Doug Johnstone - Hit and run

Charlie spotted them and approached, glancing round. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Billy?’

Rose stuck out a hand. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Blackmore.’

Charlie switched on a smile. ‘Nice to see you, Rose.’

‘Likewise.’

Charlie took Billy’s arm and tried to turn him round. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Rose interrupted. ‘We’d like to see a good friend of ours who has apparently been brought in. Jamie Mackie?’

Charlie ignored Rose and stared at Billy. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I just told you…’ Rose said.

‘I wasn’t fucking talking to you,’ Charlie said.

‘Can I quote you on that, Dr Blackmore?’

Charlie stared at her. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.’ He put an arm out to Rose’s shoulder, ushering her out of the treatment area. ‘You could get me into trouble.’

‘That’s the last thing we want to do. So maybe you could direct us to our friend Mr Mackie, and we’ll be out of your hair.’

Charlie smiled. ‘You can’t see him, he’s in surgery.’

‘Nothing too life-threatening, I hope?’

Charlie had succeeded in turning them round. Rose and Billy reluctantly allowed themselves to be pushed towards the exit. ‘I’m sure my brother has told you about Mr Mackie’s condition. There is no further information at this time. You would need to ask the surgeon about his condition once he comes out of theatre.’

‘And when do you think Mr Mackie will be out of surgery?’

‘Who knows?’ Charlie stared at Billy, who still hadn’t said a word.

Charlie stood with them at the door. Outside, paramedics helped an elderly woman out of an ambulance and into a wheelchair.

‘Now, please leave.’ Charlie turned to Billy. ‘I’ll speak to you later, little brother.’

Billy watched Charlie head back into the A amp;E ward. He seemed so grown up, dressed like a doctor.

‘Oh my God, this just gets better,’ Rose said under her breath.

Billy turned. Three hard-looking schemies — two guys and a girl — were striding towards them, the two guys smoking, the girl checking her phone.

Rose nudged Billy. ‘The one in the middle is Wayne Mackie. This should be good.’

The three of them pushed past Rose and Billy and up to reception.

‘Where the fuck is my brother?’ Wayne shouted.

The receptionist was middle-aged and sturdy, didn’t look as if she took any shit. She peered over bifocals at him.

‘It’s no smoking in here, sir.’

‘Never mine that, you fucking bint, I asked you a question.’

‘You’ll need to take your cigarette outside, sir.’

The calmness of her voice made Billy smile. Wayne was furious.

‘Are you fucking listening to me, ya hoor?’

‘If you continue to speak to me in that aggressive tone, I shall be forced to contact security and have you removed.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Wayne leaned over and grabbed the front of the woman’s blouse, pulling her towards him. ‘If you do that I’ll find out your address and wait till you’re asleep one night and come over and fucking torture you till you wished you were dead.’ He pointed his cigarette towards her like a dart, ash falling on to her blouse and smudging. ‘Now, if you don’t tell me where Jamie Mackie is right this second I’m going to stub this fucking thing out in your boss eye.’

The woman was beaten, Billy could see it, Wayne could see it.

‘Mr Mackie is in surgery at the moment,’ she said quietly, trying to retain dignity.

‘When will he be out?’

‘If you wait here, I’ll see what I can find out.’

Wayne let go. She straightened her blouse and walked away.

‘Excuse me,’ Rose said. It was only then Billy realised he was standing with her next to Wayne and his two mates. When had they walked over? His head buzzed.

Wayne spun round. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Rose Brown from the Evening Standard. I was wondering how you felt about your brother being shot?’

Wayne snorted with mock laughter. ‘How the fuck do you think I feel? Fucking raging. I’m gonna kill those Whitehouse cunts.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You think I don’t know who fucking did this? That wee cunt, Frank’s brother. Thinks we had something to do with Frank’s death. But that was fuck all to do with us. Not saying I’m sorry Frank’s deid, likes, cos I’m not. Cunt was the bane of my life. But me and Jamie never had fuck all to do with Frank’s death. The Old Bill ken that as well, we’ve got an alibi, hunners of witnesses saw us at the Electric Circus that night, till closing. That midget cunt Dean Whitehouse needs to watch his back after this, and you can print that on the front fucking page of yer rag, ya dozy bitch.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

Rose turned and walked away. Billy tried to move his feet, but they wouldn’t budge. He stared at Wayne Mackie, at the shaving rash on his neck, his Yankees baseball cap, his pinched face. He thought about what it would be like to have your brother shot in broad daylight, or hit by a car in the street.

‘What the fuck are you looking at, you lanky streak of piss?’

‘OK, thanks for that. Speak to you later.’ Rose ended her call.

Billy was behind the wheel, heading into town along Old Dalkeith Road, stopping and starting at each set of lights. His legs trembled and his neck ached with every jerk of the car. It was so hot in here. He wound the window down, didn’t make any difference. He needed a cold drink.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Drop me at the office and I’ll write it up. Oh boy, we’re the new Twitter, we’re so ahead of the game on this bloody story.’

‘And what about me?’

‘I want you to go to the Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home on Seafield, see if they’ve had a dog fitting the description of the Whitehouse mutt handed in.’

Billy braked hard, skidding to a stop at a pedestrian crossing. A worried mum with a buggy stepped out into the road, giving Billy the evil eye.

‘Fuck off.’ Billy felt sweat on his brow, and swiped at it.

‘Don’t use the language of the gutter with me, Scoop.’

‘This is my story and you’re sending me off on a fucking dog chase?’

‘Firstly, this is not your story, it’s ours, for the Evening Standard, got that?’

‘I got you Adele’s first interview, and the reaction from Wayne Mackie.’

‘And you did great, but you can’t do everything.’

He thought of Adele in the house with Dean and the other two men, capable of anything.

‘Fuck it, I’m going to the Whitehouse place, get a quote from Dean.’

Rose shook her head. ‘No point. He’s been taken in for questioning.’

‘What?’

Rose nodded at her mobile. ‘DI Price said. They have Dean, Adele and the two bodyguards in the station right now, checking their stories.’

A car horn blared behind them. They were still sitting at the pedestrian crossing, the light green. Billy crunched the car into gear in a fluster and jerked forward.

‘Take it easy with the gearbox.’ Rose patted the dashboard. ‘Us old dears take a bit of looking after, you know.’

He kept his eyes on the road as he churned through the gears. They headed up the hill towards the Pleasance.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty more opportunities for big stories here. But you need to learn how to do the donkeywork as well as the headline stuff, OK? If you find the dog, that’ll be big anyway. If we find out where it was found, that could help with the investigation. And imagine the kudos if the paper returns the mutt to the wee boy, eh? That human interest stuff will shift copies, believe me.’

They turned at the bottom of the Pleasance and headed for the office. Billy tried to relax his body behind the wheel, but his hand on the gearstick and his other on the steering wheel were vibrating with ten years’ worth of engine rattle, the growl of it echoing in his forehead and chest.