Alex Gray - Pitch Black

Jason sidled up to a blonde whose evenly clipped hair swung straight and smooth around her elfin face as if she’d ironed it specially in the hope of meeting some guy just like him. Jason jiggled up to her, moving his body suggestively and smiling his famous-footballer smile. She knows who I am, he told himself, the girl’s sparkling eyes and tiny giggle giving it away. Her carefully made-up face shone with translucent blusher and she dropped her eyes coyly, revealing twin crescents of iridescent pink eyeliner. He pulled up the sleeves of his Armani jacket and danced towards her, making her shift back a little so that he took centre stage. He closed his eyes, knowing that when he opened them he’d see that adoring look they all had. Stupid cows! Still, he got what he wanted and they took home a story to tell their mates. I got pulled by Jason White! And if a few bruises took a while to settle down, so what? Girls liked a bit of rough with their tumble, didn’t they?

Kelvin Park lay quiet under the darkening Glasgow skies. The car park was empty but one vehicle was parked beyond the main entrance, tucked out of sight from anyone who might be passing by. A man stopped by the metal gate and put his hand on to the padlock, giving it a slight shake, then, when there was no sound but the susurration of a little night breeze, he drew out a key and silently opened it. His footfall was silent as he crept towards the front door, nor was there any sound when he unlocked it. Only a tiny creak upon the ancient wooden stairs gave any hint to his presence as the man made his way up. But that didn’t matter, he smiled to himself. They’d never hear a wee thing like that, not with the all-too familiar racket he could hear coming from beyond the chairman’s office door.

He moved forward towards the passage near the top of the staircase and stopped, listening. Her moans sounded real enough, he chuckled to himself, stupid bitch wasn’t even faking it. Then he stiffened as the woman’s lover gave a shout that collapsed into a groan of relief.

They wouldn’t be much longer, he told himself, slipping back into the shadows: a quick post-coital drink from Kennedy’s private bar then they’d be leaving. She’d take a taxi, he knew that by now, all these evenings spying on them having paid off. The big man would slip into his Jag and be off back to his wife. Working late again, dear? she’d maybe ask him. He stifled a real desire to laugh as he made his way back into the night. Barbara Kennedy was in for a real shock one of these days, but it could wait till he was ready to deliver it: one more item on his insurance policy.

There was a sudden vibration from the mobile in his pocket.

‘Yes?’ he asked gruffly.

The voice on the other end told him what he wanted to know. Within minutes he was out of the darkness and into the brightly lit streets, heading towards his quarry.

It was dark by the time Jason was ready to go home. Candy (was that really her name or had she just made it up to impress him?) was in the ladies’ toilet and Jason was lounging against the wall outside, his head ringing with the music, his body still swaying to the beat that throbbed from the nightclub. After a few minutes he pulled up a pink cuff to glance at his watch. Where the hell was she? Jason glanced back to the open doorway only to catch the bouncer regarding him with an expression of pity.

‘What are you looking at?’ he snarled at the bouncer, fists clenching in a reflex action. In the distance a siren whined, reminding him of that other night and, for once, sense prevailed. With the amount he’d drunk tonight he was no match for this guy. Directing a last glance towards the door, Jason shook his head. She wasn’t coming out, after all. Another waste of time, all come-on and no delivery. Well, he wasn’t in the mood now, anyway, so sod her and all the other bitches that made eyes at him but kept their distance.

Jason turned on his heel, attempting a deliberate swagger. He tripped instead, and cursed as the back of his hand grazed the stone wall, then, hearing laughter from the doorway, he spun round to see who was jeering at him. The bouncer had turned his head away, discretion being the better part of valour. Swearing again, Jason plunged into the shadows that loomed over the alleyway and headed towards the light of the street and the first available taxi.

Tam watched the footballer go. ‘Eejit!’ he muttered under his breath. The Kelvin player was going to hell on a handcart as far as he could see. ‘Waste of good talent,’ he told the night air, shaking his head. He’d been a Kelvin supporter all his days but on nights like this Tam Baillie’s loyalty could be sorely tested.

The street was deserted when Jason rounded the corner of the alley. Looking up and down the street he could see the shop windows shuttered and still, only the lights of security cameras blinking from the darkened frontages. Squaring his shoulders, the footballer set off towards the city centre and the vague memory of a taxi rank. He hadn’t been in this city long enough to know his way around much, and, besides, it was usually Jerry or Denis who organised things like taxi rides home.

The night air was cool against his face after the heat in the club and Jason gave a sigh that was partly relief and partly resignation at his failure to score with that girl, Candy. Stupid name, stupid cow, he muttered to himself, aiming a kick at an empty lager can that had been abandoned in the middle of the pavement. The sound of its metallic clanking as it skittered into the gutter seemed to resonate in the silence of the empty street. An echo — was it an echo? — made him turn around.

A figure stepped out of the shadows by the alley, walked towards him, then stopped.

Puzzled, Jason hesitated. Then he saw a hand raised, stretched out towards him.

The footballer’s eyes widened in horror as a glint of light reflected off the gun.

There was no sound, no explosion bringing a crowd of people running, only a roar of light inside his head and a kick that carried the footballer off his feet. For a moment his limbs flailed in mid-air as if he were struggling to reach an elusive ball, then his body crumpled and hit the ground with a dead thud.

Nobody saw the figure that slipped back into the shadows, leaving the street as silently as it had arrived.

The journey to HMI Cornton Vale prison had taken more than an hour this time. On a whim, Marion had chosen to drive along the country road through places she rarely saw these days, like Balloch and Buchlyvie. Now, stuck behind a tractor on a winding stretch of road, she regretted that moment of caprice. Squinting against the morning sun, she could visualise her sunglasses lying on the kitchen table. Fat lot of good there, she thought. Forgot them in all that hurry to ferry Caroline to the day nursery, Marion scolded herself. What was wrong with her these days? Was it true that part of a mother’s brain shut down after giving birth or was it simply that she was trying to juggle too many balls in the air? What was she trying to prove? That she, Marion Peters, BA, LLB, could cope with the joint responsibility of motherhood and prospective partnership in one of Glasgow’s leading law firms, a defiant little voice answered her. Other women managed it, didn’t they? Women like the senior partner who managed somehow to have three kids and always appear immaculately turned out, Marion reminded herself with a twinge of envy.

Still, she shouldn’t be late for this meeting. The prison had set aside a time for her to see Janis Faulkner and she had other duties waiting for her back in the office. That was probably why she’d taken this route, Marion realised. It was a form of escape. But, right now, all she wanted was to get away from this ruddy tractor.