Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

‘’S’at so?’ the man replied, clearly unimpressed. ‘Well, how did ye come in here, then?’

‘Andie’s Saunas was the place of work for two of these women,’ Solly explained. ‘Miriam Lyons and Jenny Haslet.’

‘Never heard of them, pal,’ the man said quickly. Too quickly, Solly decided, and he was forced to take a step backwards as the man bore down on him.

‘I was hoping to make contact with the owner,’ Solly went on, feeling just a shade intimidated: despite the fact that the man was older and shorter in stature there was something menacing about him that put Solly on his guard.

‘Well, now, maybe you should write a letter,’ the man sneered.

Solly nodded. ‘Yes, a letter. Well to whom would I write?’ he asked. ‘And does this Andie have an email address by any chance?’

The man stopped and blinked. Then, to Solly’s surprise, he let go of the vacuum cleaner and went around to the other side of the desk. Picking up the telephone, he dialled a number and waited, all the while staring hard at the psychologist.

‘Boss,’ the man said. ‘There’s a fella here tae see you. Name of Brightman.’

Solly waited, wondering if he was going to be handed the telephone and allowed to speak to the person on the other end of the line.

‘Oh, aye, ’s’that right?’ The man’s eyes flicked across to Solly with an expression of distaste. ‘Aye, aye … okay,’ he continued, nodding as he listened but continuing to regard Solly with what the psychologist recognised as suspicion.

Then, to his disappointment the telephone was replaced and the man jerked his thumb towards the door.

‘See if the polis want tae speak tae ma boss, they’ve tae come ower theirselves. Get it? Now beat it, pal. Ah’ve got work tae dae afore we open up.’

The man came around the reception area, fists clenched and Solly backed away, fumbling for the door handle and opening it swiftly.

He stumbled back along the lane, only glancing once behind him to see the man standing, arms crossed, watching him leave, a sneering smile on his face that made Solly shiver.

As he crossed back over Dumbarton Road Solly reflected that it might have been wiser to have sought out the company of a uniformed officer. But sparing such a person was hard since every single man and woman in the force had to account for how they spent their time. Babysitting the criminal psychologist was not part of their remit, he told himself, heart thumping. But, if he had not gleaned any information about the owner of these saunas, he had learned quite a lot nonetheless.

The man in the checked shirt looked to his left and right as he turned the key in the lock. Andie had not been best pleased at the news of such an unexpected visitor. Coming to the sauna as a punter was one thing but nosing around out of hours only meant trouble.

Micky Devlin pulled his coat around him, buttoning it hastily as he walked along the lane. He could still see the retreating back of the bearded professor as he walked along Dumbarton Road. The psychologist had no inkling whatsoever that he was being followed and that, just as he often watched other people, the man from the sauna was observing his every step.

Devlin’s eyes bore into the back of the professor’s skull, waiting for him to whip out a mobile and call the police. But nothing like that occurred all the way back to Byres Road and up as far as the university. Dodging nimbly between pedestrians, Devlin managed to keep Solly in his sight without the psychologist once noticing his presence. At last he stood, almost disappointed, opposite the main door to the department of psychology, watching as Brightman disappeared inside.

Leaning against the fence that ran along the avenue, Devlin keyed a number into his mobile.

‘Think he is who he says he is,’ he said then waited as the voice on the other end of the line told him exactly what to do.

‘Aye, okay,’ he grinned, and, snapping the phone shut, he pocketed it and walked smartly back the way he had come, whistling softly through nicotine-stained teeth. It didn’t pay to take too many chances in this game and Andie had been dead right to send him after the man with the thick black beard.

The song played on the radio was an old one, long before his time, some soft crooning designed to lull the listener into a romantic frame of mind. But it was not the tune that lingered in his brain, but the images dredged up by the words. A full moon was glinting on the water and a dream maker playing with his mind, coaxing him into that place where the heat from his skin made his blood thick and strong.

The image persisted long after the song had ended, the reflected moonlight shuddering in ripples against the dark water.

Lily stood on the corner of the street, her only shelter the dark forbidding walls of the office block behind her. The night had turned colder and, as she looked up at the skies she could make out a few stars struggling to be seen against the light pollution from the city. Up there, Lily thought, was there any form of life like hers? And if there was, did they have to stand waiting for punters? Her mind drifted as the thought took hold: was anywhere better than here where corruption and greed killed thousands of innocent victims across the globe? There had to be a better place, Lily decided, a corner of her mind holding on to a glimmer of hope; even on this godforsaken planet. That tall policeman, he had a wife that he loved; she had seen that in his eyes. And, when he’d left on that wild night, hadn’t he been going back to a place where life was good and nice and warm?

The girl swayed back and forth, humming a tune to herself as her thoughts turned to images that might comfort her. She remembered the fire in the woods where she’d sat with pals from school, its flickering flames illuminating all their faces, the crackling hissing sounds made by damp pine cones they’d tossed in. If she thought hard enough, she might even recapture that bit of warmth.

The sound of a car engine approaching made the girl stand back from the edge of the kerb. A large white car turned the corner from Sauchiehall Street into Blythswood Street and approached the place where Lily stood, the lamplight above her reflected in the puddles. She watched it intently. At first she thought he was going to stop, ask her for a price, but as the car slowed down, Lily saw the driver simply looking at her, his mouth partly open, revealing his teeth.

Lily shivered, all imaginary fires suddenly spent.

His eyes were upon her, dark and menacing, as though she had made him angry, and Lily took another step back, waiting and wondering. Was he playing some sort of sex game, perhaps? The other girls had told her so many lurid stories of punters’ bizarre sexual tastes that she was prepared for anything.

But then the car moved away and disappeared along a lane that ran between the backs of the office blocks. Lily watched the red tail lights as it travelled the length of the lane. So, no takers for Lily this time, she thought, turning away and shrugging off a dull disappointment.

She did not hear the car door close nor see the man emerge from the car at the far end of the lane, but some sixth sense made her look towards the darkened place behind her.

The man was coming back again and she could see his huge form like a dark shadow as he approached her, fists bunched against that massive body as though he were coming to pick her up and carry her off like some fairy tale ogre.

Lily shivered suddenly but waited nonetheless, watching the man coming nearer and nearer, transfixed by the very sight of him.

He was almost upon her when Lily noticed the fabric twisting between his hands and that look of utter malevolence in his eyes.