Sid
The Snake’s street was quiet, maybe too quiet. After the raid we’d staged on the pit fight Hod had word that certain folk were none too chuffed. I anticipated another howk from Rab’s pugs but was more concerned with some rasslin’ of my own.
We sat just up from Sid’s gaff and waited. He had to emerge sooner or later and when he did I’d be there. And more worryingly for him, so would Mac the Knife.
‘You look pumped.’
Mac squeezed the steering wheel. ‘That wee prick’s gonna be pumped.’
‘You’re remembering your record, of course.’
A laugh, cut in half, replaced with a smile. ‘I’m playing my record!’
There was some movement down the street; Sid’s door opened. Two skelky yoofs stepped out and slouched themselves into the wind. I couldn’t see their faces hidden behind hoodies. I let them traipse along the pavement. When they passed the van I saw one of them had a bag over his shoulder.
‘What you think’s in there?’ I said.
‘Fuck knows… Skag? Could be anything. They’re in with Rab and he’s into it all.’
I thought about going after the yob for a look, but then Sid’s door opened again and I was harshly thrown back in my seat.
As Mac brought the van to a halt there was a screech of tyres. A gust of black smoke lingered in the air as I pulled open the slide door. Sid stood on the pavement wide-eyed, his mouth drooping like a feedbag above his scrawny neck. I reached out and grabbed him by the collar. He was surprisingly light as I threw him into the back. Mac spun the wheels again as the door slammed shut.
I said nothing, let Sid wonder.
I kept eyes on him as he jittered before me, wiping a dribble from the side of his mouth.
He looked like a cornered rat, hunched over and ready to bound away first chance he got. His thin knees poked through his keenly pressed denims like tent poles. In the van there was an atmosphere you couldn’t mistake. Sid was shitting himself. Not literally, but if he was you wouldn’t catch it over the reek of Blue Stratos he was wearing.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he said finally.
I blanked him.
‘C’mon, this is out ay order. I’ve told you all I know before.’
I rubber-eared him again.
He banged on the side of the van, yelled, ‘Hey, let me out!’
He’d pushed his luck. I leaned forward and grabbed Sid by the neck. He squirmed; hands shot up as he tried to speak. His voice came like a croak, but there were no words he could form.
I watched Sid struggle before me, slap my hands pathetically, then I smacked his head off the side of the van.
He slumped, hands clawing at his collar, gasping for air.
Mac shouted to us, ‘What the fuck’s going on back there?… If I’ve to stop this van I’ll do the cunt here and now.’
Sid’s feet paddled on the floor of the van as he retreated from me in blind panic.
I said, ‘He’s settled now. If he moves again, I’ll do him myself.’
We drove for an hour.
Mac had obviously done this before; he knew how to stretch out the tension.
None of us spoke, though I swore I saw Sid mouthing the rosary. His complexion had gone from the natural schemie grey to white as a maggot. He sat with his knees folded under his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. Only occasionally did he look in my direction and if he caught my eye he’d divert his gaze promptly.
I saw through the front windscreen that Mac had driven us out into the country. We were coming off a B road and heading down a dirt track. I saw trees. Don’t ask me what kind — I’m from Leith — but they were lined up along the banks of a little burn. They had thick branches, kind you could get a rope over; more than strong enough to hold a skelf like Sid.
Mac brought the van to a halt. Turned off the engine and put the keys in his pocket. He made a great show of hunting under the front seat for the rope, shouted, ‘Gus, where the fuck’s that rope?’
I was watching Sid. He dropped his hands, pushed himself up on his palms. ‘The noose?’ I said.
‘Aye, the fucking noose,’ said Mac.
I reached behind me, opened the tool carrier fitted into the van and took out the rope. Mac had tied the slip knot. The sight of it made Sid start to whimper, spout nonsense I couldn’t make out.
‘Give us it here,’ said Mac.
I passed the rope and Mac left the van to throw it over a branch.
I leaned towards Sid. He shrieked. I opened the slide door behind him and he fell backwards into the daylight.
Mac already had the rope in position as I raised Sid by the scruff of his neck to the edge of the burn. Mac took Sid from me as though I was passing him a bag of trash. ‘You are a slimy little fucker, Sid, y’know that?’ he said.
‘What? What the fuck have I done?’
I moved forward. ‘You know why you’re here, Sid. Don’t shit us.’
He was staring at the noose. Couldn’t take his eyes away for a second. ‘Nowt. I’ve done fucking nowt. What have I done? What have I done?’
Mac looked at me. He was ready to pound into Sid. I raised a hand. As Mac walked away to the front of the van, I looked at Sid. His glasses were held together in the middle by a strip of Elastoplast — my doing. But beneath the big lens of the left eye there was a shiner coming up. He had a cut lip and some scratches on his temple. ‘Who gave you the doing, Sid?’
‘What? What doing?’
I half turned, enough to throw a windmill right. I decked him. As he lay pegged out on the ground I told Mac to come back and pick him up. He held Sid; I tried again.
‘Rab’s boys have paid you a wee visit, haven’t they, Sid?’
He was looking at the noose again. A nod. ‘Aye, aye, they came round.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t fucking know.’
Mac tightened his grip on Sid, said, ‘Let me string the cunt up. I can’t be doing with this.’
Sid hollered, ‘The other night at the jolly house.’
I turned to Mac. He explained, ‘The pit fight.’
I faced Sid again, squeezed his hollow cheeks in my hand. ‘I saw you there with Jonny Johnstone… Very fucking cosy with the filth you are, Sid.’
He stuttered, ‘I’m not, I’m not.’ He started to fluster, whimper. ‘He was just after a bit ay sport.’
Mac lost it: ‘I’m not being fucked about any longer.’ He dragged Sid into the burn. The gimp was crying now, what we call greetin’ like a wee lassie in Scotland. I let Mac get the noose around Sid’s neck then start to tighten it.
‘You better talk fast, Sid… Mac the Knife’s not happy.’
I saw the name tip more fear into Sid’s eyes. He spluttered, gripped at the noose with his fingernails and yelled, ‘Pay-off! He was there for his pay-off!’
‘What pay-off?’
Sid’s fingernails were all that was keeping the rope from strangling him. ‘Rab feeds Jonny a wedge to turn a blindy to the dog fights.’
It made perfect sense to me. ‘How long’s this been going on?’
‘I don’t know, I promise I don’t. Moosey used to pay him… It was my first time.’ Sid kicked out at Mac, tried to push him away. ‘Call him off! Call him off, for fucksake!’
I nodded to Mac. He let down the rope.
Sid collapsed in the burn, panting.
‘Speak,’ said Mac. ‘I can easy fucking string you up again.’
Sid tried to get up. The stones underfoot were slippy and he fell again and again. I walked into the burn, placed my hands on his neck and belt loop — threw him onto the bank.
I followed him out and placed my foot on his shoulder as he tried to get up. I pushed him down again. Mac joined me. We towered over Sid, put the heavy threat on him as I said, ‘Speak.’
‘I don’t fucking know any more, I promise I don’t. That’s it, man
… Jonny Boy’s Rab’s fixer with the polis.’
‘Who else?’
‘What do ye mean?’
‘Who else in the filth is Rab paying off?’
‘I–I don’t know. I swear, I only do the books on the dogs.’
I looked at Mac. His face was non-committal. I turned back to Sid. ‘Who’s the little fucker in the white Corrado?’
‘What?’
‘The little bastard that ran over Tupac.’
Sid was gathering his senses, his breath returning to normal. ‘It’s Gibby — top man with the young crew… He’s a wee fucking Jack the Lad.’
I could tell he knew more. ‘You know who told him to kill Tupac, so don’t make me knock it out of you.’
Sid looked at Mac. ‘It was Jonny… But that’s all I know, I swear. I don’t know why but he told him to fucking do it. Gibby told me himself — he’s a boasting wee cunt.’
‘Is this Gibby pally with the Crawford kid?’
Sid nodded. ‘I’ve seen them going about together.’
I got Gibby’s address out of Sid and then Mac picked him up by the ponytail, dragged him screaming to the edge of the burn and kicked his arse back into the water.
As we got in the van, I rolled down the window, yelled to Sid as he schlepped out of the water, ‘That rope’s staying up there… and if one word of what you’ve told us is bullshit, by Christ, you’ll fucking swing.’
As we pulled out, I could hear Sid yelling, ‘Hey, you can’t leave me here! I don’t know where the fuck I am!’
Thought: Welcome to my world.