Bridge of Doom (3 page)

The next morning Tommy Duff sent Tyson, the pit bull, towards his son's bedroom with the command, ‘good boy, go fetch.' Two minutes later the faithful mutt shadowed a bedraggled Fazzo, limping and yawning into the front lounge. 

'Okay, sit on your arse and pay attention because, while you've been lying in your bed, snoring like a blocked drain, I've been doing some research online about this iPhone you gave me. You were right, they have beefed up the security on these things recently and all the latest models are now being sold with a 'kill switch' already activated. This feature is operational straight out of the box so, if it's lost or stolen, the owner can immediately lock it remotely. The phone is then officially
Bricked,
as the techie guys at Apple HQ would say, or completely fucked as we say around here. And then, on top of that, there's a couple of other sneaky little features that could really spoil your day, Danny. They’re called
Lost Mode
and
Find my iPhone.'
 

'Yeah, I've heard a bit about them already. It's a total bummer, da. Tryin’ tae stop people like us from makin’ a decent livin’.' 

'But the weird thing about this particular phone, is that the owner hasn't used any of those things.’ 

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I turned it on for a couple of minutes, when I took the dog to the park for a walk earlier. It was the only way to find out if it’s worth anything. So when I powered it up, everything worked as normal and I took the chance to copy a few of the most dialled numbers from the guy's contacts list. I'll explain why later. But it’s really weird, it's like whoever owns this phone doesn't know that it's been stolen, or he somehow doesn't care.’ Suddenly Tommy Duff jumped up from his seat and grabbed his son by the front of his t-shirt, lifting him bodily off the floor. ‘For fuck's sake, Danny, he's not dead is he?’ yelled Tommy. ‘Because if you've gone and killed somebody over a stupid bloody iPhone, I swear to God I'll swing for you.’

'Naw da, don’t worry. He's no dead, I just nutted him and then kicked him a few times, that's all. It was nuthin’ too heavy, honest. A few cuts and bruises is all.'

'You better be fucking right. Anyway, the main thing is that it now stays switched off. That way it can't be tracked, locked or any of the content erased. That's how we want it to stay, in prime condition.’ 

'I found out that all of Apple’s security measures can be overcome, although that’s not straightforward and it would involve me trying to find somebody a lot smarter than you who could do it. That wouldn't be difficult, obviously, but it would still cost money. And then I was sitting here thinking and it came to me. Why bother arsing around trying to unlock the phone? Instead, why not try and sell the phone to the one person in the world who values it most?' 

'Who's that?' 

'The original owner, stupid.’ 

'What? You've lost me there da.' 

'I wish. Look, I know this will be really difficult for you, Danny son, but just try and imagine what life would be like if you had an ordinary straight job. I know, it's a scary thought … no drug dealing, no thieving, no beating people up for fun, no lying in bed till lunchtime every day, pulling your plonker. Just trying to hold down an ordinary dumb job like everyone else. Most of them struggle every month to make ends meet and pay their bills. So buying one of these bad boys is a major commitment and, if you're on an average wage, five or six hundred quid is a tidy sum of money to lay out. Even if you take one on a contract, it's still forty to fifty quid coming out of the kitty every single month.' 

'So?' 

'So, if you lose it, or some little toe-rag steals it from you, it's a
really
big deal, right?
That's
what I'm saying.' 

‘But surely it’s no biggie. They just claim on their insurance and get a brand new one.' 

'That's where you're missing the point, because it's not just the phone itself that has value. It's all the
stuff
the person has on the phone that could be irreplaceable. Think about it … the messages, the contacts list, the banking password, the diary entries and saved notes. And in your case, Danny, those pictures of your last three girlfriends, with their ankles wrapped around their ears, who are wearing a big smile and fuck all else. Wait till your mother sees
them
, by the way.' 

Fazzo blushed furiously and whined, 'oh come on da, for fuck's sake, you've no been lookin’ at my phone again, have ye?' 

'That's right, you dirty wee bastard, I have. And that's exactly how I know that the
real
value here isn't just the iPhone. It's all of the content, the intellectual property, that's unique to the owner. Okay, some of it, the apps and music, will definitely be backed up in the cloud somewhere. But you'll never know for sure about all that stuff, until some bad shit happens. Maybe the fancy back-up and encryption systems work the way they’re supposed to and maybe they don't. So, first off, the owner is completely stressed out over losing the phone and having the hassle of dealing with the police and their insurance company. And on top of all that, there's the even bigger worry about being completely out of touch with everyone they know.' 

'What do you mean?'

'Come on, think about it, Danny. If it was you, how long would it take to get back to where you were before your phone was stolen? A week maybe, if you're lucky. And for those seven days you're completely out of the loop of instant messages and texting pish that you and your pals obsess over. Absolutely
anything
could be happening with the rest of your crew and the other local teams, and you wouldn't know a fucking thing about it. Your best mate could be shagging your girlfriend silly behind your back. And everyone you know gets a text inviting them to a party, to check out the pictures of the happy couple on the job. But you would know fuck all about
any
of that, because you don't have the precious phone that keeps you in the loop of hot news and gossip. You've suddenly entered a social media disaster zone … you're now a non-person, Danny. You don't exist anymore, son. You see what I'm getting at?' 

'Yeah, right. I get it, I do.' 

'So I'm prepared to bet good money that most iPhone owners would just bite the bullet and cough up the cash to get their own phone back as fast as possible. Then there's the other stuff, like the guy who owns this baby. Believe me, this guy is not your average punter. I’m pretty sure he’s some kind of IT hot shot. He's got loads of notes and other shit to do with his work stored on this phone. I don't understand any of it, but I can absolutely guarantee that this guy will want his phone back pronto and be prepared to pay big for it. So, instead of scoring a hundred quid, we might get four or five hundred for it. That's got to be worth making a simple phone call, right? 

'I see what ye mean. Very cool, da.' 

'Fucking right, it's cool. But, so far, this is just a theory. What you have to do is make the call and find out if I'm right. So here, take this sheet of paper. It's a script I've written out for you, to save you having to think. So when you make the phone call, just follow the script and steer the conversation along, as if this is all just routine business.' 

'Thanks for that, da,' said Fazzo sourly. 

'Obviously you can't speak directly to the guy, because
we
have his phone, so I've written his three most dialled numbers at the bottom of the page. So that's your allocated job for to-day, to phone round his pals and see if you can magic one hundred pounds into four or five.' 

Tommy’s son and heir took the sheet of paper, but still looked apprehensive and uncertain. 

'Look son, I know that I give you a hard time sometimes, but it's for your own good. Trust me, you can do this.’

The young female doctor pulled a plastic chair to Jamie Boyd’s bedside, put her hand gently on his arm and began to speak. 'Hey there, welcome back. How are you feeling today?' 

Oh my God. Instant panic and confusion. Jamie was aware of being in a strange bed, but it was really hard to move. He also had a splitting headache and was finding it difficult to breathe. In fact, every part of his body felt strange and disconnected. A fuzzy figure dressed in white was leaning over him talking to him, but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus properly. 'What's going on? Where am I?' he blurted out. 'I don't remember being blind.' 

'Try to relax, you're not blind,’ said the friendly female voice. ‘You can't see properly because of heavy bruising and swelling around both of your eyes. You're in Glasgow Royal Infirmary and I'm doctor Marshall.  I’m one of the medical team who’ll be looking after you for the next few days.' 

'Hospital? What happened to me? I don't remember being sick either,' said Jamie, becoming increasingly agitated as he tried to sit up, before falling back wincing in pain. 

'Look it's difficult, I know, but try to keep calm and let me explain. It's not clear, but we think that you must have been involved in a fight, or some kind of street robbery. You certainly didn't have a wallet or a mobile phone when you the ambulance crew brought you in. So we don't actually know who you are, and we've not been able to contact your family. And although you’ve been here for two days, so far no-one's reported anyone matching your description as missing. Are you new to Glasgow, or do you maybe live alone?' 

'No, I think I still live with my parents,' said Jamie after a moment’s hesitation. 'I'm not sure, but they might be abroad on holiday somewhere. This is really stupid, because I'm trying … but I can't seem to remember where they went.' 

'That's okay, don't worry about it. What's your name?' 

'I … this is so crazy. I can't remember that either. Or where I live.' 

'Look, don't rush things. You suffered a severe concussion and it's not unusual to have partial loss of memory for a few days with this type of injury. You've also been heavily sedated since you were brought in, so you'll feel woozy for a while. The good news is that you don't have any broken bones, apart from your nose. Once the bruising around your eyes and face goes down, in maybe two or three days, we'll be able to re-set the nose and then you should be okay to go home. We also taped up your ribs as a precautionary measure. Your injuries are consistent with someone head-butting you in the face, and then you've banged the back of your head on the pavement as you fell down. That's probably when the injuries to your ribs were sustained. It looks like they gave you quite a kicking.' 

Jamie groaned and again tried unsuccessfully to sit up. 

'Look, if you need more painkillers, just press the button on the left side of your bed and a nurse will sort that out for you. I've had several patients with similar injuries and I've found that it usually helps to try and work backwards, to go back to the last thing you can clearly remember. You know, before you woke up in here covered in bandages. Do you feel like trying that with me now?’ 

'Yes, I'll try. I really want to remember what happened. What day is this?' 

'Tuesday. You were brought in early on Sunday morning and you've been unconscious since then. We were slightly puzzled because, as far as we could tell, you didn't have any traces of drugs or alcohol in your system. So can you remember what you were doing on Saturday night?'

'No, I don't … wait, I remember seeing a film. That's right, we had a meal first and then went to the cinema.' 

'Who's
we?
Were you out with a girlfriend?' 

'Yes, no … I don't know. But she's definitely a friend.' 

'So after the cinema … what did you do then?' 

'The taxi dropped my friend off at her place and then …’ 

'Did you perhaps go back into the city centre and then get caught up in some kind of trouble?' 

'No I think I just went straight home. Yes, that’s right, I can remember getting out of the taxi on the corner at the end of my street and I then I tripped over something. No, not something … it was all so weird. There was this young guy, just lying there stretched out on the pavement. At first I thought he'd been taken ill, so I was trying to help him. But when I tried to lift him up he suddenly became really angry and aggressive.' 

'Do you know what was he angry about?' 

'I've no idea and I'm pretty sure I'd never met him before.' 

'Was he on his own?' 

'Yes. I don't think there was anyone else, because I looked around.' 

'Okay, the police will probably want to go over this with you again, in a day or so, in case you remember anything that might identify your attacker. The police can maybe find out more by checking round all of the taxi companies but, obviously, it will take some time for them to do that. In case they ask, do you think you would recognise the man who assaulted you, if you saw him again? They might want to show you some pictures.'

'I'm not sure. It was pretty dark on that corner, that's why I didn't see him at first. And it all happened so quickly. One minute he was lying there on the pavement, then I helped him up to his feet and that's when he must have nutted me.' 

'A passer-by found you lying unconscious on the pavement and phoned right away for an ambulance. Look, I know it won't feel like it now, but you were probably lucky. It could have been a lot worse. I'm confident you'll get your memory back soon and walk away from this, to make a full recovery. Unfortunately, some of the young guys we see brought in here, who've been viciously kicked and stamped, just like you, don't get to do that. So for now, just lie back and try to rest. I'll get someone to organise a bite of lunch for you.' 

'Doctor?' 

'Yes.' 

'Are you sure my iPhone's not here?' 

'Yes, I’m sure. All that's in your locker is your street clothes and shoes. Your wallet, watch and phone must all have been stolen. I'm sorry.'