Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘I don’t remember Bannockburn, ’cos I wasn’t sodding there. And neither were you. We forgave the Germans for bombing Clydebank flat — that was only seventy-three years ago — and you’re holding a grudge from Thirteen Fourteen!’

Her eyes narrowed, then widened. ‘I know you! Kurt “The Mangler” Murison. You’ve got warrants out on you.’

He flexed his shoulders. Loomed some more. ‘Who’s asking?’

Stoney swore again. Stared at Logan with a pained expression. ‘Tell Sonja I loved her...’ Then he got out his CS gas and stood shoulder to shoulder with Guthrie. Put a bit of steel in his voice. ‘Alright, that’s enough.’

Everyone in the place turned to stare at him.

He cleared his throat. ‘Kurt Murison, I’m detaining you under Section...’

But Kurt didn’t explode. Instead he turned and legged it, battering out through the pub’s double doors.

Guthrie grinned. ‘Yeah, you better run!’

Logan thumped him. ‘Don’t just stand there, you idiot, get after him!’

‘Right.’ And they were off, the pair of them charging after Kurt, CS gas and handcuffs at the ready.

Steel grabbed hold of the bar again. Burped. ‘Was it something I said?’

Everyone else went back to their drinks as Logan joined her. ‘You’re a disaster, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Maybe it’s my perfume?’

Alec Hadden had eased himself closer to the door. Another five feet and he’d be gone.

Logan grabbed a handful of his collar. ‘Oh no you don’t.’

Hadden bit his bottom lip. Didn’t struggle. ‘Sod.’

‘Think you and I need to have a little chat, don’t we, Alec? Maybe you can share your world-beating porridge recipe?’ He dragged the thin man back to the table. Pushed him down in to a seat. ‘You want to make this easy, or difficult? I’m happy either way.’

Thin fingers drifted across the tabletop. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’ve got me mistaken for—’

‘Chris Browning.’

‘Ah...’ He stared down at his wandering fingers. ‘Right.’

Steel lurched up to the table and thunked three large whiskies down. Rocked in her chair. ‘What we talking about?’

‘Mr Hadden is about to tell me why he paid two prostitutes to lie about Chris Browning being a regular. Weren’t you Mr Hadden?’

Silence.

‘Or would you like to do this down the station?’

He shrugged one shoulder, curling into it until his ear was pinned against his jacket. ‘It was... you know... to counteract the lies?’

‘The lies.’

‘For months, that puffed-up frog-faced git’s been on the telly and the radio and in the papers, giving it doom and gloom, yeah? We’re going to have no jobs. No currency. No defence budget. All the big companies are going to leave us. We won’t be able to pay our benefits, or pensions, or doctors. Got kinda... fed up of it.’ His shrug swapped sides. ‘Thought it’d even the scales a bit if everyone thought he liked getting it rough from a pair of hoors.’

Logan stared at him. ‘And that passes for grownup political debate where you come from, does it?’

Steel threw her head back and laughed. A proper full-throated roar that set everything jiggling. ‘You wee dancer.’ Then she slapped Hadden on the back and pushed one of the whiskies in his direction. ‘You earned that.’

He pulled on a lopsided smile. ‘Thanks.’ Then a sigh. ‘Didn’t help though, did it?’

She gave his shoulder a shoogle. ‘Cheer up. Always next time. None of this once-in-a-generation bollocks, we’ve got what...’ She turned and blinked at the TV for a bit. ‘Laz?’

‘Forty-five percent.’

‘See? Forty-five percent. All we need’s for one person in twenty to change their minds, and it’s fifty-fifty!’

The smile grew a bit. ‘Suppose.’

‘Damn right.’ She held up her glass. ‘Slàinte mhath.’

Hadden clinked his drink against hers and they drank.

Logan took the glass off him. ‘So you’re saying you had nothing to do with Chris Browning going missing?’

‘God, no. No, all I did was slip a couple of quid to Elaine and Jane. Told them to phone the Examiner and say Browning liked it rough and kinky. Honest. Ask them. And that wasn’t till after he went missing.’

Logan just stared at him.

‘ Honest . I mean I know it was childish and that, but I wanted... It didn’t seem fair they were always trying to scare people and... it... the “Yes” campaign needed... I...’ Pink spread across his cheeks. ‘Sorry.’

‘You do know defamation is against the law, Mr Hadden?’

‘Meh, it’s civil, no’ criminal.’ Steel pushed Logan’s free, untouched, thank-you-for-participating whisky across the table to Hadden. ‘Our wee friend here wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, was he? Just wobble the balance our way a bit.’

‘Please. I’m really, really sorry.’

‘There you go: he’s sorry.’ She knocked back her Famous Grouse. ‘Didn’t even work in the end.’

Their shoulders dipped.

Up on the TV screen, they called the Fife results. “No”: 55.05 %, “Yes”: 44.95 %.

Only one more local authority to declare and that was it.

Hadden gulped down the free whisky. Huffed out a breath. ‘Look, can I... I don’t know... buy you a drink or something? As an apology.’

Steel beamed. ‘Course you can!’

Logan shook his head. ‘Going to need you to come back to the station and make a statement.’

‘Don’t you listen to him, Haddy. You go get your Aunty Roberta a nice double Macallan and we’ll say no more about it.’

‘Thank you.’ Hadden got up and went to the bar.

Logan watched him go. ‘You know he’ll try to do a runner, don’t you?’

But he didn’t. He bought three whiskies and he brought them back to the table. Shared them out. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I am. It was just... I dunno, stupid.’

Steel helped herself to a double and wheeched it down. ‘Ahh... Nice.’ She pointed at Logan’s. ‘You’re on duty, right?’ Then helped herself to that one as well.

‘Whoops...’ Steel’s legs didn’t seem to be working any more. Probably due to the fact that they’d be knee-deep in whisky on the inside. ‘M’fine...’ Her smile spread and faded and spread and faded, as if it was out of focus. ‘Cldn’t be brrrrr.’

Half six in the morning and the bar crowd had thinned out again. Now, only the hardcore remained — clinging to their drinks in much the same way that Steel was clinging to the table. ‘Whhhsssssssski.’

Hadden nodded towards the bar. ‘Should I...?’

‘No chance.’ Logan stood. ‘Whatever hangover she’s got in the morning will be punishment enough.’

Steel peered up at him. ‘Wanmorrrr.’

‘Don’t care. You’re going home.’

‘Awwwww...’

He dug his hands into her armpits, but it was like trying to pick up a pile of loose socks. Every time he got one bit upright, another bit collapsed.

Hadden hurried round to the other side. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

Between them they wrestled her to her feet. Then caught her before she hit the ground. Turned and frogmarched her out through the front doors and onto Regent Quay.

The first hints of dawn curled pale blue at the corners of the sky, doing nothing to overpower the docks’ spotlights. Half six, and Aberdeen was waking up. The sound of traffic picking up on the dual carriageway.

Hadden shifted his grip on Steel’s other arm. ‘Where to?’

Closest place would be Logan’s flat, but if she was going to puke she could sodding well do it somewhere else. Station, or her house? Hmm...

‘Back to the station.’ That way Steel’s wife wouldn’t be left wading through a lake of pizza-and-whisky vomit. She could owe him one.