Chapter 24
IT WAS A FAIR OLD drive. Could have guessed somewhere in the wilds of Midlothian from the time it took us, but with the windows blacked out it was a near impossibility. Hod and Mac sat in silence. Every now and again they’d make casual glances at each other, frowning. I knew my shakes were the cause of this. I tried to put my hands in the pockets of my tweed jacket but it made little difference. The tremors merely passed up my arms into my neck, made my head bob about as if I suffered St Vitus’s dance. I was a sad case and I knew it. The craving in my gut for alcohol was all-consuming. I could hardly bear a thought to our fate, though that scared me enough.
Tried a conversation starter: ‘Where do you think they’re taking us?’
Hod barked, ‘Oh, dunno… maybe Ikea for one of those all-day breakfasts, eh.’
Mac looked at me and curled the corner of his mouth into a cruel sneer. ‘Maybe better you just shut the fuck up, Gus.’
I wasn’t having that. ‘Look, it’s not my fault.’
‘Oh, stop pissing and whining. You sound like a ten-year-old lassie.’
I took out a hand, tried to point a finger. It fluttered like a leaf on the breeze. ‘Okay, I got Amy involved. I didn’t ask her to go after Gemmill like that, though, you can’t be putting that on me.’
The pair of them looked away, stayed quiet. I wanted to have another go, try defending myself further, but there didn’t seem to be any point. Told myself, if I got out of this in one piece, I’d be happy enough.
The Bedford’s wheels rattled over what felt like a cattle grid, then we were on a rough dirt track. The three of us were thrown about in the back as the road got bumpy.
‘This isn’t a good sign,’ said Hod.
‘We’re out in the fucking wilds… be blowing the kneecaps off us,’ said Mac.
I tried to rein in some sanity. ‘Christ on a cross, what have we done? Followed Gemmill… since when was that a kneecapping offence?’
‘You forget about the money I owe Shaky!’ said Hod.
‘Yeah… and he’s getting that – you still have time in hand.’
Mac arked up, lobbed an arm at me, grabbed my collar. ‘Are you away wi’ it? Do you remember who we’re dealing with here?… Shaky doesn’t need an excuse – he’ll fucking top the lot ay us for looking at Gemmill the wrong way, just to teach us a lesson!’ He threw me back down.
I knew he was right.
The brakes were applied, a loud screech as the tyres dug into dry-packed earth. I felt my stomach turning over; my mouth dried as I drew deep breath.
In a moment the door was flung open. A pug with a shaved head and bad prison tats on his face motioned us out. He had a look on him that screamed,
The sunshine hurt my eyes as I left the van. I raised a hand to shield the rays. Caught sight of Mac and Hod squinting in the full glare. Wherever we were, running wasn’t an option. Forget my current condition – there was nothing but trees and fields for miles around. The only concession to human settlement was an abandoned bothy. Shaky and Gemmill were walking towards it, Amy was being dragged behind them, teetering on high heels, by a heavy biffer in a black leather jacket.
‘Get fucking moving,’ Prison Tats roared at us, pointing after Shaky. We got moving. The ground was dry and hard, baked under the sunshine. My legs were weak at the knees. They buckled once or twice and I was prodded in the back by the pug. Hod and Mac kept eyes front, staring at the door of the bothy. As we got inside a storm lantern was being lit above our heads. The biffer had taken off his leather and was rolling up his shirtsleeves. I got a good look at the size of his arms: like Popeye on steroids. He had hands like clubs; probably been used for just that. I didn’t want to think about what was coming next.
Gemmill pulled out a chair. It reminded me of that scene in
Shaky spoke: ‘Get in here, y’bunch ay pricks.’ I watched him walk around the chair, wondered which of us he was going to put in there, who would be first to lose an ear. And then he sat down. He unbuttoned his overcoat; underneath he wore a purple silk shirt. With the white shoes and the quiff I got the impression he was trying to emulate his namesake’s appearance. Had to suppress a nervous laugh as I visualised him balancing on his toes and belting out ‘Green Door’…
Gemmill stood at Shaky’s shoulder. He held on to Amy but she struggled to free herself and eventually won out; she ran over to my side and put her arms around me.
‘Oh, touching wee picture… eh, Danny,’ said Shaky.
Gemmill looked sheepish, let out a nervous laugh. I could see he knew exactly who Shaky blamed for this turn of events.
‘What the fuck you after, Shaky?’ I said. The tone of my voice got the pug’s goat – he loped over and planted a fist in my eye socket. I fell like a sack of spuds. Amy screamed and dropped down beside me on the floor.
‘You fucking bastards,’ she yelled.
I sat up, gathered myself just enough to see Shaky laughing and Gemmill attempting to join in. ‘Listen tae me, Dury. I’ll be asking the fucking questions, eh.’ He nodded to the pug, who came and dragged me to my feet. ‘Now for starters, you can tell me why you’ve got yer wee tart keeping tabs on Danny Boy here.’
I felt my head spinning. I touched my eye – there was no blood but I could sense a shiner forming. ‘You think I’d be that fucking daft?’
Shaky looked to Gemmill, frowned. ‘You saying this is news tae you?’
Mac cut in: ‘Of course it was news tae us… why else would we be sniffing around Gemmill’s drinking buddies trying to find him?’
The pug made a move for Mac, thought better of it for a moment and the pair of them stood eyeballing each other as Amy jumped in: ‘Nobody told me to go chasing after him… I did it myself!’
‘Shut it, Amy!’ I said.
She flagged me down, went over to Shaky. ‘You know he’s been up to all kinds of shit…’ She pointed at Gemmill. He looked ready to bolt. ‘He was supplying Ben Laird with drugs behind your back!’
Shaky started to laugh. ‘Nobody does fuck all in this toon behind my back, darlin’.’ He stood up, walked over to Gemmill, said, ‘Danny here’s on my payroll and he knows a good thing when he sees it… unlike some.’ He turned back to Amy. ‘You’re a braw-looking lassie, hen. Ever think ay coming to work for the likes ay me?… Set you up in one ay my saunas no trouble.’
Amy spat at the ground. Shaky laughed. Danny followed suit.
‘Okay… okay… I’ll take that as a no.’
Amy started to speak again: ‘That’s not all-’ but I grabbed her arm, pulled her to me and clamped a hand over her mouth.
‘Wise move,’ said Shaky, ‘that lassie’s gonna get you lot into trouble… more trouble, that is.’ He looked at Hod. ‘Where’s my money, y’cunt?’
Hod stepped forward, went into his pocket and withdrew a manila envelope stuffed with notes – I knew at once it was the money we’d taken from Gillian Laird, to find her son’s killer. Shaky grabbed the cash. ‘What’s this, best part ay a grand?… That’s no’ gonna buy you much time.’
‘You’ll get the rest,’ Hod told him.
I could sense the wheels turning in Shaky’s head. He looked at Gemmill and then he looked back to us. ‘I want the rest ay this, mind…’
‘You’ll get it,’ said Hod.
Shaky pocketed the cash, started to button up his overcoat. ‘Oh, I know I will…’ he walked over to Amy, eyed her up and down, ‘one way or another.’
My fists clenched. I was ready to lay into him, but the part of the brain that deals with self-preservation was holding me in check. The pug pushed us aside as Shaky headed for the door.
‘One last thing,’ he said, ‘this Laird laddie… I don’t want to hear you’ve been poking about in his death again,
