Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

One last cry of, ‘PIGGY, PIGGY, PIGGY!’

The sound of that big black Mercedes pulling away now the floor-show was over.

And silence.

Callum cursed and panted and wobbled his way up to his knees, one hand clutching his tattered groin.

Sodding... for... ooogh ...

Deep breaths.

Nope. Not helping.

He scrubbed a hand across his watery eyes.

Dugdale lay on his front, one hand behind his back the other limp in the gutter. His face looked as if someone had driven over it with a ride-on lawnmower.

Callum dragged himself over and slapped on the cuffs. ‘You’re nicked.’

Ow...

‘Little monsters...’ Never mind saying thank you — no, that was too much to hope for these days, he’d only saved her life, not as if it was that big a deal — but did they have to take his sodding wallet?

Dugdale twitched and groaned, eyes still closed, the blood crusting on his battered nose. A swathe of red crossed his face, following the pepper spray’s less than delicate path, swollen and angry looking. Like the lump on his head. It was going to be impressive when it finished growing — about the size and colour of a small aubergine. Probably have himself a gargantuan headache when he finally woke up. Maybe concussion too.

Good. Served him right.

Callum pulled out his mobile, staying where he was — standing, hunched over almost double, one hand on his knee, holding him upright as he dialled.

Three rings and then a woman’s voice came on the line, sounding small and concerned. ‘Hello?’

‘Elaine, it’s me.’

‘Callum? Are you OK? You don’t sound OK. Is everything OK?’

He gritted his teeth as an aftershock rippled its way through his groin. ‘No. Can you phone the bank? I need you to cancel my debit and credit card. Someone’s snatched them.’

A sigh. ‘Oh, Callum, not your dad’s wallet...’

‘Don’t start, please. It’ll be bad enough when McAdams gets here, don’t need you kicking the party off early.’

Silence.

Yeah, way to go, Callum. Smooth. Nice and understanding.

He took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, it’s... I’m not having the greatest of days.’

‘I’m not your enemy, Callum. I know it’s been difficult for you.’

Understatement of the year. ‘All I get is snide comments, nasty little digs, and crap. It’s been three solid weeks of—’

‘It’s for the best though, remember? For Peanut’s sake?’

Peanut.

He closed his eyes. Tried to make it sound as if he meant it: ‘Yeah.’

‘We need the money, Callum. We need the maternity pay to—’

‘Yeah. Right. I know. It’s just...’ He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Never mind. It’ll be fine.’

‘And we really appreciate it, me and Peanut.’ A pause. ‘Speaking of Peanut, you know what he’d totally love? Nutella. And some pickled dill cucumbers. Not gherkins: the cucumbers, from the Polish deli on Castle Hill? Oh, and some onion rolls too.’

‘They stole my wallet , Elaine. I—’

‘I didn’t ask to get pregnant, Callum.’ A strangled noise came down the phone, like a cross between a grunt and a sigh. ‘Sorry. I don’t... There are times when I need a bit of support coping with all this.’

Support? Seriously ?

‘How am I not supporting you? I put my hand up, didn’t I? I took the blame, even though it was nothing to do with—’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s...’ Another sigh. ‘Don’t worry about the Nutella and stuff, it’s only cravings. I’ll make do with whatever’s knocking about here.’

He limped over to the garden wall and lowered himself onto it with a wince. Took yet another deep breath. Scrunched a hand over his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Elaine. It’s not you, it’s... Like I said, I’m having a terrible day.’

‘It’ll get better, I promise. I love you, OK?’

‘Yeah, I know it will.’ It had to, because it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

‘Do you love me and Peanut too?’

‘Course I do.’

A shiny red Mitsubishi Shogun pulled into the kerb, the huge four-by-four’s window buzzing down as Callum levered himself up to his feet. His crumpled suit and crumpled body reflected back at him in the glittering showroom paintwork.

‘Got to go.’ He hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

‘Constable Useless.’ A thin, lined face frowned through the open car window, its greying Vandyke framed by disappointed jowls. The chin-warmer was little more than stubble, matching the patchy salt-and-pepper hair on that jellybean of a head. ‘Do these old eyes deceive me? Did you catch Dugdale?’

Callum wobbled up to his feet, one hand on his ruptured testicles, the other holding onto the Shogun for support. ‘Oh: ha, ha.’ Another wave of burning glass washed through him, leaving him grimacing. ‘He’s been unconscious for a couple of minutes. You want to take him straight to the hospital, or risk the Duty Doctor?’

Please say hospital, please say hospital. At least there a nice nurse might have an icepack and a few kind words for his mangled groin.

DS McAdams raised an eyebrow. ‘I am shocked, Callum. Didn’t he have enough cash? No nice bribe for you?’

‘Sod off, Sarge.’ He let go of his crotch for a moment, pointing off down the hill. Winced. Then cupped his aching balls again. ‘Pair of kids got my wallet. We need to get after them.’

‘If I had to guess. The reason you’re hunched in pain. You have met The Claw !’ He held up one hand, the fingers curled into a cruel hook, then squashed an invisible scrotum. ‘Dugdale’s claw attacks. Crush and squish, the pain is great. Bringing hard men low.’

Callum stared at him. ‘They — got — my — wallet!’

The frown became a grin. ‘A well-turned haiku. It is a beautiful thing. You ignorant spud.’ He actually counted the syllables out on his fingers as he spoke.

‘For your information, Sarge , I’ve never taken a bribe in my life. OK? Not a single sodding penny. No perks, no wee gifts, nothing. So you can all go screw yourselves.’ He limped over to the back door and swung it open. ‘Now are you going to help me get Dugdale in the car or not?’

‘That’s the trouble with your generation: no poetry in your souls. No education, no class, and no moral fibre.’

‘Thanks for nothing.’ He bent down. Winced. Clenched his jaw. Then hauled Dugdale’s huge and heavy backside across the pavement and up onto the back seat.

‘He better not bleed. On my new upholstery. I just had it cleaned.’

‘Tough.’ Some wrestling, a bit of forcing, a shove, and Dugdale was more or less in the recovery position. Well, except for his hands being cuffed behind his back. But at least now he probably wouldn’t choke on his own tongue. Or vomit.

Mind you, if he spewed his breakfast all over Detective Sergeant McAdams’ shiny new four-by-four, at least that would be something. Assuming McAdams didn’t make Callum clean it up. Which he would.

Git.

Callum clunked the door shut, hobbled around to the passenger side and lowered himself into the seat. Crumpled forward until his forehead rested against the dashboard. ‘Ow...’

‘Seatbelt.’ The car slid away from the kerb.

Callum closed his eyes. ‘Think they turned right onto Grant Street. If you hurry we can still catch them: wee boy in jeans and a blue tracksuit top, wee girl in jeans and a red one. About six or seven years old. Both on bikes.’

‘You got mugged by toddlers?’ A gravelly laugh rattled out in the car. ‘That’s pathetic even for you.’