away like.
It was as if the world deserved his violence, and would accept it because in every other way he was just fine, just perfect. The night Nic had met Catriona... he'd given Jerry a slap that night, too. They'd been to a couple of bars - Madogs, trendy but pricey, Princess Margaret was supposed to've drunk there, and the Shakespeare, next to the Usher Hall. That's where they'd met Cat and her friends, who were off to see some play at the Lyceum, something to do with horses. Nic knew one of the girls, introduced himself to the group, Jerry mute but keen beside him. And Nic had got talking to this other girl. Cat, short for Catriona. Not a bad looker, but not the best of the bunch either.
'Are you at Napier?' someone asked Jerry.
'Naw,' he said, 'I'm in the electronics business.' That was his line. They were supposed to think he was a games designer, maybe ran his own software company. But it never seemed to work. They asked questions he couldn't answer, until he laughed and admitted he drove a fork-lift. There were smiles at the news, but not much more in the way of conversation.
When the group headed off to their play, Nic nudged Jerry. 'Solid gold, pal,' he said. 'Cat's meeting me after for a drink.'
'Like her then?'
'She's all right.' A wary look. 'She is, eh?'
'Oh aye, she's rare.'
Another nudge. 'And she's related to Bryce Callan. That's her surname: Callan.'
'So?'
Nic going wide-eyed. 'Never heard of Bryce Callan? Fuck me, Jerry, he runs the place.'
Jerry looking around the pub. 'This place?'
'Ya tube, he runs Edinburgh.'
Jerry nodding, even though he still didn't understand.
Later, a few more boozers down the road, he'd asked if he could go with Nic when he met Catriona.
'Don't be wet.'
'What am I supposed to do then?'
They were walking along the pavement, and Nic had stopped suddenly, facing him, his eyes glowering.
'I'll tell you what would be a start - you growing up. Everything's changed, we're not kids now.'
'I know that. I'm the one with the job, the one that's getting married.'
And Nic had slapped him. Not hard, but the act itself shocking Jerry rigid.
'Time to grow up, pal. You might have a job but everywhere I take you, you just stand there like a drink of fucking water.' Grabbing Jerry's face. 'Study me, Jer, watch how I do things. You might start growing up.'
Growing up.
Jerry wondered if this was what growing up brought you to: the two of them, in the Cosworth, and, it being a Monday night, out on the hunt. There were Monday-night singles clubs, usually catering to a slightly older clientele. Not that Nic minded what age the women were. He just wanted one of them. Jerry risked a glance at his friend. So good-looking... why did he need to do it this way? What was his problem?
But Jerry knew the answer to that. Cat was the problem. The problem of Cat was there at every bloody turn.
'Where we going then?' he asked.
'The van's parked in Lochrin Place.' Nic's voice was cold. Jerry was feeling the boak again in his stomach, like he was breathing bile. But the thing was... once they got started, he knew it would be joined by a completely different feeling: he'd get excited, same as Nic. Hunters, the pair of them.
'Treat it like a game,' Nic had said the first time.
Treat it like a game.
And his heart would beat faster, groin tingling. With the gloves and the ski mask, and sitting in the Bedford van, he was a different person. Not Jerry Lister any more, but someone out of a comic book or a film, someone stronger and scarier. Someone you had to fear. It was almost enough to tamp down the dry boak. Almost.
The van belonged to a guy Nic knew. Nic told the bloke he needed it now and again for a bit of moonlighting, helping a friend shift second-hand stuff around. The bloke took two tenners from him and didn't want any other details. Nic had these licence plates, got them from a scrapyard. He'd fix them on with wire, covering the real plates. The van was rusty, a dull white respray. It didn't stand out at all, not when the streets were dark and cold and you were hurrying home, maybe a bit the worse for wear.
The worse for wear was what Nic wanted. They'd park near the nightclub, pay their money and go in. Plenty of guys turning up in pairs, nothing suspicious about them, nothing to mark them out from anyone else. Then Nic would pick out the tables with parties at them. He seemed to be able to tell which ones were singles clubs. One time, he'd even got one of the women up for a dance. Jerry had asked him afterwards, wasn't that risky?
'What's life without a bit of risk?'
Tonight, they drove around a bit first. Nic knew the club would be at its best come ten o'clock. The post-pub drunks wouldn't have arrived yet, but the singles clubs would be in full swing. Most of them had work in the morning, couldn't make too late a night of it. They'd stay till eleven, maybe, then start heading home. And by then, Nic would have picked one or two. He always had a reserve, just in case. Some nights it didn't work out; the women all headed off together or with partners, none of them branching off on her own.
Other nights, it worked to perfection.
Jerry stood at the edge of the dance floor, lager in hand. Already he could feel the surge in him, the dark excited tide. But he was twitchy, too, never knew when some friend of his or Jayne's would come wandering up. Jayne know you're here, does she? No, she didn't. Didn't even ask any more. He'd get home at one or two in the morning, and she'd be asleep. Even if he woke her up coming in, she wouldn't say much.
'Hammered again?' Something like that.
He'd go back through to the living room, sit there with the remote in his hand, staring at the TV without switching it on. Sitting in the dark, where nobody could see him, nobody point an accusing finger.
It was you, it was you, it was you.
Not true. It was Nic. It was always Nic.
He stood by the dance floor and held his drink in a hand just barely shaking. And inside he was praying: Don't let us get lucky tonight!
But then Nic was coming towards him, a weird gleam in his eyes.
'I don't believe it, Jer. I do not believe it!'
'Calm down, man. What's up?'
Nic was running his hands through his hair. 'She's here!'
'Who?' Looking around, wondering if anyone was listening. No chance: the music was just this side of the pain barrier. Orbital, it sounded like. Jerry kept up with the latest bands.
Nic was shaking his head. 'She didn't see me.' His mind was working now. 'We could do this.' Looking at Jerry. 'We could do this.'
'Aw, Jesus, it's not Cat, is it?'
'Don't be dense. It's that slut Yvonne!'
'Yvonne?'
'The one Cat was with that night. The one who took her along.'
Jerry was shaking his head. 'No way. No way, man.'
'But it's perfect!'
'Perfect's just what it isn't, Nic. It's suicide.'
'She could be the last one, Jerry. Think about it.' Nic checked his watch. 'We'll stick around a while, see if she hooks up with anyone.' He slapped Jerry's shoulder. 'I'm telling you, Jer, this'll be wild.'
That's what I'm afraid of, Jerry felt like saying.
Cat had this friend Yvonne who'd split up from her husband. Yvonne had joined a singles club. And
