Mac placed my pint on the bar. I raised it, slugged. Took the break in proceedings to change tack, shove Hod off balance.
‘What have you got for me this morning, Mac?’
He flung the towel over his shoulder. ‘By way of business, you mean? Well, there’s the bill from the brewery and the rates are due.. Some damp in the cludgie I’d say needs looking at smartish. Apart from that, diddly.’
‘Mac, you’re giving me chatter. This is avoidance.’
He looked at Hod. The pair put eyes on me.
I turned to the wall, checked the calendar — had a Scots piper on it in a field of bluebells. Mac seemed to get the hint. He put his hands on the bar, leaned forward. ‘There’s still a hole in the books. There was another letter from the bank.’
‘Get it over.’
Mac leaned under the bar, took out the petty cash box. He ferreted in his pocket for a bunch of keys, found the one, opened up. I snatched the envelope. It was taped along the seal. Same Manila deal as usual, same threats from the manager. ‘This looks great,’ I said.
‘We need about thirty grand to keep afloat, and that’s before any refit to get new punters in. We can’t remortgage either,’ said Mac.
I put the letter back inside the envelope, tucked it in my pocket, said, ‘Did plod see this?’
Mac nodded.
‘Great.’ If Jonny Johnstone was looking for a motive, he had one in black and white.
In the last twenty-four hours I’d been planted firmly in the shit. The funny thing was, though I was fucked, all I could think about was letting Col down. I’d run his pub into the ground. I could feel his eyes on me where I stood, admonishing me, telling me I was better than I gave myself credit for, that I could pull this back. ‘Quality ye are, boyo,’ he’d said. God, hadn’t I proved him wrong, though. Col was the only man who had ever let me make mistakes without judging. He was the only man I knew who had ever felt genuinely proud of any minor achievement I’d made in my life, had shown faith in me, trusted that I wasn’t washed up, when all evidence pointed the other way. He was nothing like my own father.
Hod smoothed down the hair at the sides of his mouth. ‘Look, I can help out, but what you need is a buyer… If I put that to the firm, they’ll think I’m running a charity. If I take over the Wall, you’ll be left with nothing, Gus.’
I didn’t want to contemplate that. It sounded far too much like what I deserved.
I went to the window, stared out. A dog barked on the street and the one at my feet let off with a round of its own.
‘ Usual… Usual, down, boy!’ roared Mac.
I was taken out of my gloom at the sight of the dog scurrying off to his basket, tail between legs. What that beast had been through put things into perspective. Thank Christ he was still in one piece.
‘What did you call him?’ I said.
Mac grinned. ‘Usual.’
‘ What?’
The pair laughed. Hod butted in: ‘He thinks it’s his name… Fits, don’t you think?’
I turned to my pint, said, ‘Jesus H. Christ… I don’t know what to think any more.’
Chapter 19
‘ Now, you know what to do?’ I said.
Hod put up his collar, locked his jaw. ‘Course I do.’
‘No. You don’t, obviously.’ I turned down the collar, playfully slapped his chops, said, ‘Lose the roughhouse demeanour.’
He slouched, nearly dropped the tray of sandwiches, pies and coffee. ‘I just don’t do this nice thing too well, Gus.’
‘Look, you want to help out, right?’
‘I do, yeah.’
‘Well, this is test number one — you get this right, well, we’ll see.’
Mac appeared at my back. His face was set hard as granite. He had a donkey jacket on that wouldn’t have looked out of place on an Irish navvy of the seventies.
‘Dressing down?’
‘We’re going to Sighthill, Gus.’ He spat the words like bullets. As he stood before me he was transformed into the chib-man of old. Mac was ready for a pagger, I could see it in his eyes.
‘Now, you’ll behave yourself, won’t you?’
He didn’t answer; brushed past me and made for the door. He was a fearsome sight with the threat of violence upon him.
I caught Hod checking himself out in the Younger’s Tartan Special mirror that hung in the hallway. He seemed to be psyching himself up, but looked more like a learner driver waiting for the test examiner.
‘You cool with this?’ I asked.
‘Sure, aye… Aye.’ He straightened his back, showed teeth.
I nodded approval. ‘That’s the face you show them!’
‘ Gotcha.’
‘Then let’s do this.’
First out the door was Mac. He schlepped over to the red Golf. I saw plod following his every move. They never saw Hod approach and put a knock on the driver’s window.
‘Morning, chaps. How goes it today?’ he said.
The window was wound down; a head popped out.
‘I saw you sitting out here and I was thinking to myself, Poor buggers — bet they never even get a break for a bit of breckie.’
Hod passed in the tray. Hands went up. Heads went down. They checked out what the go was with all the smiling and the free scran. They never saw Mac creeping behind to pack the exhaust flange with a damp bar towel.
‘So, you’ll be the early shift?’ Hod said, his mock-bonhomie at full blast. ‘Beats the graveyard shift, eh?’
Plod took over the tray, seemed a bit conflicted. He said, ‘I can’t discuss that kind of thing… Look, who the hell are you?’
I started to hear whistling: if I wasn’t wrong, The Great Escape. Mac sauntered round to the front of the car. As he passed Hod he gave a little tap on his back. In no time at all, he was behind the wheel of the van, starting up. He had the side door open for me to dive in before plod rumbled.
We pulled out.
The red Golf revved high. Then cut out. Revved again. Cut out.
There was some serious burn from within the engine. Lots of smoke. Suddenly the Golf’s wheels screeched into the street, all of five yards, then the car stalled.
Hod smiled as I checked him in the rear-view. I said to Mac, ‘Nice work, fella.’
His short arms wrestled with the big steering wheel, wide turning circle playing havoc with the needle tickling sixty. ‘Turned out quite well, I thought.’
I grinned. ‘Tell me, the towel… where did you get that idea?’
‘Flash of genius, wasn’t it? Truth told, I snaffled it.’
‘From who?’
‘Eddie Murphy.’
I turned in my seat. Mac scrunched the gears, pulled out into traffic, said, ‘ Beverly Hills Cop… He used bananas, though. We were out of them, but the bar towel did the trick.’
I had to laugh. Put the Eddie Murphy eeh-eeh-eeh in there, said, ‘Get the fuck outta here!’
We snaked through traffic for a few minutes, working the bus lanes to get as far away from the Wall — and
