says yes…’
‘Christ, enough already. Will see what I can do. No promises, mind.’
‘None expected. Thanks, Addy.’
It was only a few hundred yards to the Griffin but the walk was far enough for Winter to get a proper thirst on. He wanted his favour from Addison but he also wanted a few pints of the black stuff. His tongue was aching for it. The old sgriob was working overtime. But his other sgriob, his real itch, was tingling more.
The thought of Shirley giving him the go-ahead to join the case, the only real case in town, was overpowering. Two pints of Guinness and he’d be dreaming about a hole in the middle of a drug lord’s head. And he’d like it.
CHAPTER 11
The Griffin was always more Winter’s kind of pub than it was Addison’s. For him it was a local in the city centre, the kind of everyman bar that Glasgow did best. Old man’s pub, student hangout and theatre crowd all thrown in together. For Addison there were never enough women in it to keep him happy but then again there was never a pub with enough women in it for him.
It had stood on the corner of Bath Street and Elmbank Street for over a hundred years, curving round the corner in splendid wood and leaded glass. Between the Griffin and the lounge bar, the Griffinette, the exterior looked massive with more than enough entrances to make it confusing but inside it was split into three rooms making it much more intimate than it appeared from the street. The leather speakeasy seats facing each other across wooden tables meant the place filled up without a lot of people actually being in it.
That night there were maybe twenty people in the main bar and it gave it the busy, cosy feel that Winter liked. He and Addison were propped up on stools at the bar and the DI was refusing to say how his meeting with Shirley had gone, simply saying that he was waiting for a phone call and didn’t want to jinx it. Instead he was moaning about the lack of talent and suggesting they move on elsewhere. Winter dragged the conversation back to the gangster killings every chance he got.
‘Tell me more about this Ally Riddle,’ he began. ‘Is he going to be able to run Quinn’s business? Surely the hyenas will be moving in to pick over the bones.’
‘Course they will,’ nodded Addison. ‘Jo-Jo Johnstone, Bumpy Scott, Tookie Cochrane or the Gilmartins, you can bet they’re interested. Their kind always have an eye on someone else’s territory if they sense it’s ripe for taking over. But Ally Riddle is still the bookies’ favourite. The word is that he’ll be able to hold Quinn’s mob together.’
‘What about Caldwell’s operation?’
‘Same thing. A couple of his lieutenants, Fraser Gray or Tommy Wright maybe, will have first crack at it but if they don’t show enough balls then Johnstone, Terry and Davie Gilmartin et cetera will be chapping at their door. Whoever killed these two bams has created a vacuum that needs filling. And it will be filled.’
There were some questions he knew were better not to ask but Winter never could help himself.
‘Addy, if you guys know so much about what these cunts are up to and who is running what for who, then why aren’t more of them in the nick?’
Addison’s eyes narrowed.
‘Oh right, why didn’t we think of that? Tony, if it was that simple…’
A tune suddenly burst from Addison’s jacket, saving Winter from whatever was coming next. It was the theme tune to Top Cat, the indisputable leader of the gang, and by the time Addison had wrestled the phone from his pocket Winter had worked out that meant it was Alex Shirley. His guess was on the money.
‘Yes, boss,’ answered Addison as he got off his bar stool, taking the call outside and away from interested ears, including Winter, who was left admiring a full pint of Guinness, thinking not for the first time that it was a thing of beauty. Deeper than the darkest night and topped by a perfect full moon. If it was a sunset they would paint it.
The door swung open again and Addison burst through with a look of triumph on his face.
‘Put your money away, wee man. Drinks are on me.’
Winter could have told him that they already had full pints and that he’d paid for them but there was little point. He knew Addison in full flow and there would be no stopping him.
‘Whisky,’ he shouted to the barman who was in the middle of serving someone else. ‘Two large Highland Parks and one for yourself.’ The last comment removed some of the scowl from the barman’s features and completely washed over Winter’s protests that he didn’t want whisky.
‘Okay, wee man, do you want the good news or the bad news?’
Winter just shook his head wearily and took a gulp of his Guinness. The only thing worse than Addison in a bad mood was him in a good one.
‘What’s that you say? The bad news?’ chirruped Addison, regardless of his silence. ‘There is no bad news just some really fucking good news.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Okay, that was Superintendent Shirley. I’m on the team for the Quinn and Caldwell shootings! The Temple had already said he’d wanted me on it but the hooker killing threatened to screw that up.’
‘Very inconsiderate of her,’ Winter interrupted.
‘Ach, you know what I mean. Anyway the point is that I was able to convince Shirley that such a sensitive case would benefit from the female touch and that anyway, DS Narey was overdue the opportunity to run an investigation on her own. So he’s agreed to let Rachel take it on from here.’
Winter winced at how well Rachel would take that.
‘Oh, she’ll love you for that,’ he managed sarcastically.
‘Ah, it’s all thanks to you,’ Addison responded with a wicked grin. ‘It was your idea that I ask to get a run on the sniper killings. Great idea, and I’ll make sure Rachel knows it.’
Great, thought Winter miserably. That was all he needed.
Addison was his best mate but he couldn’t help feel a kick of jealousy. He was in where Winter wanted to be. A slideshow played behind his eyes, his mental photographic album of Quinn and Caldwell with single bullet entries through their skulls, in crimson pools that ran city-wide and city-deep. He wanted it more than he could tell anyone, probably more than he could even admit to himself. Now Addison was on the inside and he was still on the outside, his chances of getting anywhere near it relying on Addison putting in a good word.
‘Brilliant,’ he told him. ‘Happy for you. Now remember that-’
‘It’s huge,’ Addison cut across him excitedly. ‘This is potentially the biggest case to hit Glasgow since the Cutter murders. Okay, there’s only two dead but fuck knows where it’s going to end. No way we’ve seen the last of it. Everything I’m hearing tells me it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. My money’s on another body before morning.’
Winter realized that Addison was beginning to get on his nerves.
‘So if you are at the heart of the biggest story in town since Jesus went to Dumbarton,’ he asked him, ‘should you not be out there knocking on doors rather than in here knocking back halves?’
‘Not at all, wee man. It’s been a long enough day and they will still be dead when the sun comes up. Tonight I deserve a drink and so do you.’
With that Addison pulled back his arm in an exaggerated gesture to pat Winter on the back but only succeeded in banging his elbow into the guy standing behind him. He was young and looking the worse for wear and Addison’s elbow caused him to spill a few drops of his pint.
‘For fucksake,’ he shouted. ‘Watch it, eh?’
Addison turned slowly and apologetically.
‘Sorry, mate. My fault. I’ll get you another one.’
‘Too fucking right you will. Get me another pint then you can get tae fuck.’
The guy was about twenty, just five foot four with a close cut of red hair and looking decidedly rat-arsed. He was bridling with some kind of indignant rage, the kind that is fuelled by drink, being ginger and from Glasgow.
Addison just looked at the kid, obviously biting his tongue.
