Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) (3 page)

With the pressure
of this week’s loan repayment behind me I catch the bus into town in the hope
of securing some casual work. If I can find something cash in hand in one of
the cafes or restaurants along Leith Walk I can at least sign on and get
something to tide me over till I find a proper job. The first couple of
restaurants I call into want experience I don’t have and seem to think I’m not
capable of carrying plates in and out of a kitchen without dropping them. The
cafés are more sympathetic but just not looking for extra hands. I walk as far
as Great Junction Street and speak to a sullen looking guy behind the counter
of a greasy spoon who glares at the spotty faced girl clearing tables the
entire time he speaks to me. Her apron looks as though it should carry a health
warning and during the time I’m there she does little other than flick crumbs
around, earphones giving off a shouty hiss.

‘I’ll
take your number,’ the café owner grumbles, ‘should something come up in the
next day or two.’

It’s
the best response I’ve had so far so I feel justified calling it a day and
heading towards the bus stop to return home.

‘Hey,
Davy, wait!’ At the sound of my name I turn to see Candy Staton from the
factory waving at me from across the road. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and
high heeled boots revealing a figure that would make Beyonce weep. Holding
several shopping bags waist high she zig-zags between cars only too pleased to
slow down so she can pass in front. The envy of every male driver when she
stops right in front of me is palpable. She looks really pleased to see me,
large brown eyes dancing beneath long dark lashes; I only hope she can’t tell
how pleased I am to see her.

‘Hey
stranger.’

I
try to think of something clever to say but conscious of looking even more of a
moron if I stand there and say nothing I mumble ‘
Right back atcha
.’ and
prepare to go on my way.

‘You
in a rush or something?’ Candy asks and I may have imagined it but I thought I
saw a look of disappointment flicker across her face.

‘No,’
I shrug, pleased that she wants to talk to me but non-plussed as to what to
talk about. Candy looks up the street in the direction I’ve come from and her
eyes fall onto the greasy spoon I’d just left. ‘Fancy a coffee?’

I’m
amazed she’s even considering going in there, she strikes me as a mocha latte
frappe kind of girl and I’m sure as hell she’ll not get one of them in there.

‘OK,
my treat though.’ I say magnanimously, taking some of the bags from her as we
walk into the café together. I’ve no idea how I’m going to pay as the only
money I have is owed to Mickey Plastic but then I have an idea. ‘You sit down,’
I instruct her confidently, ‘I’ll bring you a coffee over.’ It’s the most I’d
ever said to her but I need her to be out of earshot when I approach the café
owner for the second time that day.

He
looks up as I walked towards the counter.

‘I
said I’d give you a call.’ He says tersely and I think for a moment I may have
read him wrong. ‘Look,’ I say quietly, ‘I won’t let you down, I’ll turn up on
time every day, I’ll even bring you new customers.’ I look over at Candy and
wiggle my fingers like we were big pals. The guy does all he can to stop his
jaw from dropping, and this time when he looks at me there’s a glint of
something I’m not used to seeing when people look at me – respect.

‘The
thing is,’ I hesitate, then remind myself that apart from my bus fare the only
money I have is the loan from Aunt Jude and I’m not about to jeopardise that.
If I have to work an hour unpaid to pay for Candy’s drink then it’s worth a
punt.

‘Ye’re
kidding me right?’ he asks when I explain, ‘I’ve not even said you’ve got the
job and you’re asking me for a sub?’ I smile back at him sheepishly, I suppose
if you look at it like that it does seem a bit rich but I’m smitten, and
desperate, and a man will do anything in those circumstances.

A
further glance at Candy seems to make up his mind. ‘Monday morning, 9a.m.
sharp,’ he mutters gruffly while wiping his hands down the front of his apron
and splitting a sachet of instant cappuccino into two mugs.

‘You
must be my lucky charm today,’ I say when I return to Candy’s table with two
steaming drinks and a chocolate bar,
Now you’re taking the piss,
was my
new boss’s response to that request. ‘I’ve just got myself a job.’

‘What,
here?’ Candy laughs and I feel embarrassed for a minute, but then her hand
flies to her mouth in an instant, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!’ she
begins, then, ‘Look, I don’t know how I meant it to be truthful. After the
other day I wasn’t sure I’d even see you again.’

‘Ye
do know I hadn’t done anything?’ I say defensively, ‘The cops pulled me in
because they were bored and it’s a case of
let’s go and tug Davy
, remind
‘em who’s top dog round ‘ere. Ye get that don’t ye?’ She looks alarmed and I
realise I’m starting to rant.

‘Ugh,’
I sigh, resting my head in my hands in an attempt to think calm thoughts and
find a way of explaining myself without putting the frighteners on her.

‘They
were trying to wind me up,’ I say simply, ‘and it worked.’

Candy
reaches across the table to hold my hand. ‘In your personnel file it says that
you’re on parole, but it doesn’t say what you were convicted of.’

My
shoulders sag at the thought of having to dredge through it again, especially
within the earshot of my new boss but I can’t see how I’ve got the choice, not
if I want to keep Candy onside. ‘I was stupid.’ I say simply. ‘I owed someone
money and I fooled myself into thinking that one easy job for a mate would pay
it off.’

‘What
did you do?’ she prompts.

I
break the chocolate bar in two and offer her half which she declines. I
concentrate on chewing for a moment while I put my words in order. ‘I worked in
a bent garage.’ I say simply. ‘You know the sort: turning back mileage on the
clock, MOT rackets, selling cut and shunt motors on the forecourt.’ She nods
slowly, I mean it’s obvious she doesn’t have personal experience of these scams
but at least she’s aware of them. ‘I knew the owner’s son.’ I tell her, ‘
He
knew I was looking for a job. What more can I say? When the police raided the
place I was the only one found on the premises.’

‘How
come?’

I
laugh. ‘Now
that’s
a great question. I’d like to think whoever gave the
others the tip off couldn’t get to me in time. In reality, I think I was
collateral damage, if there’d been no one on the premises when they’d raided it
then someone high up would’ve smelled a rat. The investigation would have been
shelved and several arses kicked. The fact that someone could take the blame
meant the case could be closed.’

Candy’s
mouth opens in surprise, making a perfect little ‘O’. I think I could look at
this girl all day. Candy however, is not so easily distracted: ‘You mean the
cops were happy to believe you had the wherewithal to run an operation like
that? What about cash flow? Suppliers?’

‘Yeah
well,’ I shrug, ‘it doesn’t matter whether they get the right man for the job
or not. It’s just one more notch on their bedpost or leader board or whatever
name they use for their arrest statistics.’

‘But
you took the blame?’

I
exhale noisily, as though blowing bubbles under water. ‘What else could I do?’
I say helplessly, ‘You can’t grass and expect to get away with it. Either way I
was bollocksed. The way I saw it was I had to keep my head down, do the time
and pick up where I left off when I got out. Only I hadn’t figured on the local
five-o doing the same.’

‘What
do you mean?’

‘The
cop that came to the factory? He’s had it in for me ever since my old man
walked out when I was a kid. My dad was a small time villain, harmless in many
ways, just couldn’t keep his hands to himself. I suppose he just thinks “
Like
father like son
”.’

Only
I’m nothing like my old man. I think of Mum and the bruises she used to hide
from me. Of the marks I used to hide from her. He locked me in the hall
cupboard once when I was small. He’d yelled at me for wetting the bed and I
wouldn’t stop crying; I suppose he thought that if he couldn’t hear me it would
be like I wasn’t there. Only he fell asleep. Mum found me when she came back
from work. I’ve had difficulty sleeping in the dark ever since.

I
look at Candy’s sweet oval face; her head tilts to one side when she’s
listening to me. Just looking at her makes me want to smile. Her hand nudges
mine, prompting me to continue: ‘I might be nothing like my old man but I still
ended up doing time, with Mum waiting in line with her visiting order, like she
used to do for Dad.’ All the years I’d thought I was better than him; turns out
I was no different after all.

Candy
eyes me cautiously, ‘What do you mean by “
pick up where you left off
…?”’

‘I
don’t mean fixing bent cars,’ I say hurriedly, ‘I mean carry on as I was before
I allowed myself to get into trouble.’

‘What
about your friend, his dad?’

‘Oh,
long gone. They went to Spain on an extended holiday, they’ll not be back for a
while, I guess.’

‘So
all that’s behind you then? For sure?’

She
smiles, but I can see she’s not satisfied. ‘Candy, prison changes your life
forever. Ye don’t just lose your privacy; ye lose the options that were open to
ye. The choices ye thought ye had, the ones the careers teachers talk about at
school are all gone, and for most of us there’s no way to put it right. I
always hoped I’d get a decent job, learn a trade or something, but who’s gonnae
give me that chance now?’

The
job at Swanson’s factory had offered me a way out, a chance to earn a wage and
get in to a routine that didn’t include getting up at lunchtime and watching
Jeremy Kyle. But MacIntyre had shattered that chance, and along with it any
hope I had of finding something similar. What was the point of trying to find a
proper job if the cops were going to trail me round like I was a terrorist or
something? The thought of a lifetime resigned to working off the books or on
the dole makes my heart sink.

Candy
says nothing but I can tell she isn’t convinced. ‘There’s no way I’m going back
there,’ I insist, ‘Second time inside and your choices fall away even more, I
saw grown men spend ten minutes debating whether to have chips or mash for
their lunch - the only choices left to them were the options on the canteen
menu.’

I
look up at the sound of a door slam to see the girl who’d been flicking crumbs
around earlier storm out of the kitchen followed by my future boss. ‘I can’t
pay two of you!’ He shouts after her, and as she passes our table she hawks a
big ball of phlegm into my coffee.

‘That
one’s on me.’ She barks as she stumbles out through the exit.

Mickey
Plastic lives in an ex-council flat on the sixth floor of Hermitage Tower.
Rumour has it he’d bought it for his mum but moved into it himself after she
passed away, renting out his four bed detached in Crammond as the other
residents in the up market cul-de-sac refused to accept their chavvy neighbour
and his low rent mates. Now, back among his own kind he was cock of the walk
once more.

Not
bothering to check if the lift is working I take the stairs two at a time, not
because I’m in any hurry to see Mickey, more the fact there were pools of piss
and other foul smelling liquids on most of the steps. The estate has a
reputation as home to problem families. As its reputation got worse it became a
magnet for the lawless, empty flats taken over by local dealers, under the
Right to Buy scheme owners rented out rooms to pimps who filled them with
Eastern European girls who couldn’t speak the lingo but gave as good a blow job
as the local girls with a lot less hassle.

The
majority of the entrances have closed grille gates in front of each door, as
though it’s essential to have further protection from the outside world. Two of
Mickey’s foot soldiers keep watch from each end of the balcony landing,
surveying the car park and tower block entrance for any unwelcome visitors. As
I emerge from the stairwell the nearest minder steps forward to block my path.
‘I’ve an appointment with Mickey.’ I inform him quickly. He nods to the other
guy as if to say he’s got it covered and pulls out a mobile phone from his
tracksuit pocket. ‘Name.’ he barks, a statement, rather than a question, and
once I’ve told him he takes a step back to speak to his boss on speed dial.

From
my vantage point on the walkway I check out Platinum Point, the private apartment
block opposite. I’m still not sure how a flat stops being a flat and becomes an
apartment; could it be anything to do with one being council owned and the
other having a price tag for a cool one million pounds? I can’t help laughing
though, I mean, why would ye? Why shell out shed loads of money to look out
over a greying sea on one side and lines of skid-marked washing on the other?
The local news had reported complaints from the wealthy residents when they’d
first moved in – about the washing hanging over balconies on the scheme flats
spoiling their view. If they’d wanted Tuscan hills they’d come to the wrong
bloody place then.

To
accommodate the wealthy incomers there’s been an influx of Michelin starred
restaurants and trendy eateries along Leith shore, Victoria Quay is here too,
home to an ever growing number of Scotland’s civil servants. There’s certainly
money in the area now, yet it never makes its way into the pockets of the
original residents. Unless they steal it.

Having
ended his call, Mickey’s minder steps forward and motions for me to follow him.
His looks are deceptive, he’s nippy on his feet for someone so bulky and I
struggle to keep up with him. At Mickey’s front door he knocks once before it
is opened by the BMX rider who brought me the news of my revised repayment
plan. We acknowledge each other with a half-smile. ‘Glad to see you’re learning
all aspects of the business.’ I observe, and I swear his smile gets bigger.