Long Time Dead

‘Gus…’ the voice shrieked out, shriller than before. It was Amy. She tried to run to me but was restrained by Paul’s mob. Hod was throwing wild punches, cracking heads. The grand arc of his hook dropped lads on the floor with each clean punch. He moved fast, near laughed off all attempts to land a glove on him. The man was on fire. Busting out of his skin.

Behind him Tina came running. Gillian followed, but made her way more slowly. There was a scuffle as Paul’s crew ran to hold them back, but they wide-berthed them, shook them off as they ran for the stage behind Amy.

‘Get off me,’ roared Tina. Gillian raised her hands to her mouth as she caught sight of me, tied up on the stage, a noose round my neck. Tina yelled out again, ‘Don’t do it… don’t.’

Paul jumped down from the stage to front Tina. He grabbed her arms in his hands. She struggled violently as he yelled, ‘You can’t tell me what to do!’

Gillian ran for Paul, pulled Tina from his clutches. ‘Leave her alone, leave her…’ She hit out, slapped at him with the flats of her hands. I felt the whole room start to spin, then fade out as the yelling continued.

‘You don’t understand,’ said Paul.

‘You don’t fucking understand,’ roared Tina. She was hysterical, screaming, tears streaming down her face: ‘I saw him on the stool… I came here, I saw Ben on the stool.’

Hod broke away from the mob, ran to Tina. His face was bloodied, his hair wet to his brow. He was short of breath, exhausted as he shouted, ‘The police are coming…’

I tried to call to him, but my tongue was swollen, immovable in my mouth.

Hod seemed to sense me, roared out, ‘Fitz called. I told him where you were… he’s coming.’

Paul spun off from Gillian and Tina, fronted Hod: ‘You fucking moron.’ He lashed out, caught Hod with a lucky punch; it floored him. I felt all hope leave me. The rope bit tighter but I couldn’t feel a thing now. Paul looked maddened as he ran to the window, peered out and raised hands to his head. Blue lights were flashing on the panes; I could hear sirens.

Paul turned back to Tina. ‘You saw him here?’

Gillian held on to her. ‘Let me go,’ said Tina. She hit out with her hands, scratching with her nails as she tried to push the actress away. She screamed out, ‘I saw him on the stool… he wanted me to cut him down. I couldn’t… I couldn’t, Gillian… He raped me.’

Gillian threw arms around her again, held her tight. The pair blurred into one amorphous mass in my tired vision, ‘No. No. Don’t…’ Gillian cried.

‘I kicked the stool away,’ said Tina. ‘He raped me. They all did. I wanted him dead… He raped me.’

The doors to the hall swung open again. Suddenly a flood of uniforms ran in. They spread out like ants, surrounding the group of lads wherever they ran, clasping mitts on them, cuffing them up. The first figure through the door I recognised was Fitz. He stared at me, wide-eyed, his fleshy cheeks drooping with the gape of his mouth. He seemed frozen, rooted to the floor until a dark-uniformed figure swept past him, catching his arm. It was Henderson. His face had lost its hard edge. His teeth showed as he ran towards Paul, grabbed him from one of the PCs.

‘You stupid little cunt!’ bellowed Henderson.

He shook the lad by the collar, his face inches from Paul’s as he spat, ‘I fucking told you… but you wouldn’t fucking listen!’

Fitz seemed spellbound, unmoving. He looked to be trapped where he stood, nailed to the floor. Then, as if a light had been flicked on, he turned, yelled, ‘Chick… leave him.’

The super was unmoved, landed a leather-gloved fist in Paul’s gut. ‘I fucking warned you!’ The lad fell to the ground. A crowd of stunned uniforms stood helpless, not knowing whether to intervene or leave well alone.

‘Chick… Chick,’ yelled Fitz. He moved now, ran at him. His prominent gut stuck out in front of him; coat-tails flapped at his back.

Henderson’s cap went flying as he dropped to the ground, kneeled on Paul’s chest and battered into his face with fists. He called out but the words were lost to me. As the blood flew, I could taste my own rising in my throat. I gasped for breath, then steadied.

‘What did I say?’ yelled Henderson. ‘What did I tell you?’ His face contorted into jagged angles as he slumped onto the boy’s chest, beating him with blunt fists, ‘You’ve fucking ruined us all!’

Fitz reached out. ‘Chick… stop this, now!’ He tried to pull the chief super away but was thrown off balance, skidded a little then landed on his arse. His actions seemed to prompt the uniforms, though – they fell on Henderson, dragged him away. He kicked out, yelling, ‘The stupid little cunt, he ruined us… fucking ruined us.’

Fitz slowly raised himself. He looked winded as he pointed the uniforms to the door.

The scuffles ended, and now the hall seemed eerily quiet, until Gillian fell to her knees and let out a pained, wounded cry. My eyes followed her as she slumped to the ground and lay sobbing – she wasn’t acting now. I watched her whole body tremble. Her hands clawed at her face in terror, pulling the skin so tight her eyes bulged showing the red explosions of capillaries.

It was the last thing I saw as my feet lost their purchase on the stool.

The rope snapped tight.

Chapter 39

THE HOOTSMAN SPLASHED WITH MY story on page one. Rasher even paid me a visit – well, I was hardly mobile.

‘I always knew you had some neck, Dury,’ he joked.

I tapped the neck brace, nodded. Let him think he was the first to crack this one. ‘That’s very good. You should be on the stage,’ I said.

‘Ha-ha… so long as it’s not the one you wrote about in the article!’

The story had caused a stir; I was pleased with that. It had been a long while since I’d had a decent page-one splash. If this was what I had to go through for them though, I wouldn’t give a fuck if it was my last.

Amy appeared, carried in a bowl of chicken soup for me. She sat it down beside the settee. She smiled at Rasher, one of her you’re a man, I can wrap you round my little finger ones. ‘Have you heard any more about the police investigation?’

He grinned back, stray whiskers stiffened on his cheeks. ‘Oh, aye… meant to say. They say the shit’s hit the fan down at Fettes… plod being probed big time. Lot of suspensions… and…’ he paused for dramatic effect, raised an index finger to the ceiling, ‘we had it confirmed this morning: the seventies hanging’s being reopened.’

‘That’s good news.’ I picked up the soup, stirred the spoon about a bit.

‘You don’t look too chuffed,’ said Rasher.

Should I be? I raised an eyebrow, spoke, ‘I’ve been strung up, my neck feels like it’s a foot longer… forgive me if I don’t get up and start turning fucking cartwheels.’

Amy blushed, looked away. There was a moment of dead air in the room. Rasher rose, mumbled his excuses and headed for the door, said, ‘Well, I’m a happy camper… put thirty per cent on the circulation with that story. If you’ve any more like it…’

I stopped stirring, let the spoon clang on the edge of the bowl. ‘I very much fucking doubt it.’

Rasher looked at the door, then turned, gave Amy a peck on the cheek, said, ‘I’ll see you both, then.’

I could barely manage a wave. I was beyond sickened. All those deaths, all that hurt and misery I’d seen on Gillian Laird’s face – it wasn’t about circulation figures for any of them. I felt a deep unease growing in me. I was unhappy being part of the human race.

When Rasher had gone, I sensed beady eyes on me. ‘You didn’t need to be so rude,’ said Amy.

I eased a finger between the brace and my neck. ‘I’m just a bit sick of everyone wanting a piece of me.’ My mind flooded with thoughts of Stevo again; I could still smell the stench of his blood. There was no way I’d ever be able to shake it. There was no way I’d shake any of this; even if I recovered physically, I was going to be scarred. All over. ‘I need out, Amy.’

She tilted her head, looked down her nose at me. ‘What about Hod?… He seems to think you’re both in business.’