Tony Black - Gutted

‘Sorry, boy… we’ll get you to a vet soon. Mac’s on the way.’

I just got my Marlboro lit when a torch was shone in my face.

I raised my hand, said, ‘You’re blinding me.’

A uniform stomped over. As he approached, the dog let out a bark — bravely, I thought, given his injuries. Had we bonded already?

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said the uniform.

‘I called you. I’m the one that found the body.’

He shone the torch on me again, ran the light up and down. For the first time since my fall I copped an eyeful of my new Leatherface get-up.

Uniform’s jaw drooped; his eyes didn’t blink. ‘You’re fucking covered in blood.’

‘I know… I, eh…’

‘You’re dripping in it.’

‘I fell and, well…’

He turned away, gave a groan, chucked up. I figured he hadn’t been on the job long.

More uniforms arrived; I pointed them to the corpse. There was suddenly a lot of movement about the place. Radios buzzing, people running back and forth. I pointed the way, retold my story twice, three times to uniforms. Then the big guns got rolled out.

I’d seen a suit like it before, in the window of Jenners, but I never dared to check the price. Like they say, if you need to ask, you can’t afford it. I remembered the make though, Hugo Boss — mob that made the SS uniforms.

Boss Suit strutted past me, shot me the kind of look I guessed he normally kept for Big Issue sellers on the Mile. He took some directions from uniform then followed the by now well-trodden path to the corpse. He kept his hands in his pockets, except for when he wanted to wave away his underlings, or point them in a new direction. He was big on himself, no question.

I followed to the edge of the clearing. There was yellow crimescene tape being rolled around the trees and a white tent being unfurled, but I could see everything clearly in the breaking light.

It seemed all straightforward: Boss Suit was leaving it to the shitkickers. Then someone handed him a plastic tray with the corpse’s wallet. I was close enough to see the change of expression from cocksure to shit-scared when he registered the victim’s details.

He wiped his mouth. It was only a few seconds, but telling. Immediately he dropped the wallet back in the tray, ordered the uniform away and strolled to the side of the clearing to make a call.

I tried to get closer. Caught the words ‘It’s fucking Moosey!’ Then he turned, caught me in his gaze. He lowered the phone. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I found the body.’

‘Dury!’ It seemed my reputation preceded me. ‘Well, well, well.. the mighty Gus Dury. I don’t know whether to shake your hand or bow.’

I tried a smile. Nah, wasn’t happening.

He walked over to me, checked me up and down. I got the impression he’d been rehearsing this bit. ‘Well indeed… I had you down as quite different.’

‘You did?’

‘Oh, yes… I didn’t have you down as a total fucking jakey.’

The dog squirmed. I did too.

‘Look, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.’ I held out my hand. It was covered in blood. Dark, almost black blood.

Boss Suit looked down, laughed. ‘I don’t fucking think so… Though, given I wouldn’t be standing here now if it wasn’t for you, maybe I should be shaking your hand, Dury.’

I saw where this was going: my last case had made some waves with Lothian and Borders plod. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’

‘No, you’re right. I was fucking fast-track; that wee shit storm you caused with the people-smugglers just sped things up. But if the force hadn’t shed a dozen-plus of the top brass, who’s to say I might not be poking about in the grass with those uniform retards?’

I looked away, tried to appear bored. Truth was, I’d heard it all before. I’d blown the lid on an Eastern European people-smuggling racket that was bringing young girls into the city, forcing them into prostitution. My discovery led to some big boys in the force being shown the door. The papers ran with it for weeks. I was the man pointing the finger but I sure as fuck didn’t get anything out of it. This prick, though, seemed to have done all right.

I fronted him: ‘Look, this is all very interesting, going over old times and all that, but if you don’t mind-’

‘What, the case in hand?’

‘Well…’

He smiled. Teeth dazzled me more than the torches going about the place. ‘I’m happy to take your statement… In fact, it would be my pleasure.’

He produced a Moleskine notebook, black with an elastic strap. He twanged the band, licked the tip of his pen. ‘Go on, Dury… I’m Johnstone by the way, Jonny Johnstone. You might be hearing more of me.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, I’d say so… But to your statement.’

He had me rattled and knew it; he was enjoying winding me up. I tried to calm it, but my nerves were shot. ‘I was just going down the hill after these yobs-’

A hand went up. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa… back up. What were you doing here?’

‘I was on a case… badger-baiting job.’

He burst out laughing, had to wipe his eyes, near toppled over. ‘Come again… badger what?’

I repeated.

‘Fuck me, Dury… you’re big time, eh.’

I was beginning to lose it. ‘Look, d’you want to hear this or what? I could just as easily have fucked off and left you to it.’

He straightened, put a bead on me. ‘Ah, but your sense of civic duty wouldn’t allow that now, would it?’

I turned away. ‘Fuck this.’

‘Not so fast, Dury.’

I swung back. ‘Look, I have a dog here that’s been shot at with air pellets. I need to take it to a vet.’

Another smirk. ‘Badgers, dogs… You’ll be doing Rolf Harris out a job.’

I moved off.

‘Stop. You’re not going anywhere until I’m well and truly fucking finished with you, Dury… and I mean finished.’

I stood still. I had my back to him now. He walked slowly towards me, then around my right side until he faced me. He said, ‘We have more in common than you think, Dury.’

I wasn’t biting, though he had my full interest. I let it slide. He seemed almost disappointed, went back to the job in hand, said, ‘So, these yobs… descriptions.’

‘I gave your boys the descriptions.’

‘And they were in a car, you say?’

‘Corrado, a white one.’

‘Probably not related.’

‘You seem very sure.’

He raised his brow. ‘I’m a proper detective, fuckface. Don’t even think of questioning my judgement.’

‘Are we done here, Detective?’

‘Oh, I think we’re done, don’t you?’

I nodded, said, ‘Good.’

As I turned he called me: ‘Oh, Dury… don’t be leaving the city any time soon.’

‘You what?’

‘I think you heard.’

As he walked past me he twanged the elastic on his notebook again, tucked it inside his suit. I clocked the lining: purple silk. ‘We may need to talk to you again… so make sure we can get hold of you, nice and easy, eh.’

The dog squirmed under my coat. I didn’t think he was trying to get comfortable, more like seeking a way to escape the pain of his wounds. I took a look: some of the deeper gashes would need stitching for sure. At a guess I’d say those little fuckers had been at him with some kind of lash before they got started with the airguns.

‘That’s a proper doing-over you’ve had, pal,’ I whispered.

He put those eyes on me again. Heart-melters. If I’d less to worry about, I’d be looking for those yobs, tearing them new arseholes, more than they could make use of.

The sky verged on fully lit now. I saw the blood congealed on my hands. It had dried in dark streaks; under my fingernails it looked black. I tried to rub it away and then, the worst, I got a waft of that smell again.