Bridge of Doom (22 page)

Two days into their stay at the luxurious Moray Place townhouse, Jack announced, 'you know what, Annie? Life in the New Town is okay. Actually, it's much better than okay, but there's only one problem.' 

'What's that?'
 

'I've walked round the whole area, but I still can't find a Greggs takeaway anywhere. Can you believe it? In Glasgow all you have to do is spit ten yards in any direction and you'll hit one. I really need something hot and greasy for my breakfast.'
 

'Look there probably is a Greggs somewhere close by but, because we're in the New Town, it'll be disguised as a sushi bar. Yeah, all the pies, sausage rolls and other good stuff will be kept out of sight under the counter. Anyway, until you find one, there's juice, cereal, coffee and fresh croissants through in the kitchen.' 

'I don't know, eating croissants always gives me chronic wind. Which, as you well know, isn't a good thing.'

'Yeah, for you or anyone else within a quarter of a mile.' 

'Cheers for that, Annie. I’ve just been thinking that Guy throwing the big party last week was all a front. He was trying to send out a message to friends and enemies alike that all is well, I'm not worried and look everybody … I've just bought a fancy new house and I'm throwing an expensive bash to celebrate.' 

'Except he was too busy worrying about the
Westlink
deal to attend his own party.' 

'Exactly, Annie. That gesture will have fooled some people, no doubt, but probably not the ones it was aimed at. It's vital for high-profile, essentially one-man businesses like his to always appear confident and swimming in cash. Any nervous twitches or sudden moves, which are out of character and smack of desperation, then people start talking and asking awkward questions about where the business is going. Has Guy lost his grip? Investors start to think, should we be worried about losing our money? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then the sharks start to circle and, at the first sign of blood in the water, it's game over.' 

'But I thought Murieston Properties was a successful business?' 

'As far as I'm aware, it has been, so far. But the question is, has Guy bitten off more than he can chew with this latest deal? Okay, he's a big cheese in terms of the Edinburgh property scene, one of the top three private developers according to Henry, but he's certainly no Donald Trump. Which, on balance, I'd say is a good thing.' 

'Well he's certainly got much better hair, although that's not saying much, and he probably doesn't want to declare war on Mexico either.' 

'Fair point, Annie. So that's two things in his favour.' 

'Okay, maybe you're right, but what has all of this got to do with us?' 

'Nothing Annie. Nothing at all, except I'm starting to think your instincts were maybe right all along. You thought there was something smelly about this job right from the very beginning.' 

'Look I'm not claiming any great credit, because it was just a feeling I had.' 

'Ah, so would that be like a hunch?' 

'No, boss. Men have hunches and women have feelings.' 

'Okay, so what's the difference?' 

'Men's hunches are usually wrong and women's feelings are usually right.'

'Well, silly me. Thanks for explaining that one, Annie.’ 

'But it
was
a joint decision, remember? We took this job on the basis that the money was good, with a decent chunk of it paid up front. So what wasn't to like? I mean, surely as things stand, we could walk away from here tomorrow, get on the first train back to Glasgow and forget all about it. Until there's a mention in the papers, or on the news, about some unpleasantness in the New Town.'  

'Yes, but there's only one problem with that, Annie. Remember the question you asked me right back at the beginning, the one that I couldn't really answer at the time? About why we’re being extremely well paid to do something that on the face of it any number of Edinburgh firms are more than capable of doing, probably for half the price.'  

'Well, obviously you've worked with Henry before, so that was a factor. Then, of course, they wanted a male female combo for the job. And when he met me, he realised we make a good team.' 

'Maybe so, but that still doesn't really explain it. I think it's much simpler than that.' 

'Okay then, shoot.' 

'It's a hard one to swallow, Annie, but my gut feeling is that Henry was simply looking for a couple of mugs from out of town, to act as some kind of insurance policy. People who can be blamed if things go tits up on this deal. I think that's the real reason we're here.' 

'But that doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, how could we be blamed for anything that happens? We aren't even full-time employees of Murieston Properties, never mind directors of the company. We're just the hired help, brought in at the very last minute. And we certainly haven't been involved in any of the crucial negotiations, or meetings with any of the investors.' 

'Yes, you're absolutely right, and it wouldn't stand up to any kind of thorough investigation. But by all accounts this is a really complicated deal, involving a lot of people with competing interests, so somehow implicating us might just muddy the waters long enough to buy some time for Henry. So he can cover his tracks or, failing that, quietly disappear.'  

'I don't know, boss, your theory seems a bit of a stretch, to say the least. But who knows?' 

'Watch this space, Annie. If we keep a close eye on Henry's email account, hopefully, the picture will soon become much clearer.'

Around eleven o’clock the same evening, Annie knocked on Jack’s bedroom door and said ‘it’s me, boss.’ After a pause she heard him say, ‘come in, but don’t put the light on.’

Puzzled, Annie entered the room to see her partner standing motionless in darkness, to one side of partially opened velvet curtains framing a large sash and case window. He was staring at the street below.

‘What’s happening?’

Indicating that Annie should come and stand next to him Jack said, ‘I’ve just been keeping an eye on those dudes down in the street. It’s the four young guns Guy told us about, who come around at the same time every night, usually around ten o’ clock. They hang about outside for a couple of hours, drinking cans of beer and arsing around. And in between sitting on the bonnets of some of the parked cars and kicking a ball around, they sometimes stand on the other side of the street and just stare up at the house.’

‘Yeah, I’ve just been checking round the security cameras, so I saw they were back. It’s so weird and I can totally understand why Guy is getting paranoid about it. After getting a close look at them, they don’t seem to be the usual run of the mill neds. You know, like the home-grown ones we have back in Glasgow.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know, I mean obviously they
are
neds, but these guys seem to be slightly more up-market. They’re not wearing the usual trackie bottoms, trainers and baseball caps for a start. Their clothes are fashionable and expensive and they’ve all got those fancy haircuts, just like the Premier League footballers. So they’re obviously not short of cash.’

‘That’s a good point, Annie. They might be involved in drug dealing, maybe at clubs or music venues, you know. They’re low level jobbing hoods, that would be my guess. The kind of dumb-arses that somebody further up the food chain winds up and points at a target. So they’re perfect for this kind of job.’

‘Or could they be football casuals? You know, those idiots who arrange organised battles with supporters of other clubs. Although it’s more the violence than the actual football that they get off on.’

‘I don’t know, Annie. They could be, but they’re certainly not showing any club colours that I saw. I actually went out to speak to them earlier and I had a full and frank exchange of views with the big guy, wearing the brown leather jacket, standing there on the left, who seems to be leader of the pack. I gave him my best big tough Glasgow policeman speech and told him that they were annoying local residents and would have to leave the area immediately. I thought it was worth a try.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Well I have to admit that it didn’t go
exactly
to plan, but we eventually came to a mutually agreed understanding.’

‘Which is?’

‘I now fully understand that, quote ‘it’s none of my fucking business where Darren, that’s his name, and his mates fucking stand. Or what they fucking do. And, for the avoidance of doubt, if they ever see my ugly fucking face anywhere in Edinburgh again, they will give me a good fucking kicking.’

‘That’s telling them, boss. So, no clues at all why they’re doing it?’

‘No we didn’t get into any of those kind of details, Annie. But I’m certain this isn’t personal, it’s just a job they’ve been told to do, plain and simple. And they must be getting pretty well paid by whoever’s behind it, because there’s no good reason in the world for them to be standing out there otherwise.’

‘Should we phone the police?’  

‘Waste of time, Annie. No, they’re really starting to annoy me now, as well as Guy, so I’m going to try and follow them when they leave. Maybe I can find out a bit more about what’s going on.’

‘You’re definitely not going after them on your own, I’m coming with you,’ said Annie.

‘But remember that Henry’s gone out somewhere as well. What about Guy? He’ll be left here on his own.’

‘Look he’s a big boy and he’s safely tucked up in the penthouse. I’ll send him a text to let him know that we’re going out for a couple of hours and I’ll set the house alarm system on the way out. If there’s any kind of security issue, I’ll get a text message immediately and we can whizz back to base.’

‘Okay then, fair enough.’

Just after midnight Jack phoned Annie. ‘It looks like they’re getting ready to pack it in for the night, Annie. Get ready and meet me down at the front door in two minutes.’

Before they left the house in Moray Place, Jack gave Annie a small black fabric sleeve. ‘Here, take this.'

'What is it?'

'It's an extendable steel baton, just like the ones the cops use. I got a couple of them for thirty quid each off the internet. You just snap it open with a flick of the wrist, like this. Personally I prefer the old style wooden ones with a lead weight inside. They had a lot more presence and, if you pulled one of them out of your trouser pocket, most people with any sense usually took a step back and swiftly re-considered whatever nonsense it was they were thinking of doing. But these new ones are okay at a pinch and they’re obviously much easier to conceal.’ Jack took off his jacket to demonstrate. ‘The baton tucks neatly away like this, into the little Velcro sleeve that slips over the forearm.'

‘Annie took the baton and effortlessly snapped it open, before trying a couple of practice swishes. 'Nice, but why exactly do we need these? And, by the way, aren’t they illegal, as in we could get done by the police for carrying a concealed weapon?'

'Technically, yes.'

'So that’s a yes then.'

'Okay, yes it is. Technically. Stop being so picky, Annie. Lots of things in this life are
technically
illegal, but nevertheless necessary. I solemnly swear we will only ever draw our batons in extreme situations. Just like the police.’

‘Like what?’

‘That would be a situation where our lives are in imminent danger, or if some mouthy little toe-rag really starts to get on my tits and needs a good thrashing, okay?'

‘Right, I get it.
Just
like the police.'

'Look, joking aside, I hope we won't ever have to use them, Annie. But we're way off our home turf here, remember, and I'm getting a feeling we're being set up for something nasty. So when we go out, just humour me and keep that baton tucked up the sleeve of your leather jacket, ready to be whipped out if we do get jammed up somewhere.'

The four youths who had been standing outside Guy’s townhouse strolled from Moray Place into Darnaway Street, apparently without a care in the world. They kicked their last empty beer cans along the pavement and laughed loudly amongst themselves, as they intimidated oncoming pedestrians into stepping off the pavement onto the road. As they left Wemyss Place and turned into Queen Street, they hailed a passing taxi and piled in. Jack and Annie watched as it headed westwards along Queen Street

‘Bugger,’ said Jack, looking around desperately for another cab. No luck. But just ahead a bus was pulling into a request stop to let a passenger get off. ‘Quick run after that City Link bus. It’ll be heading for the bus station at St Andrews Square. If we can catch it, at least we’ll be heading in the right direction.’

The bus caught the taxi when it was halted by a red light at the junction of Queen Street and Hanover Street. Jack and Annie jumped off and managed to hail an empty taxi that had just dropped a passenger off at the bottom of Hanover Street.

‘Where to, boss?’ said the eager cabbie, delighted to have snagged another fare so quickly.

‘I’m not sure yet, driver’ said Jack. ‘I want you to follow that taxi in front, but not too close. Hang back a bit and don’t lose him.’ 

‘How exciting,’ said the middle-aged cabbie as he set off in pursuit.    ‘Nobody’s ever asked me to do that before. I hope they’re heading for Newcastle, because it’s been a bloody quiet night so far. I’ve hardly covered the price of a tank of diesel.’

The lead taxi drove along Queen Street, past the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, into York Place and then turned left down Leith Walk, before hanging a right turn along London Road.

‘I’m lost already,’ said Annie, peering out of the taxi window, as she fired up Google Maps on her iPhone and tried to get her bearings.

‘I know what you mean, it’s been ages since I was down this way myself. Let’s just sit back and see where the trail leads.’

After turning left down Easter Road, the leading taxi stopped at the junction with Bothwell Street, where Darren and one of his cronies got out, before the cab continued on down Easter Road.

‘Do you want me to keep following him?’ said their taxi driver hopefully.

‘No this is good for us right here, buddy,’ said Jack.

The middle-aged driver then turned round with a concerned look on his face. ‘Look I know this is none of my business. But if you’re thinking of following those two young guys on foot, be careful because I’m pretty sure I recognise them.’

‘Go on,’ said Jack.

‘I think it was maybe six months ago. I’m almost certain I picked up the same pair and two of their pals in Lothian Road, around two in the morning, and brought them down here to the exact same spot.’

‘You must have a really good memory for faces to remember that far back.’

‘No, the reason I remember them is because these four guys didn’t say a word during the whole journey. They didn’t want to chat and just sat behind me in complete silence. It was really unnerving, to be honest. Anyway when we got here I turned round to get the fare and the biggest one, that guy wearing the brown jacket, gave me the cold hard,
don’t fuck with me
look and then they all got out. They didn’t even close the cab doors and just strolled casually away along Bothwell Street laughing their heads off.’

‘What did you do?’

‘What
could
I do? I was spitting nails, obviously, but there were four of them and one of me. So I just sucked it up, didn’t I? I mean I can’t be rolling around in the street fighting with a bunch of hoods at my age, can I? And if I had phoned the police, I’m going to lose at least an hour messing around giving a statement, when I should be earning money.’ 

‘You’re absolutely right, mate,’ said Jack, handing the driver a twenty-pound note. ‘I think we’re both well past that kind of nonsense. Anyway have a good night and thanks for the heads up. We will be careful.’

Halfway along Bothwell Street Darren’s companion appeared to say goodnight and went into a tenement stair. Darren continued walking towards the end of the street, before crossing a narrow pedestrian footbridge which leads to Albion Terrace.

Jack and Annie followed fifty yards behind, completely unaware a trap was being set for them. However, at the mid-point of the footbridge, it suddenly became clear that they should have given much more credence to the taxi driver’s warning.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Annie. ‘Stop walking, boss. Look up ahead.’

The same black taxi which had led them to Easter Road drew up at the Albion Terrace end of the footbridge and two young men got out to join Darren. The trio were now standing in a row, apparently waiting for Jack and Annie to catch up.

‘This is
so
not good, boss,’ said Annie, as her stomach sank. ‘Let’s go back to the main road … right now.’

‘Great idea. There’s only one problem with that.’

‘What?’

‘Look back the way we’ve just come, but don’t be too obvious about it.’

Annie glanced sideways and saw that a further six young men had materialised from nowhere and were now standing at the Bothwell Street end of the footbridge, effectively blocking off their escape route. A trap had been sprung and they were heavily outnumbered, nine to two.

‘Oh my God, we’re totally stuffed,’ said Annie.

‘I wonder what’s down there?' said Jack, peering over the parapet of the footbridge into the darkness. 

Annie pulled out her iPhone and tapped a location app on the home screen. 

'It might be some kind of railway branch line. But from this picture it looks way too far to try and jump, if that's what you're thinking. This spot where we're standing right now is called the Crawford Bridge.' 

'That's good to know, Annie. You're a fund of useless information.' 

'Yeah, but do you know the nickname the locals have for this place?' 

'Amaze me.' 

A slight tremor was evident in Annie’s voice as she read the description from her phone. 'They call it
the Bridge of Doom
. Apparently there have been several spectacular pitched battles here over the years, between opposing Hibs and Hearts fans.' 

'I can see why, Annie. A narrow bridge like this is a real choke point, if you have a big crowd of football supporters trying to shove across it all at once. That makes it a nightmare for the cops, if any trouble flares up.' 

Jack and Annie were trapped in the middle of the pedestrian footbridge, which links Bothwell Street and Albion Terrace. A gang of yobs had effectively sealed off both ends of the footbridge and now stood silently, as if waiting for a pre-arranged signal or command.

‘This is really weird. It’s like we’re the meat in the middle of the sandwich, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry to take a bite. Maybe they’re just trying to spook us,’ said Jack.