Long Time Dead (Gus Dury 4) (21 page)

Hod swivelled on his hip, turned to face me, his eyelids drooping heavily as his gaze fell. ‘She’s worried about you. She’s your mother …’

‘I know that.’

‘Then don’t you think you should let her know you’re okay?’

I shot him a glower. ‘Do I look okay, Hod?’

‘All I’m saying is, I think you should give her a call … pay her a visit, maybe.’

It had been on my mind anyway, for altogether different reasons. I just didn’t know if I had the bottle. ‘Okay, well, thanks for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.’

He turned away again, stared back at the pub. The old jakey in the mac had tried to get back inside but was being thrown out by a biffer with a towel tucked in his waistband and tats down each arm. He handled the old bloke as though he was made of straw. I half expected to see him taken by the breeze. It was a scene that was probably being played out in dozens of pubs throughout the city; though none of the trendy pubs filled to bursting with Festival-goers would see the like. Uh-uh. We keep this stuff well out of their way. No one wants to see the real Edinburgh – no one would pay a penny for that.

Said, ‘Wonder how Mac’ll do?’

‘I’m more worried about Amy.’ The statement came with a cruel look. It was another low blow, but I didn’t doubt I deserved it. I didn’t doubt I deserved a whole lot worse.

‘Hod, you know there’s no way I’d put that girl in any danger.’ It was a long shot trying to make him see that I was on his side with this one, but at the very least I hoped I could make him agree that Amy was a law unto herself. We both felt far too much for the girl to see her hurt; he got that, surely.

‘Yeah, and you know what she’s like, Gus.’

He had me there. It was my fault she was in this situation. I’d been stupid enough to call her in – what had I been thinking? I was in no condition to be keeping an eye on her. I wondered where my mind was? Knew exactly what my intention had been, but held schtum, covered my arse. ‘Yeah, sure … but Hod, we needed to get moving on the case.’

‘You could have kept her out of it, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘I didn’t even hint at her getting anything off Gemmill. I asked her to snoop around at the uni … this was a complete shock to me as well.’

He wasn’t buying it. ‘Gus, have you ever known Amy to do things by halves? … You must have had a fucking inkling she’d go off on one.’

I was getting nowhere. ‘Go on, then, blame it all on me.’ I was trying to do my best by him; I knew he was in deep shit and I wanted to help out. Christ, neither of us were doing great and the case was likely too much for us but we’d taken it on now and I’d be fucked if I was walking away after what we’d uncovered. I’d seen the look on Gillian Laird’s face: she knew her son hadn’t been a gasper. There was more to it than that. Dealing for Danny Gemmill was bad enough, but Fitz’s revelations about the Craft silencing his nephew was tipping tragic. This kind of thing fired me up – I’d never been comfortable with the games the big boys played. If they kicked their ball in my direction, it was going back with a puncture – even if it took my last breath to deliver it.

Mac appeared in the doorway again. He put his collar up and shuffled through the smokers. I tried to read his face but he wasn’t giving anything away. I hoped to Christ his contact had come good; I didn’t want any more on my conscience than I had already. And I certainly didn’t want to lose Amy.

Hod started the engine.

Mac kept his pace casual, not wanting to draw attention to himself in case he was being watched. He fitted in perfectly among the chib-men and heavies; Christ, didn’t he just. You couldn’t do better with an identikit.

When he finally got in the van he said, ‘Right, back to the city.’

‘You got a place?’

‘Corstorphine Road. Gemmill’s been drinking in some hotel out there lately.’

Hod found first, pulled out. The old engine rattled a bit, coughed out some smoke. I hoped it wouldn’t overheat on the way out.

‘So what’s the go?’ I asked.

Mac shook his head. ‘There’s no fucking go … think I got chatty with the cunt? It was casual as fuck. I just asked if he’d seen Gemmill about and if he knew where he was drinking these days.’

It sounded dodge, Mac just dropping by a strange drinker, asking questions. ‘Did he cotton on?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘You don’t
think
so …’

That lit a fuse. Mac’s eyes turned on me; I saw plenty of the whites, tinged with angry red. ‘No, I don’t. But, y’know, I’m no’ a fucking mind-reader and ex-cons tend to know better than to let their faces give away what they’re thinking.’

Hod slapped the wheel. ‘So, what you’re saying is he could be on the phone to Gemmill already.’

Mac leaned past me, flattening me in my seat to roar at Hod. ‘Well, we knew that was a fucking option before I went in there! … I don’t remember you having a better plan!’

I pushed Mac back in his seat. ‘Right, enough. We’ll find out when we get there, eh.’

The rest of the journey passed in silence. The traffic got heavy, tram and road works competed with Festival-goers and tour buses. Getting from Leith to Corstorphine was a trial at the best of times in this city; right now it seemed like mission impossible. Hod and Mac fumed, letting out sighs at every turn. We were stopped by every set of lights – both drivers and pedestrians took blastings from the horn. As we got to Corstorphine Road the tension in the cab hung like a fever. I felt my hands start to tremble again; beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I needed a drink, desperately.

‘Thank fuck there’s a bar in here …’ I said.

‘Jesus Christ, Gus,’ said Mac, ‘you won’t be doing any drinking.’

My mind was drifting all over the place. When I got like this I felt inches from unconsciousness. I started to gnaw at my exposed gums with my lower teeth. I had gone too long without topping up my units. I felt seriously drowsy, but at the same time my heart raced.

Mac pointed to the hotel; Hod pulled the van onto the driveway scree. As he parked he caught sight of his Beemer. ‘Well, he’s here, then. Prick’s got a cheek driving my motor, eh.’

‘Perks of the job,’ said Mac.

Hod braked, pulled the keys out of the ignition. ‘If he’s hurt that lassie he’ll no’ be fit for any fucking job … He’ll be on invalidity if he’s fucking lucky.’

As we got out of the van I wondered if we’d suddenly changed seasons – summer to winter. I started to shiver uncontrollably. My neck froze; I felt my stomach tightening. I blamed the stress of the situation. I was worried about Amy, said, ‘I really need a drink.’

‘Will you shut up about drink,’ said Hod, ‘Do you not remember why we’re here?’

‘I really do need a swally … my insides are burning.’

Mac grabbed the front of my coat, pulled me towards him. ‘Right, get this straight … we’re not here for a session.’

Hod stood at his shoulder. The pair of them looked ready to pound me into the ground when the doors of a blue Bedford sprung open and four or five pugs poured out. A burgundy Daimler that had been
parked opposite pulled up. In the front passenger seat I could see Shaky waving arms and pointing at the three of us. In the next second my arms were put up my back and my face was spun towards the side of the Bedford.

Hod and Mac followed me as we were thrown into the back of the van. As we righted ourselves, the lumps parted to let Shaky through. Gemmill and Amy came close behind him; she’d been crying, black mascara running down her cheeks. I tried to go to her but got held back.

‘Gus!’ Amy yelled out.

‘All right … you’ve got us, you can let the lassie go, Shaky,’ I yelled.

Shaky came forward, put a shoe on the edge of the van, leaned in, ‘Where’d you get the balls tae tell me to do anything, ye cunt? You’ve got right up my fucking nose, d’ye know that?’ He pointed a tanned finger at me. ‘You’ll be fucking lucky no’ to be wearing your arse as a hat by the time I’m finished with ye, Dury!’

IT WAS A FAIR OLD drive. Could have guessed somewhere in the wilds of Midlothian from the time it took us, but with the windows blacked out it was a near impossibility. Hod and Mac sat in silence. Every now and again they’d make casual glances at each other, frowning. I knew my shakes were the cause of this. I tried to put my hands in the pockets of my tweed jacket but it made little difference. The tremors merely passed up my arms into my neck, made my head bob about as if I suffered St Vitus’s dance. I was a sad case and I knew it. The craving in my gut for alcohol was all-consuming. I could hardly bear a thought to our fate, though that scared me enough.

Tried a conversation starter: ‘Where do you think they’re taking us?’

Hod barked, ‘Oh, dunno … maybe Ikea for one of those all-day breakfasts, eh.’

Mac looked at me and curled the corner of his mouth into a cruel sneer. ‘Maybe better you just shut the fuck up, Gus.’

I wasn’t having that. ‘Look, it’s not my fault.’

‘Oh, stop pissing and whining. You sound like a ten-year-old lassie.’

I took out a hand, tried to point a finger. It fluttered like a leaf on the breeze. ‘Okay, I got Amy involved. I didn’t ask her to go after Gemmill like that, though, you can’t be putting that on me.’

The pair of them looked away, stayed quiet. I wanted to have another go, try defending myself further, but there didn’t seem to be any point. Told myself, if I got out of this in one piece, I’d be happy enough.

The Bedford’s wheels rattled over what felt like a cattle grid, then we were on a rough dirt track. The three of us were thrown about in the back as the road got bumpy.

‘This isn’t a good sign,’ said Hod.

‘We’re out in the fucking wilds … be blowing the kneecaps off us,’ said Mac.

I tried to rein in some sanity. ‘Christ on a cross, what have we done? Followed Gemmill … since when was that a kneecapping offence?’

‘You forget about the money I owe Shaky!’ said Hod.

‘Yeah … and he’s getting that – you still have time in hand.’

Mac arked up, lobbed an arm at me, grabbed my collar. ‘Are you away wi’ it? Do you remember who we’re dealing with here? … Shaky doesn’t need an excuse – he’ll fucking top the lot ay us for looking at Gemmill the wrong way, just to teach us a lesson!’ He threw me back down.

I knew he was right.

The brakes were applied, a loud screech as the tyres dug into dry-packed earth. I felt my stomach turning over; my mouth dried as I drew deep breath.

In a moment the door was flung open. A pug with a shaved head and bad prison tats on his face motioned us out. He had a look on him that screamed,
Give me an excuse, and you’re in the ground
.

The sunshine hurt my eyes as I left the van. I raised a hand to shield the rays. Caught sight of Mac and Hod squinting in the full glare. Wherever we were, running wasn’t an option. Forget my current condition – there was nothing but trees and fields for miles around. The only concession to human settlement was an abandoned bothy. Shaky and Gemmill were walking towards it, Amy was being dragged behind them, teetering on high heels, by a heavy biffer in a black leather jacket.

‘Get fucking moving,’ Prison Tats roared at us, pointing after Shaky. We got moving. The ground was dry and hard, baked under the sunshine. My legs were weak at the knees. They buckled once or twice and I was prodded in the back by the pug. Hod and Mac kept eyes front, staring at the door of the bothy. As we got inside a storm lantern was being lit above our heads. The biffer had taken off his leather and was rolling up his shirtsleeves. I got a good look at the size of his arms: like Popeye on steroids. He had hands like clubs; probably been used for just that. I didn’t want to think about what was coming next.

Gemmill pulled out a chair. It reminded me of that scene in
Reservoir Dogs
, one where Michael Madsen cuts the cop’s ear off … I couldn’t stop a hand going up to my ear in panic.

Shaky spoke: ‘Get in here, y’bunch ay pricks.’ I watched him walk around the chair, wondered which of us he was going to put in there, who would be first to lose an ear. And then he sat down. He unbuttoned his overcoat; underneath he wore a purple silk shirt. With the white shoes and the quiff I got the impression he was trying to emulate his namesake’s appearance. Had to suppress a nervous laugh as I visualised him balancing on his toes and belting out ‘Green Door’ …

Gemmill stood at Shaky’s shoulder. He held on to Amy but she struggled to free herself and eventually won out; she ran over to my side and put her arms around me.

‘Oh, touching wee picture … eh, Danny,’ said Shaky.

Gemmill looked sheepish, let out a nervous laugh. I could see he knew exactly who Shaky blamed for this turn of events.

‘What the fuck you after, Shaky?’ I said. The tone of my voice got the pug’s goat – he loped over and planted a fist in my eye socket. I fell like a sack of spuds. Amy screamed and dropped down beside me on the floor.

‘You fucking bastards,’ she yelled.

I sat up, gathered myself just enough to see Shaky laughing and Gemmill attempting to join in. ‘Listen tae me, Dury. I’ll be asking the fucking questions, eh.’ He nodded to the pug, who came and
dragged me to my feet. ‘Now for starters, you can tell me why you’ve got yer wee tart keeping tabs on Danny Boy here.’