Authors: Tony Black
‘C’mon, Gus – think.’ It was no good. If I’d any part in this, it had left me.
My mind flipped into cartwheels.
I waded through the broken plates and torn cushions that covered the floor. Newspapers scattered to the four winds alongside a busted set of venetian blinds. My own cuttings, all my top scoops, ripped to bits. Every picture frame kicked cockeyed.
I did a circuit, picking up bits and pieces as I went. Was beginning to think this wasn’t me. Much too comprehensive a going over for a start. I wouldn’t have had the energy.
I pushed the door closed and saw it. Scrawled in foot-high lettering, ‘GET OUT!’
Neat, almost stencilled, in block capitals. I went closer, looked like a magi-marker. ‘What’s wrong with the old spray can?’ I wondered.
I did another lap of the joint. It all looked very strange. A textbook turnover for sure. But who would do this? It wasn’t gangster style. They’d have torched the place, or done my knees. Hadn’t Benny the Bullfrog already given me one warning through Mac? A second would be verging on weakness. Either Zalinskas had turned soft, which I doubted, or someone else was also on my case.
A rap on the door stuck a needle in me. I turned quickly, grabbed up a broken table leg. A makeshift club, not quite the regulation baseball bat, but close enough to be in the ball park. I gripped tight, slapped the end of it into my open palm. Got set to knock seven bells out of all comers.
I walked to the door, called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Who do you think it is?’
‘Col, just a minute.’ I wasn’t about to let him see the state of the place. He had enough to worry about without this adding to his woes.
‘I’ve brought you a wee bit of lunch.’
Heard a tray rattle. Shit. He wanted in.
‘Eh, could you leave it outside? I’m just getting into the shower.’
A long pause, then I heard the tray rattle again.
‘Suit yourself. But don’t let it get cold. It’s mince and stovies, thought you looked like you could do with a bit of fattening up.’
Another one, what was this?
I stuck my fingers down the sides of my jeans. They were 32s and loose. Maybe I’d missed the odd meal. Weight is a national obsession in Scotland, no one likes to see a skelf. In Edinburgh, since we got the tag ‘Aids Capital of Europe’, being a bit skelky wasn’t a good look.
I waited till I heard Col’s footsteps on the stairs, then I got the tray. Polished off the stovies in no time. Began to feel contented within myself, sat back and loosened off my top button. Then I remembered I wasn’t staying. ‘Don’t get too comfortable, Gus,’ I told myself.
It didn’t take long to straighten out the flat. I picked up the cushions, put away the rest of the wreckage and hung a calendar over the warning notice.
I took out an old Lotto kit bag that I used for the gym when I was health conscious, employed, married … stable. Filled it with a few essentials from the wardrobe and a handful of books from the shelves. Some Hemingway and Steinbeck, to escape Edinburgh, and some Nietzsche to put my feet back on the ground.
In the bar, I caught Col’s eye as he finished serving a punter. I saw he’d taken down the picture of my father and propped it against a box of smoky bacon crisps.
He caught me staring. ‘I meant to take that down ages ago,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Gus … but what with one thing and another, I must have forgotten.’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘No. No. I know you told me to bin the lot of them after … Well, I just missed that one.’
‘Col, it’s your pub. I’ve no right to tell you what you can put on the wall.’
A long silence stretched between us. Col turned an open hand to the pumps. I shook my head.
‘You must loathe the man,’ he said.
‘Got that right.’
‘He’s your father.’
‘And …?’
‘Whatever he’s done, nothing changes that, surely.’
I shot him a glower, then stared over his head to the line of mixers.
‘I am only saying, Gus. Whatever he’s done, could you not forgive him?’
I took my hands out of my pockets, reached down for the kit bag and swiftly lifted it from the bar stool before me.
‘I’ll have to be going,’ I said.
I turned and walked to the door.
‘Wait. Wait up,’ shouted Col. He stopped me in the doorway, said, ‘I’ve this for you.’
I didn’t need to look, knew it had to be more money. A big wad of tens grabbed from the till, stuffed in an envelope.
‘No, Col …’
‘Don’t go proud on me. We all need a lot more than we let on sometimes.’
I couldn’t argue. ‘Thanks.’
He lent me a smile and placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘I, er, saw your mother the other day at the supermarket.’
‘Yeah?’
‘She says Cannis’s not so well now.’
This again. I wasn’t biting.
‘Col, please, I know you think you’re doing some good here, but don’t use that man’s name around me.’
‘I was only saying … Your mother was asking for you, she wanted me to let you know.’
I sighed, said, ‘Well, you’ve done it.’
SPENT THE NIGHT in an East End kip house. Came cheap, but none too cheerful. Knew I needed to make more permanent arrangements, and soon.
Going out the door my phone rang, was Amy. I said, ‘Oh hi, was just about to give you a ring.’
‘What kind – diamond?’
‘Ha! Lot cheaper.’
‘
Ruby
?’
‘Closer, was thinking
Orange
– mobile.’
Loud sigh followed. ‘At least I know you’re not going to disappoint me tonight. We’re still on, aren’t we?’
I’d forgotten all about it, said, ‘’Course we are.’
‘Great.’ She sounded ecstatic, boosted my worth. ‘Because I thought I might get my hooks into you a bit earlier, make sure you don’t go AWOL on me again.’
This crushed me, I didn’t want to be tied down by anybody. ‘How early?’
‘Like, now-ish.’
I looked at my watch. Wasn’t yet nine, in the a.m. ‘Where are you?’
Suddenly I felt a solid slap on my shoulder.
‘Here!’
‘Jesus! Are you trying to end me?’
She laughed like a drain. Amy looked luscious in tight white jeans, a kooky hip-hugging dress thrown over them. ‘You’re not quite in your heart attack years yet, Gus!’
‘I’m a damn sight nearer after that, let me tell you. What are you playing at?’
‘Thought I’d come and meet you.’
‘How did you know where I’d be? I hardly know the answer to that one myself these days.’
‘Impulse. Female intuition – call it what you like.’
‘Stalking.’
The smile went. ‘Not funny!’
‘Touchy subject? The voice of experience?’
She grabbed my arm. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘and try to lighten up. Old, I can handle, old prick, no thanks.’
Thought about saying I was the same age all over, but left it.
There seemed to be something different about Amy today, but I couldn’t place it. Truth was, I’d a distraction. Kept turning around to look for the Cube. Don’t know why. I’d no reason to think he’d be following me at this moment, just a trick of the memory, I supposed. The first time he’d shown, Amy was in my company, but I’d nothing to suggest this was anything more than coincidence.
We got a rare blast of sun, grabbed some fruit smoothies and settled down in Holyrood Park. I ruined the healthy look with a Scotch pie – real cow-brain special.
‘You should go veggie,’ said Amy.
‘I should do lots of things, going veggie’s about bottom of the list.’
‘Oh, whatever!’ There it was again. Amy’s vocabulary tripped across the Atlantic. Maybe there was hope for her generation to shake off some home-grown influences.
‘Don’t you mean,
like whatever
?’
‘Eh?’
‘No matter.’ I felt bored with the conversation, changed tack. ‘Amy, do you remember when I ran into you the other day?’
‘With the tie. God, what was that like?’
‘Yeah. Enough about the tie.’ I shook my head. ‘There was a guy, remember?’
‘No, not really … well, maybe … You said something about a guy with a paper. Why?’
‘He showed up again.’
‘Freaky.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Is he, like, following you?’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s bloody following me. And some bastard turned over my gaff.’
‘What? Like the movies? That’s just mental.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Who do you think it is?’
I laid it all out for her: Billy’s murder; the Latvian girls; the death threat. I left nothing out. I gave her an ideal opportunity to take off, run for the hills. But, all credit to her, she seemed concerned. Whether it came down to a lack of years or romantic idealism, her hackles seemed well and truly raised.
‘Gus, this is just awful.’
I nodded into my smoothie.
‘I wouldn’t have believed …’ She looked out into the road, an old woman struggled along with a shopping trolley. ‘I mean, it all seems so normal out there.’
Her statement seemed absurd to me. I hadn’t known normal for a very long time.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What I have to – find Billy’s killer.’
‘I want to help.’
I smiled at her. She meant every word, but the idea that she could be any help to me was laughable and the exact opposite of what I’d hoped she’d say.
‘You’re doing that already – listening to this is a help, Amy. You’re helping me get all this straight in my mind. It’s a lot to carry around.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I meant proper help.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. There’s got to be something I could do.’
It crossed my mind that by keeping her around I’d take the edge off the danger – it might be tricky making a hit on me with a witness about. But I scrubbed the idea. She had to go, I knew it.
‘The reason I told you all this wasn’t to get you involved. I wanted to explain things, why I have to—’
‘Oh, here it comes.’ She flung back her head. A tremor of tiny ripples passed along the top of her smoothie.
‘It’s not like that.’
‘No?’
‘What I’m trying to tell you is that if you stick around me, you could be in danger. Maybe not as much as me, but there might be trouble.’
She stood up. ‘You bastard.’
‘
Sorry
?’
As I looked at her I became aware of what bugged me about her appearance. A new piercing sat above her lip, to the right.
‘You’ve got a piercing?’
‘Oh, so you noticed.’
‘I did. I did. Look, sit back down, Amy.’
She calmed a bit. ‘It’s called a Monroe.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Marilyn
Monroe
.’ Amy pointed to the shiny piece of silver above her lip. ‘She had, like, a beauty spot or something about here.’
I liked the idea, said, ‘Nice – I’ve climbed all the Munros, you know.’
She frowned on me. ‘I think you’ve missed one!’
I PACKED AMY into a Joe Baxi. Things looked way too messy to have her around now. But something told me she wasn’t just going to disappear.
The thought of putting her in danger was one of a million things whirring round in my mind right now. None of them nice. I caught myself biting on the inside of my cheek as I moved off. The pain nipped my nerves. ‘Jeez, what doesn’t these days?’ I thought.
I jumped on the first bus that appeared.
Someone played Sting on their iPod. Me, I’m with Ozzy Osbourne, he said that no matter how grim things get, ‘It could be worse, you could be Sting!’
I rolled this about for a while, to the soundtrack of ‘Fields of Gold’. Christ, could have chucked up when it came on. That’s the way with Sting. For me it’s the whole ‘save the planet’ bollocks. He’ll gad about on TV with some gadgie from the rainforest, while plugging Concorde and Jaguar at the same time. For Chrissake, a Jag’s got two petrol tanks! Can’t he see the contradiction?
I got off on Princes Street, immediately caught in the slipstream of shopping zombies. Was a no-brainer to just keep walking. My legs seemed to tap into the collective rhythm and before long I’d put myself right in the path of Fitz the Crime’s patch.
‘By the holy … I thought we’d said all we had to to each other,’ he blasted coming round the corner of Montgomery Street and on to the Walk.
‘That’s not how we left it, Fitz.’
‘Look, Dury—’
I cut him off, stepped up to face him. ‘No, you look, Fitz. I’m not fucking about, hear me?’
Silence.
I started up again, ‘I helped you out once and now you’re going to settle the score.’
‘Or else – Is that it?’
‘Well …’ I kept my tone threatening.
‘I’m not a man to cross, Dury.’
‘Neither am I.’ I let that one register, shifted on to the front foot. ‘I want the file on Billy Boy.’
‘Are you out of your mind? Am I even hearing this?’ Fitz tried to push past me, but I was too quick for him, blocked his path.
‘I won’t ask again, Fitz. The file on Billy.’
‘Dury, you’re cracked. Jesus! Have you any idea of the consequences?’
‘Monday, Fitz.’
He lit up like a bonfire, his meaty neck quivered as he put his head down and walked right through me.
I decided to spend a few days in the West End. Thought it had to be the last place anyone would look for me.
Mostly, I don’t get out this way, but I found a B&B. They charged like raging bulls, but it was getting dark and I needed to lie low for a while. Even managed to keep off the sauce. Kept playing Bob Dylan’s advice: ‘Alcohol will kill anything that’s alive and preserve anything that’s dead.’
I knew what he meant, but I wasn’t ready to start drying out just yet. It was temporary; I needed a clear head.
Was tugging at the window, in preparation of a fly-smoke when my mobile went off.
‘Dury.’
‘You’re an elusive fella, Mr Dury.’
It was Milo, but with none of his usual sparkle.
‘Oh, Jeez, Milo. I’m sorry, I forgot to—’
‘’Tis fine, Gus. I know ye have a busy life to lead.’
‘No, no – it’s more than that. I had my flat broken into and, well, it’s just been pretty full-on lately.’
‘I understand.’
He might have understood, but I sure as hell didn’t. What was I playing at? He’d asked me for some help, an old man with no one, and I’d let him down. I deserved flogging.