Quintin Jardine: Lethal Intent

The other man shrugged, displaying no interest in the question. 'Who the fuck cares?' he growled. 'Is this mate of yours gonnae show or no'?'

'He said he would, but he's an unreliable bastard.'

'He can rely on a sore fuckin' face if he pisses me aboot.' The man's little eyes screwed up, becoming, for a second, mere pinpricks in his fleshy face as if to emphasise his threat, and his menace. 'So can you an' all. Ah'm fucked waitin' for this guy. Dis ye want tae deal or no'?'

'Sure. Same rate as before?'

'Naw. It'll be seventy-five this time.' The man paused. 'Naw, make that a hunner and fifty: yis'll be buying yer mate's as well.'

The sardonic grin was gone. 'Seventy-five a baggie? What happened tae the fifty quid it wis before?'

'Inflation. Supply and demand. Call it whit ye like, but that's the tab, Davie boy. Now stop with the wide-eyed fuckin' innocence…' He paused and pointed to a third man standing a few feet to the right: around thirty, well dressed, well groomed, a stockbroker out for a night on the wild side. '… before somethin' bad happens tae ye.'

Davie boy looked down at his feet. 'Okay,' he muttered. 'Let's do it. Same place as before?'

'Aye. Just gies a minute tae get in there first. We dinnae want tae 'go in thegither.'

'Like anybody would care in here. Why dae ye use the ladies' anyway? Why no' the gents'?'

'Too easy for the nasty boys tae hide in the gents'. Nae coppers in the ladies'.'

'Man, they have women polis tae!'

The fleshy face split into what passed for a smile. 'Ah kin spot thae a mile-off. Fuckin' dykes, the whole bunch. See yis in there.' He turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd. The lyric, and the beat, thumped on relentlessly.

Davie boy waited for two minutes, checking the time on his watch as it passed. Finally he followed the man's footsteps. The toilets were on the other side of the hall, two doors a few yards apart, one marked 'His'. He walked towards 'Hers', noting that, as usual, the stockbroker was standing guard outside. They exchanged a glance as he pushed the door open; the eyes were cold, dispassionate, maybe a little weary of his tedious job.

He stepped inside. There were half a dozen stalls; the second was in use, the door of the fourth bore an 'out of order' sign and was sealed with tape, and the others were vacant. A line of wash-basins faced them, and on the far wall were three slot machines, two selling condoms and the third tampons. A blonde in a dress that might have been painted on was feeding pound coins into the Durex dispenser.

The dealer waited until she had left, and until a wiry red-head had emerged from the second cubicle and returned to the hall without washing her hands. There had been no sound of flushing. Davie boy guessed that either she had been badly brought up, or had been injecting; he placed a bet with himself on the latter. As always, neither woman had paid any attention to the two alien invaders, or even looked in their direction.

'Okay,' said the dealer, as the door closed on the red-head. 'Get your fuckin' money out'

Davie boy produced a roll from his pocket. He began to peel off notes, then hesitated. 'Ah dunno, man,' he muttered. 'A hunner and fifty's serious cash tae me. Whit if ma mate disnae turn up at a'?'

The stocky man's face seemed to stiffen. 'What if?' he snarled. 'Tell ye something, son: we're here because you told me Ah was going' tae sell two baggies o' smack.' With his left hand, he took two small clear packs of white powder from the breast pocket of his jacket and waved them in the air. 'You're no leavin' till Ah dae…' The eyes became tiny once more. '… or yis urnae leavin' at a'. Here's another "what if" for yis.' His right hand slipped into his jacket pocket. Davie boy tensed, anticipating a blade, but instead the dealer produced a Nokia cellphone. 'What if I just press that green button there? Ah'll tell yis what'll happen. Ma man's phone'll ring on the other side of that door. When he sees it's me that's callin' he won't bother tae answer. He'll jist come in here and cut your fuckin' face off.'

As if from nowhere, the sardonic grin was back. 'Well, Jingle,' he murmured. 'Maybe you'd better just press it and we'll see.'

A look of fury crossed the dealer's face; a snarl escaped from his lips as he held the Nokia in the air and pressed the send button.

Davie boy took a step to the side, so that he could keep both the dealer and the door in his line of vision. The man he had called Jingle stared at it, waiting for it to burst open, and for the stockbroker to set about his business.

But it stayed firmly closed. Instead, there was a tearing sound as the door of cubicle four ripped free of its sealing tape. A woman stepped out. She wore a black satin trouser suit and her brunette hair was expensively cut; she was pretty, but her face was set and she looked all business.

'Hey, Mavis,' Davie boy exclaimed. 'Jingle here reckons you're a lesbian. Is that right?'

The woman kicked the dealer, once, twice, on each calf with the pointed toe of her shoe, sending him slumping to his knees, seizing his hands as he fell and holding them in the air for Davie boy to bind his wrists together with plastic handcuffs.

Standing straighter now, and looking altogether different, he wrenched the man back to his feet. 'I am Detective Chief Inspector David Mackenzie,' he said. 'Fettes; Drugs Squad commander. My friends and enemies alike call me Bandit. This is Detective Sergeant Mavis McDougall, who is, for your information, as straight as a die. But she didn't take offence at being called a lesbian. No, she objected to you trying to sell me a class A drug, for which offence, Charles "Jingle" Bell, we are placing you under arrest. Now, tell me if you understand the following.'

He recited the formal caution; when it was complete, Bell said nothing, but spat in his face.

'Thank you,' said Bandit Mackenzie, taking a paper towel from the dispenser and wiping himself. 'That'll come up nicely on the video. Camera's in the tampon machine, by the way: we reckoned that was the one that'd get the least use. So, in addition to possession with intent to supply, you'll also be charged with assaulting a police officer. Come on. Let's get you out of here so the ladies can use their toilets.'

He grasped Bell by the arm and marched him towards the door, which McDougall opened for him. Outside a crowd of clubbers had gathered around the stockbroker; he was face down on the floor, bleeding heavily from the nose, with his hands cuffed behind his back. A long knife lay beside him, and there was a smear of blood on the wall, where, Bandit supposed, his face had hit it, hard. As if to confirm this guess, a muscular man in a leather jacket stood over him, with a foot on his neck. His curly blond hair looked surreal as it was caught in the zooming nightclub lights, and his green eyes gleamed.

'You will not try that again,' said Deputy Chief Constable Andy Martin to the prone stockbroker, then he looked up at Jingle Bell. 'And neither will you, my friend. This may not be my patch any more, but I will not tolerate anyone setting up a dope business anywhere, least of all in a place owned by a friend of mine. But you weren't to know that, were you, any more than you were to know that Spike Thomson doesn't scare easily.'

He smiled, even more wickedly. 'You and your pal did me favour, though.' He chuckled. 'After all these months in uniform, I've really enjoyed this wee bit of action.'

They sat side by side on the terrace of their suite in the Pier House, looking out across the Gulf of Mexico, listening to the varied sounds of the resort as they drifted up to them. The sun had vanished below the horizon, but there was still sufficient light for them to take in the waterfront action.