Doug Johnstone - Hit and run

Billy stopped and turned. ‘Sure. Take Jeanie with you.’

He watched as Zoe led the dog to the stairs, then he made for the bogs. Inside he popped two morphines and two methamphetamines. He still hadn’t opened the mood stabilisers. He had Jeanie’s phenobarbital in his pocket too. He stared at the packet, wondered what they would feel like. He put all the blister packs back into his pocket, splashed some water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin felt waxy, as if the water had slid right off it on to the floor. He prodded his cheek, then rubbed at the bump on his temple. Was it hurting? He was having trouble telling. He cricked his neck widely and accidentally smacked his head on the hand dryer.

‘Fuck.’

He stared at the hand dryer, which had gone off, blasting air downwards, noise like an aircraft engine. He banged his head on it again, deliberately this time, and harder.

The sound of a door opening. A suited guy came in, thick around the middle, shirt untucked. Billy put his hands under the dryer and rubbed them together. Pain shot through his head and palms, all the injuries talking to each other.

He yanked at the door and left.

Downstairs in the cafeteria, Zoe was sitting next to the huge glass wall at the back of the room. Outside, a couple of smokers, then across the road the arse end of the Crags, the tail of the Radical Road slashing across the hill. He couldn’t escape it.

He grabbed a coffee and sat down.

‘I heard you were inside the church for the memorial service,’ Zoe said.

He could feel her stare, but kept his eyes on Jeanie.

‘Who did you hear that from?’

‘Rose told me.’

‘Since when were you and Rose best pals?’ Billy didn’t like the sound of his own voice. Every syllable made his head throb.

‘We’re not. Look at me, Billy.’

He raised his eyes. It was blinding sunshine outside, the Crags in heavy shadow. A pair of gulls traced routes across the cliff face. The light outside gave Zoe a diffuse halo around her hair, her face in shade like the cliff. He couldn’t make out her expression. He widened his eyes, felt air on his eyeballs. His hands were tingling in Jeanie’s fur, creepers of sensation climbing up his forearms.

‘Rose is worried about you.’

‘She’s got no need to be.’

‘I’m worried about you, too.’

‘I thought we established all this a long time ago. Everybody’s worried about little Billy.’

Zoe sighed. ‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Weird. Uptight. Different.’

‘You know why.’ Billy’s voice came out loud. The sound of it sent needles into his brain.

‘Calm down.’

Billy’s leg twitched. Jeanie stood up and circled his chair, licked his outstretched hand, then settled again.

‘I know you, Billy,’ Zoe said.

He looked past her at the Crags.

‘At least, I used to.’

His phone beeped. He stared at his coffee on the table, trying to make sense of the swirling patterns of steam rising off the oily surface.

‘Aren’t you going to see who that is?’

Billy shrugged, then took his phone out. A text. I want to see you. The Crags pub. Now. He pushed the phone back in his pocket.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘What is it?’

‘Got another lead on this story.’

Billy stood up and made a noise to Jeanie. She rose with a flick of her tail.

Zoe stared at him, but didn’t get up. ‘Was that Adele Whitehouse?’

Billy looked at her, her face dark against the glare outside.

‘No.’

He was sweating by the time the pub came into view. Wet patches under his arms, a strip of moisture up his back, a fusty heat radiating from him. He smelled of pills and stress. When did he last have a shower?

He looked down. Jeanie was panting heavily. This stupid fucking sunshine, when would it end? It was unnatural, killing them all with cancerous shards. To his left Salisbury Crags throbbed with energy, the gorse blazing away.

The tables in the beer garden were busy. He stopped and scanned them, but no Adele. He went in, Jeanie trotting behind.

The pub was almost empty. Just two old-timers at the bar in overcoats, of all things, and Adele tucked away in a corner by the dartboard. Her bug-eyed sunglasses were pushed up on to her head, that beautiful red hair spilling out of the sides. She was frowning and fidgeting with a slice of lime in a tall gin and tonic.

She spotted him and stopped fiddling, tried to put on a calm face. She sucked the lime juice off her fingers and made an involuntary grimace.

‘You came,’ she said.

Billy was standing over her.

‘I came.’

‘I didn’t know if you would.’

‘Yes you did.’

‘Did I?’

Billy nodded at a second gin on the table, condensation glistening on the glass.

She smiled.

‘I got that on the off-chance. I figured if you didn’t show, I’d manage to take care of it myself.’

She nodded at a stool.

‘Just a sec.’ He handed over Jeanie’s lead and went to the bar. He got them to fill a soup bowl with water for the dog. While he was waiting he glanced back. Adele had her face buried in Jeanie’s fur, nuzzling her and stroking behind her ears. Jeanie’s tail flicked against the leg of the table. It was intimate, like a lovers’ embrace. He turned back to the bar and spotted a bottle of that beetroot schnapps high on a gantry. His stomach flipped and he had to hold the bar for support.

Back at the table, he clunked the bowl on the floor and Jeanie began lapping at it, water spilling over the sides and darkening the wood.

He sat down. ‘So.’

‘So.’

‘You wanted to see me?’

Adele looked suddenly vulnerable. ‘I bet that made quite a story for your paper.’

Billy shrugged.

‘You did write it up, didn’t you?’

Billy nodded. Adele looked at him, her eyes glassy. She was stoned again. Always stoned.

‘Rebus’s throat was slit.’ She gripped her glass, her fingers tense and pale. ‘From ear to ear. What kind of sick fuck does something like that?’

‘The Mackies.’

Adele nodded. ‘That’s what Dean said. Are you sure?’

Billy shrugged. ‘A girl picked the dog up from the Dog and Cat Home yesterday. The description fits a girl Rose and I saw with Wayne Mackie at the hospital.’

Adele lowered her eyes. ‘Dean is going to kill them all.’

Billy looked at her legs. She was still wearing her memorial outfit from this morning. Short black skirt riding up her thighs, legs crossed, killer heels.

‘You have to get away from him,’ he said.

‘I can’t.’

‘He’s dangerous.’

She looked up. ‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘Just leave.’

She laughed, sarcastic and hollow. ‘Just like that, yeah? He’d kill me. And where the hell would I take Ryan anyway?’

The question hung in the air. Billy didn’t have an answer.

‘Ryan is distraught.’

‘Shouldn’t you be with him?’ He had no idea why he said it.

Adele’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who the fuck are you, the parent police? He’s at home, actually, and Magda is there. I had to get out. OK?’

‘Sorry.’

Silence at the table. Just the gentle snuffling of Jeanie. Billy stared at Adele’s legs, her smooth calves, her manicured toenails perfect blood red. He felt his face and hands tingle, seemed to see sparkles in front of his eyes, tiny explosions of light. He scrunched his eyes shut then opened them again, but that only made it worse. He could smell burnt coffee, an overpowering aroma. He looked round the pub. The barman was standing flicking through the paper. The coffee machine was untouched.

‘The police aren’t sure that the Mackies killed Frank,’ Adele said. ‘They say their alibi seems pretty tight. They were in a club till well past Frank’s time of death. Hundreds of people were in there with them.’