able to follow your nose from him back to Hyde’s.’
‘You killed him?’
‘We killed him, John. Which is a pity. I liked James. He was a good friend.’
‘Well, you have lots of friends, don’t you?’
There was laughter now, but the voice was level, elegiac almost. ‘Yes, I suppose they’d have a job finding a judge to try me, an advocate to prosecute me, fifteen good men and true to stand as jury. They’ve all been to Hyde’s. All of them. Looking for a game with just a little more edge than those played upstairs. I got the idea from a friend in London. He runs a similar establishment, though perhaps with a less sharp edge than Hyde’s. There’s a lot of new money in Edinburgh, John. Money for all. Would you like money? Would you like a sharper edge to your life? Don’t tell me you’re happy in your little flat, with your music and your books and your bottles of wine.’ Rebus’s face showed surprise. ‘Yes, I know quite a bit about you, John. Information is
Rebus leaned his head against the mirror. His voice was a near whisper.
‘Your fees are too high.’
‘What’s that?’ Andrews’ voice seemed closer than ever, his breathing almost audible. Rebus’s voice was still a whisper.
‘I said your fees are too high.’
Suddenly, he pulled back an arm, made a fist, and pushed straight through the mirror, shattering it. Another trick from his SAS training. Don’t punch at something; always punch through, even if it’s a brick wall you’re attacking. Glass splintered around him, digging into the sleeve of his jacket, seeking flesh. His fist uncurled, became a claw. Just through the mirror, he found Andrews’ throat, clamped it, and hauled the man forward. Andrews was shrieking. Glass was in his face, flakes of it in his hair, his mouth, prickling his eyes. Rebus held him close, teeth gritted.
‘I said,’ he hissed, ‘your fees are too high.’ Then he brought his other hand into a fresh new fist and placed a blow on Andrews’ chin, releasing him so that the unconscious figure fell back into the room.
Rebus pulled off the useless shoe and tapped away the shards of glass which still clung around the edges of the frame. Then, carefully, he hauled himself through into the room, went to the door, and opened it.
He saw Tracy immediately. She was standing hesitantly in the middle of the boxing ring, arms hanging by her sides.
‘Tracy?’ he said.
‘She may not hear you, Inspector Rebus. Heroin can do that, you know.’
Rebus watched as Malcolm Lanyon stepped out from the shadows. Behind him were two men. One was tall, well built for a man of his mature years. He had thick black eyebrows and a thick moustache tinged with silver. His eyes were deep-set, his whole face louring. He was the most Calvinist-looking thing Rebus had ever seen. The other man was stouter, less justified in his sinning. His hair was curly but thinning, his face scarred like a knuckle, a labourer’s face. He was leering.
Rebus stared at Tracy again. Her eyes were like pinpoints. He went to the ring and climbed in, hugging her to him. Her body was totally compliant, her hair damp with sweat. She might have been a life-sized rag doll for all the impetus in her limbs. But when Rebus held her face so that she had to look back at him, her eyes glimmered, and he felt her body twitch.
‘My edge,’ Lanyon was saying. ‘It seems I needed it.’ He glanced towards the room where Andrews was lying unconscious. ‘Finlay said he could handle you himself. Having seen you last night, I doubted that.’ He beckoned to one of the men. ‘See if Finlay’s going to be all right.’ The man headed off. Rebus liked the way the odds were going.
‘Would you care to step into my office and talk?’ he said.
Lanyon considered this, saw that Rebus was a strong man, but that he had his hands full with the girl. Also, of course, Lanyon had his men, while Rebus was alone. He walked to the ring, grabbed onto a rope, and hauled himself up and in. Now, face to face with Rebus, he saw the cuts on Rebus’s arm and hand.
‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘If you don’t get those seen to….’
‘I might bleed to death?’
‘Exactly.’
Rebus looked down at the canvas, where his own blood was making fresh stains beside those of nameless others. ‘How many of them died in the ring?’ he asked.
‘I really don’t know. Not many. We’re not animals, Inspector Rebus. There may have been the occasional … accident. I seldom came to Hyde’s. I merely introduced new members into it.’
‘So when do they make you a judge?’
Lanyon smiled. ‘Not for a considerable time yet. But it will happen. I once attended a club similar to Hyde’s in London. Actually, that’s where I met Saiko.’ Rebus’s eyes widened. ‘Oh yes,’ Lanyon said, ‘she’s a very versatile young woman.’
‘I suppose Hyde’s has given you and Andrews carte blanche throughout Edinburgh?’
‘It has helped with the odd planning application, the odd court case just happening to go the right way, that sort of thing.’
‘So what happens now that I know all about it?’
‘Ah, well, you needn’t worry there. Finlay and I see a long-term future for you in the development of Edinburgh as a great city of commerce and industry.’ The guard below chuckled.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rebus. He could feel Tracy’s body tensing, growing strong again. How long it would last he couldn’t know.
‘I mean,’ Lanyon was saying, ‘that you could be preserved in concrete, supporting one of the new orbital roads.’
‘You’ve done that before, have you?’ The question was rhetorical; the goon’s chuckle had already answered it.
‘Once or twice, yes. When there was something that needed clearing away.’
Rebus saw that Tracy’s hands were slowly closing into fists. Then the goon who had gone to see Andrews came back.
‘Mr Lanyon!’ he called. ‘I think Mr Andrews is pretty bad!’
Just then, as Lanyon turned from them, Tracy flew from Rebus with a terrifying shriek and swung her fists in a low arc, catching Lanyon with a sickening thump between his legs. He didn’t so much fall as deflate, gagging as he went, while Tracy stumbled, the effort having been too great, and fell to the canvas.
Rebus was quick, too. He grabbed Lanyon and pulled him upright, locking his arm behind his back with one hand while the other hand went to his throat. The two heavies made a move towards the ring, but Rebus dug his fingers into Lanyon’s flesh just a little deeper, and they hesitated. There was a moment’s stalemate before one of them made a dash for the stairs, closely followed by his partner. Rebus was breathing heavily. He released his grip on Lanyon and watched him crumple to the floor. Then, standing in the centre of the ring, he counted softly to ten — referee style — before raising one arm high into the air.
Upstairs, things had quietened down. The staff were tidying themselves up, but held their heads high, having acquitted themselves well. The drunks — Holmes, McCall, McGrath and Todd — had been seen off, and Paulette was smoothing the rumpled atmosphere with offers of free drinks all round. She saw Rebus coming through the door of Hyde’s, and froze momentarily, then turned back into the perfect hostess, but with her voice slightly less warm than before, and her smile counterfeit.
‘Ah, John.’ It was Superintendent Watson, glass still in hand. ‘Wasn’t that a tussle? Where did you disappear to?’
‘Is Tommy McCall around, sir?’
‘Somewhere around, yes. Heard the offer of a free drink and headed in the direction of the bar. What have you done to your hand?’
Rebus looked down and saw that his hand was still bleeding in several places.
‘Seven years bad luck,’ he said. ‘Do you have a minute, sir? There’s something I’d like to show you. But first I need to phone for an ambulance.’
