Tony Black - Paying For It

‘No, you,’ I said.

‘I got your message on my voicemail, I wanted to call but — what with your father being so ill, I thought…’

‘It’s okay. Cathy said you’d visited. That was kind of you. You were always thoughtful that way.’

‘I figured you’d have enough to deal with. Last time we spoke, you sounded stressed.’

‘Look, Debs, I’m sorry about that. Really, I am. Things have been getting on top of me.’

She looked away, rubbing at her bare arms. I didn’t want to stray back into old territory. She’d already spelled out her feelings to me. I stepped back, said, ‘What am I saying? You don’t want to hear my tales of woe-’

She cut me off. ‘Actually, Gus… Look, it’s bloody freezing out here, can we go inside?’

I looked towards the kirk; most of the mourners had filed into the hall, two men in trench coats, heads bowed, were the last to go in. ‘Tell you the truth, I can’t face it. But if you’d like to grab a coffee…?’

‘Coffee, nothing stronger?’

I shook my head.

‘Okay, coffee’s good.’

As we crossed the street, the rain started up. Not heavy, but impossible to escape. We took seats beneath an air heater, ordered two large coffees, Debs had a piece of carrot cake. Her expression looked serious. I didn’t see us doing the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp at the table.

A television played in the background, lunchtime news drew to a close. The arseholes at the parliament had spent the day in serious debate about whether or not to erect a Hollywood-style sign on the Holyrood Crags. Were these people for real?

The news kept one item of interest to the end, again.

‘I don’t believe it,’ I said.

Debs had a mouthful of cake, frowned out a, ‘ What? ’

‘Could you turn this up, please?’ I called to the waitress. ‘I know him.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Debs.

‘Benny Zalinskas.’

‘He looks like a gangster.’

I nodded. ‘That’s exactly what he is.’

‘And how do you know a gangster exactly, Gus?’

‘Not personally — not like that anyway. It’s the case I’m on.’

‘Case… you’re making it sound like work! It’s not a job, Gus.’

I shut her down, said, ‘One minute; let me hear this.’

The TV volume rose, Zalinskas’ trial was about to draw to a close. The jury, entering into deliberation, were expected to have a verdict inside forty-eight hours.

Back to the studio. ‘And now the weather.’

‘Fuck me,’ I said.

Debs put down her fork. ‘What’s going on?’

I filled her in on the case, left very little out.

‘That’s dreadful,’ she said, pushing aside her plate.

I looked out to the street. ‘I know… to think it’s all going on right under our noses and we’re powerless to do anything about it.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘No?’

‘Why are you getting yourself involved?’

‘Col’s been very good to me… I really felt for him. He deserves answers…’A cringe. ‘He deserves closure.’

‘But this isn’t your fight. You’ve let yourself get drawn into this and got yourself into Christ alone knows what.’

Her concern surprised me, but I wasn’t knocking it.

‘I’m not doing anything else.’

Her eyes lit up, she pointed at me. ‘Exactly. You had a name once. A name to be proud of. You were known for your writing, people listened to your opinions.’

I knew what she meant. I’d heard it from Col a million times. I’d even heard it, more recently, from my father. But those days were past. ‘Debs, who’d hire me now? I’m a burnt out case.’

‘That’s just what you tell yourself — keep at it, then that’s what you will be.’

I knew she was right, but it didn’t alter the end result. What she was selling, I just didn’t want any more. My life had grown meaningless. I’d lost the juice to fire any ambition.

‘You can change yourself, Gus.’

‘Can I?’

‘You can… you can be happy.’

‘You sound so sure. I’m not.’

I’d strayed into cloying sympathy. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted happiness for Debs as much as she wanted it for me. I said, ‘This is all wrong. I’m sorry.’ I called over the waitress, asked for the bill. ‘Look, thanks for coming to my father’s funeral, I’m sorry I faffed about so much with the divorce. I shouldn’t have lost that last letter. Get your lawyer to write again, I’ll sign whatever you want me to.’

A siren wailed from the street; Debs’s eyes flickered. ‘There won’t be any more letters.’

She motioned me to sit.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. ‘Neither do I.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t want a divorce.’

‘But… what’s changed?’

‘Nothing, though I’m hoping you will.’

Her face turned to granite. I wanted to see her smile, to pick her up in my arms, run down the street with her on my shoulders. But this wasn’t a cause for celebration.

‘I’m not sure I can do that.’

‘I’m not asking for much.’

‘Deborah… this is me, you know. What you see is what you get.’

She looked out the window. ‘I don’t believe that, Gus. I think there’s more to you than this… phase.’

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe a better life waited out there for me. And for her.

She was offering me a second chance and I knew I’d be a fool to knock it back.

‘So where do we go from here?’ I said.

Deborah’s eyes widened as she stared through the window. I turned to see what had her attention — two police cars had the street blocked off. The trench coats from the kirk walked towards us. Now I saw their faces, I recognised them right away as Collins and Roberts.

‘Angus Dury?’ said Collins.

‘You fucking know who I am,’ I snapped.

A badge flashed. ‘Lothian and Borders Police…’

He shoved my face into the table top. I heard Debs scream as my arms got pushed behind my back.

The cuffs went on, Roberts said, ‘Angus Dury, I’m arresting you on suspicion of possession of proscribed substances, dealing in laundered currency, aiding and abetting a criminal syndicate, attempting to blackmail a member of Her Majesty’s government and living on immoral earnings. Have you anything to say?’

‘I think you forgot jay walking.’

As uniform took over from Collins and Roberts I yelled to Debs, ‘It’s a set-up — I’ve done nothing.’

Debs picked up her bag and coat, turned away from me.

‘It’s all a set-up — Debs, you have to believe me.’

The wagon doors opened, the filth threw me inside. My last sight, before the doors closed, was of Debs running in the opposite direction. She held her hands to her face, attempting to stem the tears. She couldn’t even look at me. I figured the image would stay with me for a long time.

In the back of the wagon I felt a heavy boot to the gut. I curled over, then the batons came out.

I kicked out with my feet.

‘Fuck off, you pig bastards,’ I yelled.

The batons kept coming.

‘You fascist scum.’

A few of my kicks connected, but they piled onto me. As I struggled, hands grabbed at my arms and legs. Out came the plastic cable ties — they trussed me up like a loin of pork.

I could barely move, breathing became difficult, each gasp of air forced cuts in my wrists. The uniforms watched me squirm, then the batons got put away to be replaced by fists.

My new teeth became the first casualty. Spilled like glass beads on the floor.

‘Where’s the smart mouth now, eh?’

There’s no answer to that. Especially when your mouth’s full of blood, and you’ve just lost your second set of teeth in a month.