Tony Black - Loss

‘I’ve stayed in better workie huts than this,’ said Hod.

‘I bet you have,’ I said, ‘it’s worse than fucking Auf Wiedersehen, Pet.’

On the second floor the carpet ran out. We got down to bare boards. The rooms had more bunks, more greasy, filthy sleeping bags. Stacks of rubbish sat about everywhere — pizza boxes and KFC buckets, empty two-litre bottles of Sprite and Coke. Hod opened a cupboard, wheeled out a vacuum cleaner. ‘Bet this gets used a lot.’ He wheeled it back, saw the plug had been removed, laughed. ‘Explains it…’ He closed the cupboard door, said, ‘Surprised they never squeezed another bunk in there. Must’ve seen fifty already.’

At the foot of the stairs to the top floor, Mac grew restless. ‘There’s fuck all here, Gus. Is there any need to go further?’

I took his point: it didn’t look like there’d been much left behind. Wondered why Radek had even bothered to lock the door. ‘Well, we’re here now. Might as well check the lot.’

We took the stairs, Mac sighing as we went. There was less headroom on the top floor, but they’d still managed to cram in the bunks. At the end of the hallway lay a pair of rolled-up carpets, that had been flattened — a sleeping bag sat on top of each one.

‘There’s your carpets,’ said Hod. ‘Lifted them for a kip.’

‘This is mental. I can’t believe anyone lives like this in Scotland.’

‘Believe it, mate… Believe it.’

Mac had strolled off round the bend in the hallway and started to test the handle on a locked door. When we joined him he had the bolt-cutters on a heavy padlock that had been attached beneath the keyhole.

‘Aye, aye… What you found?’ I said.

‘Dunno, let’s see.’

The bolt-cutters went through the padlock as though it was made of plasticine. It clattered onto the floorboards. The door was still locked but Mac put his boot up — it caved in.

We entered the room.

A double bed sat at one end, a Playboy duvet cover on top. ‘Klarse!’ said Hod.

At the other end of the room a PC and a phone sat on a desk. A television and DVD player perched on top of a solid-metal filing cabinet.

‘Think we got the executive suite?’ I said.

‘Bang on,’ said Mac.

Hod turned out the wardrobe, dropped clothes on the floor. He looked to be enjoying it, even let himself tear the odd shirt pocket off. As Mac took the bolt-cutters to a padlock on the filing cabinet I rifled through the drawers running down the left-hand side of the desk and tipped them out on the floor. On the other side of the desk the drawers were locked. I took out the jemmy and bust them open. As they sprung out Mac called me over.

‘Any use to you?’ He held up a bunch of Czech passports.

I took a look at one of them. ‘What else you got in there?’ I walked over to Hod at the wardrobe and picked up a bag, dumped in the passports.

‘Dole books,’ said Mac, ‘some more passports… Giros too.’

I took the lot, stuck them in the bag. ‘Gives Fitz something to go on,’ I said.

Mac emptied the files, tipped over the cabinet. I watched Hod tear into a suit jacket as I went back to the drawers I’d just sprung open. They held more documentation, wage slips and written contracts, some stuff in Czech I couldn’t figure. I bagged it all, but I wanted something stronger, something to nail Radek with. As I tipped out the final drawer I found it. Mac and Hod turned with the heavy thud as it landed on the floor. I bent my knees and carefully peered over it.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ said Hod.

I leaned in, cleared away the mess of papers to get a better look. ‘What we have here is… a gun.’

The shooter was inside a sealed polythene bag. I grabbed hold of the corner and raised it. Mac and Hod came in closer.

‘Looks like an old Webley,’ said Mac.

I turned it round: it was a revolver, a well-used one. ‘Looks fucking ancient.’

‘It will be, aye. Lot of old guns like that get knocked off. You wouldn’t believe how many are still kicking about from the war.’

Hod spoke: ‘Why’s he got it in a bag?’

I wondered that myself. I edged the seal open, brought the contents up to my nose. ‘It’s been fired… I can still smell the burned powder — the bag’s sealed it in.’

‘Doesn’t tell us why it’s in the bag,’ said Hod.

I sealed it up again, my mind sparking, ‘There’s only one reason why you’d put it in a bag — to preserve it.’

‘Maybe wanted to keep it dry,’ said Mac.

‘In a fucking drawer…’ I was sticking to my hunch: ‘Somebody’s dabs are on this, maybe the person I’m looking for.’ I placed the shooter in the bag with the passports and paperwork. ‘I need to get this lot to Fitz, soon as…’

I felt an adrenaline rush as I headed for the door. I knew I had, potentially, the weapon used to murder my brother in my hands. My thoughts mashed. Did this mean Radek wasn’t the killer? There was no way he would hold on to the gun if he’d offed my brother, so what the fuck was he doing with it? There had to be an angle, but I couldn’t see it.

‘Gus,’ Hod called me as I reached the door. ‘You better check this.’

‘What is it?’

He pointed to the window. I walked back to the desk, looked out into the street — the black Pajero had pulled up. Behind it was a minibus disgorging a stream of hefty blokes; they headed straight for the house.

‘Shit.’

‘And you’re the one holding a shooter,’ said Mac.

‘Are you off your fucking nut? We can’t use that, it’s evidence.’

Hod stepped forward, nodded. ‘He’s right.’ He put a fist on Mac’s shoulder. ‘Have to be old school, mate.’

‘I knew we should have got fucking well tooled up,’ said Mac.

I tied a knot in the carrier, said, ‘Just stay calm…’

The front door opened, the sound of voices came rattling in. Heavy boots shook the floor beneath us. ‘Come on,’ I whispered, ‘follow me.’

I retraced the way we’d come in, watching over the banister to the blokes below. Their voices grew louder, blasting my ears with a language I didn’t understand. They seemed to be filling up the rooms at the front of the house, but I couldn’t be sure. I heard the bus’s engine ticking over outside and then the driver engaged the clutch and put it into gear. The diesel engine purred loudly then took off. A few seconds later the front door slammed.

‘They’re all in,’ said Hod. His voice was too loud; I flagged him quiet.

Mac nudged him with his elbow. ‘Shut up, man… You want to get us killed?’

I peered out the window. ‘Think we can jump.’

Hod shook his head. ‘We’re too high up… and I’ve got these fucking bruised ribs.’

Mac leaned over, whispered, ‘Don’t be fucking silly — jump.’ He patted his space-hopper guttage. ‘This doesn’t mean I bounce, y’know.’

I checked out the window again. The ground below looked frozen solid. I knew they were right: we’d break our legs. I felt my chest constrict; the most intense need for nicotine seized me. I couldn’t think. Mac and Hod stared at me. As I turned from them, I caught sight of a white hoodie moving on the stairs below.

‘Fuck, it’s Radek.’

Mac and Hod shifted over the banister, jerked back. They looked at each other briefly then returned their gaze to me. I felt my jaws clench. My mouth dried over. The image of Andy, the tongue cut out of him, came back to me once more. Fucking hell, this nut-job didn’t mess about. Something sparked: ‘Right, come on. Back this way.’

‘Gus, Gus…’ said Hod. He pointed to the stairs. ‘That’s the way down.’

‘I fucking know,’ I grabbed him by the arm, ‘but we’re going this way.’