Long Time Dead (Gus Dury 4) (20 page)

I wasn’t about to wait for her to return. My mind was resurfacing; the memory of Amy getting into the car with Danny Gemmill flashed like headlights. I needed to get moving. Christ, what had
I let that girl get herself into? I knew what Gemmill was capable of: Amy was wading into some serious shit. I’d fucked up … falling in the street and getting carted away by an ambulance! Holy Christ, Gus, this was a new low. But it was Amy who would be paying the price of it.

I got up, grabbed my mobi from my jacket pocket.

Dialled.

‘Hod, that you?’

‘Aye, aye … where the fuck you been?’

‘Never mind that. I need a pick-up.’

‘Y’what?’

‘Look, get hold of Mac as well … We’ll need some back-up.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this, Gus.’ Normally, any hint of a rumble had Hod rubbing palms together. Funny how he’d changed.

‘Neither do I.’

‘I’m not sure, I mean … Gus, I’m lying low … Don’t want to run into Shaky.’

I could see he was going to take some persuading. ‘Hod, I have to tell you something. Now, you’re not going to like this …’

His voice dropped to the pitch above whisper: ‘Go on.’

‘It’s Amy—’

‘Amy! Fucking hell, Gus, you said you’d keep her out of this.’

‘I know. I know … but Amy’s Amy. You can’t put a bloody lead on her.’

‘Jesus … I don’t like the sound of this.’

I took a sharp intake of breath, said, ‘Well, you’ll like the sound of this even less. I saw her taking off with Gemmill about a couple of hours ago.’

‘And now you come to me!’

I could feel Hod’s anger searing down the line.

‘Yeah, well … I got waylaid; sidetracked, you might say.’

‘What you on about?’

I filled him in, told him where I was. Thought it might cut me some slack; it did, kinda. Sensed Hod felt he’d two problems to take care of now.

‘Gus … you need to haud yer steam. This is becoming a habit.’

Like I needed telling. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘I’m serious, man. Next time it won’t be the hospital – they’ll be taking you straight to the morgue.’

It was a lovely image. ‘Thanks for that, mate.’

‘If I won’t tell you … who will?’

I walked back to the clothes rail, pulled down the hanger with my tweed jacket and trousers, said, ‘Right, message received and understood … Get your arse into gear. I’ll see you and Mac out the front in five to ten.’

Swear I could see him shaking his head. Nothing was shaping up like he’d intended – wondered if he regretted getting me on the job. Christ, he probably regretted even getting the cards printed.

Made an arse of pulling out the drip again, but was relieved not to break the needle this time. Soon as I chucked it, the shakes came back to my hands. It felt like I’d been lucky to hold them off. I dressed hurriedly, struggled on the shirt buttons and belt buckle but got there. The Docs were another matter altogether, gave up on the laces, tucked them in.

An old bloke in striped flannel pyjamas, open to the waist and exposing a bony chest, raised himself up. ‘You’ll break yer bloody neck, son.’

My heart seared when he called to me, said, ‘That’s the least of my worries.’

‘Ye cannae go out with yer laces flapping aboot … Here, put yer boots up.’ He motioned to the edge of his bed, tapping the blanket.

I felt blown away by his kindness; walked over and raised my boot. The motion nearly felled me and I had to sit on the edge of my bed to steady myself.

The old bloke said, ‘You sure yer fit for this, lad?’

‘Oh aye, I’m right as rain.’

He widened his eyes, looked over the bridge of his craggy nose as he tied my bootlaces. ‘Well, it’s no’ for me to stick my oar in.’

He tapped the bed for the second boot. As I watched him, I put
his age at mid-eighties. He was a rare character. Had I more time to play with, I wouldn’t have minded spending it in his company, but try as I might, the thoughts of Amy and Gemmill wouldn’t subside.

‘Thanks very much,’ I said, ‘very kind of you.’

He smiled at me, a broad toothless smirk. I fired him one back. Could feel the gaps in my mouth where my bridgework had taken a flyer; thought I must look a sight.

I stumbled out the ward, and past the reception desk at the front door.

Sparked up a Regal in the car park as I waited for Hod and Mac to appear. My hands shook so hard now that I could hardly get the tab to my gob without gripping my forearm and grasping for the filter-tip as if I was dooking for apples. Sorry state indeed.

I was on the third tab, though thinking of something much stronger, when Hod and Mac appeared. Hod was driving, chucking the van into the bends and pushing the revs. The vehicle didn’t look like it could handle much more of that punishment – the lean so extreme that the shocks screeched as though they’d entered their death throes.

The pair glowered at me as they pulled up. Mac leaned out the open window; his face held firm, stony. ‘Fucking hell, Dury … you got a death wish?’

‘Yeah. Yeah,’ I barked back – let them know early on that I wasn’t for taking any shit on this. I’d done my best to stop her. Was it my fault that she was out of control? I didn’t want to know the answer to that.

Mac opened the door then slunk back beside Hod. ‘I’m no’ on about the hospital … I’m on about Gemmill. Are you off yer fucking dial mixing it with the likes of yon?’

‘He has Amy.’

‘Aye, so fucking what? If that daft wee sow’s no’ got the marbles to—’

I cut him off, ‘Shut the fuck up, Mac.’

The pair of them looked at me. Hod spoke: ‘Getting a bit protective, Gus? … Bit late in the day for that, isn’t it?’

I knew where he was coming from. I also knew he still held a flame for Amy; I let the comment slide. More conflict, more complication, I could well do without. ‘Where are we headed, then?’ I asked.

Mac spoke, ‘Drinker in Leith. Know a man who knows Gemmill.’

‘Think he’s gonna tell us anything?’

Mac looked at me like I’d tested him, said, ‘He’ll tell us.’

I’d forgotten how connected Mac was. If he said he had a man in the know, that was good enough for me. Hod pulled out. As we drove, the silence in the cab of the van was palpable. I knew the pair of them were bursting to have a go at me, a full-on swipe for getting Amy involved, for getting myself in hospital again … for being the usual cockhead that I’d proven myself to be time and time again. But they held schtum. I was grateful for that – fuck knows I had nothing else to be glad of.

I put my hands in my pockets and tried to draw fists to stop the trembling. Knew it was futile. Felt the tremors spreading along the seat towards Mac and Hod. I was, as they were both dying to tell me, in some shape. I let the shakes mount up, mingle with the tension, then I fired up: ‘Look, I know you’re both itching to cane my arse, so let’s just get that out the way, eh.’

Mac looked at Hod. They both shook their heads. This was worse than I thought. They’d gone beyond that stage. They were in damage-limitation mode. I could tell by the look on them that they thought I was past help. I was at the stage where no one else could reach me. I felt their concern; it made me think of Debs. I’d seen the look on her many times before. She knew me better than anyone. Was that why she wouldn’t speak to me? Was it too painful for her to see me this way? I looked at my mobi, in forlorn hope that she might have returned one of my calls … Nothing. I felt an almighty urge to call her again, to tell her I thought I’d sussed her out, but I fought it. Now wasn’t the time. And I had more pressing matters to worry about.

I dialled Amy’s number.

Ringing.

Three rings in total, then voicemail.

I left a message: ‘Amy, it’s Gus … where the hell are you, eh? Look, I saw you with Gemmill. He’s fucking dangerous, I’m not kidding. Tell me where you are, eh? Get away from him and call … I’ll come get you. Please, Amy. This isn’t a game. It’s serious now, call me right back.’

I put down the phone, caught Mac’s eye on me. It wasn’t one of his more kindly stares.

‘Yeah?’ I said.

‘Think that’ll do any good?’

‘What do you mean?’

He turned on the seat, staring intently at me, pointed a finger in my chest. ‘If Gemmill knows she’s connected to you, Gus, she’s probably already on a fucking meathook.’

I brushed him aside, yelled at Hod, ‘Look, can you drive any bloody slower?’

‘Don’t be sparking at me, boyo.’

I wasn’t taking that. ‘Boyo now, is it? Well, let me fucking remind you whose idea this case was!’

‘Aye, aye … and who told you to keep Amy out of it?’

‘You’ll be accusing me of playing Cilla to her and Gemmill next!’

Mac slapped the dash. ‘Right, enough’s enough! … You heard the pair of you? Like fucking four-year-olds. Cool the beans, eh. If we’re going to find this lassie we need to keep the heid.’

He was right, but I wasn’t admitting anything.

I turned to the window, tucked my trembling hands back in my coat pockets as Hod drove. I could see the hallucinations returning if I didn’t snap out of this frame of mind. I felt myself tripping – falling out with myself again. It was never a good state at the best of times, but in the current circumstances, with Amy’s life on the line, I might as well just check out.

As we hit Leith Walk the place was in chaos. Tram works in full swing, the road dug up. A tailback stretched all the way from the roundabout down London Road. Horns blared, the normal rules of
the road chucked out the window. At Festival time you expect such shit, but things were worse than ever with the tram works. Every bin in the street was full, spilling rubbish onto the ground. Tourists and locals waded through the muck, shaking their heads. Don’t think I’d ever wanted out more. Felt an unholy pull towards a new life. Somewhere far away; somewhere I could be someone else. I spiralled out of control … out of hope.

I turned to Mac. ‘So, this mate of yours … he reliable?’

Mac’s voice was low, flat. ‘Well, for a start, he’s no mate of mine.’

‘Sounds dodgy.’

‘He’s a mate of Gemmill’s.’

‘But you know him?’

‘We were in Bar-L together. Gemmill was in for a four-stretch at the time. We all crossed paths.’

‘But he kept in with Gemmill?’

‘Aye … I didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Cos the cunt’s fucking radge.’

I knew that myself, remembered his face as he’d stomped on my guts in the King’s Arms. He was wild. Lost it. Out of control. None of this sounded promising. ‘So what makes you think he’ll fill you in on where to get Gemmill?’

Mac rubbed the edge of his Chelsea smile. ‘Nothing … just gonna play it casual, hope he’s too dippit to cop on.’

‘Jesus, this could backfire badly. What if he tips off Gemmill?’

Mac dropped his hand, exhaled a long breath. ‘Aye, well, I thought about that myself … but didn’t come up with an answer. You got a better idea?’

I took my eyes off him, looked to the road in front, said, ‘God help us.’

Hod butted in, forcing his voice high above its natural range: ‘It’s Amy you should be praying for.’

HOD AND I WATCHED MAC cross the street to the pub. I’d seen more than my fair share of Leith drinkers but this place was a total doss. Two skelky yoofs stood outside like ornamental hoodies, hanging off filter-tips, and watching a pair of Staffies in heavy leather and brass harnesses circle each other in preparation for a scrap. Three yards from the door an old man in an Andy Capp hat and dirty mac took a piss against the wall; he could hardly stand and looked likely to keel at any moment. The snoutcasts, at least half a dozen of them, looked unfazed by either of these scenes – it was just another day in paradise.

‘Some fucking kip, that place,’ said Hod.

‘No kidding.’

At the door, Mac took a hand out of his jacket pocket and pushed his way in. I felt relieved this was his gig and not mine. There was no way I was up to taking on any of the locals if they got uppity at the sight of a strange face. Round here, a fresh coupon is likely taken as filth.

Hod spoke: ‘So, the hospital again …’

‘What about it?’ I was in no mood for a lecture. Had taken more than enough of them in my day.

‘Nothing.’ He knew better than to have a go. Went on, but his voice changed tone again. ‘I, eh, bumped into your mam.’

This was unexpected. At the best of times Hod didn’t hang anywhere my mother was likely to be, and he had been lying low. He was up to something. ‘You did?’

‘Aye, okay … Look, I called her, told her you’d been in the hospital.’

I fired up, ‘You did fucking what?’

‘Gus, I had to … She asked me to …’

‘She asked you to what?’

He scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘She asked me to let her know if you were … y’know, ever in a bad way again, just to let her know.’

This wasn’t good. The last thing I needed was my mother piling on the grief; Jesus, I had enough of that to be worrying about as it was. ‘Oh, she did, did she?’