Dyed in the Wool (16 page)

"Mm?" Rich was leching again, at a tall bloke walking past, mainly at his arse.

"Stop it."

"Homophobe." Rich grinned.

Cullen flared his nostrils. "Don't. I'm not in the mood."

Rich held up his hands. "Okay, tonight you have permission to be a redneck homophobe. I'd prefer it if you didn't veer into sexism or racism at the same time."

Cullen picked up his glass and mobile and headed to the bar, waiting a while before he could order. He got another two calls from Sharon which he let ring out. He stabbed the decline button on the second call, making him feel slightly better.

The display lit up again - Tom. "You on your way?"

"Aye. Get us a St Mungo."

"Will do."

Cullen took the three stein-style glasses back to their booth.

Rich was sitting in the middle of the arc, finishing off his last pint, staring in the direction of the arse he'd spotted earlier.

A rough-looking ned had planted himself at the far edge from Cullen, carrying a Sainsbury's orange plastic carrier bag, eyes darting around the bar.

Rich took his pint. "The things I would do to that arse."

Cullen leaned over to Rich. "Who the fuck is that?" He pointed at the end of the booth.

Rich glanced over at the ned. "Didn't spot him." He called over. "Excuse me?"

The ned nodded. "What you saying, pal?"

"Could you go and sit elsewhere, please?"

The ned shifted round the booth. "What you saying?"

Rich rolled his eyes. "My friend's just broken up with his girlfriend and he's not in the mood. Could you just go and irritate someone else?"

"I'm not hurting anybody, pal. Just resting my pegs here. Had a busy day."

"Can you go and rest them elsewhere?"

The ned stared at him. "Are you saying I can't sit here? It's a free fucking country, pal."

"You've not got a drink, so I'll get the barman to chuck you out."

The ned leaned over and looked Rich up and down. "Think you're something, pal?"

"No, I don't. Just kindly fuck off and leave us."

The ned raised his hands in the air. He shook his head then collected his bag and headed off. He slinked over to the bar, where he stood next to a woman sitting on a stool. Her handbag sat on the bar top, just out of her line of sight as she talked to a friend. He inched closer to the bag.

"Fuck it." Cullen walked over to the bar manager he'd clocked earlier. "Excuse me!"

The manager was pulling a pint. "What is it?"

Cullen whipped out his warrant card. "There's a man over there." He pointed to the ned, the bar manager's eyes following the line of his hand. "He looks like he's going to steal from your customers. If you don't chuck him out, I'll nick him. Not going to look good for you."

"Cheers, son." He put the half-poured pint aside and headed through the hatch in the bar.

Cullen walked back to the booth and sat down.

The bar manager threw the ned out, protesting his innocence before eventually giving up. He turned left at the front door and walked down the lane, flicking the v's at them as he passed.

Rich held up his pint. "Good effort."

"Not sure they want that sort of punter in here, anyway." Cullen took another sip of lager.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Cullen couldn't even bring himself to think about how he felt.

"Where's my phone?" Rich patted his jacket pocket and ran his hands all over the table. "That little fucker stole it!"

*
*
*

Rich pointed down the lane. "You go that way!"

Cullen headed past the Voodoo Rooms down towards the Penny Black. He felt the booze hit as he ran, almost stumbling into a bin. He came to the crossroads. Left was the Guildford and Princes Street, right was a dead end.

Fuck it. Right.

He ran along and looked up and down. No trace. He doubled back towards the Guildford Arms. Two bouncers on the front door.

He flashed his warrant card. "Have either of you seen a wee ned run this way?"

They shook their heads. "Sorry, sir. Just you."

Cullen ran back down the lane to where he'd left Rich. He took a left along West Register Street, coming out onto South St Andrew Street.

He looked around. No sign of either of them.

Fuck it. He needed beer.

He walked back along the lane, past the shut Greggs, and went back inside the Cafe Royal. Their table was already taken - a man and a woman. "Excuse me. That's my table."

A man in tweeds scowled at him. "It was empty."

"We were at the toilet." Cullen pointed at the three fresh pints. "Those are our drinks."

"You can squidge up at the end over there."

"Sorry, mate, clear off. I'm not having the best of nights."

He got to his feet and raised his chin. "I shall report you to the bar manager."

Cullen watched them trudge over to the bar as he sat down. He took a long draught of his pint.

The barman shook his head.

Cullen tipped his glass in toast.

"What the fuck are you up to, Skinky?"

Cullen looked up - Tom. "You wouldn't believe it."

"Cheers." Tom sat down, pulling over one of the pints. "Try me."

"Fine. Rich just had his mobile nicked."

"All those little black book numbers." Tom shook his head. "Where's Sharon?"

Cullen stared into his pint glass. "She's not here."

"I can see that. Where is she?"

Rich collapsed into the far end of the booth, heavily out of breath. "Little bastard got away."

Tom pushed a pint over. "The ned who stole your phone?"

"Aye. Fucking hell!"

Cullen still focused on the surface of the lager, the bubbles popping as they reached it. He needed to get home, get some sleep then think about what the fuck he was going to do.

Tom clapped their shoulders. "You boys up for the Liquid Lounge?"

Cullen looked up from his glass. "No."

"Seriously? I've got half of my department out."

"I need to get back, Tom."

"I've got two hundred quid of bar vouchers on me."

*
*
*

Cullen threw the Jaegerbomb down his throat. "That's how it's done."

"Good effort, Skinky." Tom slapped his back. "That's your tenth, right?"

"Right." Cullen got up and staggered to the toilet, having to take it really slowly. He glanced at his watch. Half one. He pushed the door open. For some reason, there was a man sitting by the sinks with a selection of aftershaves.

He leaned his head against the wall above the urinal and pissed straight into the hole, causing the yellow cubes to spin around.

"Seen Rich?"

He looked over as Tom staggered in, undoing his flies. "No. He was dancing with that guy, can't remember his name."

Tom snorted. "He's welcome to him."

"Why, were you thinking of firing into him?"

"Hardly, just not seen him for the last twenty minutes."

"He does that." Cullen finished pissing then zipped up and washed his hands. He made his way back to the table, using the wall to brace himself.

Someone had filled their table with Red Bull and double vodkas.

Rich pointed at Cullen. "Come on, Skinky."

Cullen shook his head and downed the one nearest.

One of Tom's pretty colleagues turned her seat round to face him. "You're the policeman, right?"

"That's me. Detective constable. Useless idiot who doesn't catch the criminal."

"I'm sure that's not true." She held out her hand. "It's Becky."

"Pleased to meet you. Scott." Cullen picked up another drink, tipping it in this time. "So what do you do?"

"I work for Tom."

"Right. Is he your boss?"

"Hardly."

"Isn't he senior there?"

"No, it's just a different part of the project, that's all."

"Okay." Cullen took a sip, inspecting Becky as she looked over the dance floor. Tight legs, thin arms, pretty.

"Whooo! I love this song!"

Cullen strained to hear it - he was so pissed it wasn't quite working. Something about a waterfall. "What is it?"

"Feel So Close by Calvin Harris." Becky grabbed Cullen by the hand and led him onto the dance floor.

Saturday

6th October 2012

Cullen squinted in the early morning sunshine, so incongruous in October, as he unlocked the front door. Buses belched out fumes behind him on Portobello High Street. He put his keys into his suit trouser pocket, still worn from the previous day.

Cullen went inside and slowly walked up the stairwell, head thudding from too much booze and far too little sleep.

A flashback hit him, a song about waterfalls. And a girl, dancing with him, jumping on him.

As he entered the flat, he felt a haze around his head, as if every movement was through an invisible body of water. There was nobody up yet. He slumped down in a chair and tossed the newspaper on the table, along with the bag of morning rolls he'd bought. The way his stomach felt, he had no idea when he'd actually be able to get around to eating any of them.

He got out his phone - his battery down to three per cent. The little green calls icon had the number six inset in a red circle, all from Sharon.

It flooded back to him - the alcohol had only temporarily cushioned the blow. He'd have to face up to it sooner or later.

"Morning."

Cullen turned around.

Tom tied up the belt of his dressing gown.

He grunted acknowledgement.

"You had a good night last night, Skinky. How was Becky's flat?"

Cullen screwed his eyes up. "Who's Becky?"

"That girl you were dancing with. She dragged you up to the dance floor at about one and you didn't stop until the lights came up."

Cullen put his head in his hands. All he could remember was waking up dressed in his suit in the flat and feeling like he'd died. He'd no idea how he'd got home, if it was with Tom or twenty minutes earlier. "Shite. What happened?"

Tom laughed. "You were wasted and she started unbuttoning your shirt on the dance floor."

"Oh fuck. Did I do anything?" Much as he hated Sharon right then, Cullen simply didn't want to be a hypocrite.

Tom smiled. "What do you think?"

"I honestly have no idea. I was buckled."

"True, I've not seen you that bad in a long time."

"What happened?"

Tom let the silence grow. "Nothing happened."

Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.

"I got in there and split the pair of you up just as the lights came on. Your tongue was hanging out of your mouth, though. Pretty young girl like that. Twenty-five, just split up with her boyfriend."

"Cheers, mate."

"Hey, it's what friends are for. Besides, the bouncer made me bundle you into a taxi. You were muttering about Sharon all the way home."

"Yeah, well, it's pretty fucked up."

"Not as fucked up as some of the stuff you were saying. Who's Gavin?"

Gavin Tait? Cullen swallowed. "Somebody on the case I'm working."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. You were going to stab him."

"Ignore me, I was pissed." Cullen rearranged the rolls and paper on the table. "Is Rich back yet?"

"His door's wide open. Guess he got lucky."

"He disappeared about half midnight, didn't he?"

"Aye, after the free booze ran out." Tom looked inside the rolls bag. "He's doing my head in. Never does the dishes, never cleans the bog. In a way, I'm glad you and Sharon have broken up, cos it won't just be me and him left."

Cullen got up and headed to the bathroom. He sat down on the pan, head in his hands. That song was stuck in his head - it had a line about being a big deal. Like he thought he was. He couldn't get the image of the girl dancing with him out of his mind.

The smell of cooking bacon wafted through, making his stomach lurch. He got on his knees, head over the toilet pan. Nothing happened. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the aroma from the kitchen.

His world was collapsing in on itself. His girlfriend was gone, he was the laughing stock at work and he was stuck in this flat again. He had about fifteen grand saved up for a deposit but that wouldn't cut the mustard, maybe a one-bedroom flat in the arse end of Gorgie.

He tried to make himself sick to purge the booze and Red Bull. Nothing happened. He threw cold water over his face and left the bathroom.

No sign of Tom, but the hall stank and smoke fogged the kitchen. He went in and switched on the extractor.

In his bedroom, he took off his suit. The bed looked tempting.

Shit.

He ran back to the bathroom, just managing to catch his sick in the pan. He sat on the floor, head on the porcelain, waiting for the second wave. It didn't come.

He struggled to his feet and went back into the hall, standing in just his pants, shivering despite the heating being up full blast.

The flat door opened.

Rich hurried in. He stopped and looked Cullen up and down. "Not bad, but nothing compared to what I've just left behind."

Blushing, Cullen reached into his bedroom for his dressing gown and put it on. "You pulled, then?"

Rich sat down at the table and grinned. "Yep. Went to CC's with one of Tom's work mates. Danced to Abba and Hot Chip then went back to his flat down on the Shore. Twenty-four years old. I can show that wee laddie a thing or two. Not that he was wee."

Cullen thought about Gavin Tait again - bumping and grinding to Abba in CC's with Tim and Colin. He wondered if Rich and Tait's paths had ever crossed. "Tom had to wrestle some girl he worked with off me."

"Nice work, Skinky. Not long after you break up with Sharon and you're getting in someone else's knickers."

"Hardly, I was totally locked."

Rich laughed. "Scots are like Eskimos with snow. As well as having fifty words for rain, we've got fifty words for being pissed."

Cullen sat down alongside him. The newspaper was still there - this morning's copy of the Argus. The headlines had moved on to some MSPs' expenses but there were a couple of paragraphs at the bottom about the Aitken and Souness case.

Rich tapped the paper. "Who cares about two neds in West Lothian?"