Howard Linskey - The Dead

‘So, apart from the crap fashion sense, what offended you about his presence? Seeing him twice in two days?’

‘It’s a big city,’ he told me. He meant the odds were pretty long on that happening.

‘A professional?’

‘Didn’t look like a pro but maybe that’s cos…’

‘He’s a pro?’

‘Exactly.’

Kinane couldn’t deal with a conversation as opaque as this one.

‘You’re saying he looks like a pro,’ he challenged, ‘because he doesn’t look like a pro?’

Palmer snorted at the absurdity of his own argument. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘Jesus H Christ,’ and Kinane shook his head, ‘you’ll be seeing spies on every street corner.’

‘But it might be nothing?’ I countered.

Palmer shrugged. ‘It’s probably something.’

‘You are itching to get out there,’ I said, ‘so go on.’

‘I will,’ he said simply, ‘just to have a nose.’

While Palmer was gone, Kinane, Fallon and I continued to discuss what should be done when Fallon found out who was behind the attack on Tommy Law, but my mind wasn’t fully on this localised Edinburgh dispute. I was just waiting for Palmer to come back into the building, probably with an unconscious, army-jacket-wearing, thug hanging over his shoulder.

When Palmer did return, fifteen minutes later, he looked troubled. I gave him a look. ‘No one out there,’ he said.

‘You sure?’ I asked him.

‘As sure as I can be,’ he answered.

‘Meaning he could be out there,’ offered Kinane, ‘he might just be better than you.’

‘Thanks for that comforting thought Joe.’ I told him.

I was sitting in The Strawberry pub with Palmer waiting for Kevin Kinane’s latest report when Maggot showed up, with his usual great timing. I like The Strawberry, which uses its location as the closest pub to the football ground as a fine excuse to paper its walls with framed and signed portraits of Toon legends old and new. I’ve been drinking here since I first blagged my way in as a teenager, in an era when its windows were nearly always boarded up. Like me, it has moved with the times and gone up in the world. I like the place, but I don’t like Maggot.

‘Bloody hell,’ I hissed, ‘that’s all I need.’

‘What the fuck does he want?’ asked Palmer.

Maggot pretended not to have noticed us at first, even though I had seen him clock me as soon as his ferrety eyes came around the corner. He went into an elaborate routine of looking down while he walked towards the bar, patting the pockets of his crumpled denim jacket, looking for cigarettes, a lighter and his wallet, all of which he took out one after the other, as if to reassure himself that they were still there. Then he stopped, looked to one side, clocked us, as if for the first time, feigned surprise and came over with a big false smile plastered all over his grubby face.

‘Alreet Davey,’ he said, like he was thrilled to see me. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Canny,’ I told him, ‘at least I was.’

He ignored this and asked, ‘Are you wanting another one like?’ as he nodded hopefully at our nearly-full glasses.

‘Yes please Maggot,’ answered Palmer, ‘that’s very good of you.’

But that wasn’t what Maggot meant, and we all knew it. Instead he just stood there looking part hopeful, part disappointed.

I took a twenty out of my wallet and slid it over the table towards him. ‘Get them in then.’ And those rodent eyes lit up.

Maggot bought the three pints and carried them unsteadily back towards our table, clasping them together with yellow, nicotine-stained fingers, spilling some of our beer in the process. I didn’t ask him for my change and he didn’t offer any. It must have slipped his mind.

‘So come on, out with it,’ I demanded, as he took his first deep gulp of beer, ‘what is it you’re wanting?’

‘Eh?’ he said, all innocence, ‘oh no, I was just passing.’

‘Fuck off Maggot. You were looking for me, you found out we were in here and you tracked me down, so what’s it about?’

He looked a bit worried, but immediately turned my accusation into flattery. ‘Eeh there’s no fooling you Davey Blake, sharp as a tack, that’s why you’re the boss, it’s just a little loan like.’ The words came out in a self-conscious rush.

‘Another one? Christ what is it this time? The horses or Sticky’s card game?’

‘Aye, well, a bit of both,’ he admitted.

We paid Maggot well, considering all he ever did for us was run the Sports Injury Clinic, our dodgy massage parlour on the outskirts of the city, yet he pissed away most of his wages on beer and betting. Maggot was a low-level operative in the firm and Bobby only kept him on the payroll because he was always loyal to members of his crew. He did have one skill however, and it had nothing to do with his day job. He had the uncanny knack of knowing virtually everything that went on in this city and that made him useful on occasions.

‘How much is it this time?’ I asked.

‘Five grand,’ he told me, with an apologetic shrug.

‘Which must mean you owe about three and you want the other two to try to win it back.’

From the look on his face I knew I was near the mark. ‘So I’ll let you have three and a half. That way you can pay your debts and survive until pay day.’

What was I thinking? Maggot was the kind of guy who lived off tins of beans and fried eggs, mopped up with slices of cheap, white bread. Every spare penny went down the bookies or the boozer. I knew he’d be betting that extra five hundred before the day was out.

‘Cheers man Davey,’ he said, ‘I owe you.’

‘You do,’ I told him, ‘but you’ve got to earn it first.’

‘Oh hey man, please. Sticky’s looking for uz, says I have to pay him today or…’

‘He’ll break one of your arms.’

‘So he says.’ Maggot looked worried, and he had cause to be if he owed Sticky. This was a high-stakes, illegal poker game we got kick-backs from. You didn’t go into that game without proper money behind you, unless you were as dumb as Maggot.

‘He’ll lay off you if I tell him to,’ I said, and Maggot grinned. ‘I might not tell him though,’ the grin vanished. ‘Like I said, you’ve got to earn it. Now, what have you heard about this copper’s daughter.’

‘Just the usual,’ he said.

‘Fuck off Maggot. I know you. You’ll know something none of us knows, so what is it.’

He thought for a long while. I knew Maggot well, he would be desperate to please me to get his money but he wouldn’t dare make something up. ‘Just that…’ he hesitated.

‘Out with it.’

‘She did a bit, you know,’ he said.

‘A bit of what?’

‘Just that she liked a bit of blow, you know.’

‘And who told you that?’

‘Just someone I know,’ he mumbled, ‘he knows all the footballers, says she used to go to their parties and that.’

Maggot was worried I wouldn’t believe him. The poor young copper’s daughter had been painted as a blushing virgin in the Press and he was saying the opposite, but the link to the footballers corroborated what Golden Boots had told us. Doing a bit of coke tended to come with the territory when he was involved.

‘And how could she afford that, I wonder?’ I asked him.

‘Well I don’t think she had to pay for any of it, but she was a game girl. She knew how it worked.’

‘Now then Maggot!’ shouted Kevin Kinane, slapping a huge hand down on the older man’s shoulder ‘when did you crawl out from the U-Bend?’

Maggot hadn’t realised Kevin Kinane had crept up behind him and he jumped out of his skin

‘Fuck off, Kevin!’ he retorted, without thinking it through, which was a stupid move because I knew Kevin wouldn’t let that one go. He would wait till Maggot was on his own one day and give him a slap.