Loss (27 page)

‘They’re all in,’ said Hod. His voice was too loud; I flagged him quiet.

Mac nudged him with his elbow. ‘Shut up, man . . . You want to get us killed?’

I peered out the window. ‘Think we can jump.’

Hod shook his head. ‘We’re too high up . . . and I’ve got these fucking bruised ribs.’

Mac leaned over, whispered, ‘Don’t be fucking silly –
jump
.’ He patted his space-hopper guttage. ‘This doesn’t mean I bounce, y’know.’

I checked out the window again. The ground below looked frozen solid. I knew they were right: we’d break our legs. I felt my chest constrict; the most intense need for nicotine seized me. I couldn’t think. Mac and Hod stared at me. As I turned from them, I caught sight of a white hoodie moving on the stairs below.

‘Fuck, it’s Radek.’

Mac and Hod shifted over the banister, jerked back. They looked at each other briefly then returned their gaze to me. I felt my jaws clench. My mouth dried over. The image of Andy, the tongue cut out of him, came back to me once more. Fucking hell, this nut-job didn’t mess about. Something sparked: ‘Right, come on. Back this way.’

‘Gus, Gus . . .’ said Hod. He pointed to the stairs. ‘That’s the way down.’

‘I fucking know,’ I grabbed him by the arm, ‘but we’re going this way.’

I ran through to the large room at the back of the house. An old sash window looked out over the roof of the extension. I edged my fingernails under the ledge, tried to open it.

‘It’s stuck.’

‘Fuck off,’ said Mac. He came over, made to raise it. It still wouldn’t move.

Hod stayed at the door, watching through the gap. ‘He’s coming . . . Hurry up.’

We struggled with the window. ‘It’s painted down,’ I said.

Mac nodded, his cheeks inflating as he went to pull the sash ropes. I brought out the jemmy and slid it under the frame. Mac shook his head: it would be too noisy.

Hod rushed into the middle of the room, brought a finger to his mouth. ‘
Sh-h-h-h . . .’
He pointed to the door.

Mac and I stood still. All three of us followed the sound of Radek’s footsteps outside the door.

I held the jemmy in my hand but my palm was sweating now. It slipped through my fingers before I could get a grip. The sound of its clatter as it fell halted Radek in the hall.

I looked at Mac, then to Hod.

Both their eyes opened wide.

My heart seemed to stop beating.

The silence stretched; we all looked to the door. I expected it to fly open and Radek to burst in with a sawn-off, blast us through the walls. A floorboard creaked outside on the landing. The muscles in my stomach clenched, then released as Radek’s footsteps continued up the stairs.

Hod nodded, moved towards us. I knew we had only a few seconds before Radek discovered we’d been in his room. I slid the jemmy under the window. The wood was rotten and the metal bit away at it.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Mac.

‘This isn’t happening,’ said Hod.

I dug deeper with the jemmy; the metal tip ate more and more wood. I thought I’d be on the other side of the window before long.

‘Are you fucking digging through it?’ said Mac.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

I kept on and the jemmy found a grip. I leaped onto the handle and the window sprung open.

‘
Get out
!’

Mac threw out the bolt-cutters, clambered over the edge and lowered himself onto the extension. Hod and I followed. It was a felt roof and it started to give beneath us. There was little run-off and the surface had iced over. My worn-out Docs struggled to find purchase. I saw Mac start to slip, keel over.

Hod grabbed him. The pair staggered onto the roof’s edge like a pair of pissheads. We stood over the guttering as Radek let out a howl. He roared out to the house. As I looked back I saw him through the window: he was leaning over the banister, his face flushed red, his arms slicing the air.

‘Fucking move it,’ I yelled.

Mac knelt down, lowered himself onto his gut and swung round his legs. I stood over him watching. His feet were a couple of yards from the ground and as he let himself go his jacket and T-shirt rolled up against the wall. He landed with a thud and fell backwards. He’d hurt his ankle, grabbed his foot up in his hands.

‘Shit, you all right?’ I said.

He nodded, waved me away. ‘Aye, aye . . . Come on, get doon.’

Hod lowered himself onto his backside, his ribs still too sore to touch the edge. He made a more athletic leap and landed squarely on his feet. Little more than a wince crossed his face.

As I readied myself to jump, I grabbed a last look at Radek. He was racing down the stairs. He hadn’t seen me. I stood on the edge of the building, about to leap, when the neighbour’s dog started to bark and throw itself at the fence. It didn’t bother me until I saw the Czech bring his run to a halt and dive to the window. He clocked me face on, started to scream in my direction.

‘
Shit
 . . .’ I said.

I dropped myself over the edge. My knees buckled but I stayed up, shouted, ‘We’re rumbled . . . Run like fuck!’

BECAUSE WE’D JEMMIED THE back door, there was nothing to hold the droves of Czechs from pouring through it, and onto our heads. The neighbour’s dog went madhouse, saw something was up. Mac pushed me in the back and got me headed for the gate. Hod was already there. By the time I reached it he’d pegged it all the way down the drive to the street. My legs moved quicker than they’d done in years, but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast – sure as shit, not as fast as I’d like.

‘Come on, Mac,’ I yelled. He lagged behind me as we reached the street, limping on his injured ankle.

‘Gimme the shooter, Gus.’

‘Fuck off –
run
.’

He held out his hand. I saw the first of the Czechs break through the gate. ‘Gimme the fucking gun, Gus.’

I grabbed his arm and dragged him. I pulled too hard and he fell in the street. The Czechs shouted, yelled at us. I couldn’t see Radek anywhere but I wasn’t taking too close a look. ‘Get up, Mac . . . Get the fuck up.’

I raised him, but he couldn’t put weight on his ankle. ‘We’re fucked, Gus. Gimme the shooter.’ He wrestled me for the bag. I saw one of the Czechs make a break from the rest; he was well ahead of them. I stepped back from Mac and yanked the bag away. As I did so Hod rounded the bend in the Hilux, horn blaring.

He screeched to a halt. ‘Get in! Get in!’

I lifted Mac into the cab. He struggled with the pain of putting weight on his ankle and I had to push him. As I made to climb in behind him I felt a fist in the kidney. I fell back, got grabbed by the neck. The big Czech put me in a stranglehold. I couldn’t breathe. I dropped the bag with the gun on the street. I saw more of the Czechs coming towards me. They yelled, faces red with rage. I saw Radek’s white hoodie too.

Hod kept the revs high. Mac roared at him, ‘Get out and fucking help him!’

I knew if Hod left the truck we were all fucked.

As the Czech squeezed my throat I widened my stance so he was forced to lean over with me. He held on to me but when I lifted him off the ground he lost his grip, snapped upright. I went over with him and caught his nose with the back of my nut. He keeled sideways, a limp fountain of blood from his nose trailing his fall. I spun round, had a kick timed and ready but the crowd was too close. I leaned down for the bag, snatched it up, then grabbed the door of the truck. Had one foot in the cab when Hod spun the wheels, filled the street with smoke and the smell of burning rubber.

‘Fucking floor it!’ I yelled.

The Hilux’s bonnet rose as we tanked it down the road. I turned back to see the Czechs running after us. The engine churned through the gears as Hod worked the wheel, spinning left and right as we rounded parked cars. I saw Radek running to the Pajero but it was parked facing the wrong way. He didn’t have enough room to turn in the street and headed off in the opposite direction. As we turned the corner, the last glimpse I took of the scene was of Radek mounting the kerb to avoid a head-on with a slow-moving Micra.

‘We’re in the clear,’ I said.

‘You sure?’ said Hod.

‘Old biddy in a Micra just ran him into the railings.’

Mac started to laugh; he set us all off. I slapped the dash and near chucked my guts in convulsions.

‘Holy shit . . . What a fucking run-in,’ said Mac.

I laughed so hard the muscles of my face got sore. ‘Fucking right.’

‘Thought you were toast there with yon big fella,’ said Hod.

I felt a shiver pass down my spinal column. ‘So did I.’ I patted the bag. ‘Mission accomplished, though . . . wouldn’t you say?’

‘Oh aye.’

Hod booted it along Salamander Street, headed out Porty way before doubling back towards the city. I began to feel light-headed as I stared out the window, watching the blur of the street. The Meadowbank tenements were decked out in for-sale signs, every other window had an estate agent’s name and number on display. I wanted another blast of fast powder, but had to get the haul from Radek’s kip straight to Fitz.

‘Chuck a right here,’ I said.

‘Where to?’ said Hod. ‘Not going to the swan pond, are you?’

‘Fettes.’

Mac jumped in, ‘You going to just walk into the nick with that?’

‘If I give Fitz the choice he’ll only sit on this, play silly buggers . . . I’m putting it in his hand.’

‘He’s right,’ said Hod. ‘Better not hang on to it.’

I looked into the bag – it was all there. Did I have the necessary to drop my brother’s killer? I knew this was going to bring some action on that front, said, ‘There’s no knowing where things’ll go from here, but Radek’s not going to sit about waiting for a knock from plod. I need to get Fitz moving right away.’

Hod floored it past the Palace of Holyroodhouse, gave his usual one-digit salute to Her Majesty: it was policy. He looked hyped after our result, feeding the wheel quickly, pumping the pedal, and singing, ‘My moustache brings all the girls to the yard,
damn right
!’

Mac laughed it up. I tried to, but I was still focused on the events ahead. My head was so full of how this might play it felt as if a blow-torch was burning behind my eyes. A siren roared up ahead of us and my jaw firmed. I scanned the road but it was only a paramedic van, racing off to some half-jaked reveller, no doubt.

When we reached Fettes Hod slowed down, stayed within the speed limits. We pulled off Carrington Road onto Fettes Avenue. Outside the nick my hands began to tremble. My mouth was dry and I tasted blood where I’d been worrying my inflamed gums with the tip of my tongue. I needed the police to take this over now, I knew I couldn’t play the Undertaker off the Czechs and stay above the ground for much longer. If Fitz didn’t go for this right away, I didn’t want to think about what came next.

‘You all right?’ said Hod.

‘Aye, aye,’ I snapped back, ‘. . . fine.’

I got out the truck, closed the door. Mac rolled down the window. ‘Good luck, mate.’

‘Cheers,’ I said. I waved him away. ‘Stay off that ankle.’

I watched them pull out and drive up the road. Hod gave two quick blasts on the horn as they went. I turned to face the station. I held the bag with the gun in one hand and my quarter-bottle of Grouse in the other. I felt the remains of the worn label flaking off under my nails as I went. I was sorely tempted to take a pelt on the scoosh, just one to settle my nerves – I fought it off. I needed to keep it together, more than ever.

At the door I shook myself, took a deep breath and went in.

It was the same dour eyesore of a receptionist. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘I’d like to see Fitzsimmons.’

She sighed, picked up the phone and directed a chipped red fingernail towards the buttons. She seemed to know who I was. ‘Yes, he’s at the front desk.’ She raised a biro, tapped it on the counter. ‘Okay, I’ll tell him.’

As she replaced the receiver I waited for her response. None came.

‘
Well
?’ I said.

She gazed up at me, put a lazy eye to work. ‘He’s on the way down.’ She looked through me, indicated the row of plastic chairs beneath the crime awareness posters.

I said, ‘Thank you.’

When Fitz appeared he was eating a sausage roll from a Greggs paper bag; as he shook my hand his fingers felt greasy. He nodded to the room behind the reception desk, lifted the counter and I squeezed past him. As I went, I noticed he had ketchup on his top lip.

We sat down and Fitz scrunched the Greggs bag, took out a white handkerchief and wiped his mouth. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ He looked at the sauce on the hankie and cursed.

I handed over the carrier. The gun made a thud on the desk. Fitz glared at me over the bag; for a moment he didn’t move. Slowly, he reached over and looked inside. When he saw the gun he spoke: ‘What the feck is this?’

I played it low-key. ‘I think it’s a murder weapon.’

He closed the bag, ran the back of his fingers over his mouth. He said nothing more for a few seconds, returned to the carrier, peered in and hooked the gun on the end of a pencil. ‘All bagged up?’

‘That’s right.’

He placed the gun on the table. His eyes seemed to have trouble leaving it there. ‘And what’s the rest?’

‘Passports . . . paperwork.’

I explained as briefly as possible, told him where they came from and that he needed to get Radek hoicked in quickly. Fitz hunched his shoulders and shook his head. He was having difficulty with this turn of events; I’d thought he might.

‘And what do ye expect me to do with this lot?’ he said. ‘Eh, tell me that, Dury . . . There’s no court in the land would look at it now, the way ye came by it.’

‘What, you haven’t bent the rules before, Fitz?’

He leaned forward, then back again. He seemed to be unsure of his next play. ‘Okay, so . . . I’ll run it through the boffins.’ He tapped the desk with his forefinger. ‘But I won’t be able to act on it, Dury.’