‘You’re supposed to be resting.’
‘I know. Just one question. Where do the Mackies live?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Just tell me.’
He heard a yawn, a sigh. ‘Walter Scott Avenue.’
‘Is that in The Inch?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
Billy thought of Dean and his goons. Burning clothes, petrol canister, laughing and joking.
He stared at the smoke, fingers spreading out above the city.
Charlie was looking at him with a confused frown.
‘I think our story just escalated again,’ Billy said.
30
Two dozen neighbours stood watching as firefighters clumped about in their heavy gear looking busy. There were three engines blocking the street, each with a couple of men directing a hose at different parts of the sixties pebble-dashed house that was already half demolished by the flames pouring through window frames and doorways. The flashing lights from the engines mingled with the bonfire to create an unearthly glow, like a party in purgatory.
Some of the neighbours were in pyjamas and nightgowns, others in clothes they’d thrown on. There were lots of kids, smaller ones clinging to parents, older ones in groups laughing and mucking about. This was clearly the most exciting thing to happen to Walter Scott Avenue in a while.
Billy parked the Micra and climbed out. He got suspicious stares from nearby. Not one of the locals. A nightshift news hack and a photographer that Billy recognised were standing close to the engines, one soliciting quotes from anyone he could find, the other snapping away for tomorrow’s paper. They probably wouldn’t realise the significance of who the owners of the house were, but they’d get told when they got back to the office.
Billy kept away from them. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was meant to be in hospital. But this was his story, he was all over it, everything about it had seeped into his bloodstream and infected his brain.
He shook his head and cricked his neck. Shafts of pain everywhere. He swallowed two painkillers and two uppers then leaned against the car for a moment. Jeanie was in the front passenger seat, shuffling around in the tight space, tail flicking, eyes bright with the reflection of the fire.
Rose had thanked him for the information and told him in no uncertain terms to get back to hospital. Charlie had told him the same thing. He’d agreed with both of them and walked slowly back down the Radical Road, Jeanie close to him, Charlie alongside, the three of them in heavy silence.
Outside the flat, Billy said he didn’t want to go inside in case he saw Zoe. He didn’t want to face up to that. Charlie said he understood, and ducked inside to pick up the car key to drive Billy to hospital. As soon as Charlie was in the door, Billy scurried to the Micra, bustled Jeanie in, started the engine and pulled out. His hands trembled on the wheel as he imagined slamming into a parked car, or simply not stopping at the end of the street, ploughing across South Clerk Street into the kebab shop over the road.
He turned left and headed south. He followed the plumes of black smoke, down Minto Street and past Cameron Toll, until he was at The Inch. Didn’t take long, but his phone rang four times. Charlie. Fuck him. Brothers looking out for each other. Like fuck.
Now, standing in front of the Mackies’ torched home, he wasn’t sure why he’d come. Maybe just out of guilt. It was his fault this had happened. It was all his fault. But so what? These weren’t exactly nice people, they were violent psychos and criminals. It was good that their house burnt down, one less vipers’ nest in the city.
He scanned the crowd, looking for Wayne or Jamie Mackie. Come to think of it, he’d never actually seen Jamie in the flesh, only his mugshot in several of the Standard?’s recent stories. But he had shotgun wounds to his leg and arm, so he should be easy to spot.
There were plenty of the Mackies’ type hanging around, zigzags in their hair, lurid gold chains, expensive chunky white trainers, muscles on show, air of arrogant cockiness.
He spotted the girl. The one who’d been hanging around with Wayne at the hospital. She was standing nearest to the blaze with a couple of other girls, none of them much older than eighteen, if that. She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger with one hand, taking pictures with her phone.
He walked over, his feet unsteady as he pushed himself away from the car. Behind him, Jeanie nudged at the glass of the passenger window, keen to follow.
‘Where are Wayne and Jamie?’ he said.
She turned. He saw a tongue piercing glinting in the flames. The heat from the building was intense here, and he felt like clawing at the itch under his bandages, scraping away the scalp underneath.
‘Who the fuck wants to know?’
She looked at him side on with big brown eyes, like she was posing for a Facebook profile. Used to being looked at. She was pretty but it was hidden, layers of make-up, sharp fringe, baggy top and micro skirt, big hoop earrings.
‘I’m a friend of theirs.’
‘Like fuck you are.’ She laughed. Her two pals turned and began scoping him.
‘OK, I’m not. But I met Wayne at hospital. After Jamie got shot. You were there.’
She examined him closely through her hair.
‘Looks like you should be in hospital yersel.’
She glanced at the top of his head. His hand came up and smoothed over the bandages, from forehead to crown to nape of the neck, over the hole that seemed so natural now.
‘Yeah, you could say that.’
The girl tilted her head. ‘I remember you from hospital. You were there with some old tart.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You a reporter, like?’
‘Kind of.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I am a reporter.’ Billy pointed at his head. ‘But I’m supposed to be on sick leave.’
‘So what the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Just interested.’ He turned to where the firefighters were struggling to subdue flames lashing the house. ‘That is the Mackie place, yeah?’
The girl didn’t say anything.
‘I take it the lads weren’t inside?’
The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her pals’ attention drifted away, they were now making lewd comments and speculating about the firemen’s cocks.
‘Any idea where they are?’
She shot him a dagger look. ‘Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.’
‘Of course not.’
Billy glanced at the house. The blaze was tearing at the roof now. The place was being gutted, it would have to be knocked down. Everything ruined.
He turned back to the girl, who was still half facing him, as if not quite rejecting or ignoring him. He took that as a cue.
‘I reckon you might have the number for one of the boys in that phone of yours.’
‘I might. What of it?’
‘Fancy giving it to me?’
‘You trying to chat me up?’
‘The phone number.’
‘I don’t think so.’
She smiled as she gave him a withering stare. He smiled back.
