They opted for the same row as me. Other side of the cinema. What choice did they have? Sit in front of me? Unlikely.
The dodgy cinema ads were mercifully short. Must save the long-play ones for the later shows. Trailers for a few soon-to-be-released films, then we were into Crowe strutting his stuff. Carrying a few more pounds, I thought. His co-star was Christian Bale. Obviously going for the Antipodean crew; probably shot in the outback too. Was looking to be not too bad a flick, quite getting into it when I remembered why I was there.
My first move was to loosen my belt.
Had the entire length wrapped round my hand when I stood up, stretched. Saw plod get jumpy at my side. Shifted uneasily in their seats. I was about, say thirty or forty yards from them. Maybe another twenty to the doors. Figured that gave me a bit of time to get a start on them.
I sat back down.
Fired off a quick text to Hod. It read: You set?
He replied: In place. Outside Cameo.
In a second, I vaulted the back of the chair, made for the doors. As I ran, I unfurled my belt, caught the buckle in my hand.
On the other side of the doors, I fed the belt through the handles, drew it together, fastened it on the last notch. It held tight.
I was off, chanking it for the street.
I could hear the thumping on the cinema doors as I got to the foyer.
Outside, I flashed my eyes left, right.
A blast of horn. Hod’s tyres screeched.
I jumped towards the road.
The car just about mounted the pavement, then, ‘Get in!’
I wasn’t about to argue.
Chapter 39
Hod burned rubber down Lothian Road, spun at the lights and snaked round the castle. Pedestrians flagged us to go slow. I thought they had a point.
‘Hod, there’s no benefit dumping plod to get done for sixty in a thirty zone.’
He settled. ‘Right, where we going?’
‘What do you mean we?’
He lifted hands off the wheel, slapped them back down. Gripped tight. ‘Gus, c’mon, we’re a team, right?’
‘Uh-uh, buddy. Teams I don’t do.’
‘But I thought-’
‘Hod, whoa-whoa!.. Let me do the thinking, eh?’
He drove on, occasional scratch at his thickening beard, and soon we were on South Clerk Street, heading for North Bridge. At Hunter Square there used to be a heavy-duty drinking school. Had attracted protests from the retailers. The police had promised a clean-up. At the high point, upwards of fifty jakeys were seen in the square at any one time, pished up and ready to rumble. Not a pretty sight. Not good for the tourists. And that would never do.
I said, ‘Where’s the jakey brigade?’
‘On the square? Gone.’
Last I looked, they were still in full attendance, said, ‘How did they manage that?’
‘Simple, really.’
He was playing coy. I said, ‘Nothing in this city is simple. C’mon, spill it.’
‘Well, y’know they tried just about everything — locking them up, arrests, bans, warrants… even a twenty- four-hour police presence, just about.’
‘Yeah, and none of it worked.’
‘Until some bright spark had a brainwave.’
‘Which was?’
‘Why don’t we start pouring their drink away in front of them?’
I looked out at the square: not a jakey in sight. ‘Worked like a charm, Hod.’
‘Well, you think about it — what’s the one thing that’s gonna put the frighteners on a jakey?’
I got the point.
‘By the way, you didn’t-’
‘Glovebox.’
I opened the panel in front of me. A half-bottle of Grouse stared back. Said, ‘Thanks, Hod.’ Added, ‘Yer all right, yer all wrong.’ Real Scottish wisdom; defies explanation.
We crossed the bridge. Hod took the lights, headed round to George Street. Place was heaving — lot of French Connection bags, some Prada. Hard Rock Cafe doing a bustling trade; doorman putting up the stanchions with the red ropes already. Man, it was boom time in Edinburgh.
‘So where to?’ asked Hod. A set of shades and he could have been Teen Wolf.
‘From the sublime to the ridiculous.’
‘Come again?’
‘Sighthill.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
I turned, pointed to my chops. ‘Does this face lie?’
He drove on.
I changed the station on the radio, got some shock jock ranting about Polish plumbers. Apparently there were two busloads of Poles turning up in St Andrew Square every week. The homeless hostels all had to have a full-time Polish speaker on every shift now. Not all Edinburgh’s streets were paved with gold.
‘Bring ’em on, bring ’em on…’ went the shock jock. ‘My brother’s a plumber, and he’s never had it so good, cleaning up after the mess these unlicensed, unregulated, untrained, unreal Polish plumbers are making in our homes…’
Hod laughed. ‘It’s true… they’re all shite!’
Couldn’t all be bad, said, ‘Well, why do they hire them?’
‘Same old, same old… they’re cheap!’
Made sense, of a sort.
I flicked. Found Thin Lizzy doing ‘Jailbreak’. Would do for me.
I changed tack, ‘So, dog fights… what’s the rundown?’
‘I have a pick-up.’
‘You what?’
‘A point of contact — we go there on the night, we get given the location and follow on.’
‘Right, like a convoy.’
Hod raised a thumb, made to pull an imaginary truck horn. ‘Bang on.’
‘Bit organised for yobbos.’
‘Gus, none of these boys are lightweights. Your little schemie skanks are likely up to their nuts in some dirty business. Whoever’s stamping their meal ticket ain’t gonna be a pushover. The whole pit-fight scene is serious, serious hardcore shit.’
I got the picture. I saw it had changed a little, but only a little. The fact remained: I wasn’t getting answers from the young crew without some persuasion.
Took out my mobile. ‘Turn down the radio, Hod.’
‘Who you calling?’
‘A contact.’
I dialled Fitz’s number. Got right to the point: ‘Fitz, it’s Gus.’
‘Dury, by the holy, that was some stint ye-’
