Paying For It (23 page)

‘Christ! Paintings then, Louis Vuitton handbags, mucky books? Where would he keep them? Where would he store them?’

‘I do not know. I really do not know. I tell you, he never had such business that I knew of.’

I was getting nowhere. I needed to know what Billy had been up to. Now, either Nadja was in the dark too, or she was holding out on me again. I wasn’t about to let her away with that for a second time.

I ran through to the bedroom, picked up the Glock. Stuffed it in my belt.

‘Right, on your feet,’ I said.

‘Why? Where are we going?’

‘Billy’s gaff. If he’s left a hint of what he’s been up to, we’ll find it.’

‘But Benny’s people have already been over it.’

‘I’m not Benny’s people.’

BILLY KEPT A yuppie apartment down on the waterfront. I’d read an article by Irvine Welsh where he’d queried what it was with yuppies and water. I’d never found the answer to that myself. The water down here, looking out to a sea black to the horizon, is far from calming. Byron Bay it ain’t.

Whoever came up with the saying ‘worse things happen at sea’ had the Scottish coast in mind at the time. There’s a spot in the north called Cape Wrath. Says it all. A name like that, you don’t need to see the pictures. Safe to say, it hasn’t made any holiday brochures.

Robert Louis Stevenson’s family fortune came from building lighthouses to warn against the harshness of the Scottish coast, he had the right idea nicking off to Samoa. As a teenager on a trip up north, he’d described the coastal town of Wick as ‘one of the meanest of man’s towns, and situated certainly on the baldest of God’s bays’.

As I looked out of Billy’s floor-to-ceiling windows I couldn’t find one word of praise for the view, said, ‘What
were
you thinking, Billy?’

‘What, what did you say?’

‘Nothing. Just admiring the view.’

Nadja looked at me as though I’d fallen into apoplexy.

‘Are you serious? It is like the end of the world.’

What do you say to that? I said nothing.

‘Can you hurry, please,’ said Nadja. ‘I don’t like it here.’

‘Why? Bad memories?’

‘I’ve never liked it here.’

She stood in the centre of the floor, arms folded. Her eyes darted from me to the door and back again. She looked cold. I expected to see her shiver, but then it dawned on me – it was a deeper cold, a visceral chill. She’d carry this cold with her wherever she went.

Coming back here I’d expected tears from her. At least, some stirring of emotion. Maybe pick up one of the pictures dotted about the place. Pictures of her and Billy in what looked to be happier times. But she seemed unmoved by the return visit. Worse than that, the place unsettled her.

I asked, ‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you never like it here?’

She gave out a loud huff, moved away from me, propped herself on a bar stool.

‘Can you please get what you came for? I want to leave.’

The place had been turned over by Zalinskas’ goons, but I guessed it was a week since anyone had been there. A layer of silver dust covered the dining table and a stack of unopened mail sat on the mat.

‘Cleaning lady on holiday?’ I joked.

Saw a set of drawers turned out onto the floor, packs of cards,
TV Times
and Sainsbury’s coupons everywhere.

‘Billy clipped coupons?’ I said.

‘Ohh … that man!’

The DVD player lay smashed to bits on the floor. A set of size tens stomping on the casing will do that. A stack of empty shelves, left untouched, confused me. ‘Why are these shelves empty?’

Nadja shrugged her shoulders.

I got behind the DVD player, poked about on the floor, found an empty CD case and another empty CD rack.

‘They’ve taken all the disks.’

‘Yes, so what? Can we go now?’

I tramped through the debris to the kitchen, placed a hand on Nadja’s thigh. ‘You’ll have my full attention soon enough. Why don’t you make yourself a coffee?’

She rose, threw up her hands. ‘I am going to wait outside.’

‘No, I don’t think you are.’ I lowered my eyes and she went back to her seat.

‘Can you hurry – please.’

‘All in good time.’ I handed her the pile of unopened mail. ‘Here, look through that.’

In the bedroom, Billy’s clothes covered the floor. He had some expensive gear, but no taste. Ties that the guy off Channel 4 news wouldn’t give the nod to.

Inside his wardrobe more shelves had been removed, I say removed, torn out more like. But his shoes seemed untouched, lined up on the floor in two neat rows. Had a brainstorm to tip them out. Instantly, glad I did. A key for a mortise lock fell out of a Reebok runner.

I picked up the key. ‘Hello, what’s this?’

It seemed like an old key, rusted over. Certainly not well used. I called out to Nadja, ‘Hey, come in here, would you?’

No answer.

I stood up, went back through to the lounge.

‘Nadja,’ I called out. Then again, louder, ‘Nadja … Nadja.’

The place was empty. She’d run out on me.

I LOOKED IN the hall and out the window, but saw no sign of Nadja. She’d cut out with the pile of mail.

I paced the house looking for something that the key might fit. I spotted a couple of linen chests, a drawer on Billy’s desk, but the key I’d found fitted none of them. It looked like an old door key, probably for an exterior lock of some kind. I pocketed it and, on a hunch, decided to check the one room I’d left out so far, the bathroom.

Call it a cliché, but I reckoned the cistern was still a safe bet to find stuff people don’t want to put out on open display. Especially, I thought, if Billy was keeping something from Nadja – there was no way she’d risk breaking a nail poking about at the shitter.

I lifted the lid, depressed the ballcock. Nothing. The cistern held only water. I put back the lid, turned for the hall. On my way, a board beneath my feet creaked. I looked down, the floor was carpeted, but at the wall there seemed to be a few tacks missing.

It took some work but I managed to loosen the carpet, it was rubber-backed and moved freely once I’d taken out the grips holding it down.

‘Bingo!’

One of the boards had recently been lifted, nails removed, chips at the edges where it had been prised up.

I banged on the edge with the heel of my hand and the board shot up. Hidden beneath was a small Nike holdall. I reached in, pulled it out. Inside, I found Billy’s passport, bank books, a heap of unsigned credit cards and about twenty gees in used notes.

‘Planning a quick getaway, Billy Boy?’

I put the board down, stamped down the carpet and slung the bag on my back.

I tried to leave Billy’s apartment as I’d found it – think Hiroshima aftermath.

Outside I strolled along casually. Not an easy task when you’ve twenty large flung over your shoulder. I’d never been mugged in my life, I prayed it wouldn’t be my turn today. Not because I feared losing the cash, but because I still carried the Glock. Didn’t want to be caught warding off a hoodie with such a serious weapon, had a feeling the consequences might be disproportionate.

At the Wall, the same old faces were in residence. The gadgie spied me, got to his feet. If I’d no time for him when we last met, I’d less now, greeted him with, ‘Fuck off.’

His face, skin as patchy as kebab meat, failed to detect any hostility. He swayed about, looked far gone, then sat down again and drooled into his pint.

‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Col. ‘That’s a customer you’re talking to.’

‘I’ve no time for pleasantries.’

A frown, shake of the head. ‘I know we’re hardly the Ritz, but a man deserves a bit of common courtesy.’

Felt in no mood to debate the fineries of Edinburgh’s carefully cultivated class system; I threw the holdall on the bar.

‘What’s this?’

‘Open it.’

Col tipped the bag on its side, struggled with the zip fastener on the pocket.

‘Here,’ I said, grabbing it off him, undoing the cord at the top, ‘have a look at that.’

Col peered in. ‘By the cringe, there must be—’

I put my hand on his mouth. Some of these people would do a lot worse than kill for half this amount.

‘Picked it up from Billy’s gaff.’

‘You went round?’ Col ferreted further into the bag, removed the passport. As he saw the page with Billy’s photo on he touched his lips.

‘Col, the place has been turned over. It seems Billy had got his hands on something that attracted a lot of interest.’

‘Like what?’ Col was genuinely confused. I wondered if this episode might be the one to tip him over the edge.

‘Something he shouldn’t have.’

Col’s features stiffened. He flared his nostrils then yanked the cord closed on the bag. ‘Here, take it.’

‘Uh-uh. If anyone’s due some of Billy’s earnings, I think it’s you.’

He forced the bag into my hands. ‘I’ll never touch it.’

‘Think about it. You take it or Nadja does.’

A dog barked outside, Col vacillated.

I said, ‘Take the money, Col. Dump it in the collection plate the next time you’re at church.’

Slowly, he slid the bag off the bar. His hands trembled as he tucked it underneath the till.

‘This is all very unsettling, Gus.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘If I’d known … Well, I’d have found a way to intervene, sooner.’

‘Sooner?’

Col touched his brow, looked like he’d just remembered something burning in the oven. ‘Christ, listen to me! Here’s you chasing all over the place on my behalf and – will you have a drink?’

I nodded. Col poured out a Guinness, and a chaser.

‘We’re a bit quieter tonight, I think,’ he said.

‘How so?’

‘
Big Brother
… it’s eviction night.’

‘Holy shit, even your punters watch that garbage?’

‘Oh yes, it’s like an obsession with them.’

‘Where’s the attraction of recording every cough and fart of a bunch of nobodies?’

‘I agree. I think it’s like watching lab rats myself.’

‘We’re all of us guinea pigs in the laboratory of God.’

‘Is that a quote?’

‘Tennessee Williams.’

‘I like it. Do believe he’s right you know.’

I drained my whisky, Col picked up the glass, raised it to the optic behind the bar. As he went, I took out the key I’d found at Billy’s apartment.

I turned it over on the bar towel, trying to guess where it might fit. The key looked older in this light, I noticed some ornate markings on the hilt. It looked Victorian.

‘Where did you find that?’ Col said, as he placed the whisky before me. His voice seemed to suggest he wasn’t unfamiliar with the key.

‘This?’

‘Yeah. It’s my old cellar key, isn’t it?’ He turned quickly from me, went back to the till. A felt board with brass hooks held all the keys for the bar. ‘Oh, hang on … it’s here.’

He brought over his key, placed it next to Billy’s. ‘My, they’re almost identical, aren’t they?’

‘I found this key at Billy’s place. It was tucked away in a shoe, out of sight.’

Col took the key, raised it to the light. ‘Do you think he got hold of a spare or something?’

‘I don’t know. I wondered what it was for, to tell you the truth.’

Col put the two keys together on the bar towel. ‘Well, that’s the queerest thing.’

‘For the cellar you say?’

‘No. No. We’ve a proper cellar down there,’ Col pointed to the floor. ‘This is for the old cellar up the back there, it’s more like a coal house.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘In it? Nothing, nothing at all. Last time it was used, to my knowledge, was in the war, you know, as a kind of shelter.’

I stood up, took the first sip of my Guinness. ‘Have you got a flashlight?’

‘Sure. You going to check it out?’

‘Och, I think I should. So you coming?’

‘No, you go, I’ve got the bar to mind … was near impossible to get staff tonight.’

I huffed. ‘
Big Brother
?’

‘You wouldn’t believe it, would you?’

I shook my head, took the flashlight from him.

Outside the cold bit like a bastard. I tested the bulb. It looked to be dimming but would do the job.

The key slotted into the lock without effort. As I pushed the door open a waft of dampness caught in my throat. ‘Christ Almighty!’ I closed my mouth and descended the stairs.

As I reached the floor, I checked for a light switch. None. The walls had been painted white at some stage and caught the light I shone on them, throwing off more into the room. The smell of damp rose like poison gas. I brought my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose.

I moved about, the place seemed to be empty. No shortage of cobwebs, streams of moisture on the walls and general grit and dust blowing about the floor. But nothing worth hiding a key in your shoe for.

‘Come on, Billy Boy. What’s your big secret?’

The flashlight started to fade. The bulb dimmed to a faint orange glow. I slapped the butt in my hand. It went out.

‘Fucking brilliant.’

I searched for my matches, struck a clutch of five or six. The fizzing flame heated my hand, threw shadows on the wall. I lit another batch, raising them aloft. For a good few seconds I’d a fully lit view of the room. It was empty. Not a thing there.

I returned to the stairs, at the top pushed open the door and gasped for breath.

‘Jesus … that was rough.’

Felt good to taste fresh air once more. So good, I sparked up a Marlboro. First of a new pack. Red top, proper fatal.

A few drags in I clasped the tab in my teeth, turned to lock up. A damp old donkey jacket hung on the back of the door. I’d always wondered how they got the name, I saw now it was because they smelled like them.

I pushed the door, and the hook holding the jacket snapped, dropped it on the ground.

‘Oh, shit.’

I picked it up, about to throw it down the stairs, when something fell out of the side pocket.

‘Hello …’

I bent down to see what it was.

‘Billy, you sly old bastard.’

A disk.

I took it back to the pub. Col sat in front of the bar, watching television.

‘You’re actually watching
Big Brother
?’