Irvine Welsh - Crime

— I hated myself for that, Les. I tried tae get help, tae raise the alarm. I got those people tae come, but it was too late.

Les took a deep drag on his fag. — Have to pack these in, he said. — Naw, mate, you did right. If you hadnae got away they’d have taken their time, and the other boy might have, he raised his brows, — you know.

Lennox dipped his head a few degrees. He realised that his closeness with Les had never been compromised, that the years apart had only incubated it. Les hadn’t rejected him, they were just at different ends of that long, black tunnel that stretched between them. — Did ye ken that was the reason I became a cop? I wanted those bastards, Les. I still fuckin well do. If you knew how many mugshots I’ve looked at in my spare time since I joined the force. Every sex offender on our files, UK-wide. Nothing. That was why I got into Serious Crimes, to get that kind of access to those cunts. Tae hunt the bastards doon. But zilch. He shook his head. — Maybe they just vanished into thin air.

Les Brodie’s smile grew wider. — Yeah, maybe they did.

Lennox stared at him, agog. The cop in him rose to the surface, before he could stop it. — What! You’re saying that you—

His old friend let out a long, hollow laugh, dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it into the gravel under his heel. — Nope, I fuckin wish. For a long time I’d have given anything to have found them. But they’re no in ma life now. Dinnae get ays wrong, I hope they’re in a place where they cannae harm any other kids, but I made the decision tae wash my hands of it all.

— But how could ye?

— Because I have tae, Les said, reaching into his jacket, pulling out a wallet and a family photograph of his wife and children. — I’ve other people to worry about. I don’t want ma wife’s husband and ma children’s faither tae be a fucked-up bam. I need tae be there for them, no obsessed wi auld vendettas. Your girl, Ray, she’s a cracker. Dinnae lose her. No tae a bunch ay fuckin nonces, that would be the real tragedy.

You could hear words like those a million times and understand the sense of them, but until you were emotionally ready to embrace them, it was trying to sow seeds on a motorway. After another silence Lennox rose from the bench like a football substitute in injury time, no role but to run down the clock, and shook his old friend’s hand. Les stood up and pulled him close, but Lennox was stiff in his embrace, managing only a cursory pat on the back. — I need tae get a wee walk, Les, clear the heid, he’d said, breaking the hold.

— Want company?

— Naw, I’m awright.

— Ray? Les Brodie paused. — Let it go, mate.

— See ye, Les.

Lennox walked without realising where he was going; mud and gravel under his feet, the water roaring below him, the river visible through the threadbare winter trees. The tunnel ahead, now so small and benign to his adult stature. He walked into it, headed to the dead zone in the middle, wanted it to work its magic and transform him again. Change him back. Then he craved their reappearance, the three very human monsters who had changed the boy, to come back and face the man. Willing something to happen. Voices to start up. Anybody. Anything. — C’MOAN THEN! he roared. — COME OAN THEN, YA CUNTS! His right hand jabbed out, pummelling the big, unforgiving stone bricks of the wall. There was a halting charge of pain but he smashed through it, then could feel nothing but a sick throb in his chest, his hiccup-convulsive breathing, and watch the blood from his pulped fist drip on to the harsh ground.

He had no idea how long he sat in that tunnel, head resting on his knees, lost in psychotic ramblings, but Trudi and Ally Notman found him there. — Ray… oh my Ray, my baby… Les said you’d be here… Trudi began, before seeing the state of his hand, her gaping mouth freezing in the egg of horror.

But Les had known he’d be there.

See ye, Les .

And he resolves that he will try. When he gets back to Edinburgh he’ll look Les up. Take the friendship outside that glass storage tank while they still had time to enjoy it. He stretches out the fingers on his damaged hand. Picks up and clicks on the remote.

He is seized by the programme. The local Miami-Dade County channel: a show called Sexual Offender Watch . Mugshots of wild-eyed and stone-faced men designated either ‘sexual offenders’ or ‘sexual predators’ – Lennox doesn’t know the difference – are paraded on a loop with name, race, eye colour, hair colour, d.o.b. and accompanied with a cheesy supermarket instrumental version of ‘Caravan of Love’.

The revolution will not be televised, but the register will be , he thinks as he watches for a bit, but recognises none of the men from the nonce conference. They were all white, while almost everyone here is black or Hispanic. He laughs bitterly and clicks on the real-estate programme. A breathless female voice coos: — People who live in glass houses, then breaks into a forced frivolous laugh, — have more fun!

It seems that a luxury condo overlooking South Beach, Biscayne Bay and downtown Miami is twenty thousand dollars cheaper than it was last week. Then a new advert starts up, as a hunky, young Christopher Reeve-type sits at a table by a pool with a laptop and cellphone, finishing a staged call. He faces the camera. — At Bonaventure, the emphasis is on ad venture, and he rises and looks across to a pier where a boat moors, waving at the family who disembark and tie up the craft. The camera pans to the tower block. Then we cut to the luxury apartment and the man takes us around.

Trudi emerges from the bathroom, naked save for the towel round her head, looking at the screen as the chiselled-featured salesman says, — I’m Aaron Resinger and I’m not just selling the dream, I’m living it. That’s right. When I say this complex has the highest quality design specifications and is the ultimate in luxury, stylised living, its more than just fancy sales talk. When I built this place, I decided that I simply couldn’t find anywhere better to live. So come take a look, Aaron urges, then produces a full, toothy smile and with a minor self-deprecating shrug, adds, — and the neighbours are pretty darn nice too.

Trudi freezes and turns away from the screen.

— I’ll bet you’d fancy some ay that! Lennox says.

— What…? she gasps.

— Marble-top kitchen tables, hardwood floors, built-in mod cons, sun balcony, breathtaking views, boat moorings and car parking, I saw your eyes widen… Lennox teases, and his hand rests around the small of her back. The other grazes between her legs. — Hey… you think we might have time…?

She pulls away from him. — We have to get ready. We’re going to Fort Lauderdale to have lunch with Ginger and Dolores, and pick up Tianna remember, she says and switches off the television.

— Right… Lennox says reluctantly and heads to the bathroom to confer with other selves, who will all sing the same song.

Robyn had come through, making a full statement. Johnnie and Starry had been taken into police custody, no bail set. He’d be informed of the trial date, and would need to come back to Miami. There had been a number of charges made in three states. They had questioned him about the condition of one of the men they’d arrested, a James Clemson, who was found in a city hospital having been brutally assaulted. — I should imagine that bunch would turn on each other pretty viciously when it went tits-up, Lennox had observed, deadpan, to the interviewing officer, who had looked pointedly at him, but it was obvious that it was going no further.

Lance Dearing had made it as far as the ambulance before the lights had gone out. Technically he’d hung on another three days in limbo, his body eventually succumbing to the septic poisoning caused by the wounds. Lennox hoped he could feel every second and that they’d spared the morphine. For those who satiated their drives by handing out life sentences to children, he was short on mercy.