Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

Only Mr Fisher couldn’t see a damn thing. Three strips of duct tape covered his eyes: one horizontal, two vertical, as if they were targets. Another strip covered his mouth. His black hair was long on one side and shaved on the other, a hollow tube stretching out his left earlobe, three silver hoops above it. . Anthony Chung’s friend: the one who worked in the bar. The one who tried to fight for Agnes Garfield’s honour, and got kneed in the balls for his pains.

Reuben grabbed one corner of the gag and ripped it off, taking the stud in Dan Fisher’s bottom lip with it.

‘Aaaaagh. . Bastard. .’ Blood dribbled down his chin.

Dan Fisher. Friend of Anthony Chung. Anthony who always had the best cannabis.

At least now it was obvious where he’d got it from.

Reuben hammered another fist into Fisher’s stomach. Then stood back and waited until he’d stopped retching. ‘Your starter for ten is: who’s stealing weed from the McLeod brothers? ’

A long string of spittle wobbled from his bleeding bottom lip. ‘Oh God. .’

Reuben sucked in a breath, then shook his head. ‘Wrong answer.’ A Stanley knife blade clicked out, then snicked through the cable-ties holding Dan Fisher’s ankles together. Then he dragged one foot out until it was just hanging over the Transit’s rear bumper.

‘PLEASE! I DON’T-’

The van rocked as Reuben slammed all his weight down on Fisher’s ankle. A muffled pop. And Fisher’s foot didn’t face the front any more.

Two seconds later the screaming started. Reuben gave him a count of three, then shut him up with another fist to the guts.

Logan grabbed his arm — it was solid, like a telegraph pole. ‘That’s enough .’

‘Nah, we’re just getting started.’ He grabbed Fisher’s other foot. ‘Try that again, shall we? Same question.’

Fisher moaned and sobbed, snot shining on his top lip. ‘Please. . I just sell it on, I don’t know who-’

The van rocked again and the other ankle made the same muffled popping noise.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH. .’

Reuben wiped his hands down the front of his boilersuit, then smiled at Logan. ‘Not very bright, is he? ’

‘God sake. .’ Logan pushed past him and climbed up into the back of the van.

Fisher was back on his side, folding his knees up to his chest then out again — like a broken accordion. Mouth open in a silent scream.

Logan took hold of his shoulders and pinned him to the plastic sheeting, holding him still. Then leaned in until his mouth was an inch from Fisher’s collection of earrings, and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Listen up, you daft bastard: they’re not kidding. This isn’t the TV, there’s no last-minute rescue coming. They’re going to kill you if you don’t tell them who’s stealing their drugs.’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. .’ A massive shuddering breath.

‘You’re going to die , do you get that? And it won’t be quick. This’ll be a happy memory for you by the time they’ve finished!’

‘Please. . It hurts . .’

‘That was just the warm-up, wait till he gets into his stride. Now who’s stealing their bloody cannabis? ’

Fisher’s bottom lip trembled. ‘It. . Ton. It was Ton. Anthony Chung.’

Of course it was.

‘You were Anthony Chung’s best friend: everyone knows he always had loads of cannabis. You were selling it for him, weren’t you? Passing it out through the bar. Even after he beat the crap out of you? ’

‘It was. . I didn’t have any choice.’ Sweat sparkled on Fisher’s face. ‘Please, please, you’ve got to help me. .’

‘Who was he working with? ’

Reuben’s voice boomed out from the loading dock behind them. ‘If you’re gonnae bum him, get on with it so I can start on his kneecaps.’

‘Will you shut up for two minutes? ’ Then back to Fisher. ‘Who was Anthony working with, Dan? Who’s in charge now he’s dead? ’

‘I don’t know, I don’t-’

Logan took hold of Fisher’s pierced ear and twisted.

‘Aaaaaagh!’

‘Do you want to end up carved into little pieces? ’

The words came out riding on a wave of jagged sobs. ‘I only dealt with Ton! He said. . he said he knew someone who worked for these cannabis farms, and he could find out where they were, and all I did was sell it on, I never stole it, I swear on my mother’s grave, I don’t know. .’

Reuben slammed the Transit van’s back doors closed, shutting out the sound of Dan Fisher’s sobs.

Simon McLeod slipped the wraparound sunglasses back over the holes where his eyes used to be. ‘Come on then: who is it, and where do I find him? ’ A little smile escaped, then was quickly killed again. ‘So I can meet up with him and sort this out nice and peaceful, like Wee Hamish wants.’

Aye, right.

Logan stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘He’s in the mortuary. He screwed his girlfriend over once too often and she staked him out on a kitchen floor, stabbed him three hundred and sixty-five times, then strangled him.’

Simon McLeod’s eyebrows lowered a fraction of an inch. ‘Hmm. .’

‘What? ’

A sniff. ‘Sounds like my kind of girl. But I still want the bastard’s name.’

‘So you can go after his family? No chance. They had nothing to do with this. The guy who stole your cannabis got himself tortured to death, and you didn’t have to lift a finger.’ Logan stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Wee Hamish wants you to stop the beatings. Not like they’re doing you any good, is it? All that and you still didn’t find out who was stealing from you.’

Simon shrugged. ‘That’s what happens when you ask the wrong people the right question. Hypothetically speaking.’

‘No more beatings.’

A cloud of pale-blue exhaust growled out of the Transit’s exhaust.

‘Imagine there’s a businessman who’s invested a large sum of money to set up a number of indoor growing facilities and bringing over the specialists to manage them. Now imagine someone else comes along and steals from those farms. And that some of the businessman’s key. . horticultural staff are missing. If you were that businessman, wouldn’t you think the gardeners were involved? Wouldn’t you encourage them to keep their farms more secure? ’

The Transit lurched forward a couple of feet, then stopped, engine still running.

‘You weren’t crippling the opposition, you were punishing your own people for being stolen from? ’

‘Call it a claw-hammer incentive scheme. Like the one your wee friend in there’s going to join soon as he gets out of hospital. Well, unless Reuben feeds him to the pigs first.’

Logan turned. ‘No one’s getting fed to the pigs! And they’re not getting their kneecaps pulped either. Fisher’s done: his only contact was the guy who got killed, he doesn’t know anything else. He gets a free pass.’

‘ No one steals from me.’

‘He gets — a free — pass.’

The Transit van’s horn blared.

‘I’m serious, Simon. I find out something’s happened to him, or the dead guy’s family, and I come after you and your brother. And I ask Wee Hamish to do the same.’

A large hand thumped down on Logan’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Trust me when I say: if you ever threaten me or mine again, I’ll have you skinned alive. Understand? For Wee Hamish’s sake, I’ll leave the boy. But see if I get to the man in charge before you do? All bets are off.’

The Transit van rocked as Reuben ground his way through the gears. He pinned his mobile between his little round ear and his huge rounded shoulder. ‘Yeah. . No, don’t think so. . Hold on.’ He held the phone out to Logan. ‘Mr Mowat wants a word.’