Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

Logan sniffed. The betting shop smelled of lemon air freshener instead of stale cigarettes, and the roof wasn’t the colour of a smoker’s lung. ‘I liked it better when the floor was all sticky.’

Reuben lumbered up to the counter and slammed one big hand down in front of cashier number three.

She flinched. Recoiled back in her seat, then took a breath and straightened up and plastered a smile on her face. ‘Welcome to the Turf ’n Track, Aberdeen’s premier venue for-’

‘Tell Creepy he’s got visitors.’

The smile slipped a bit. ‘Creepy. .? ’

‘Colin McLeod. Or his brother the gimp, don’t care. But you get him out here before I start sticking your punters through your fancy TVs, understand? ’

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. Then leaned over to one side, obviously trying to make it look natural as she reached underneath the counter and jabbed at something. ‘Please, sir, there’s no-’

‘Think I can’t see you fingering the panic button? ’

A blush crept across her cheeks, strong enough to bleed through the heavy layers of foundation. ‘It’s my first day. I didn’t. . Please don’t hurt me? ’

The door behind the counter marked ‘Staff Only’ opened and a man stepped into the room: broad-shouldered with a puddingy face, a chunk of ear missing one side, a pair of black wraparound shades hiding his eyes. He jerked his chin up. ‘There a problem, Naomi? ’

‘It’s not my fault, Mr McLeod, he came in and he’s threatening people and it’s my first day and I didn’t-’

‘All right. You go for a wee cup of tea. I’ll deal with it.’

Reuben took a step back and cricked his head to one side. ‘Well, well, well: look who the dogs dragged in.’

Simon McLeod rolled his shoulders, hands flexing in and out of fists. ‘Reuben. Who let you off your leash? ’

‘You and me got a problem.’

Naomi squeezed past her employer and out through the back door.

Simon McLeod smiled. ‘Think I give a-’

‘Oh, you better, ’cos if you don’t-’

‘Actually,’ Logan stepped up to the counter, ‘we need to talk about certain. . horticultural activities.’

The wraparound sunglasses turned in Logan’s direction. Simon McLeod’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. ‘Who’s that? ’

‘I’d show you my warrant card, but there’s not much point, is there? ’

A smile crawled its way across his face. ‘Jessica, Fiona: Let the gentlemen through, then tell the punters we’re shutting for an hour — fire drill. Then make yourselves scarce. Got some business to attend to.’

Simon McLeod’s office was huge — the desk, coffee table and a pair of leather sofas spread out as if they didn’t want anything to do with one another. Leaving plenty of room to walk between them without bumping into anything.

The magnolia walls were bare except for a Rottweiler’s head mounted on a wooden plaque behind the desk, its fur patchy and singed. One ear missing, a bit like the office’s owner. The name ‘KILLER’ was picked out in brass beneath it.

Simon McLeod settled into the chair behind the desk and folded his arms across his chest. ‘So. . What? You turn up with one of your bent cops and I’m supposed to be scared? ’

Reuben cracked his knuckles. ‘Had half a brain, you’d be terrified.’

‘ Really? ’ Simon took off his wraparound sunglasses. There was nothing underneath, just deep flesh-coloured dents where the eyes should have been. Even the eyelids were gone, leaving a network of twisted scars. ‘You think anything you could do can scare me? ’

Silence.

So what now?

Logan sat on the couch nearest the wall. It creaked and squeaked under him — probably to make sure Simon would know exactly where he was.

Bloody Wee Hamish Bloody Mowat: I have faith in you, Logan. It’s in the common good, Logan. You don’t want a drug war, do you, Logan?

How the hell was he supposed to negotiate a peace treaty between rival drug cartels? Buy them tea and biscuits and ask them to play nice? He cleared his throat. ‘This isn’t a shakedown, I’m not a bent cop, and if we can come to an agreement it doesn’t have to go any further.’ Yeah, this was definitely a career high.

A smile crawled across Simon McLeod’s face. ‘Oh sure, because I’m going to say loads of incriminating things with you in the room. Anything in particular you want me to confess to while you’re here? Kidnapping Shergar? Killing Lord Lucan? You’ve not caught Bible John yet, maybe that was me too? Course, I was only two at the time, but I’ve always been precocious.’

Logan stood and the couch creaked again. He shook his head at Reuben. ‘Told you this was a waste of time. Go home and tell Wee Hamish, Simon McLeod isn’t interested in a peaceful solution.’

Simon raised an eyebrow, tugging the scar tissue around his hollow eyes into new shapes. ‘Wee Hamish? This isn’t just Reuben acting the dick, throwing his weight around? ’

‘Who you calling a dick, you blind sack of-’

‘Hoy!’ Logan held up a hand. ‘You’re supposed to be facilitating, not making things worse.’

Reuben’s shoulders went back and he stepped forward, his fists up. Then stopped, took a breath, and settled against the wall again.

Better.

Logan pointed at Simon, even though there was no way he could see it. ‘Let’s say, hypothetically , you’ve been going around battering the living hell out of Oriental gentlemen with a claw-hammer. Your brother Colin’s handy with a hammer, isn’t he? ’

Of course he was. Knees a speciality. People crippled while you wait.

Simon smiled. ‘Those days are behind us, officer. Businessmen of our standing in the community would never get involved in anything like that.’

‘Now suppose this was the opening salvo in a drugs war. Wee Hamish wouldn’t like that. He’d think it was bad for Aberdeen. He’d think you should come to an agreement with your rivals that doesn’t end up with any more injuries or deaths.’

‘And if we didn’t? Hypothetically.’

Reuben’s voice was a dark rumble. ‘You end your days as wee dollops of pig shite.’

The smile slid away from Simon’s face. ‘Well, you can tell Wee Hamish there’s sod all we can do about it: no one knows who the other side is. That’s why we’re. . That’s why a local businessman might be interviewing your Oriental gentlemen.’

‘You don’t know who the new boys are? ’

‘Think they’d still be stealing from me if I did? ’ A shrug. ‘Supposing I had anything these people wanted to steal. Hypothetically.’

Reuben folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘Lucky for you I’m here then, ain’t it? Got someone outside who knows.’

Reuben backed the battered Transit van into the loading bay behind the Turf ’n Track, stopping just shy of the breezeblock loading platform. He hopped down from the driver’s side, lumbered around the back, then hauled open the rear doors.

Mr Fisher lay on his side, wriggling deeper into the Transit, feet scuffing on the plastic sheet. His whole body trembled, muffled sobs coming from beneath the blood-stained pillowcase.

Reuben reached inside and dragged him forward again. Hauled him upright. Then slammed a huge fist into his guts. ‘Right, Mr Fisher. Here’s how this works: you tell us everything, and you get off with a kicking. I think you’re not cooperating, I start breaking things. I think you’re lying to me, I carve you up like a chicken and feed you to the pigs one wee bit at a time. They eat everything: hair, skin, bone.’

He whipped off the pillowcase.

What the bloody hell was he playing at? Soon as Fisher saw their faces there was no way Reuben would let him live. Stupid fat sod: what was Logan supposed to do, stand back and let it happen?