Murderers Anonymous (2 page)

He looked up, glanced around the room for the first time, received a few nods of encouragement.

'Not bad, you know. I thought I'd got away with it. Course, I couldn't have been more wrong. You see, I'd counted without Mr Garden Rake Up His Arse. The bastard digs the ugly out the books, and next thing you know, I'm sat with him in Smokey Joe's All Night Bar for the Criminally Secretive discussing the terms of his blackmail. 'Cause, you see, for all his whiter than white, arse-sucking, holier than thou bollocks, he was just as much a petty criminal as the rest of us. So he gets down to it, starts taking money off me, and before you know it I'm paying this eejit even more than I'd owed Big Sammy.'

Billy Hamilton leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. Now he was giving Annie Webster his undivided attention. He looked her square in the eye; she accepted his gaze. The air fizzed with tension. He breathed deeply and decided it was cigarette time. Top pocket and his hands were shaking as he took out the smoke and lit up.

'Just take your time, Billy,' said Katie Dillinger.

He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke out slowly.

'Aye, aye, I know,' he said. 'So, I don't know when it happened, or why it happened when it did, but finally I snapped. I just thought, well, fuck you, Batman. Followed him home one night after the pub, when I knew he'd had a few drinks and the edge would be off, then waited until the lights were out, broke in at the back, picked the first implement I could find in the kitchen, went upstairs and killed the bastard. Loved every second of it 'n' all, I have to admit that. I have to admit that,' he said again, his eyes drifting more thoughtfully back to the floor.

'What did you kill him with?' asked Webster, thrilled by the story, her fingers twitching.

'A box of Sugar Puffs,' he said.

'Wow!'

They engaged looks for a while, then he turned away and stared at Katie Dillinger, having misinterpreted the look from Webster. Who was going to be impressed by that, he thought.

'Very good, Billy,' said Dillinger. 'And how do you feel after that? Does it bring it all back? If you were in the same situation today, what would you do?'

He rubbed his hands. He felt the rest of the group staring at him. This was what it was all about. This was why he was here. It was a relaxed setting, they were all friends, but there was still pressure. The pressure to come to terms with what you'd done in the past, and every time he talked about it he betrayed himself; the fact that he was a long, long way from coming to terms with that past. And it was obvious to the whole room that he still felt anger at Lawrence Burr. The sarcastic, condescending bastard.

Would he still have done the same? Bloody right he would.

He sucked on the cigarette again, almost biting the filter off with his lips. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He struggled.

'My name's Billy, and I'm a murderer,' he said after a while, his eyes once again rooted to the floor. There were a few nods in sympathy around the room. No one clapped.

The man next to him, Paul Galbraith, Paul 'The Hammer' Galbraith, gripped his arm briefly in encouragement. 'You're a good lad, Billy,' he said.

'And what about now, Billy?' said Dillinger, knowing she had to get him talking. 'What have you been up to recently? Do you feel there are any stresses on you at the moment?'

Hamilton breathed deeply and stared at the floor. Back to the present. A brief flirtation with the age-old 'Why am I here?' Would he still think about Lawrence Burr if he didn't come to these damned meetings?

'Nothing much. You know I moved to that mob up in Byres Road. Bit of a small concern, but it's all right. At least you don't get arseholes like Burr there, you know. So, all right, I suppose.'

'And what about your new colleague?' said Dillinger. 'You expressed some concerns about him the last time, didn't you?'

Bugger it, he thought, you remember everything. The last time he'd just made some chance remark, nothing more. A chance remark about that odious little cretin, Eason, and now she was giving him the POW camp treatment.

He breathed deeply once more. Count to ten, Billy, he thought. Count to ten. Smoke; deep inhalation.

One ... she's right, all the same. Two ... this is why you're here. Three ... it's not just about coming to terms with the past. Four ... it's about the present, and even more about the future. Five ... you're here to make sure you don't do again what you did to Burr. Six ... there's no way you're going to be so lucky the next time. Seven ... so be honest with yourself as much as with them. Eight ... get it off your chest. Nine ... exorcise your demons, Billy, when you have the support to do it. Ten ... then sever the guy's testicles first chance you get.

'You're right,' he said, looking up at Dillinger. 'You're right. It's the same thing. I mean, the guy's not some prepubescent genius or anything. He ain't the Mozart of accounting, don't get me wrong.'

'So what is it, then?'

'I don't know. He's got the panache of Homer Simpson, he's uglier than some bird showing her wares in Bonkers on a Tuesday night, his hair's a mess, he got his dress sense from eastern Europe, and he thinks just because Abba are in these days, it's cool to like the Brotherhood of Man. I mean, the guy could not be less of a threat. And I realise that that was the problem with Burr. Even before the blackmail started, I felt my position threatened by him. But this guy. I don't know. He's a total Muppet.'

He shrugged as he looked around the room. Looking for someone to provide the answer.

'Analyse it, Billy,' said Dillinger. 'We can help you, but you know that answers to this kind of thing have to come from within. Only you can tell what the problem is. Only you can ask yourself if you think you might do to this man Eason what you did before.'

He nodded, looked at her with eyes wide.

'Oh, aye, I think I might. That's the trouble. I think I might kill him.'

'But why?'

'I don't know. I suppose he just gets on my tits.'

Dillinger nodded. 'Very good, Billy, tits are good. If you can admit that that's all it is, then it's the first step. The guy annoys you. Now you have to address that annoyance. We can't all go around killing people just because they're annoying. You have to address that issue. That's why we're all here.'

She took her eyes off him and looked around the room. The same old faces, fighting the same malignant spirits they had all fought for years. From 'The Hammer' Galbraith, to Socrates McCartney, they were all in it together.

'Has anyone else got anything to suggest? I know we've all been there.'

Arnie Medlock cleared his throat, but Annie Webster was in first with a question. Her own story was a vastly different one. A much deeper psychosis. This was not something with which she could associate.

'Did you not get counselling and that before you got released from prison?' she said.

Billy Hamilton looked at her, slightly surprised.

'I never went to prison,' he said.

'Oh. Did you get off on some technicality or something?'

Hamilton didn't know what to say. There were a few awkward glances passed between the group. He looked to Dillinger for help, and she rode in on her pleasure-beach donkey to his assistance.

'Billy's one of our Unknowns,' she said to Annie Webster.

'How do you mean?'

'He's never been caught. That's why you're sworn to secrecy when you join, Annie. Some of our group have served time for their crimes and some have never been apprehended. At least those few have realised that they've done wrong and are here to make sure it doesn't happen again.'

She turned back and stared at him with awe.

'So you're wanted by the polis?' she said.

Billy Hamilton shrugged.

'Not really. I mean, they've no idea it was me who did it. They thought it might be someone at the firm, but there were about forty of us there queuing up to do the guy in, so it didn't really help them. It was like that scene in
Airplane!
where there's a big line of folk waiting to smack that screaming woman about, only I was at the front and no one else got to have a go.'

'Oh.'

Annie Webster looked around the room. She hadn't realised, but it was fairly obvious. Five months now since she'd committed her crime, five months since she'd strangled Chester Mackay. The police had been following her around ever since, but they hadn't got anything on her yet, and they never would. But strangely, despite her own case, she had assumed that the rest of the group had all served time. Like The Hammer and Katie and Sammy Gilchrist. But they hadn't covered that point the previous week; obviously just hadn't come up. She swallowed and tried to decide if this made any difference. Were the ones who had never been apprehended any more dangerous than the ones who had served their time? Felt a tingle of excitement at the thought. The thrill of danger. She was among more than thieves.

Her eyes fell on each of the group one by one and each time she wondered, and each time she knew that the person at whom she was looking knew what she was thinking; trying to decide whether or not they were a fugitive from justice.

At last she was ready to speak. The question was there, yet still she hesitated.

'Come on, Annie,' said Katie Dillinger, 'say what you're thinking.'

And to a man and woman the collective of the Bearsden chapter of Murderers Anonymous watched closely this newcomer to their midst. They were all here to be judged, regardless of whether or not they might like it.

'Right,' she said, swallowing. Might as well get it out there. It wasn't like it was an obsession of hers, or anything, but she was curious. For over a year now there had been nothing else in the papers, and where else might he turn up but here? It would be perfect for him. Perfect. And it was not too often that you got the opportunity to meet a legend.

'I don't suppose one of you is Barney Thomson?'

'Hey, hey, hey,' said Larry Bellows, smile wider than the moon, slapping his hands on the desk in front of him. 'It's got to be said, folks, they're a nice pair. Hee, hee, hee.'

And off went Burt Keynolds and Pamela Anderson to general audience whooping, applause, delirium and star adulation. Burt turned and winked, Pammy laughed, and the two guest seats beside Larry awaited their next victim.

Larry settled back in his chair, shaking his head. Waited for the general audience mayhem to calm down to a few rogue claps and whoops. Leaned forward.

'And hey, she's got a real fine set of bazookas on her 'n' all, eh, folks?'

Further uproar; as ever. Bellows leaned back and discreetly pressed his finger against the side of his nose, hoping to dislodge any cocaine which might have been caught up in the general turbulence of his nasal hair. (Still four and a half minutes till the next commercial break.) He smiled some more, the audience whooped and cheered.

Off-stage, his next guest stared at the floor and waited. Mouth a little dry, the feeling in his stomach more general discomfort than butterflies.

At last, several
Quiet Please!
prompt cards having been held aloft, the audience settled down into an expectant silence. Larry leaned forward, the smile disappeared, his brow furrowed, and he switched from David Letterman to Ed Murrow. The look that got him an Emmy nomination every year.

'Listen, folks,' said Larry, sucking in his audience, 'tell ya what. We're gonna get a little more serious now, that's the truth. For there's a fella just arrived in this country for a lecture tour, and he's got some folks in an almighty stink. Some saying he shouldn'ta had a visa, some saying he shoulda been locked up the minute he stepped offa the plane. Well, hey, you know me, folks, I'm a fair-minded guy, I like to listen to all sides. And here we are, about to hear the story direct from the horse's mouth. Ladies and gentlemen, you all know who I'm talking about. Direct from Scotland, England, Barney Thomson, ladies and gentlemen, Barney Thomson.'