Primed.
In the ring another pit was already waiting, similar size, raring to go. All around us grown men were roaring.
A loud call went up: ‘Release the dogs.’
In a second the two beasts were unleashed; they collided like the bottle I’d just smashed on a tree. The noise of their skulls connecting hurt my ears. They were both thrown in the air, a shower of teeth spraying the crowd.
‘Hod, this is sick.’
‘Dury, get a grip.’
I turned away. At the other end of the barn I saw a flash of white. I thought I’d seen a ghost. Then I saw it again. The shape was more visible this time. I recognised it as a dog. But not a pit bull, or anything like it. It was a white poodle. Somehow the dog had evaded its handlers. My guess, it sensed its fate.
I knew this dog was the intermission — some very light entertainment between bouts. I followed its attempts, running frantically the length and breadth of the barn, looking for an escape; it couldn’t find one. Suddenly it was grabbed by the scruff. Jostled about a bit, yelled at. It turned its little snout away from the lad doing the yelling. I clocked him at once: it was our Corrado driver.
‘I’m sorry, Hod.’
‘What do you mean you’re sorry… sorry for what?’
I opened up my Crombie. Felt for the handle of the Mossberg. ‘I’m sorry for this.’ In a second I raised the shooter.
The sound of the gun’s discharge made everyone in the room duck in unison. A few turned skywards as they crouched, expecting to see the roof come down. I cut a path through the crowd, pushed people aside left and right. No one seemed too bothered to stop me.
A voice yelled out, ‘Police, stay where you are!’ It was Hod. Self-preservation or initiative, I didn’t care which — it did the trick. The place emptied with a stampede.
In a few seconds I was on the yob with the poodle. He saw me heading his way and dropped the dog, scampered.
‘Fuck… Hod, get that fucking dog!’
I watched Hod lower his arms, call to the dog, but it was all over the place.
‘Get fucking after it!’
The barn emptied in a hurry, people running for the hills. This shit you don’t want to get hoyed in for.
I set off after the yob. He was dressed all in white, trackies and top to match. It made my job easier. ‘I’ll blow yer fucking head off!’ I yelled.
He was fast, through the back of the barn and the path skirting the trees to the clearing. I tried to catch him but my lung capacity had been seriously reduced by years and years of full-on tab usage.
‘Stop, you little prick!’
At the clearing where the cars were parked, I caught sight of him sliding across the front of a bonnet, Dukes of Hazzard style. I raised up the shooter, but he was gone behind another car, ducking and weaving for dear life. ‘Shit, this fucker’s fast.’
Everywhere cars pulled out, screeched tyres. Engines revved all around, was like the starters’ line-up at the Indy 500.
As I got to the first row of cars I heard an engine roar, then coming straight for me, right down the middle of the road: it was the Corrado.
I raised the gun.
I shouted, ‘I’ll fucking use this!’
My warning didn’t register. Driver went straight for me.
I’d no choice, dived out of the way. As the car screamed past, I got to my feet, fired off a round. It put out the back window. Glass exploded all over the dirt track, settled for a second, then was mashed in by the flood of fast-moving cars.
As I stood up I caught sight of a brand-new Audi being driven like it was a Knockhill wrecker. Behind the wheel was a face I recognised, but the one sitting next to it told a whole other story.
Chapter 46
There was no sign of the resident plod lurking outside so we washed up back at the Holy Wall. Mac had a pint of Guinness ready and waiting for me on the bar. I knocked the head off it quick smart. Soothed like an old friendship. Felt like medicine.
The white poodle played on the floor with Usual. Hod laughed. ‘Christ, it’s a hard dog that you’ve got, lads — mates with a poodle.’
Mac went off, ‘Get that dog down to the fucking pound. It’s someone’s pet — they’ll be looking for it!’ He pointed Hod to the door, puffed his chest. ‘And get a fucking shave, ye gypo!’
Not biting, Hod moved off. ‘I was only joking. I’m going. I’m gone already.’
Mac walked behind the bar, picked up a bag of KP nuts, raised another bag for me. I declined. As he munched away he let his thoughts escape. ‘Well, that sounded like it was all a complete fucking farce.’
‘How do you gather that?’ I said.
‘They got away.’
‘Ah but…’ I got out of my stool, reached over for a bottle of Haig, poured out a wee goldie, downed it.
Mac grew impatient. ‘But what?’
‘We got a direct hit on the car… and I caught sight of a very cosy scene that will take some looking into.’
‘What?’
‘Sid the Snake and Jonny Johnstone sharing a motor.’
A head-shake, rapid eye movement, a swallow. ‘I’m gonna stretch that wee cunt’s neck.’
I raised my pint, pointed a finger. ‘Hold that thought.’
I left Mac in the bar, went out to the hallway to make a phone call. My mind was on one thing, and one thing only. In the midst of such an overwhelming crisis, I couldn’t believe I was focusing on this.
By the back door sat a cardboard box. Inside were old pictures of my father in his playing days. By the look of it, old Scottish Division One. I remembered a row with the Wall’s original proprietor, Col, about these very pictures. He’d taken them down so as not to offend me. As I looked at them now, I wished he’d thrown them out altogether. I laid a kick into the side of the box, heard a loud crack from the glass.
‘The fucking last I want to see of you.’
I dialled up Debs’s number.
Ringing.
An answer: ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Debs, it’s-’
‘I know who it is.’
Well, that was something. ‘Are you all right now?’
‘Gus, I’m always all right.’
I knew what she meant: there is all right and there is well — the two aren’t the same thing.
‘I wondered if you were still, y’know…’
‘Gus, you don’t need to worry about me.’
‘Debs, c’mon, you were in bits when I saw you. I don’t stop caring just because you’re out of sight. You know that.’
Silence.
The gap on the line stretched out.
‘Debs… Debs, you still there?’
I heard her begin to cry down the line. ‘Gus, I’m sorry… I just can’t play the hard bitch any more.’
