Tony Black - Paying For It

‘Police — the Chief Constable?’

Fitz, raised his eyebrows. ‘Higher than that.’

‘What?’

‘I tell you, when this comes out, heads will more than roll.’

I wasn’t convinced. As if this kind of thing hadn’t been going on for ever. I couldn’t believe Billy got offed because he had some top-flight customers. Public execution just wasn’t their style.

‘Who is it, Fitz?’

He wiped his face. ‘I don’t know yet.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a conspiracy of silence. There’s names being thrown about like you would not believe, but no one’s putting their finger on it. I’ve got it narrowed down all right.’

‘To where?’

Fitz took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds. ‘The First Minister’s Cabinet.’

I went back to the Wall and showered. Tried to keep the spray on my mouth for as long as I could bear. The pain seared my gums. Burns knew what he was talking about when he wrote of ‘the venom’d stang that shoots tortured gums alang’.

I hit the painkillers. Double-strength jobs, two fiery arrows on the pack to emphasise the point. As I waited for them to kick in I dressed. Faded cords from the late eighties. We’d been through a lot together but they’d held in there. Lost a few belt loops and carried some sheen on the arse and knees. But I wasn’t trying to make any statement with them, other than, ‘Hey I’m comfortable, get over it.’ Finished the look off with an old grey Levi’s sweatshirt, soft as down. It sat under a blue checked lumberjack shirt, what the Seattle Sub Pop guys called ‘a flannel’.

I checked myself in the mirror. I looked like a Nirvana roadie. Then I opened my mouth. Nup, I looked like a Redneck, some trailer trash from the Georgia woods. I heard the cries of Ned Beatty in Deliverance, as the hillbilly shouted, ‘Scream like a pig, boy.’

I was out of gel. Most of my day-to-day stuff was at Hod’s, but I didn’t want to put in an appearance there until I’d checked in again with Col. I knew Amy would stick about there and I didn’t want her to see me with missing teeth and a set of racoon eyes. I’d already fired off a quick text, just to let her know they’d let me out, but I needed to switch off my phone afterwards. She was in safe hands with Hod, but had become more of a worry to me now.

I ran my fingers through the few strands of hair that sat up on the top of my head. Could do with cropping I thought. Maybe make a trip to see Mac again. He might still have the shooter, after all.

I tried to down a pint of water, but the effort was too much. I needed alcohol to stop my nerves rattling. This felt like the longest period I’d been without my drug of choice for at least three years.

I needed to go on a skite. Picked out all the familiar indicators. The room closed in on me. I paced up and down. Visualised a row of creamy pints lined up on a bar. My mouth dried over.

It’s always been about breaking the monotony for me. The skite’s just a purge. Life piles up, you get fed up, and so you go out and try to change everything. That’s where the alcohol helps. You want to be a different person, you want to blow your world up. And for a little while, alcohol lets you believe this is possible. Time stops as you rattle from pub to pub in an alcoholic haze. Slowly, the world as you know it ceases to exist. You’ve broken the cycle, you’re off the trodden path. It’s what it’s all about, keeping normality at bay. For a little while anyway.

The next day it’s like being woken by a ghost when shame settles on you. You wonder why you did it. Fear the consequences. Fear you’ll do it again. But, you’ve broken that cycle of boredom. And no matter how much you abhor the person staring back at you from the mirror, you know you’ll do it again because it works like a charm.

I strolled down to the bar. Col polished glasses with a small towel. ‘Holy Mother of God, what’s happened to you?’

I waved him off, said, ‘Pint. Chaser.’

The old gadgie with the drinker’s nose stood in place, smelling of piss, he approached me and spoke: ‘Howya doing, pal?’

‘You still here? Becoming a bit of a fixture.’

‘Better than a bit of a prick.’

I’d no comment on that.

Col placed my drinks down in front of me. ‘On the house.’

‘Thanks.’

I drank deep. Belted back the chaser.

‘Man, that’s a thirst and a half,’ said the gadgie.

I felt in no mood for conversation, said, ‘Is that piss I smell?’

He got the hint, said, ‘When you get to my age, no matter how much you shake, the last drop always ends up in your pants. Remember that.’

Dumbfounded, I watched him walk off and take a seat at someone else’s table.

‘What’s happening to the clientele?’ I asked Col.

‘He’s a lost soul.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

Col flicked the bar towel over his shoulder. ‘You look like you’ve had an accident.’

My mouth was too occupied to reply. I motioned to the empty shot glass, sunk back the pint.

‘Would you like another?’ said Col.

‘Would I ever.’

He poured out a Famous Grouse, left the bottle on the bar.

‘Have you eaten lately?’

‘I’ve been a bit… preoccupied.’

‘If this case is proving too much-’

I slammed down the glass. ‘No. Col, everything’s fine.’

‘That’s clearly not so, Gus. You’ve been beaten, badly beaten. What’s going on?’

I filled my glass up, right to the brim.

‘Let’s grab a seat. I’ve something to tell you.’

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I, eh… well, you might not like what I have to say.’

Col called over to his part-timer, told her to mind the bar. She popped out a Hubba Bubba bubble, teetering on heels as she walked over.

‘We’ll take the snug, I think.’

‘Would be best.’

‘ You want to get those teeth seen to, Gus.’

‘What teeth? They’re all knocked out.’

‘Have you a dentist?’

Christ, a dentist. The days of me having a regular dentist, doctor or gym membership sounded like a lifetime ago.

‘Debs used to look after all that kind of thing. No, I don’t have a dentist.’

‘I’ll give you the number of mine. He’s good, a German fellah, very good.’

I drew on the Grouse. Felt like it heated my soul, had forgotten how much I actually enjoyed a Low Flying Birdie.

‘So, you said you had something to tell me.’

I put down the glass. ‘I do, yeah.’

Col sat quietly, closed his fingers together. I’d never noticed before, for such a gentle guy, his hands were huge.

‘It’s all got a bit more… complicated.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘It seems Billy was up to his neck in more than I first imagined.’

‘I knew it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘How that boy could have done this to his poor mother, I’ll never know.’

I hadn’t even told Col what I knew and already he’d fired up.

‘But, Col, we don’t know the extent of Billy’s involvement yet.’

‘Gus, I raised him. I know my boy.’

I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be finished. I took up the story as I knew it. Mentioned all I’d found out. It seemed to me Col’s eyes glazed over. I wondered if he really did want to know the whole truth behind Billy’s death.

‘Col, is everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine — why do you ask?’

‘You seem a bit distant, that’s all.’

He shook himself, unclasped his hands. ‘I’m sorry. What you said the last time we spoke has, well — you know… it upset me a bit, I guess.’

I flattened my tone, said, ‘I told you, right at the start, Col, you don’t go digging like this without unearthing a few skeletons.’