‘The bar?’
‘Bit more smashed up than when plod left.’
I felt a twinge in my chest that was either the onset of a coronary or my last vestige of hope dying. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘I told them you were at the boat.’
‘Good.’
‘I thought, y’know, it was better you went to see him… Next time he might not ask any questions. We don’t want you offed for bloody-mindedness, Gus.’
I couldn’t fault Mac’s reasoning, he knew how these people worked. ‘Okay, I’ll get back to the boat right away. Get this fucking thing over with.’
I was about to hang up when Mac said, ‘Mind and be careful, and especially, watch that fucking mouth of yours.’
Chapter 29
They were waiting at the quayside. Two burly pugs in schemie uniform: trackies, bling, and barnets seen to with the number one. Put them beside John Goodman and people would be asking if he’d been on a diet. The biggest of the two wore a white vest that revealed not an inch of his arms hadn’t been tattooed. As they saw me coming they waddled over, heads tipped back as if they were waiting to avoid a swipe. Like I’d be so stupid.
‘Afternoon, gentlemen,’ I said. God, they looked scoobied, could almost hear the gerbils on the little wheels inside their heads going faster to try and work that out. I fired out a joke: ‘Church of Latter-Day Saints, is it?’
Nothing.
A scrunch of brows.
‘No, och well, it’s either that or you’re selling steroids.’
The tats geezer started to stride towards me. Usual strained on the lead, let out a hail of barking. He looked fierce — I felt protected. The pug stopped in his tracks.
‘Don’t worry, his bark’s worse than his bite. Let me put him on the boat and then I’ll accompany you to Saughton… I take it you’re from Rab.’
Tats Man was first to speak, ‘Aye, and we won’t be hanging about.’
The other one added, ‘It’ll be him that’s fucking hanging about if he tries anything.’
They laughed that up. Clapping, the lot.
I put some fresh water and food out for the dog. He settled down in his basket and seemed quite content to be back home. I tapped his head, said, ‘See you soon, fella… No licking that medicine.’
Outside the pugs tried some roughhouse on me. Grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, pushed me in the back, said, ‘Get in that fucking car now.’
I turned, said, ‘Look, I’m coming quietly. Last thing I want is you telling Rab I was any bother. Okay? Good, now lose the fucking tone.’
The backhander came from nowhere, opened up my nose instantly, poured blood down my mouth and chin.
The pugs laughed themselves stupid. If that was possible.
I climbed in the car, put my hand to my nose, pinched, and tipped back my head.
They played the Backstreet Boys, turned up high, all the way to the prison. Their bald heads nodded to the beat, fingers tapped on the open windowsills. I’d always wondered who listened to this shite, thought it was only little girls at the school; now I knew different. Something told me today was going to be full of eye-openers.
In the car park at Saughton Prison the pugs dragged me from the vehicle and marched me to the front door. The smaller of the two — a look of the Joe Bugner about him — fished a visiting card from the zip pocket in his trackie top and shoved it at me.
‘Now, go and see Mr Hart and be a good boy. We might be waiting when you get out so don’t be fucking lippy would be my advice or Barney there will be fitting your head to a railway sleeper.’
‘I get the message. Lovely visual image — quite a way with words you have.’
I braced myself for another swipe. None came.
‘Thank you very much,’ he said. As he stonked away he looked genuinely delighted.
The prison smelled like a hospital that had gone bad. Lots of disinfectant, but something told me there wasn’t enough disinfectant in the world to mask the true smell of the place. The guards looked as if they were working security at B amp;Q — couldn’t have given a toss. I thought: If Rab decides he’s tearing my head off, who’s going to stop him?
I took a seat in the visitors’ area. It was a large room with lots of tabletops and chairs set out. I hadn’t seen old chairs like these since my schooldays, metal tubing with wooden seats. There were names carved in the tables just to complete the retro look. Everywhere tearful women, battered by life, took up the seats and waited for the prisoners to come in. I felt sorry for them, to a one they had been sold a pup.
As the prisoners arrived I felt my nose start to twitch. A thin trickle of blood made its way down the inside of my left nostril and pooled on my top lip. I wiped it away with my finger, squeezed my nostrils together and began the head-tipping again.
‘You’ve been a bastard to get hold ay!’ I looked up and saw a squat forty-something with broad shoulders. ‘Sit the fuck up. I’ve no’ got all day to be fucking aboot with you, Dury.’
I turned to face him. Rab had his black hair cut short on top and at the sides but had a Billy Ray Cyrus mullet at the back. He had a star tattoo on his left earlobe and more to match on his neck going into a baggy grey T-shirt. When he spoke his dark eyes shot from left to right, making sure he wasn’t missing anything going on in the room. ‘I see my boys gave you a wee reminder of who you’re fucking dealing with… Good — saves me the fucking bother.’
I tried to speak.
‘Shut it!’ He pointed a finger at me. Rab’s hands were like something out of a Peter Howson painting. Long fat fingers, heavily veined and continually being drawn into fists. His knuckles were scratched and reddened and had obviously been put to some use during his jolt.
‘Right, Dury, here’s how it’s gonna be.’ He was pointing again. ‘You work for me. I’ve seen this fucking thing — ’ he pulled the paper with my article from his back pocket and slammed it on the table — ‘and that’s all by the fucking by. You’re my man now and you’ll do what I fucking tell you.’
I had a few questions but kept my trap shut. I hoped, at some point, Rab might calm down and I’d get a few words in.
He folded the paper away, seemed even more agitated, eyes darting again. ‘I don’t give a fuck who killed Moosey-’
‘So it wasn’t you, then?’ I’d said it before I realised the gravity of my words.
Rab smiled; he actually opened his mouth, showed teeth. ‘If I’d killed the cunt, I wouldnae be fifty grand out of pocket. And you wouldnae be sitting here, Dury.’ He took a deep breath. I could see he was trying to get himself back on track, something approaching composure. I imagined Rab Hart was far more used to roaring orders at people to get what he wanted done. He wasn’t happy having to explain what was on his mind. ‘Like I say, I don’t give two fucks who killed Moosey, but you’re gonna find out, Dury, because whoever did it, likely as not, has my fucking money. And I’m not very happy about that.’
‘I’m doing that anyway.’
Rab drew fists again. ‘Difference is, Dury, now you’re working for me. When you go out that door you tell folk Rab Hart wants to know, you got me?’
I nodded. Was now the time to tell him his tinpot empire was in disarray? I didn’t think there would ever be a good time for that. ‘You know there’s some manoeuvring going on… I hate to break it to you but your name doesn’t carry the same weight from in here.’
Rab’s hand came down on the table. The thud set the four legs jumping into the air. He was on his feet, pointing that finger at me again. ‘Rab Hart’s no’ a fucking spent force, no’ by a fucking long stroke!’ Two of the guards came over. They had their hands on little holsters clipped to their belts. It was enough: Rab settled,
