My teeth were clenched. Damn. I could almost feel the beads of sweat start to form. I felt panic and hated myself for it. Every second wasted was a second lost, every second lost was a waste. Make a fucking choice. If I let him get a start then he had umpteen choices of which way to go. If I rushed after him it might look odd. People might look.
Shit. I was going. I turned and left by the door he had.
I looked left to the concert hall. I looked right back up the street. I looked up and down Renfield Street.
There. Was it? Maybe a hundred yards down Renfield. Yes. Was it? I was sure of it. A short, spiky head bobbed and pushed among those next to it. Little Man.
I started to rush after him but slowed myself. Fucking CCTV. I made sure I was quicker than him but no more than I needed.
Thirty yards. Yes. Twenty yards. Definitely. Him. Number thirty-six. Number three. Little Man. My man.
He went into two other pubs. Five vodka RBs. One more toilet visit. Lots of hand speak, lots of mouse-eating grins. I hated Little Man.
He pushed his way out of what turned out to be his last pub and made his way back up towards the bus stop on Hope Street across from Molly Malones. He went into the chip shop there and came back out, supper in hand, swaying a bit waiting for his bus.
I was behind him, clinging to the wall of the Savoy Centre and hoping for shadow. I’d wait. Unprepared but ready.
Bus came. Destination Baillieston. Little Man got on. So did three old women, two old men, two kids. And me.
I sat and watched the back of his head. His scratchy, weaselly head. His cocky, smart-arse head. His bullying, strangely confident, ugly head.
Out of the city centre. Some people got on that he knew. Some got on that knew him. I could see that.
He nodded at some, waved at others, sneered at some more.
Give me one chance. It had to be a safe chance. I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks but I would take a chance. Oh I would.
It was dark now. Not very dark but dark enough and getting darker.
Edge of Baillieston. Little Man got out of his seat and stood. He shouted.
‘Next stop, big man.’ Little Man wanted off the bus.
The bus slowed, three others got off and at the last minute I got up too and jumped off. It wasn’t the way I wanted it but who would notice or care?
He walked one way, I walked the other. Not far obviously. First chance I got, I turned and headed back. There was Little Man, cock of the walk, arrogant little bastard, maybe a hundred yards ahead but clear in view.
Some kids ran to him. Slowed him. From where I was, the boys looked no more than fourteen or fifteen. Little Man stuck his hands in his pockets, he brought something out and acted the Big Man. They disappeared.
So did Little Man shortly. Into a pub. The Brig Tavern. I didn’t go in. There was no way I could go into somewhere like that and not be noticed. Alarm bells would go off as soon as I entered and I couldn’t have that. I walked in large circles, hunched and hopefully unseen.
On turn three I saw him emerge from the pub. He was staggering and that pleased me.
He turned a sharp right from the pub onto a bit of scrub ground behind it. A short cut. There was rough ash, broken glass, rogue shopping trolleys, dog shit and trees. Fifty yards of darker darkness before the near light.
Chance.
I shouted. The voice came out of me before I knew it.
‘Hey, wee man.’
He slowed then stopped. He looked over his shoulder, wondering who had the cheek to call him wee, obvious as it was. He looked me up and down and saw no threat. He also looked curious. I guess I wasn’t what he expected.
I took money out of my pocket. A hunch. Little Man looked around and came closer. He wanted to be much closer.
I held it nearer to me as if hiding it. He liked that. He came on. He came to me.
I walked to the edge of the scrub, seeking the shadows. Little Man liked that too. He was within five feet of me. I could see his eyes and he could see mine. He grinned. That mouse-eating grin.
I looked around. He thought it was me being safe and it was. He was warmed by that but he was wrong.
He reached for the money. I smiled and shook my head. I beckoned him closer. I put the cash in my inside pocket. He came closer. So close.
He grinned. I smiled.
I reached inside and pulled out the knife. I reached in and drove it into him. Again. Again. Again. I pulled him right onto me and plunged it in deep. Little Man wasn’t so big now. He did look at me though. Surprised.
Dead.
I pushed him off me and watched him fall back flat.
I slashed at his neck twice and then wiped the bloody blade across his face. His eyes were open and so was his mouth. That was strange. Well, unexpected anyway.
I reached into my pocket and took out the secateurs. I cut off his finger and pocketed it.
Job done.
I was cold and breathing hard but not sweaty. I didn’t like that.
I cleaned the blade of the knife on Little Man’s jacket, then did the same with the secateurs. I took a plastic bag from my inside pocket and slipped them both in there before putting it back in my jacket.
My shirt was splattered in his blood. It would be incinerated later but for now zipping my jacket to the neck would cover it.
I took off the clear surgical gloves from my hands and slipped them away. They too would be burned. So would the jacket.
It was time to go home.
CHAPTER 13 Daily Record. 28 September 2009. Page 2.
By Keith Imrie. A photograph of the crime scene. Police have launched a murder hunt after the body of a known criminal was found in wasteland in the Baillieston area of Glasgow after a suspected gangland slaying. Thomas Tierney was brutally stabbed to death shortly before midnight last night just minutes from his home in Rhindmuir Drive. A full-scale search of the area was being conducted into the early hours and was due to restart this morning. Tierney, known locally as Spud, was stabbed several times in what police are calling a vicious attack. As well as multiple wounds to his stomach, chest and abdomen, Tierney was slashed around the face and neck. His body was discovered soaked in blood by regulars from the nearby Brig Tavern on Easterhouse Road. One local man, who did not wish to be named, told the Daily Record that he came across Tierney’s body at closing time. ‘I’d just left the pub and was heading home. Me and a couple of the guys had only gone about 50 yards when we saw Spud lying there. We almost fell over him. He was covered in blood. Absolutely drenched in it. Somebody’s obviously shanked him.’ The witness was reluctant to speculate on a motive for Tierney’s murder but it is believed he was the victim of a gangland hit. ‘The wee man never did anybody any harm,’ said the witness. ‘OK he was maybe a bit shady but that was it. This is bad. Someone will pay for it.’ The man who found Tierney confirmed that he had been drinking for around half an hour in the Brig Tavern before leaving around 11.30. The other drinkers left the pub at midnight and it was then that they discovered Spud Tierney’s cut-up corpse. Murder squad detectives were on the scene within minutes and a security cordon was set up around the body. A detailed search of the area and door- to-door inquiries were carried out last night. Detective Sergeant Rachel Narey said that investigations were at an early stage but that she urged anyone with information to come forward. ‘Strathclyde Police were alerted at 00.10 that a body had been found on land adjoining Easterhouse Road in Baillieston. Detectives were quickly on the scene and found the body later identified as 26-year-old Thomas Tierney.’ Police are appealing for anyone with information to the killing or Thomas Tierney’s whereabouts earlier that day to contact Baillieston police station or Crimestoppers on 0800 555 111. All calls will be treated in confidence and there may be a reward. Police sources last night confirmed that Spud Tierney was known to them and was thought to have been a drug dealer. He is said to have been an associate of well-known Glasgow businessman Alexander Kirkwood.
