I get in the cab and she watches from her door as the car pulls away. Then the whole weight of the night’s drinking comes crashing down on me. I give my head a shake and wipe my nose.
How’s that, Cal?
Things could have been different back there. She wanted me to stay the night, and not in a slumber party sense. It wasn’t as if I’m not attracted to her.
No, that’s not it. I was being a gentleman. Let’s face it, she was drunk. I’m drunk. And brewer’s droop is a real mood-killer.
And telling her I was a PI, for fuck’s sake, what brought that on? Who the hell was I trying to impress? Private investigators have steel in their pocket and iron in their spit.
Me, I’ve got shit in my pants and blood in my mouth. Maybe if I’d met her a couple of months down the line, when I was more settled. It could have worked then.
‘Don’t think so much, Cal’
When I get back to the hotel, I head straight for my room.
As straight as I can, anyway – my legs are intent on following separate paths. I lock the door behind me, turn on the television. The volume makes my head hurt, so I tap the remote until all I hear is a murmur. Then I grab my mobile out of my inside pocket and sling my jacket onto the bed.
I need to harden up.
‘Who’s this?’ says Mo.
‘It’s Cal,’ I say.
‘Cal?’ He’s shouting into the phone. From the noise in the background, I’d swear he was in a pub.
‘Callum Innes, Mo. You know me.’
‘Right. Where are you?’
‘Newcastle.’
‘Fuck you doing in Newcastle?’
‘Stokes is here.’
‘Fuckin’ hell, you are a detective, ain’t you? Wait, I’ll get summat to write this down.’
‘I don’t have an address yet.’
‘Then why you calling me?’
“I need to negotiate a fee.’
Mo laughs, a high-pitched cackle. ‘You’re taking the piss, mate. You already negotiated your fee with me dad.’
‘The case has changed.’
‘The easel Fuck are you on, Innes? The caseisn’t a fuckin’ case.
You’re up there to find the cunt. There’s no fuckin’ mysteryto it.
You’re not out to nail Colonel Mustard because he topped some daft bastard in the conservatory with the fuckin’ candlestick.
You’re up there to scout, you’re up there to find a fuckin’ thief, so don’t go getting ideas above your station, mate.’
Okay, so this was a bad idea, but I plough on. ‘You seem to forget, Mo. I’m straight. And when I find this guy, give you the address, you’ll come up here and fuck him over. That makes me an accessory. He’ll be able to identify me. And while you might be able to get out of a fuckin’ sentence because some weak cunt keeps his mouth shut, I don’t have that much sway, do I?’
‘What d’you want me to tell you? You knew what this were about.’
‘I want more money.’
There’s a pause at the other end. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Expenses, Mo.’
‘You’re fuckin’ drunk. I knew it. I told Dad, don’t hire a pisshead. Christ.’
‘I give it up here, Mo.’
‘Don’t think you’re threatening us, Innes. Get bolshy with me and I’ll nail you to the fuckin’ floor. Tell you what, I’ll be the gentleman and think you’re just pissed out of your tiny little mind. I’ll put it down to the booze and I won’t bear a grudge. Now get back under your rock and don’t call us until you got an address.’
Click, and he’s gone.
I sit on the edge of the bed. Look across at the telly. It’s Bogart and Lorre in fuzzy black-and-white.
Bogie says, ‘When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it.’
Never a truer word, but it doesn’t stop that slap from hurting.
TWENTY-FOUR
I grabbed Rossie round the back of his baldy ginger head and shouted in his ear: ‘We’s in business, muckaaaa.’
Rossie struggled, said, ‘Fuck off.’
I slapped his bald spot. ‘Language, Timothy. Get us a brandy, muh man. I’m celebrating.’
Rossie went off to the bar and I slumped into me seat, grinned at Baz. He were rolling a fat stick. Had to hand it to him, he were a fuckin’ craftsman when it came to rolling. He smoothed the edges and lit it with his Clipper. The big lad puffed hard, the smell of singed eyebrows and fine Northern Lights high in the air. When Rossie came back from the bar, he looked at Baz like the big lad had just farted loud and smelly.
I downed me brandy and banged me glass on the table. “I call this meeting to order. Who’s up for a fuckin’ trip?’
‘Nah, me head’s halfway to the shed already, Mo.’
“Innes. He’s gone to Newcastle.’ cYa gan doon toon,’ said Baz. Then he laughed. He sounded like a proper cunt when he laughed; looked like one too.
‘You want to go to Newcastle,’ said Rossie. He were squinting at us.
“I can’t go anywhere. Me dad’s got us locked down. And I can’t trust Darren fuckin’ Walker, can I? Nah, youse two are going to Newcastle. You’re gonna keep an eye on the cunt.’
“I don’t wanna gan tee Nyow-cassil,’ said Baz.
‘You got the accent down, Baz,’ I said.
‘Aye, but ‘
‘You’re going to Newcastle.’ I didn’t want to hear a fuckin’ argument.
‘How comes your dad’s got you locked down, Mo?’ said Rossie. ‘You’re a grown bloke. You can do owt you want.’
‘Aye, but not about this. I need to keep the old man sweet as, else he’ll put the kibosh on it.’
‘Fuck off the kibosh,’ said Baz. His eyes had gone webbed and dark. Fucker was mashed already. ‘You want to go to Newcastle, you go your fuckin’ self, know what I mean?’
Rossie looked down at the table. Looked right through it.
I stared at Baz until he stopped drawing on the stick. The fucker knew he was in the shite, like. I were going to say summat, but this bloke in a Pringle jumper came over before I got the chance. ‘Sorry, lads. Can’t do that in here.’
I turned the stare on the Pringle. He had a gold chain around his neck. Hair poked through the links.
‘You what?’ I said.
‘Your mate there. I can’t have him smoking that in here.’
I frowned. ‘You tooting rocks in there, Baz?’
‘Nah, man. Just resin.’
‘It’s just fuckin’ resin,’ I said to the Pringle. He weren’t happy about this. He were red in the throat, like he’d got burnt.
‘It’s still illegal,’ he said. And if he were sure of anything, it were that little fuckin’ nugget of information.
‘Give it time.’
‘It’s illegal now,’ he said.
