Robert Parker - Snow Storm

“No!” he shouted. “Neither of us knows more than the other did. We were in this together. We just wanted the laptop.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“I don’t even know right. That’s the thing. He didn’t say. We just knew he was working for the Russian.”

“The Russian?” Both the detectives’ ears pricked up at this.

Burke who had begun to daydream a little along with the soundtrack was now fully focussed on the ginger youth. “What Russian Stuart?”

“I don’t know that. I just know the lawyer said it would be bad for us if we didn’t get it.”

“What lawyer?” Jones asked, watching Jamieson who had been on the verge of sleeping come back to life.

“Posh wanker, expensive suit, called himself John Smith or Joe Bloggs or something stupid like that.”

Giles was not a man accustomed to being taken or indeed held hostage. Was that what he was? They’d knocked him around a bit. He’d complained, told them to watch the suit, given them as good as he got, verbally if not physically. The smack on the side of the head had put a stop to that. Fucking barbarians, they should be in a salt mine somewhere east of the back end of snow covered fucking nowhere, or better still in a shallow grave, anywhere.

He was also quite unaccustomed to losing control of his bowels, not that it seemed to matter now that he was in a distinctly agricultural looking building. Was this how long it took to reduce everyone to their lowest ebb? Were they all animals not so very deep down after all? This must be what the inevitable decline was like, sitting in the dark with shitty trousers and the urge to cry, full circle right back to where you started.

Oh how the mighty had fallen. Now all he was concerned with was basic survival, never mind which Rolex to wear to which event or which tie to wear on any given day. Social niceties were out the window. Could he bargain his way out of this one, grovel maybe? He doubted his client would care much for that. He seemed a man of principle, fucked up and misguided principle, but principle nonetheless. His moral compass was pointing south or something.

What did it matter? He would try anything. He should be angry. Who the hell had the right to put him in a position like this anyway?

The kid was there he was sure, behind him in the dark somewhere. Now the boot was on the other foot. He didn’t feel guilty. You paid your money, you took your chance. That was what his father always said. You couldn’t be expected to look out for everyone else. It was a jungle out there, more so than he’d ever imagined after all.

There must be a way out of this was the thought that kept bouncing round his head like some desperate mantra he couldn’t or wouldn’t shift. It was a survival instinct but also one born of habit. He’d never been in this situation, never felt close to the end and so he wasn’t equipped to deal with it. His brain could not recognise or process it.

He talked himself up. He could do this. He could hustle his way out, like he’d seen his father do all his life. Though he’d denied it many times, he was sure the apple never fell that far from the tree. He must have it in him.

The kid behind him snuffled, presumably snoring in some way. Just as well considering what was in store for him. He heard the footsteps outside, felt the grumbling roar of the great steel door.

The client stood amongst his mercenaries. His face was empty. The bolt cutters in his left hand said more than any facial expression, body language or words ever could. Giles felt his confidence drain. He was no longer a hustler, probably never was. He knew that now.

They were assembled at the rugby ground as usual, for the twice weekly training version of kicking the shit out of each other.

Davie hadn’t been there in months. He was usually in some kind of pride related dilemma he realised. It did seem to be his Achilles heel. He watched from a distance at first, not that that made him seem any less stupid. The car park was up on the hill above the pitch and could be seen by anyone with functioning eyes and it wasn’t like he could be here for any other reason than wanting to talk to his former team mates.

He waited some more though, inspecting his feet, like he was a kid again and his parents had ordered him to apologise to someone for some perceived misdemeanour, which seemed to happen a lot.

Eventually he realised the training session was finishing up and made his approach. Graeme and big Al were the first ones to spot him.

“Training must be over lads. There’s the fat lady and I think she’s about to sing,” Graeme shouted.

“I know for a fact you’ve woken up with worse,” Davie replied.

“He has that,” Al agreed. “What brings you here anyway?”

“Oh nothing much. Just wondered if anyone fancied a beer.”

“Sounds good to me,” Al replied, some of the others nodding their approval along with him. “I take it you’re buying?”

They headed into Wigtown and made for the Grapes, thinking the pool table might be quiet. He got in the first round in order to buy some good will and waited until they were on drink number four to get down to business.

“You got something on your mind?” Al asked, as he tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject and gave himself away.

“Kind of, aye,” he replied. “Does your dad still do those stag parties?”

Campbell appeared in the car park, after Jones had finished her fag and headed inside, leaving Burke to stand in the icy December air, trying to inhale as much as possible in a crude token attempt to cool down his cardiovascular system.

“Better watch that one boss, she’ll have your job next,” he said, seemingly watching Jones walk away.

“Really?” was all Burke could bring himself to say in response.

“Oh yeah. Ambitious one that one,” he confirmed.

“I’m wondering at what point that became a bad thing,” Burke replied, “Or is that just something you reserve for female officers?”

“You ok boss?”

“Oh I’m grand. Are you ok?”

“Not too bad. Could always be better, but that’s just the way it goes.”

“Is it?” Burke asked, fixing the Detective Sergeant with glare.

“Ehm, yeah,” Campbell said, looking a little unsure of himself.

“So what have you got to say then?”

“Sorry?”

“Well you’ve always got something to say for yourself haven’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Out with it then?”

“Well, I was just going to say that a source of mine mentioned something about the drug scene at the moment and a certain level of fear regarding the possibility of losing their head, shall we say.”

“Source.” Burke began laughing. “Source.”

Campbell smiled. “Wasn’t really sure if it was worth mentioning or not to be honest.

“And by source I take it to mean dealer, I imagine.”

“We have sources all over sir . You know that.”

“Yes but we don’t buy their products do we. That’s the thing. Because it doesn’t really make us any good at our jobs or anything else for that matter does it. In fact it tends to mess up our lives doesn’t it?”

Campbell shrugged. “You should probably think about the scene you’re in danger of causing right now,” he said, with a wink.

Burke shot forward, shoving his chest and slamming him into the wall, then followed through with an uppercut just below the rib cage. He pinned him by the throat with his right forearm as his body went limp at the knees. “You should think more about the consequences of your actions.”

Campbell laughed. “Says you.”

Burke tightened his grip. “I’ll kill you.”