that coming a country mile off. There was more going on with Gillian Laird than I could suss right now, but from the off, I had her pegged. She might be calling the shots but there’d be a bit of groundwork done there too; knew where to start as well.
Got the contacts up. Felt a slight apprehension as I hovered over the name. We’d some history… had we ever. I knew Fitz the Crime was not the man to go to for favours; they had a strange way of coming back with bigger price tags on them than I could afford. He was filth, there was no way around that. But even filth needed to come into the real world, at least once in a while.
Dialled.
Ringing.
Hard-ass on reception, ‘Lothian and Borders Police…’
‘I’d like Fitzsimmons, please.’ If I knew his rank, I’d use it. But Fitz was flying through those stripes so fast there was no knowing where he’d be these days. Gave me some room to manoeuvre. The full-leather interior on that Lexus of his had been paid for with so much of my graft that I was entitled to a few privileges.
‘Fitzsimmons.’ Bit gruff. Tipping the hard-core edge in; nothing new there.
‘The man himself. How’s the cop trade?’
‘Jaysus, Dury… by the cringe!’
Always the grand welcomer from this man. You’d think I wasn’t one of his favourites. ‘Nice to hear from you too.’
Phone shuffling, few steps taken towards seclusion, away from prying ears. ‘Gus, this will never do… You know better than to call me here. By the holy… Is it my backside in a sling ye want?’
‘Look, Fitz, cool the beans, eh. It’s a social call.’
A loud laugh.
Huff.
Tut.
‘Jaysus, Dury… you’re a freckin’ gas… Will be on the beg you are, as sure as there’s a hole in yer arse!’
He had my number. But this wasn’t going too badly; I’d seen the day when a call to Fitz was met with something closer to a curt ‘get to fuck’. Phone slamming, perhaps. Could it be he was getting comfortable? Settled, maybe? There couldn’t be that much competition for him at the top. He needed to watch that, though: the air up there’s pretty thin, I hear.
Said, ‘A man can climb to great heights but he cannot dwell there long.’
Bit of a stammer: ‘What’s that, a riddle? Always with the riddles ye are, Dury.’
I smiled into the phone. ‘Close. A quote.’
‘Y’wha’?’
‘Never mind. Look, I’m sure you’re not the type to forget old friends, Fitz, but in case you’re thinking of coming the Big I Am-’
He put the volume up a notch, blasted, ‘Hang on, Dury, we’re well and truly quits, boyo. Don’t start playing the old pals act with me, don’t even be considering that now.’
I let the line fizz. Few seconds of static stretched out.
‘Okay, Fitz… I hear you. Truth told, I’m messing with you.’
A laugh; forced one. ‘Christ, there’s a first.’
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. I could feel the muscles tightening in my throat. ‘But…’
‘Hah… I knew it. Isn’t there always one of them with ye!’
I battened it down, went Zen. ‘Fitz, we need to talk.’
‘Oh we do, do we now?’
‘I’m not fucking about here.’
‘Well, that’s another first.’
‘I’m serious. It’s Gillian Laird’s son… I’m on the case.’
I could almost hear him hissing. ‘Oh, feckin’ hellfire, Dury, what in the name of Christ are ye doing there?’
‘Look, Fitz, there’s more to this than-’
‘I have absolutely nothing to say.’ He spoke through clenched teeth, I pictured him squeezing the receiver. ‘I am not about to discuss official police business with you… not now, not ever.’
His voice was pitched for an audience. I put in the hook. ‘I have something for you.’
Silence. Then, ‘Like I say, I cannot discuss-’
‘Meet me on the Walk… Thursday lunchtime in Robbie’s Bar.’
‘There will be no meeting. The case is an official police matter and will proceed as such, in the proper manner!’
He clicked off.
I watched the call time flash. Broke three minutes: think it was a record.
My coffee came, fired down with a free dose of derision and a roll of eyes behind thatched fringe. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement; took up the coffee, drained a good slug and waved him along with the back of my hand. Little shitkicker was working on my last nerve. He pushed his luck any further with me, he’d be sampling one of those jumbo cookies… as a suppository.
Was turning the cap on my half-bottle when the door swung.
‘Fucking typical!’ said Amy.
‘Wha’?’
‘Jesus Christ… is it not a bit early for that?’
The only other drink I had was the Black Heart; if it was too early for the scoosh, it was definitely too early for the rum, said, ‘Don’t think so.’
She shook her head, ordered up a mineral water, sparkling one.
‘So, you been missing me, Gus?’
She had a beam on her that wouldn’t look out of place on a Seacat’s searchlight. Her smile fair dazzled me. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ I played up to her.
Amy sat, she wore black skinny jeans with a very high turn-up. As she crossed her legs her thigh made an arch beneath the denim. She was pretty toned. In case I doubted it she took off her jacket – top so tight I could count her ribs, and a couple of other protuberances. Jesus, she was looking fit. A warning light flashed behind my eyes; but I told myself there was no harm in looking. I could handle Amy. Sure I could.
‘Actually… I’m mixing business with pleasure,’ I said.
‘Pleasure…’ She rolled the word over her lips, pouted.
‘More business, really.’
She flung back her head, laughed, clapped her hands together. ‘Oh fuck, Gus, get over yourself. I’m only playing with you.’
I had a laugh at that myself. We’d broke the ice. Amy’s mineral water came. She twisted the cap, then tucked her dark hair behind her ear as she sipped.
‘You still at the uni?’ I asked.
She rolled her eyes, kept drinking. When she removed the bottle from her lips, she took a deep breath, said, ‘Uni… yeah, why?’
‘I’m on a case.’
Her expression hardened. ‘Oh, shit… not Bender Ben, is it?’
‘Come again?’
She put the cap on her water, leaned in. ‘Ben Laird… the actress’s son.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Knew
I took a blast of whisky-laced coffee, said, ‘
Amy rolled her eyes again and made a wanker gesture with her hand. ‘Y’know… spoiled little rich kid with a big fucking ego… thought himself the dog’s bollocks. He was one of those high-visibility twats, y’know the type.’
I sure did. ‘Flash arsehole?’
‘Got it in one.’
Amy looked out into the street, her eyes widening a little. ‘Still… couldn’t have been happy: hanged himself,
