‘Bastard,’ the teenager spat.
Cafferty squatted next to him. ‘Bastard is the right word, bawbag. But a bastard who knows all about you. Knows you think you’re the dog with two pricks. Right now I could slice both of them off and leave you howling at the moon. Cockless Cole, your old comrades will call you. How does that sound?’
‘Better than being an old sweaty bastard with a gut.’
‘I sweat when I get excited. And to tell you the truth, I’d almost forgotten how the anticipation of GBH gets me excited.’ He placed one hand around Burnett’s throat and started to squeeze. Burnett tried twisting himself free to no effect, his eyes bulging as he gasped for air. Cafferty gave it a good twenty seconds before easing off. ‘Got your attention yet, Cockless?’
‘Untie me and try that again.’ Burnett’s eyes were filled with rage. Cafferty turned once more towards Benny.
‘He reminds me what I was like before I learned better.’ Then, to Burnett: ‘Anger’s all well and good, but there’s such a thing as the survival instinct too–you might want to start using it.’
‘Fuck is it you want?’
‘We want a phone.’
‘A phone? Is that all?’
‘The phone you took from the wee Chinese girl you thumped.’
Burnett thought for a second. ‘It’s long gone.’
‘Then you’re going to get it back.’
‘What do you need it for?’
‘I don’t–but she does. And you’re going to tell her you’re sorry.’
‘Am I fuck.’
Slowly Cafferty rose to his full height. He placed his right foot on Burnett’s left cheek and began to press down. ‘Shattered jawbone takes a while to heal. Milkshakes through a straw if you’re lucky.’ Burnett’s lips were mashed together so that Cafferty couldn’t make out what he was saying. Benny, holdall in hand, had taken a couple of steps forward, just in case he was needed. ‘I like you, Cole,’ Cafferty continued. ‘I like what I’ve heard about you. I think maybe we can come to an arrangement.’ He paused. ‘You know how things work in Dundee? Cuckooing, they call it. Find an easy target, set up a lab in their house, make the stuff quick and cheap and get it out on the street. Your hood’d be good for that–and I reckon you’ll know more than a few suitable locations. Give the phone back and I’ll bring you into the game. You’ll be a player rather than the ballboy. How does that sound?’
He didn’t ease his foot off, not straight away. But eventually he did. Burnett’s nose was running with a mixture of mucus and blood, his underfed chest going in and out, breath coming in broken rasps. Cafferty gestured to Benny, who grabbed the chair and righted it, none too gently. Burnett glared at his abductor, then at Cafferty.
‘Give me the other options.’
‘They’re right there in my associate’s bag.’ Cafferty nodded to let Benny know the holdall could now be opened and its contents made known to Cole Burnett.
Not much more than an hour later, Burnett was in his mate Les’s aunt’s place, swigging cheap alcohol, using it to wash down a few more pills. Nice buzz going, almost enough to distract him from memories of the garage. Les lived with his aunt. Burnett had wondered if he was even shagging her. They were related and everything and she had to be twenty years older than him, but she was still tidy. Les had always denied it, though, and whenever Burnett had tried giving her the chat, she’d told him to behave himself. She was out somewhere tonight and the usual crew were in her living room. The pizzas had been delivered. They had plenty of everything–except answers to the questions they were firing at Burnett.
‘Cafferty, though, man, what was he like?’
‘He give you that damage?’
‘Did you let him?’
Burnett hadn’t bothered wiping away the blood. He wore it to show them all who he was, what he’d survived.
‘He’s an old man,’ he advised them through swollen lips. ‘His time’s well past.’
‘What did he want, though?’
‘He coming for us?’
‘Better bring an army with him, eh?’
The can Burnett gripped in his right hand held super-strength lager. It had been out of the fridge too long and was beginning to get warmer than he liked, so he drained it. The voices around him took on the quality of chirruping insects. But there was another voice inside his head, and it was telling him to play along for now. Fetch the phone from the stash under his mum’s bed. Somehow get it back to its owner. Show willing. Be nice. He even had a few cuckooing houses in mind–he was sitting in one right now. Play along. Show willing. Be nice.
For now.
For now.
But not forever…
22
Ron Travis had kept the café open for them. Rebus had thanked him and asked him to sit in. The two of them carried trays over to the table, where Joyce McKechnie and Edward Taylor waited. Drinks and slices of cake were doled out before Rebus took his
seat.
‘I’ve been through everything in Keith’s garage,’ he said, ‘and done a bit of reading on the internet, so I know now that Keith thought Camp 1033 stood for all such camps, and that they showed us ourselves, good and bad. The good is that the community welcomed people like Stefan, Joe and Frank, helped them make their homes here. But on the other hand…’
‘The poisoning?’ McKechnie asked.
‘I was thinking more of the shooting.’
‘Ah yes,’ Taylor said, ‘poor Sergeant Davies. He’d been seeing one of the local women.’
‘Helen Carter’s sister.’
‘Indeed.’ Taylor turned to McKechnie. ‘What was her name?’
‘Chrissy. Moved south around 1950.’
‘Still alive?’
‘You’d have to ask Helen.’
‘A detainee had certain feelings for Chrissy,’ Taylor continued. ‘Jealous of Sergeant Davies, he grabbed the man’s own gun and shot him in the head. Went to the firing squad for it.’ He studied Rebus. ‘Nothing in Keith’s notes?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘Well, you’re right–it was certainly a story that
