’
He whirls round, holds out one hand and shows me the clip from the gun. Laughs again. ‘Nah, man, you ain’t ready, not yet. Nice to know whose side you’re on, though.’ He presses the clip into my free hand. Then moves directly in front of Dunc, leans down and places his hands on the man’s shoulders. ‘You shite your breeks, old man? You scared?’
Dunc doesn’t say anything.
Tony starts to massage the other man’s shoulders. His hands rolling the fat beneath them. ‘Always liked you,’ he says. ‘Uncle Dunc. What we used to call you, growing up. Uncle Dunc. You were blood. Family.’ His long fingers slip around Dunc’s neck. ‘Not any more.’ He squeezes. Dunc doesn’t react at first. Then he starts to gag, but doesn’t fight back. His legs starts to kick up and down. He trembles all over. His skin starts to turn purple. His eyes bug. Tony increases the pressure, leaning down and into the other man, getting up close and personal, all the time watching as the panic increases in the old man’s eyes.
But still Dunc doesn’t fight back. His legs kick through instinct more than anything, and he gasps as his lungs struggle to figure out why he’s just letting this psycho fuck choke the life out of him.
‘Traitor! Turncoat! Fucking die!’ That last word, a long, high-pitched howl of hatred as he puts his full weight around Dunc’s neck and presses his thumbs against the other man’s trachea.
Dunc goes limp. Tony continues to apply the pressure. Then, when he realises that Dunc is dead, he stands up and wipes his hands on the side of his shirt.
‘Not family,’ he says. ‘Not any more.’ He spits at Dunc’s face. ‘Now you’re just a fat fucking corpse.’
Five
By All Means
2333 - 0234
KAT
Three years ago, a cop came to see me.
Suit and tie. Salt and pepper hair. No expression. Not once in our whole conversation. I wondered if that was for my benefit, or if his wife had to put up with that too.
He was married. Wore the ring in plain view. Sometimes he’d twist it about on his finger. Not that he wanted to take it off. More like he needed to fiddle with something. I figured when if he ever worked behind a desk, he’d be the kind to eat pens when he was thinking about a difficult problem. Maybe an ex-smoker, or maybe just too full of energy to ever really be still.
It wasn’t my first visit from the polis, my family being the way they are. Even though they never had anything on me, every so often they’d come in, remind me who I was. As though they thought I’d just blurt out all the skeletons in our collective closet.
I never did.
Even when I wanted to.
Maybe now I regret that.
The detective’s name was Crawford. He sat down on the sofa without asking permission. Entitlement, or maybe a psychological thing. He just sat, and waited for me to take the armchair opposite.
Only spoke when I sat down. Didn’t make me think he had any power. Just got on my wick.
‘Ms Scobie,’ he said, and what I heard was all the old playground chant of Scabies Scobie and the phantom taste of the dirt that fat Jenny used to make me eat before Ray persuaded her that was a bad idea. Not his intention, but the mind can be strange that way. ‘I want to show you something.’
He had a folder with him. Opened it on the coffee table. Made me lean forward to look. Made me wish I hadn’t.
Men with their faces battered. Flesh raw purple and blue. Sightless eyes rolled back in sockets. Flesh mutilated with scars. Blood dried black. The kind of images ordinary, decent people think exists only on a bad episode of CSI, has no place on their doorsteps.
I swallowed back the nausea.
‘Who were they?’
The copper – Crawford – rattled off names. Fast and easy. Maintaining eye contact the whole time, making his point clear. Each name was supposed to have impact, to show me something about Crawford and how he felt about my family, the way they impacted on other people’s lives.
‘You know what your family does. Who they are. Where the money comes from. Even if you never talk about it.’ He looked around as though seeing the living room for the first time. ‘This flat is owned by your uncle. You get a nice little discount, because what uncle wouldn’t do a wee favour for his favourite niece?’ The way he looked at the room, it was as though he was cataloguing how many lives this place cost.
When he spoke, he didn’t vary his tone. Every word flat and even. Made me think of an older Keanu Reeves with a slight Island lilt replacing the California dude twang. ‘These men paid for this place with their lives.’ He paused. Not a hesitation. Giving me a moment to think. ‘Your uncle says he’s a self-made man. Fought his way out of poverty. Made something of himself. True enough, as far as these things go. And maybe things were different when he was young. But he never cared about any of that. Once he started hurting people, he couldn’t stop. I think he enjoys it. And don’t start me on your cousins.’
‘Vicious rumours,’ I said. ‘Don’t think I haven’t heard –’
‘Your uncle is a violent bastard. A man with an aptitude for hurting other people. When I joined the force, I worked with a Detective Inspector who told me that men of violence become one of two things. Cops or criminals. Depending on their conscience, on how they empathise with other people. The code your uncle instilled in the family, it wasn’t about love. It was about protecting himself no matter what.’
‘Detective...’
‘Or maybe you’d like to talk about your cousins. Tony, the nutjob, or maybe Ray… Ray the killer. I mean, Jesus, you have to know…’
‘That he’s bad news? Aye, who doesn’t? But –’
‘But nothing! You can’t live in denial, Kathryn.’
No-one calls me Kathryn. I’m Kat. Always Kat. Only my mother called me Kathryn. Only her.
‘You can’t live in denial,’ Crawford said. ‘Your family are bad news, always have been. You and your mother lived on the fringes. But you can’t bury your head in the sand. One day you’re going to need help. From someone like me. And there’s going to be no-one around if they don’t think you can be trusted.’
‘I don’t know anything.’
‘You could if you wanted to.’
I knew what he was asking me. Maybe I should have done it. There was a part of me that knew what he was asking me was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that I was scared. Not in the way he might have thought.
‘What if I ask you to leave now?’
He didn’t stand immediately, presented his hands to me, palm up. ‘Then I’ll leave. Never bother you again. But you have to know that I didn’t come in here blind. We have good intelligence. I know who you are. Everything about you. I like to think I might know what kind of person you are too.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I know you have a degree you never used. You could have left Glasgow – your family – a long time ago but you never did. Maybe because of your mother’s death, maybe because the big world seems too damn big. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.’
‘See, you don’t know me.’
‘You’re clean, Kathryn. A citizen. The kind of person that I’m entrusted to protect. The kind of person who knows bad people when they meet then. The kind of person who has a conscience. But your family…’
I wanted to throw him out of the house, but I couldn’t. Politeness, maybe. Coppers were the enemy, but I was the one who had invited him into my house. It would be wrong to shout and scream and throw him out for doing his job.
I’d always known Uncle Derek had dark secrets. That if I just got the courage to look, I’d be able to see them laid bare. But every time I worked up to it, I just had to turn away again, knowing that once I saw the truth I’d never be able to deny it.
This detective was asking me
to look places I was scared to go.
And I couldn’t. Not then. Maybe not ever. Not without being force to confront what I already knew.
‘I want you to leave,’ I said, polite as possible. ‘Please, just get out.’
‘I mean it,’ Crawford said, finally standing up. ‘I won’t come back. I’ll honour your request.’
‘That’s fine. That’s great. Hunky dory.’ I didn’t intend sarcasm or passive aggressiveness. It just came out that way, and I felt a little kick of shame in my stomach.
‘One day,’ he said, ‘you won’t be able to ignore the truth any more. Won’t be able to write Anthony off as just a wild lad. You’ll be forced to think about his brother’s silence. Realise that if he ever spoke about what he did, he’d be admitting to the worst kind of crimes. Jesus, you have to know what he did all those years ago. Right? Your ex-boyfriend?’
Maybe I gave something away then. I was trying my best not to react, but some things just hit you.
I kept my mouth shut. One thing about being a Scobie, you know it’s best never to mouth off at the law even if you haven’t done anything wrong.
The police aren’t your friends. No matter what they tell you at school, what you see on the telly, what you read in books. The cops are the enemy. They’re out to get you. Worse than the monsters who live in the cupboard or under the bed.
Mum used to laugh about when I was five years old and the police came to my school to give a road safety talk. They’d come in with some guy in a massive rodent outfit. Safety Squirrel, some shit like that. I’d been fine with the six-foot rodent. But when the cops entered the room, I’d jumped to my feet and yelled, ‘Piiiigs!’ at the top of my lungs.
‘I don’t know where she got it from,’ Mum used to say and all her friends would laugh. But there was always something knowing in the laughter, some unspoken knowledge that had to be laughed away before anyone got too uncomfortable about it.
And When I Die Page 16
