to the goon patrol. So if she didn’t alert them then who did and why?
I haven’t got any answers to this one yet. I’ll front up with Martin when he gets back and see if he has any ideas.
Chapter 56
Sunday August 10 th 2008
No sign of Martin. When he was still A.W.O.L. on Friday I put it down to him going away for the evening and not informing me. However he should have been back Friday night as a minimum, as he was picking me up from the return flight. I fully expected him to appear on Friday evening in a rage, having driven out to Glasgow airport only to discover I wasn’t on the plane.
I’ve tried his mobile but it isn’t even tripping to answer machine. It simply rings out and then dies. On Saturday I tried a few of his usual haunts but with no success. I didn’t push too hard. If Dupree wants me I’m not going to spread myself around town and advertise my whereabouts. I’m assuming that Martin’s house is safe, if for no other reason than that I would be dead by now if Dupree wanted me and knew I was holed up with Martin.
Mallorca is still spinning in my head but I’m no further forward.
Chapter 57
Monday August 11 ^th 2008
They found me. It was gone midnight last night and I was watching ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn ’ on TCM — a weepie but a good one. I heard the door handle being turned and expected Martin to walk in, but when I saw the goon patrol from Mallorca bowl into the room I knew I was in a world of trouble.
Fortunately I hadn’t been on the giggle juice and my head was clear. They rolled in and I rolled off the settee and leapt to my feet. They headed for me but I was into the kitchen and out the back door like a cat with a poker up its arse. They gave chase but it was dark and I simply sprinted into the field behind Martin’s house and circled back on myself. I lay flat as the goon patrol squelched around for ten minutes and left.
I was in no position to move on. I needed my stuff from the house.
I sat for an hour in the chill and then approached the back of the house. There was no sound from within and I clambered onto the roof of the old coal hut with all the grace of a cat fifteen years past its prime.
My bedroom window sits above the hut and the latch on the window gave easily to a penknife. I climbed through the window and gathered up my stuff. Bag packed I went to the bedroom door and listened. If I was going to be out on the street for the night I could do with my jacket and some food. Both were downstairs.
I listened and I could hear the TV still playing out the end of the movie but nothing else. If the goons were in the house then they were playing it quiet.
I opened the bedroom door a touch and slipped out onto the small landing. The stairs in front of me dropped straight down to the front door. The first three steps were hidden from view but after that you could be seen from the living room.
I bent down and placed my hands on the first step and leant forward. The bit of the room I could see looked empty. I pushed my head a little further until the fireplace came into view and there was still no sign of life. Dropping my right hand one more stair I leant down and took in most of the rest of the room. Empty.
I stood up, grabbed a lungful of air and walked down the stairs. The front door was frosted glass but you could still see shapes through it and I tried my best to avoid it by leaping from the middle of the staircase straight into the room. As I landed I froze, waiting for an attack from either the kitchen or the front door. Nothing happened and I crossed to the kitchen door. The light was off and in the dark I loaded up on chocolate, crisps and diet Irn Bru.
I walked back into the living room and eyed my jacket hanging on a coat peg next to the front door. If anyone was watching then my shadow would be a give away. I walked to the stairs and dropped to my knees, then to my belly and wriggled towards the front door. If someone came in now I was a goner.
I reached the door and slid up the wall until I could relieve the coat peg of my jacket, caught it as it fell and wriggled back to the stairs.
I was half way up the stairs when the front door opened with a vengeance and the goons reappeared. Common sense would have been to lock it but it had never occurred to me.
I flew up the remaining steps, ran into my bedroom, slammed the door behind me, picked up my bag and scrambled through the open window. The door to the bedroom bounced off the wall behind me as the goon patrol entered at high speed.
I was on the coal hut roof and, with a leap, I dropped to the concrete below. Above me one of them shouted but I was over the fence and back into the field — this time I didn’t double back I just kept running.
As my breath shortened I began to ease up and turned sharp left. In the far distance I could see the main road through the village of Eaglesham. Behind me there was another shout but it was too far away to be an issue. I made for the light.
The trek was tough — crossing fields in the dark is not easy and I had no light to see by. After an hour I reached the village but stopped short of entering the pool of light that the street lights cast.
I had no idea where I was heading but it needed to be away from here. The goon patrol would not give in easily. Dupree was a bastard of the first order and failure was not tolerated well. The fact that they had been given a second chance and sent in after their failure in Spain was surprising enough.
I skirted the road and made my way through another field — keeping the road to my right. Twice I had to divert to avoid houses and then I hit a stretch of homes running across my path. I picked the one with the lowest fence and jogged through the garden and out onto the road on the other side.
The main road was to my left and knew if I turned right there was the Chinese restaurant on one side and the row of shops, a little further down, on the other side. At this time they would all be shut. Turning right would lead me into an estate and, much as I wanted to play hide and seek with the goon patrol, I needed to put distance between the village and me.
I had a local taxi number on my mobile and I gave them a call before dipping back behind the house to wait.
Ten minutes later a car turned up and I walked out as if I had just left the back door. If the driver knew the occupants he didn’t ask or couldn’t care. I told him to head for Glasgow and I sat back to think.
I had no place to go. No one to turn to. Martin’s disappearance could mean that Dupree had found out he was harbouring me and that was that for Mr Sketchmore. The hostel was a maybe until I realised that there might be a second goon patrol waiting for me at my old haunt.
The car cruised into the outskirts of the city and the driver asked where in Glasgow.
‘The Gorbals.’
I told the driver the street I wanted and I wasn’t even sure that it still existed. The car soon swung into the road and, to my amazement, familiar tenements sprang up on both sides. I showed the taxi driver which close to stop at and paid him from my ever-dwindling supply of cash.
Standing on the pavement, bag in hand, I realised this was the long shot of all long shots but desperate people do desperate things.
I walked into the close, climbed the stairs to the second floor and stood in front of a large storm door. There was no nameplate. I rang the bell and waited. I was about to hit it for the second time when I heard movement inside.
The inner door opened and the left hand storm door pulled back an inch. I waved sheepishly at the crack and the door closed. A second later and the sound of bolts being withdrawn scraped around the landing. The door opened and a woman in a badly fitting dressing gown looked out.
‘Hi Rachel.’
