Dyed in the Wool (17 page)

"I have to care."

"They pretty much stab each other all the time anyway."

"Nothing to do with it pushing the story with your byline onto page two?"

Rich grinned. "You're working that case, aren't you?"

"I'm not telling you anything."

"You did ask me if I knew anything about it last night."

"Beer talk." Cullen's belly rumbled - a sure sign the hangover was passing. He scanned the table - the morning rolls had disappeared. Tom. There was no sign of them in the kitchen. A tub of Lurpak sat on the counter, a fork stuck in the middle. On the counter, the grill pan was swimming in bacon fat.

Cullen returned to the table. "Why does he fucking line the grill pan with tinfoil?"

"He's a barbarian." Rich laughed. "I had a go at him about it as well. It saves on washing up, supposedly. Wastes a load of tinfoil is what it does."

"The barbarian has eaten all four morning rolls I bought."

"That's not much of a challenge. They're just air."

"He used a fork to spread them."

"He's not done the dishes since Tuesday and I'm not helping him out."

"Did you get your phone back?"

"No, couldn't even get Daniel's mobile number, had to give him Tom's. Hate having the ball in someone else's court."

Cullen checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Derek Miller at two - the way he was feeling, he needed to give himself extra time to get there. "I'm going for a shower."

"Well, I'm not joining you."

*
*
*

The hangover didn't abate until Cullen got hold of his first pint of the day, an ice cold Stella in the Windsor Buffet. He sunk half of it pretty much straight away, feeling the ache in his joints abate slightly and his head start to clear. There wasn't much he could do about the fuzzy vision.

He looked around. The pub was pretty busy, the navy jerseys giving away the fact it was a rugby weekend, autumn internationals or some other fruitless activity.

Still no sign of Derek Miller. He'd give him till quarter past before calling him.

He headed back to the bar to get another pint.

His phone rang. He looked at the display, hoping it was Derek. Sharon. He let it ring out again. He wasn't ready to think about that yet.

"Get us a Peroni, Scotty."

Cullen looked over.

Derek was grinning at him. He was wearing smart clothes for once - shirt and trousers with a decent jacket - and looked almost presentable.

The barman handed over the Stella, already pouring the Peroni.

"I like this place." Derek loosened off his jacket, untying his Hibs scarf. "Nice atmosphere and it never gets busy without you still being able to get a seat." He also had a black eye.

"It's not bad." Cullen didn't want to know where he got the black eye from. Scratch that - he did. "What's up with the eye?"

"Got mugged. This double-dip recession, man."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"They only got twenty quid, didn't seem worth it."

Cullen paid for their beer then headed back to his table. "You've obviously still got that job, then?"

Derek cleared his throat. "Aye. Got a proper job now. The old man got us into sales at Standard Life. Earn a decent wedge. Got myself a room in a flat on Easter Road."

"Well done." Cullen tilted the second pint.

"You're looking a bit rough there, Scotty. Out last night?"

"Something like that. Had a few after work." Telling Derek Miller about his break-up from Sharon didn't seem like a great idea.

"Got a big sesh tonight. Meeting up with some boys on George Street after the game. Wonder what time the bouncers will chuck me out of Tiger Lily, eh?"

Cullen chuckled. "Rather you than me."

"You're welcome to come along."

"We'll see, I'm feeling a bit tender."

*
*
*

Leigh Griffiths stepped up and battered the penalty home. Two nil to Hibs.

Cullen sat still while everyone around him exploded to their feet.

They had decent seats in front of the goal Hibs traditionally attacked after the break. Cullen couldn't remember if it had been up or down the slope back in the day, but he figured they'd play uphill against a tired opposition.

Cullen checked his phone as the crowd still stood - Aberdeen had just equalised away to Kilmarnock. He'd been glancing at the BBC Sport website every minute or two, hoping for it.

He got a notification as he was watching the scores - Jim Turnbull had sent another tweet. Looking to obtain buy-in from public stakeholders at this evening's Community Interlock session. Cullen made a note to add 'interlock' to buzzword bingo.

"You not watching?" said Derek.

"Sorry. Bad habit." Cullen pocketed his phone. "When I used to go to Aberdeen matches with my old man, there was always some guy with a radio nearby who knew if Rangers had gone ahead or United had a man sent off. Nowadays, everybody's got their mobiles out."

"You tweeting, Scotty?"

"A bit."

"Who follows you?"

"No idea." Seventeen followers. Tom, Rich, Buxton and a few other coppers. A local crime author, though the book he was spamming hadn't interested Cullen. Aside from the annual Rankin, he wasn't much of a reader and, besides, he wasn't likely to buy a Kindle. "What about you?"

"Not really. Not my bag."

Cullen cleared his throat. "Decent match, though I don't think much of Dundee."

"First Division team. Wouldn't be here if it weren't for the Hun getting nailed."

"True." Cullen nodded. "Still, you lot will be top of the league till Celtic play."

"Aye, there's that. Got the Jambos, haven't they? Should be a walkover for them, Hearts are as fucked as the other cousins of William."

Cullen laughed. "I love that phrase."

Derek pointed to the pitch. "We'll keep it up till Christmas then you just watch us plummet."

Cullen watched him, eyes following the ball as it was hoofed from one end of the pitch to the other, before Hibs suddenly started passing it up the left channel. The black eye looked severe to Cullen. "You sure you got that from a mugging?"

"Still sure." Derek briefly stood up then sat down again.

"I'm happy to listen."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Does that mean you didn't get mugged?"

"No, it means the next time someone batters me, I've got a friendly policeman to go to."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "I believe you." He didn't.

A crunching tackle brought the Hibs physio on, stopping play for a few minutes.

Derek glanced at his phone then at Cullen. "You fancy coming out with us tonight?"

Cullen was torn - he didn't exactly have much on. He clearly wasn't going to the cinema with Sharon. "Who are you meeting?"

"Few guys from work. Maybe my flatmate Dean."

"Dean and Derek? You sound like a sixties folk band."

Derek laughed. "I tell you, I'll be folking some bird tonight." He gave a leery grin. "Got two hundred quid in my wallet and I'm getting ripped before I rip into some cheeky bit of skirt."

Cullen chuckled. "I'll leave it for another time."

"Who says I'll invite you again?"

"I'll take my chances."

"Come on, Scotty, even just for a couple."

"I need to get home."

The match restarted and Hibs immediately had a break down the right. The ball ping-ponged back and forth before breaking to one of their midfielders who hit a curving shot into the far corner. The fans around them got to their feet and even Cullen had to stand up and applaud.

Derek nudged him with his elbow. "There will be birds there."

"No."

"You might just stop me from getting mugged again."

"All right. I'll come out for a couple." Cullen pointed to his jeans and trainers. "I'm not dressed for a night on George Street, mind."

*
*
*

"Reckon they start pouring them at half time?" Cullen pointed at the bar, completely filled with pints of lager and the occasional Guinness.

"Probably, aye." Derek got two from the barman. "Be lucky if these have any fizz left."

Cullen took a long draught, his hangover disappearing into the middle distance as they tanned their pints in the crowded pub. "Decent match."

"Always decent when the Leith boys batter someone. Four nil. Man." Derek checked his watch before making another large dent in his pint. "You ever work the football?"

"A few times. Mostly the Almondvale in Livvy and Tynecastle but occasionally Easter Road." Cullen took a big drink, instantly regretting it. The two pies he'd wolfed down before the match had mated with the third he'd added at halftime and they were seriously repeating on him. "Easter Road was always the worst. Especially against Rangers."

"Fuckin' Hun bastards."

"You could put it that way, but the Hibs casuals were really bad."

"We're still really bad." Derek grinned.

Cullen pointed at the black eye. "That's not from a football fight, is it?"

"It's a mugging." Derek pointed at Cullen's pint. "Come on." He zipped up his jacket while Cullen struggled through the rest of his pint.

They left the busy pub, Derek smiling and waving at a few people.

Seeing him in his element really brought home how well-connected Derek was.

They walked away from the stadium down Albion Terrace towards Easter Road itself. The tenements on both sides quickly gave way to an open expanse and they crossed a railway bridge. The street was solid with rubbish - burger cartons, bottles of cider and Buckfast, cans of lager.

"Gettin' quite cold." Derek tied his thick scarf in Hibs green and purple over in a loop.

"Nice Take That scarf."

"Eh?"

"That's the sort of scarf Take That wore when they did their comeback."

"Fuck off."

"It is. Still, it's quite a difference from the ned clothes you wore when I first met you."

"I've got cash now." Derek uncoiled the scarf. "Better take this off before we head into George Street, anyway."

As they crossed the railway line, Cullen realised he'd no idea where the rails went. "Is this still a live station?"

"Think so, aye. Freight. The station in Leith was knocked down years ago."

"Right?"

"Fancy getting a cheeky one in at Pivo by the Waverley?"

"Aye, that would be good. I like it in there."

Derek led them down a side street towards Easter Road.

Cullen heard heavy footsteps from behind them. He spun around as quickly as he could.

Four men in tracksuits approached them. Cullen relaxed - they were just out for a jog. He turned back and kept walking.

He was hit on the back of the head and sent sprawling.

"You fucking Hibs cunts!"

Cullen tried to get up. He was kicked from behind and fell forward, before taking another kick in the side, then in the shoulder. He groaned then rolled over, lashing out with his foot.

He connected with someone. A voice screamed out and a body tumbled to the ground.

Cullen struggled to his feet and headed over to the man he'd knocked down. A swift kick from behind caught him and sent him falling forward again.

He was winded. His stomach ached. He pulled himself into a ball, wary of any more kicks. He heard footsteps again.

"We'll fucking get you again, Miller!"

Cullen looked around.

Derek was in a similar pose on the opposite pavement.

Their assailants were gone.

Cullen got to his feet and walked over to Derek. He crouched down and placed a hand on his head. Derek flinched.

"They've gone, Derek."

Derek spun round quickly. His jacket had been ripped open. He lay on his back, breathing quickly.

"Was that your muggers?"

"Fuck knows."

"They seem to know you."

"Think one of them knew my flatmate." Derek sat up, breath misting in the air.

"Charming."

"Don't worry, I'll shove his toothbrush up my arse."

"I'm going to have to report this."

"There's no need for that, it's just harmless fun."

"It's assault. My shoulder's fucked at the best of times."

"The one who hit you wasn't Dean's mate, anyway."

"Still, Dean or his mate will know who did it."

Cullen helped Derek to his feet.

"Still fancy that pint?" Derek dusted his jacket.

"Fuck that, I'm going home. I suggest you do the same."

They walked up Easter Road, Cullen intent on heading to the bus stops at the top, just on London Road.

"Might take your advice, Scotty. This is my flat here." Derek had stopped outside a tenement. "You serious about reporting it"

"I'll think about it. I don't know if I can be arsed with the admin."

Sunday

7th October 2012

"Thought you were off today, Curran." Wilkinson folded his arms and put his feet up on his office desk.

"I am." Cullen sat opposite him. "Meeting someone, but I wanted to check something out."

Wilkinson looked away. "Still haven't got approval to go to Schoolbook, if that's what you're thinking."

"Nothing like that. You're looking into football hooligans, right?"

"Right."

"I've got a CHIS I'm concerned is in a gang and isn't one hundred per cent reliable. He could be feeding me false information."

"We've got all that stuff on HOLMES, I'll have a look for you. What's the name?"

"Can I look at it myself?"

"No chance, Curran. This is top secret stuff. I shouldn't be looking for you, but I suspect I'll want to have a favour in my pocket."

"The name is Derek Miller."

Wilkinson frowned. "Isn't that Keith Miller's brother?"

"It is."

Wilkinson exhaled. "Better make that two favours, then, cos I don't believe he's a CHIS."

"He is and he isn't."

"Well, I don't even need to look. I put him on there myself. Last week. The boy's involved in a Hibs casuals group."

Cullen bit his lip. "Thanks."

"What are you going to do with it, like?"

"I don't know, but I doubt I'll confront him about it, if that's what's worrying you."

"If you do, then it goes through me, understand?"