Tony Black - Loss

He flicked up an eyebrow, pointed with his spoon. ‘I wanted to say… after our last chat…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I wanted to reassure you that, all we can, we’re doing for you.’

I tutted. I knew what doing for me meant to most of the force. I swung from gratitude to anger: I knew I was the only one moving this investigation forward. ‘Is that so?’ I said. I leaned in, placed my elbows on the table. ‘I’ve been doing a bit more myself since I saw you last, Fitz, and let me tell you, I’m not convinced your lot are doing enough.’

He raised his cup, slurped. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I slumped back in my seat, ‘I don’t see you all over the papers announcing you’ve made any progress, like you’ve found the gun or have a suspect for Michael’s murder… or Andy’s, or Ian Kerr’s either.’

That got him fired up. ‘Fucking papers.’

‘You’d be happy enough to have the press splash any good news about.’

He slammed his cup on the saucer. The spoon jumped. ‘There is progress, but I can’t tell you everything.’

I lurched for him. ‘Why the fuck not?’

‘Look at you… because you’re away with it, man! You’d go haring in like some mad heller and get yerself and Lord alone knows who else killed if I gave you a sniff of what I’m on to.’

I wasn’t wearing that, lamped in: ‘Why haven’t you busted the Czechs?’

‘For what? I can’t go around throwing just anyone in jail, especially foreign nationals. You want me with an international incident on my hands?’

I got up. I’d heard enough. I knew Fitz hadn’t moved the case on an inch since our last meeting: he was still sitting around waiting for the Undertaker to fuck up and get his next glamour collar. ‘I’m sure it’ll all fall in your lap.’

As I bent down to pick up the envelope he grabbed my arm. ‘C’mon, sit back down, Gus.’

I didn’t trust him when he called me by my first name. ‘Why?’

He nodded to the package. ‘That wasn’t the only reason I called you out.’

‘No?’

‘No, it wasn’t.’

I sat back down. ‘Go on, then.’

Fitz put a fat finger above his tie, stretched the loop wider, ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but… We had your niece down the station the other night.’

‘Alice?’ I wondered what she’d been up to now. Did I want to hear?

‘Nothing heavy: she’d had a jug of something with a group of the local young crew… The uniforms printed her, took her down the cells, but I drove her home.’

I panicked — how had Jayne taken it? ‘Her mother?’

Fitz shook his head. ‘No. No. I never told the mother, woman has enough on her plate, I’m sure… Very bad time of year for, y’know, this type of thing.’

I scratched the top of my head, let out a long sigh. ‘Thanks again.’

‘No bother. I’d keep an eye on the lass, though. She was a bit… emotional.’

‘Emotional?’

Fitz drew a deep breath, exhaled. ‘About her father… I’d say she’s struggling to get to grips. It’s a bad age for her; I know, I’ve got daughters myself.’

I thanked him again, nodded. Said, ‘I’ll have a word.’

‘Mind your family, Gus. Leave the investigation to us.’

I stood up, said nothing. Anything I thought to mention would only make him flare up.

He grabbed my arm. His eyes burned into me. ‘I mean it: think how they’d take another loss so close to home.’

I couldn’t bear to open the envelope from Fitz.

I looked at it: a padded manila job, dog-eared corners; on the front a white label with my brother’s name and a case number written in black marker pen. I couldn’t stop my imagination picturing what was inside, but I didn’t want to go there yet.

I remembered Michael lying in the mortuary, how pale he’d looked, so still. The small grey hole beneath his heart, barely a half-inch wide, where the bullet had entered, and taken his life.

I sat with the envelope on my lap, then brought it up to my chest.

‘Och, Michael.’

The blood was coursing through my arms as I gripped tightly to the package. I felt ready to howl out my hurt. I was ready to tear down the world that had taken away my brother. ‘I find who did this, Michael… I’ll kill them. I promise you. I’ll take a life for yours.’

I got up too quickly from the couch — black dots flashed at the edges of my field of vision. I needed another wrap. I took the envelope through to the bedroom and put it on top of the wardrobe. I played with the idea of taking it straight to Jayne, but I knew she wasn’t ready for that kind of shock either.

I fired some more speed, felt twitchy. The backs of my eyes itched; felt like scooping them out with spoons. Knew I was ramping up, raring to go mental. I’d reached the point where I just didn’t want to think any more about how things might play out; I didn’t care, it was an irrelevance now. The loss I felt was all-consuming. I was ready to start with the scatter gun; if I took down some innocents along the way, so be it.

I picked up my mobi. One side of it was covered in slap. I looked at the window ledge where I’d sat it and saw a thin layer of Debs’s face powder; there was an oblong imprint where the mirror usually lay. It looked like dust had settled, as though more time had passed than was possible; the image tripped me out. I dipped my fingertip in the powder and watched the sheen transfer itself. It felt like touching a ghost.

I turned away. Rubbed my fingertip on the couch as I sat down, then buffed my phone in the same way. The powder showed up on the couch like a shiny film of grease. I rubbed at it with my hand but it wouldn’t go away. I put a cushion over it.

I went into my contacts. I had two calls to make; the first to Alice went straight to voicemail. Thought, Fucking hell. I hate talking to machines, said: ‘Hi, kiddo, it’s Gus… Can you give me a call? Just wanted to check how you were doing. Is everything okay? Jeez, I don’t suppose you’d say, would you… Look, just go easy on the Scrumpy Jack, eh… I know what I’m talking about, here… Right, so give me a call, huh? Be good, Alice, I’ll see you soon.’

I winced at the pathetic tone of my message; I was trying too hard and I knew she’d sense that right off. I dropped the phone, got up, cursed myself and sat back down. I vowed to do a better job with the next one.

Ringing.

‘Hello, David Prentice speaking.’ I was surprised fat Davie had answered his own line, but then again, wondered why I should be — way things were headed in that place.

‘I’ve got a message to give to you, Davie.’

‘Who is this?’

I laughed down the phone. ‘Don’t play the wide cunt with me.’

‘Gus?’

‘Got it in one. Now let’s see if you can keep up that perfect score. I have a message for you from guess who.’

‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ He actually managed to press a note of indignation into his tone.

‘Fucking smart up, Davie… Do you really think I’m messing about? If you do, then maybe I’ve got to come and take you for another birl up the Craigs.’

His breathing faltered. ‘No. No. I’m sorry, I understand, I–I mean, who? Erm, Ronnie? Is your message from Ronnie McMilne?’

‘He shoots, he scores. That’s two out of two, bonnie lad.’ I lit a tab, let him hear the burn of it down the line. ‘Let’s try for a hat-trick, eh?’

Silence. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

‘Yes…’ said Davie.

‘Good, good. Now, your friend and mine, the happy, smiley Undertaker, has got it into his head to be fucked off about something… What do you think that might be, Davie?’

He paused; I could hear him scratch the stubble on his chin. ‘I know what that might be.’