Paying For It (19 page)

I had Fitz on side, that much seemed clear. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t make me work for any information he had.

‘Because, Fitz, when this blows, you’re the main beneficiary and you know it,’ I said. ‘I won’t bullshit you about being a good cop and doing right. Fuck, I know you’re as bad as the rest. This is your chance to settle some old scores. Think of all those bastards who laughed at you when you hit the slide. Give me the name behind this and I’ll make sure the ship sinks. All you need to do is get in the lifeboat when I give you the nod.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Fitz, let’s put Billy’s death aside for a minute. There’s one thing you can tell me that means nothing to anyone except me.’

‘The old fellah?’

‘I need to know what happened to Milo.’

Fitz took off his hat, smoothed down his crown. ‘I’m afraid, that’s one you’ll never get to the bottom of.’

‘There’s a connection. You know it, and I sure as hell know it.’

‘I’m not saying there isn’t, but it could well have been an accident that got covered up. Maybe he saw something he shouldn’t have – these people cover their tracks, it’s what they do.’

‘So, that’s it? Another fucking suicide verdict.’

‘Misadventure, is the term,’ said Fitz, as he looked to the sky.

The urge for justice and revenge ratcheted up inside me.

‘Who’re the two bufties in there, bloke with a moustache and his soft-shoe shuffling mate?’

‘Matching beer guts?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s Collins and Roberts. Why?’

‘They’ve promised me a second round. I need to get moving on this or I’m finished. It’s now or never, Fitz.’

He peered into the street, took his hands out of his police-issue overcoat, pointed at me. ‘I swear by the Holy Mother, if this comes back to haunt me, I’ll cut yer throat.’

I’d had so many threats lately one more wasn’t going to scare me. ‘Scout’s honour.’

‘There’s a racket – you know about that.’

‘The girls from Eastern Europe.’

‘Yes. But it goes deeper than you can imagine.’

I’d seen so much already. It would have to be something to beat a wolf in a glass cage, but I played along, said, ‘Try me.’

‘Billy had been, oh … what’s the word,
procuring
girls for some of the top brass.’

‘Police – the Chief Constable?’

Fitz, raised his eyebrows. ‘Higher than that.’

‘What?’

‘I tell you, when this comes out, heads will more than roll.’

I wasn’t convinced. As if this kind of thing hadn’t been going on for ever. I couldn’t believe Billy got offed because he had some top-flight customers. Public execution just wasn’t their style.

‘Who is it, Fitz?’

He wiped his face. ‘I don’t know yet.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a conspiracy of silence. There’s names being thrown about like you would not believe, but no one’s putting their finger on it. I’ve got it narrowed down all right.’

‘To where?’

Fitz took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds. ‘The First Minister’s Cabinet.’

I WENT BACK to the Wall and showered. Tried to keep the spray on my mouth for as long as I could bear. The pain seared my gums. Burns knew what he was talking about when he wrote of ‘the venom’d stang that shoots tortured gums alang’.

I hit the painkillers. Double-strength jobs, two fiery arrows on the pack to emphasise the point. As I waited for them to kick in I dressed. Faded cords from the late eighties. We’d been through a lot together but they’d held in there. Lost a few belt loops and carried some sheen on the arse and knees. But I wasn’t trying to make any statement with them, other than, ‘Hey I’m comfortable, get over it.’ Finished the look off with an old grey Levi’s sweatshirt, soft as down. It sat under a blue checked lumberjack shirt, what the Seattle Sub Pop guys called ‘a flannel’.

I checked myself in the mirror. I looked like a Nirvana roadie. Then I opened my mouth. Nup, I looked like a Redneck, some trailer trash from the Georgia woods. I heard the cries of Ned Beatty in
Deliverance
, as the hillbilly shouted, ‘Scream like a pig, boy.’

I was out of gel. Most of my day-to-day stuff was at Hod’s, but I didn’t want to put in an appearance there until I’d checked in again with Col. I knew Amy would stick about there and I didn’t want her to see me with missing teeth and a set of racoon eyes. I’d already fired off a quick text, just to let her know they’d let me out, but I needed to switch off my phone afterwards. She was in safe hands with Hod, but had become more of a worry to me now.

I ran my fingers through the few strands of hair that sat up on the top of my head. Could do with cropping I thought. Maybe make a trip to see Mac again. He might still have the shooter, after all.

I tried to down a pint of water, but the effort was too much. I needed alcohol to stop my nerves rattling. This felt like the longest period I’d been without my drug of choice for at least three years.

I needed to go on a skite. Picked out all the familiar indicators. The room closed in on me. I paced up and down. Visualised a row of creamy pints lined up on a bar. My mouth dried over.

It’s always been about breaking the monotony for me. The skite’s just a purge. Life piles up, you get fed up, and so you go out and try to change everything. That’s where the alcohol helps. You want to be a different person, you want to blow your world up. And for a little while, alcohol lets you believe this is possible. Time stops as you rattle from pub to pub in an alcoholic haze. Slowly, the world as you know it ceases to exist. You’ve broken the cycle, you’re off the trodden path. It’s what it’s all about, keeping normality at bay. For a little while anyway.

The next day it’s like being woken by a ghost when shame settles on you. You wonder why you did it. Fear the consequences. Fear you’ll do it again. But, you’ve broken that cycle of boredom. And no matter how much you abhor the person staring back at you from the mirror, you know you’ll do it again because it works like a charm.

I strolled down to the bar. Col polished glasses with a small towel. ‘Holy Mother of God, what’s happened to you?’

I waved him off, said, ‘Pint. Chaser.’

The old gadgie with the drinker’s nose stood in place, smelling of piss, he approached me and spoke: ‘Howya doing, pal?’

‘You still here? Becoming a bit of a fixture.’

‘Better than a bit of a prick.’

I’d no comment on that.

Col placed my drinks down in front of me. ‘On the house.’

‘Thanks.’

I drank deep. Belted back the chaser.

‘Man, that’s a thirst and a half,’ said the gadgie.

I felt in no mood for conversation, said, ‘Is that piss I smell?’

He got the hint, said, ‘When you get to my age, no matter how much you shake, the last drop always ends up in your pants. Remember that.’

Dumbfounded, I watched him walk off and take a seat at someone else’s table.

‘What’s happening to the clientele?’ I asked Col.

‘He’s a lost soul.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

Col flicked the bar towel over his shoulder. ‘You look like you’ve had an accident.’

My mouth was too occupied to reply. I motioned to the empty shot glass, sunk back the pint.

‘Would you like another?’ said Col.

‘Would I ever.’

He poured out a Famous Grouse, left the bottle on the bar.

‘Have you eaten lately?’

‘I’ve been a bit … preoccupied.’

‘If this case is proving too much—’

I slammed down the glass. ‘No. Col, everything’s fine.’

‘That’s clearly not so, Gus. You’ve been beaten, badly beaten. What’s going on?’

I filled my glass up, right to the brim.

‘Let’s grab a seat. I’ve something to tell you.’

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I, eh … well, you might not like what I have to say.’

Col called over to his part-timer, told her to mind the bar. She popped out a Hubba Bubba bubble, teetering on heels as she walked over.

‘We’ll take the snug, I think.’

‘Would be best.’

‘YOU WANT TO get those teeth seen to, Gus.’

‘What teeth? They’re all knocked out.’

‘Have you a dentist?’

Christ, a dentist. The days of me having a regular dentist, doctor or gym membership sounded like a lifetime ago.

‘Debs used to look after all that kind of thing. No, I don’t have a dentist.’

‘I’ll give you the number of mine. He’s good, a German fellah, very good.’

I drew on the Grouse. Felt like it heated my soul, had forgotten how much I actually enjoyed a Low Flying Birdie.

‘So, you said you had something to tell me.’

I put down the glass. ‘I do, yeah.’

Col sat quietly, closed his fingers together. I’d never noticed before, for such a gentle guy, his hands were huge.

‘It’s all got a bit more … complicated.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘It seems Billy was up to his neck in more than I first imagined.’

‘I knew it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘How that boy could have done this to his poor mother, I’ll never know.’

I hadn’t even told Col what I knew and already he’d fired up.

‘But, Col, we don’t know the extent of Billy’s involvement yet.’

‘Gus, I raised him. I know my boy.’

I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be finished. I took up the story as I knew it. Mentioned all I’d found out. It seemed to me Col’s eyes glazed over. I wondered if he really did want to know the whole truth behind Billy’s death.

‘Col, is everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine – why do you ask?’

‘You seem a bit distant, that’s all.’

He shook himself, unclasped his hands. ‘I’m sorry. What you said the last time we spoke has, well – you know … it upset me a bit, I guess.’

I flattened my tone, said, ‘I told you, right at the start, Col, you don’t go digging like this without unearthing a few skeletons.’

‘I know. I know. It’s been hard to believe, though. He was my son. To hear he was involved in the likes of this – it hits you here.’ Col thumped on his chest. ‘I just want this concluded for his mother’s sake. Nothing else matters. She must know how it ended, she needs to see why Billy went the way he did.’

I sensed a colder side to Col than I had previously known. This whole episode had hit him hard. I hoped he’d be tough enough to take it the distance. I knew nothing good would be turned up from this point; there was no fairytale ending coming soon.

‘It’s only going to get worse. Are you up to this? The picture’s not a pretty one.’

‘Oh, yes.’ He perked up a little, managed a stock smile. ‘Yes, I wouldn’t worry about me, Gus. None of this is much of a surprise.’

‘
None
of it?’

‘A figure of speech. What I’m saying is, I knew Billy had his … moments – always did. When he hitched up with that Nadja one, I saw there would be trouble. It was only a matter of time. I’ve been following his fall from grace you know.’

‘But like you say, he’s your son, it must be painful to hear it.’

‘
Was
my son.’ Col stood up, his mood flipped again, he looked rattled. ‘By the way, I took down
all
those pictures of your father.’

I got the message loud and clear. I’d crossed the line. Took the swipe.

I stood up to face him, said, ‘Think I’ll go and get a cigarette.’

‘Okay.’

‘Look, I’m sorry if I, you know, said anything that’s … I know this is very upsetting for you.’

He collapsed back in his chair, shook before me. ‘Oh, God … what have I done?’

‘Col,’ I tried to coax him round, ‘come on, you’re made of strong stuff.’

‘God, I’m so, so sorry …’

‘Come on, here have a drink of this.’ I tried to get him to sip the whisky.

‘No, no – I’m fine, I’m fine really.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ He trembled a little, then seemed to go completely calm again. ‘Gus, I’ve no right to put this pressure on you.’

‘I’ve good broad shoulders for this kinda thing.’

‘I’ve placed you in terrible danger. Billy’s sins are not your concern. I should never have asked you to take this up.’

The guy looked ruined. He’d taken himself to hell and back several times. I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m glad to help.’

‘No, Gus … I’ve a terrible feeling that this will all end badly. Very badly indeed.’

I squeezed his shoulder. ‘How bad could it get?’ I said.

SOMEONE ONCE SAID life’s all about letting things go. I wish I could let some of this go.

It’s 1982 and I’m fourteen. My father’s had the call up for the World Cup squad. The
Evening News
has him on the front and back page. My mother keeps a scrapbook, tapes
Scotsport
. He’s a Leith boy made good, now it’s official.

There’s traffic stopped in the street, men hanging out of car windows to shake his hand. I stand watching as my father is surrounded by people. They swarm to him, clapping and shouting, screaming for a word from the man himself.

I have my own minor taste of fame to deal with too. The Schools League Cup Final. I have the sweeper’s role – same as my father’s – everyone tells me I have a hard act to follow.

But I’ve invited only shame.

It happens like a dream. The ball floats down from the heavens, lands at my feet. There’s no one between me and the goalie, it’s a clear run. I’ve only to cross the field, then hit the ball.

Cheers and roars go up as I take off like a scalded dog. The rest of the players behind me can only watch. I run for goal and as I look up I see all that stands between me and my first taste of mythic success is the scrawny frame of the goalie, Ally Donald.

Then, I freeze.

Something stops me. Twice I draw back to strike the ball, but can’t. I hear my father shouting for the whack of the ball to follow but I can’t move. It’s as if I know that if I score, I’ll never escape his influence.

I look at the ball, black and muddied below, but no matter how hard I stare I can’t summon the force to move it, and then the moment passes.

The scrawny Ally Donald appears before me, running, his feet already making their way to the ball, which he clears back to the halfway line.

I know at once I’ll never play again. As I walk off the pitch, my world shifts.