Inside Straight (24 page)

"Sorry."

"Might as well not bother." He ripped the filter from the end of the cigarette and tossed it onto the plastic next to my head. "Give us your light, you fuckin' student."

Jez handed Pollard his lighter. Pollard lit his cigarette and blew smoke, then waved Jez away so he became the centre of attention once more. "My missus doesn't like me smoking in the house, especially with the little one. But the way I see it, the place is going to get painted tomorrow, so it's going to stink of fuckin' matte for the foreseeable anyway. Truth be told, I'm trying to give up. It's not good for you, and I've got the kid and everything, so you've got to think about secondary smoke and all that. That's the thing, Graham. When you have kids of your own, you'll understand this. You've got to think about other people. It's not all about you and what you want. Clearly this is something that needs to be explained to you, Graham. Clearly you're a man who doesn't believe in delayed gratification, am I right?"

I didn't say anything. Too scared to have an answer.

"Or are you here for a reason? Because I'll tell you, Graham, you've got us thinking that something's gone wrong. Has something gone wrong?"

I shook my head.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"You heard from that plod, that whatshisname—"

Jez chipped in. "Kennedy."

"Kennedy. You spoke to him in the hospital, didn't you?"

I nodded this time.

"So he's the man on the job. He told you anything?"

"No."

"So what are you doing here? If it's not finished, what the fuck d'you think you're doing?"

"I gave them a name."

"Whose name?"

"Stephen Laird."

"Who?"

"He's an inspector. He left in a hurry." I shifted on the plastic. My back ached. I stopped before the pain got too much, waved a hand at Pollard. "Apparently he just did one from the club. Left his job, left his flat, the whole lot, didn't tell anyone about it."

"Where'd he go?"

"Nobody knows. Probably the ships."

"And how does this help me?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

It didn't help him. It helped me.

"It's ... I've diverted the investigation away from us."

"But it's still ongoing."

"I don't know."

"And it's probably going to take longer now, isn't it? You know, while they follow this bollocks lead of yours to its natural conclusion."

"I don't ..." I shook my head. My neck hurt. "Maybe."

"I thought we had a deal, Graham. I thought we agreed that we wouldn't see each other until this was all done and fuckin' dusted."

"I tried to call."

"And?" He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "For a bright lad, you have a hell of a time taking the fuckin' hint, don't you?"

Jez laughed. I glanced across at him. His hands were fists.

I looked at the plastic. There was a pool of bloody spit near my hand. I wiped my top lip and tried to sit back. Pain flared in my side. I tried not to show it, but failed miserably. Pollard watched me the way a kid with a magnifying glass watches ants on a sunny day.

"You just want your cut, don't you? That's why you're here. You thought you could come round and muscle us. Thought you'd play the family card, expose the holes in my security like a fuckin' proper hard arse." He tapped ash onto the plastic. "Ballsy, like. Or just disrespectful."

"I just wanted to tell you—"

"You thought I was going to stiff you, didn't you?"

I looked at him. I started shaking. I couldn't hide it. Couldn't deny it. "Yes."

His smile became a grin. His propped foot dropped to the floor. He leaned forward. He smelled like smoke and the smell made me want to puke, but I couldn't because I was hurting too much and I knew that vomiting would hurt even more and I didn't want to add to it.

"A man what doesn't trust another man isn't trustworthy himself. Least, that's the experience I've always had. Bloke thinks he can't trust you, it's normally because he's setting it up to rip you off and hopes you don't do it to him before he gets a chance to do it you."

I started to shake my head, but he grabbed my chin with one hand and held it tight and still. I whimpered. I wanted to go home. I wanted my bed. My legs hurt. My back hurt. My bladder felt painfully full.

"You, Graham, you're one of them lads who think they're cleverer than everyone else."

"No."

"Yeah, you do. Even when you're fuckin' caught. You don't know any different."

He was going to kill me. I knew it. He was going to kill me and steal my money. I should have stayed away. I should have called the police. I should have done the right thing. I breathed out. It came out jagged and sore and sounding like I was trying to hold back the sobs, which I was. "No."

"Yes, son." He let go of me. Leaned back and wiped his hands on his jeans as he sat back in the chair. "But I'm a man of my word, Graham. You might be an untrustworthy little rat, but I'm a man with a certain reputation, and that reputation wasn't built on the back of fucking people over for the sake of twenty-odd grand. So you'll get your money when you're due you're money. I told you before and you didn't listen, which is why the lads here gave you a fuckin' hiding. I'm not going to tell you again."

Pollard looked up at Jez, who grabbed me under one arm and hauled me to my feet. As he did, the combined pain of every single kick and punch lanced through me as one. I gasped, doubled up, and lost control. A dark patch appeared on the front of my suit trousers and, as I stood there trembling and weak, continued to spread until my thighs burned.

He-Man started laughing. It was a high-pitched, hysterical sound. "Watch yourself, Jez. You got a pisser."

"Ah, you scruffy cunt." I heard Jez back off, holding me at arm's length like a naughty puppy. I looked at the floor, a puddle of urine forming on the plastic at my feet. I shook in Jez's grip. I wanted to cry, but couldn't find the strength or the tears.

"Let him go, Jez."

Jez let me go. I dropped to one knee, put my hand in the puddle. I struggled back upright, wiped my wet hand on my trouser leg and stared down at Pollard. He moved his mouth, then stuck the cigarette between his lips and nodded to Jez and the other one. I felt hands on my elbows. I splashed through the puddle as they hustled me to the door and out the back. Each step sent fresh pain through my legs and back. I stumbled twice, felt myself dragged and kicked the floor until I was hobbling again. When they finally threw me back against the Corsa, the impact made me think I was about to black out. I held on. Heard He-Man's girly laughter as they watched me struggle to stay upright.

"Off you go, Graham. Bye bye."

I pulled open the driver's door and got in the car. I fumbled in one damp pocket for my keys, then started the engine. Jez and He-Man watched me as I pulled away from the drive. I glanced at them in the rear view mirror and wished cancer on them both.

Then I made myself smile. Because as exhausted, disgusting and in pain as I was, I was still leaving with my life, which meant there was hope. And that was enough for the time being.

It was a long drive home, especially when my trousers were soaked through and stinking. Every time I pressed the clutch with my foot, my leg seized up, locked with pain. For the first couple of miles, I could barely see for the tears. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to keep it all in, bottle it up, but it was impossible to maintain. So I sobbed and I rubbed a sleeve across my eyes and I kept my speed low so I didn't crash and ruin an already ruined day. I knew how stupid I must have looked. Somehow that knowledge made it all the worse.

When I got to the car park, I killed the engine and sat for a moment. My hands were still shaking. I didn't deserve that. I didn't deserve that kind of humiliation. I didn't deserve to be laughed at. I didn't deserve to smell like this. I didn't deserve to
suffer
like this.

I breathed out. Something had to be done.

And when I looked up, there he was.

Detective Inspector Kennedy.

I had no idea how he got into the car park, but I knew why he was there. He was waiting for me. I stared at him. Sniffed. Wiped my face. He smiled and looked away, as if to give me some privacy. I looked down at my lap and realised that I wasn't going to be able to pass this off as anything other than what it was.

I wanted to cry again. Swallowed. The inside of my mouth tasted like metal and salt. It would be okay. I needed to man up and face this. Kennedy probably just had a couple of questions, and I'd answer them, and then I'd be on my way, and so would he, and everything would be okay again. I could regroup and come up with a new plan.

I looked down at my lap. It was stained, but as long as I kept his attention on my face, I'd be alright. I opened the car door and grabbed a newspaper from the dash to cover my crotch. "Inspector Kennedy."

He raised a hand in greeting. Another smile. "Sorry for turning up unannounced."

"Not a problem. We didn't have anything arranged, did we?"

"No, I just thought I'd catch you before you went to work. Is that okay?"

"Not at all." I walked towards the block, trying not to limp. "Your sergeant not with you today?"

"No, he's not. Had other business." He followed. "Are you alright? Your nose—"

"Nose bleed. Happens sometimes. Very embarrassing. What was it you wanted?"

"Just a few follow-up questions about the other night, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, fine. Listen, I meant to talk to you about something, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, there's a rumour going around the club that maybe it was an inside job." I opened the door to the lobby. It creaked. I leaned against it to relieve the pressure on my leg.

Kennedy glanced down at my trousers. "Yeah, we heard about that."

I moved on. "Stephen Laird, right? I think they called him Stevie?"

"That's right. Are you sure you're okay, Mr Ellis?"

"I'm fine. Just a bit stiff. So what do you think?"

"Think?"

"About Stephen Laird."

"Oh, I don't think we'll be able to interview him, Mr Ellis."

"Really?" I stopped in the middle of the lobby. I didn't want him following me up to the flat if I could help it. "And why's that? He's left the country, has he?"

"No, he's dead."

I felt cold. "Sorry?"

"We found him a few weeks ago wrapped in bin bags and dumped in a canal."

"I don't understand."

"He didn't have anything to do with it."

"Yes, but if he did, doesn't it make sense that ... whoever it was" – I almost said Pollard – "would get rid of him?"

Kennedy nodded. "That would make sense, yes."

"So it could be that this Stephen Laird gave the robbers the code for the door?"

"Could be, but it's doubtful."

"Why's that?"

"Because you did."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You did. Just like you left the door to the count room open." Kennedy nodded at my shaking hands. "Perhaps we should go up to yours, eh? You don't look like you've had a very good day."

"It's been eventful."

"I can see."

"But I mean, if you're
accusing
me of something, I ..." I shook my head. "I didn't open the door."

"We saw you open it. It's on camera."

"No, I
locked
it. It's just – I already told you this – that door's been a bit—"

"Don't." Kennedy gave me the look of a disappointed parent. "I don't want to hear it and you don't really want to waste energy trying to make me believe it, do you? You rattled the door to try and make it look like you'd locked it, but you hadn't. We went over the old tapes and you'd done it before, but that night was the only time you double-checked. Because that night was the only time it meant something, wasn't it, Graham? You over-egged it, kid."

My stomach rumbled. I turned away and hobbled towards the lift. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. Which is why you've been trying to contact Barry Pollard for the last week. Why you've been trying to skip town, too."

I turned on him, blinking. Leaned against the wall. "Listen, do I need to get a solicitor? Because it sounds like you're building up to something."

Kennedy smiled that easy, affable smile. "You can phone your brief if you want. I'd suggest you get changed first, though. I wouldn't want him thinking we made you piss yourself."

A stab of embarrassment, one hard blow, deep and twisted. The hand holding the newspaper twitched towards the stain, and I immediately felt worse. I wanted to say something biting in return, but nothing came to mind.

"Get yourself changed, Graham. I'll put the kettle on and we can sort this out, okay?"

I nodded. And he followed me into the lift. Neither of us spoke on the way up. I stared at my warped reflection in the metal trim and prayed for a heart attack.