Devil's Knock

by Douglas Skelton

  Knight suppressed a grin and dug in his pockets, pulling out two fivers. He held them out but the sharp eyes merely gave the notes a disinterested look. ‘It’s no the Christmas sales, son. Way I sees it, you need to find this Scratchy bad, otherwise why would you be oot here in the cold at this time of night, ye ken? A tenner’s no gonnae quite cover it, like.’

  Knight was not offended. This was business and greed was something he could understand. He added another £10 note to the bid. ‘How’s that?’

  A manky hand snapped out and snatched the notes away before Knight was aware of it. Must’ve been a magician in a previous life, Knight thought. ‘So where is he?’ Knight waited but she said nothing more. ‘Well? You going to tell me or do I guess?’

  ‘Keep your shirt on, big man. Just building up the suspense…’

  Knight exhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the temptation to grab her by her throat and slap her around. It was only the thought of what he might catch that prevented him. Where are rubber gloves when you need them, he thought.

  After what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably more like ten seconds, she spoke again. ‘I’ve known Scratchy for years, ye ken. Been here and there with him, skippered up thegither. Before I tell ye anything, I need to know – is he in any trouble?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It matters. You’re polis. I’m no tellin ye where he is if you’re gonnae bang him up, ye ken.’

  ‘How do you know I’m polis?’

  She gave a little snort that passed for a disdainful laugh. ‘Gimme a break, big man.’

  Knight shook his head. ‘Just routine inquiries.’

  ‘Aye, heard you say that to the Holy Joe back there. Routine inquiries, my arse. Why you want him?’

  ‘He’s maybe a witness, that’s all. I just need to talk.’

  She stared into his face and he saw there was a bright look to her eyes. Down and out she may be, Knight realised, but there was one sharp cookie underneath all the grime. She nodded, satisfied he was telling the truth. ‘There’s an old church, up Roystonhill way? You could try there.’

  Knight checked his watch. It was after midnight, he was dog-tired, but he really wanted to find this guy. His self-respect demanded it. He gave the woman a curt nod and said, ‘That’s a great help. Thanks, hen.’

  Ayrshire Larry straightened, clearly insulted, ‘Here, who you callin “hen”, ya cheeky bastard?’

  The church sat on the crest of a hill. Somewhere over to the right, the M8 carved its furrow through the city, although at this time of night it was little more than a brightly-lit stretch of empty road. Knight stopped on the pavement and looked up at the dark stone spire and a clockface that had long since frozen in time. There were buildings like this all over the city, he realised, and they could all be used by the men and women like Scratchy. He’d concentrated on the hostels and well-known sites where the dossers set up. He now knew that if he hadn’t lucked into that guy earlier, the chances were he’d never have found Scratchy. But Larry – he’d given him his name, his street name at least – said this was where he’d be. The main door, a tall gothic arch, was firmly fastened, with planks nailed across it and a warning painted on one saying: BUILDING DANGEROUS – DO NOT ENTER. Knight stepped off the pavement and onto the rough ground, pulling a small torch from his coat pocket. He shone it over the walls of the church, looking for another way in. The narrow beam picked out large, arched windows but they were securely barricaded with heavy wood. The snow crunched underfoot as he moved and his breath frosted like the manifestation of the Holy Ghost. He wondered why the congregation had abandoned the church, why it now lay empty. He decided it had probably shrunk to such numbers that keeping a building like this proved unviable. A cat shot out from behind a mound of rubble and darted towards the street. It gave Knight a jolt and if he could’ve moved fast enough he would’ve given the wee bastard a kick. He resumed his circuit, eyes probing the shadows for an open door.

  He found it at the rear, the wooden barrier that had once been nailed in place now sitting slightly off to one side. He slid it away and stepped into the gloom. He found himself in a small entranceway that led to the main church through an open doorway. When he swung the torch beam beyond that doorway, he could see that anything of value had been ripped out. The pews, the font, the altar were all gone. Boards had been ripped up from the floor, leaving gaping holes. Mounds of snow piled where it had fallen through the missing slates on the roof. Part of that roof had caved in, and there was a mountain of wooden beams and slates jutting from the hole to the floor. The structure looked somewhat rickety, he could see it swaying in the slight breeze from the open roof. One good push and the whole lot could come down, so Knight decided to keep well away from it. He allowed the torch beam to roam around the walls, his body turning with it, but he saw nothing to suggest that anyone had been sleeping rough. He wondered if Larry had been spinning him a yarn. Then he saw another door, half hidden behind a mound of detritus. He lowered the torch beam to the floor so he could see where he was placing his feet, and stepped gingerly towards it. He feared some of the boards underfoot were so rotten they would snap under his weight but they held. He stepped round the mound of rubble and found himself up against the door. Knight paused then, listening at the old wood, trying to hear sound from beyond but there was nothing. Okay, so maybe Scratchy didn’t snore. He turned the heavy metal handle and shoved, expecting there to be resistance but the door moved inwards easily.

  Knight’s small torch lanced through the darkness beyond, motes of dust dancing as if enjoying the light. He traversed the room, finally lighting on a pile of old blankets and a ratty-looking sleeping bag. But no Scratchy. He looked closer, saw a few candles and a box of matches. He carefully stepped closer, knelt and touched the sleeping bag. He grimaced as he slid his hand inside. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was warm. He straightened. Had Scratchy heard him? He hadn’t exactly been in silent mode. Or had he simply gone walkabout? These guys did that. Maybe in search of something to eat.

  Whatever, he thought, my work here is done. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and made a call.

  Jerry snapped his mobile phone shut and looked across at Maw Jarvis. She hadn’t so much as cracked a smile since Marko’s death, which did not surprise him. However, his police contact had told him something that may make her feel better.

  ‘Got a line on that homeless person,’ he said.

  ‘Finally,’ she said, as if finding one homeless person in Glasgow was the easiest thing in the world. ‘Find out what he saw, get it sorted.’

  Jerry nodded. Getting things sorted was his speciality.

  They waited in Bobby’s car beside a stretch of open ground in the Gorbals while Lenny spoke to a tall, impossibly thin man with a lank combover who hugged himself to keep warm. It was no wonder, for he was wearing only a thin windbreaker and ragged tracksuit bottoms. His feet were encased in a pair of manky old trainers with holes in them.

  Lenny held a hand out to the man, telling him to stay, and limped back to the car. He leaned in towards Bobby in the driver’s seat. Bobby rolled the window down. ‘He says he knows where Scratchy is.’ An apologetic tone crept into his voice. ‘But he wants some dosh.’

  Davie already had a £20 note in his hand and he stretched past Bobby from the passenger seat. Lenny took it, held it in his hand as if he was reading it. ‘It won’t take that much,’ he said.

  ‘Give him it,’ said Davie.

  Lenny leaned down lower to get a better view of Davie. There was a different look in his eye now. ‘He’ll just drink it away.’

  Davie stared through the windscreen at the man waiting a few feet away. ‘Give him it.’

  Davie could tell Lenny was seeing him in another light, maybe even beginning to think the stories he’d heard weren’t true. They’re true, Davie thought, but they’re not everything. Lenny nodded and walked quickly back to the man. He handed him the twenty. The man stared at it as if he’d nev
er seen one before. Then it was folded up and thrust in his pocket with a speed Davie never thought possible. One second it was being studied, then it was gone. He said one sentence and then turned away to walk across the waste ground. Davie could see a few cardboard boxes at the far end, some old pallets and sheets of plywood brought together to create some semblance of a shelter. There were once tenements on this site, the remains of the old street grid and pavements and even signs on street lamps still there. But the buildings had been cleared away as the city reinvented itself. The only homes now were the flimsy cardboard and plywood shelters that would any day be cleared away by council workers and whoever was living there dispersed. Or some street gang would come along and set fire to the makeshift structures to brighten up a dull winter’s night.

  Lenny was back in the car, rubbing his hand against the cold. ‘A church, up by Roystonhill…’

  Donovan wished Bang Bang Maxwell would stop creeping up on him. Bastard walked very quietly for such a big man. It happened at almost the same spot, too – a car park near Stewart Street, Donovan heading for the bus to take him home and no doubt another bollocking from Marie. She’d found out a bit more of their financial situation and was far from happy. He couldn’t blame her. He’d screwed up pretty badly all round.

  And here was Bang Bang again. It couldn’t be good.

  ‘You’re early,’ said Donovan, the harshness in his voice belying the soft feeling in his gut. ‘I’ve got a few more days yet.’

  ‘There’s been a change in our working relationship,’ said Maxwell, forcing Donovan to stop and face him.

  ‘What kind of change, exactly?’

  ‘In that we don’t have one anymore.’

  Donovan searched the broad face before him for some sort of clue. He dredged up a quick smile. ‘What you saying? Someone paid off my debt?’

  Bang Bang’s face remained immobile. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  Donovan’s smile withered and slid away. ‘Spit it out, Bang Bang.’

  ‘Your obligation to Ray has been acquired by a third party.’

  Donovan felt the queasiness in his belly sharpen into pain. Someone had bought his debt. That means someone else knew he owed cash to a loan shark. That was bad news. ‘Who?’

  A look that was almost apologetic crossed Maxwell’s face. ‘Not at liberty to say. All I’ve to tell you is that our current arrangement with you has been terminated. Thank you for your business and I wish you a pleasant evening.’

  Maxwell turned away but Donovan grabbed him by the arm. ‘Hang on…’

  Maxwell stared at the hand on his arm. ‘You don’t want to be laying hands on me, pal,’ he said, the previously pleasant tone being replaced by pure Bridgeton Cross. It had slipped Donovan’s mind that Bang Bang Maxwell did not like to be touched. He removed his hand, raised it in supplication.

  ‘I just need to know who’s bought the debt, that’s all,’ he said.

  ‘I told you, not at liberty to say,’ said Maxwell, his tone still hard as an East End pavement. Then he sighed and Donovan saw his body relax slightly. When he spoke again, the voice was softer, quieter, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear. ‘But I’ll tell you this – and you didn’t get it from me, okay? The party who has taken on your obligation is not as soft-hearted as Ray and me, you understand? My advice? Get the cash, pay them off. Because you really do not want them on your back.’

  Maxwell stepped away and turned the collar of his thick coat up. ‘There’s more snow coming, I hear. Just what we needed, eh? If I was you, I’d get home sharpish, cos they say it’s going to be a bad one.’ Then he turned and walked in the direction of Port Dundas Road, leaving Donovan listening to the sound of the traffic and the worried nagging of his own thoughts.

  The first flecks of snow were beginning to drift down from a pitch-black sky as Bobby brought the car to a halt about a hundred yards away from the church. Davie had told him to stop there so he could study the street. He ignored the twin lines of homes bright with squares of light where people lived their lives bathed in the glow of electric bulbs and TV screens and focussed instead on the parked cars. His gaze settled on a dark van sitting in the darkness of a faulty street light at the top of the hill, exhaust fumes rising like steam in the cold air from the tailpipe. Could be perfectly innocent but instinct told him it was trouble.

  ‘You guys better leave this to me,’ said Davie.

  ‘No, I’ll come with you, Davie,’ Bobby said.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Sammy.

  Davie shook his head. ‘Bobby, you have to stay out of it. You’re a straight arrow now and Connie’d kill me. Sammy, you’re on licence. We don’t know what’s waiting in there for us and you can’t get involved. They’d haul you back inside.’

  ‘There’s not going to be any trouble from this guy,’ Bobby protested.

  ‘No, but you know who else is looking for him.’

  Jimmy Knight. Davie had sensed for some time that one day there would be a face-off. Maybe tonight was the night. When it happened, it wouldn’t be pretty.

  ‘Davie’s right,’ said Lenny. Davie nodded his thanks. He handed the dog’s lead to Sammy.

  ‘Keep him here. Any sign of trouble, get the hell out of here. I mean it.’

  There was no answer and Davie decided to take it as a yes. He climbed out and began to walk up the street towards the church. The gentle advance guard of snowflakes had been joined by an army. He hunched against it, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his woollen coat, his fingers clenching and unclenching.

  The spire was a solid dark mass against the sky, the blackened stonework of the church itself a sorry sight, abandoned, forgotten, unloved. Except perhaps by Scratchy. Davie hoped they weren’t too late. His gaze flicked to the van further ahead. The windscreen wipers flicked, just once, brushing the snow from the glass. He couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat, but someone would be there. He walked straight past the church without a glance, head buried deep in his upturned collar as if he was trying to shield his face from the snow, but in reality he didn’t want to risk being recognised. He tried to put a little unsteadiness into his gait, just a bloke heading home after a long day and a few pints with his mates. He passed the van without breaking his pace but did catch sight of one man in the front, the face turned his way as he trudged by. He’d seen him around before, knew he was bad news. There wouldn’t be anyone in the back, of that he was certain. Just the one to deal with for now.

  Davie kept walking, knowing the guy would be eyeing the side mirror, but just as he reached the back of the van, he ducked suddenly to the side and out of sight. That should get his attention, he thought. Now came the tricky part.

  His name was Pauley and he was glad he’d been told to stay in the van with the heater running. He never liked old buildings and he didn’t like churches, so it was double jeopardy. He knew he wasn’t a good man and the vestige of the old faith his maw tried to instil in him told him he would not be welcome. He wondered if churches remained holy when they weren’t used, but he was glad he didn’t have to take the risk. Maybe he’d vomit pea soup, or something. That wouldn’t have looked good, him puking his guts up in front of the boys. Never live that down.

  So he sat in the toasty van and waited for them to come back. They hadn’t been away five minutes before he saw the fella weaving towards him. He clicked the wipers on to clear the build-up of snow and get a better view. White flecks covered the bloke’s hair and the shoulders of his coat. Couldn’t see his face, but he looked as if he’d had a couple, way he was walking. Pauley watched him pass, then kept tabs on him in the nearside mirror.

  Then the guy ducked in behind the van. Pauley froze, wondering what the fuck he was playing at. He checked the offside mirror but all he saw was the side of the van, the empty street and the falling snow.

  Fuck.

  His head swivelled as he looked from mirror to mirror but there was no sign of him.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  He pulled the lever
and shouldered the heavy door open. A blast of cold air and a flurry of snow surged in as he leaned out and squinted the length of the van. What was the guy doing back there? Having a slash? Pauley thought, better no be pishing against the motor. If he catches him he’ll tie a knot in his tadger. With a final glance at the offside mirror, just to make sure the guy hadn’t made his way back to the pavement, Pauley slid down from the driver’s seat and walked briskly to the rear.

  But there was no-one there.

  Three or four steps and he was on the pavement, peering through the thickening snow, but there was no sign of the guy. Pauley frowned. Must’ve missed him. Maybe he was just crossing the road behind the van and he didn’t see him. He smiled as he retraced his steps to get back into the warmth of the van. Thoughts of his head swivelling on his shoulders in the church were making him jumpy.

  The guy was waiting for him on the far side of the van. Pauley rounded the corner and a pair of hands grabbed him and threw him up against the side, his head banging off the bodywork. His ears whined with the impact and then he was being pulled away again. Pauley was stunned, but he wasn’t about to let whoever this was away with it. He pushed back, but the guy had already kicked his legs from under him. Pauley went down heavily, the fall knocking the air from his lungs. He tried to get up, but saw a boot heading straight for him. He felt the impact, the bone-crunching pain and the whine in his head reached a crescendo. Then there was only blackness.

  Davie opened the rear doors of the van and bundled the prone man inside. He closed the doors again, checked his surroundings to ensure he hadn’t been seen, but saw nothing through the heavy snow. He couldn’t even see Bobby’s car, the blizzard was so thick. Satisfied, he walked quickly back towards the church. There would be more men in there, although he did not know how many. For an instant, he thought about going back to the car and getting the others involved, but he dismissed it. Too risky for them. Anyway, this is what he did.