Tony Black - Long Time Dead

As we got out of the van I wondered if we’d suddenly changed seasons – summer to winter. I started to shiver uncontrollably. My neck froze; I felt my stomach tightening. I blamed the stress of the situation. I was worried about Amy, said, ‘I really need a drink.’

‘Will you shut up about drink,’ said Hod, ‘Do you not remember why we’re here?’

‘I really do need a swally… my insides are burning.’

Mac grabbed the front of my coat, pulled me towards him. ‘Right, get this straight… we’re not here for a session.’

Hod stood at his shoulder. The pair of them looked ready to pound me into the ground when the doors of a blue Bedford sprung open and four or five pugs poured out. A burgundy Daimler that had been parked opposite pulled up. In the front passenger seat I could see Shaky waving arms and pointing at the three of us. In the next second my arms were put up my back and my face was spun towards the side of the Bedford.

Hod and Mac followed me as we were thrown into the back of the van. As we righted ourselves, the lumps parted to let Shaky through. Gemmill and Amy came close behind him; she’d been crying, black mascara running down her cheeks. I tried to go to her but got held back.

‘Gus!’ Amy yelled out.

‘All right… you’ve got us, you can let the lassie go, Shaky,’ I yelled.

Shaky came forward, put a shoe on the edge of the van, leaned in, ‘Where’d you get the balls tae tell me to do anything, ye cunt? You’ve got right up my fucking nose, d’ye know that?’ He pointed a tanned finger at me. ‘You’ll be fucking lucky no’ to be wearing your arse as a hat by the time I’m finished with ye, Dury!’

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, Give me an excuse, and you’re in the ground .

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 Reservoir Dogs , one where Michael Madsen cuts the cop’s ear off… I couldn’t stop a hand going up to my ear in panic.

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.