SPENT A COUPLE OF DAYS in dry dock. Only contact with the outside world was to call Hod, tell him to keep an even lower profile than I’d suggested earlier. Had a bad feeling about Shaky’s sudden interest in us; figured there was more to it but couldn’t get that side of the Rubik’s cube to match up. Brain was still firing on half power, maybe I needed more rest… Yeah, like fuck: I needed a drink.
Took myself to the shower room. The place was kitted out like a caravan park, lots of black grout in the tiles and blacker mould on the bench boards. No wonder our hospitals were in such dire nick; kip of this joint, I could be adding some superbug infection to the list of troubles I had waiting to fell me.
Turned on the taps, caught sight of myself in the mirror. There were so many creases in my forehead, I made Gordon Ramsay look like an Armani model. Christ, what had happened here? I had a bad case of redeye too. Where the whites should have been were yellowed; throw in the red and I was in the ballpark of the Stoke City away jersey. I tapped at my pale cheeks, tried to slap some colour in there – wasn’t happening. I had the pallor of a corpse. Looked like Peter Cushing in the first Star Wars movie… tried to inflate my cheeks with air to see if I could fill out the hollows but the effort only made me feel light-headed.
I couldn’t look any more. Turned my eyes to the sink, filled it. Was taking all my effort to drag a cold razor over my coupon when I was drawn out of myself by sheer disbelief. I clocked a twenty-year-old at the sink next to me in the midst of an act that made me despair for the future of humanity: he was applying eyeliner.
My mouth drooped.
I held the razor halfway to my chin, stared.
The lad spotted me but kept at it. How did I know what he was at? How did I identify that he had an eyeliner pencil in his mitt, applying black lines to the lids? How? I had seen my ex-wife at this caper. Spanish eyes or some shit: yes, blokes know this… from women. HolyChristallfuckingmighty. What had happened to the world? This feminising-the-planet lark had gone way too far. They had us carrying bags, moisturising, and now, it seemed, applying make-up. I couldn’t believe it. Turned away. Knew there had to be an ad creative somewhere working on the campaign for blokes’ Pretty Pollys.
The lad shrugged off; seemed quite chuffed with himself. Thought: Things you see when you don’t have a gun.
I finished off shaving, felt an unbelievably macho act to perform. Wanted more of the same: rustling cattle, maybe wrestling a steer or two. Knew I wasn’t up to either; a nice facial would be more in keeping with my current capabilities.
Got back to the hospital bed, turned on my mobi. Was strictly verboten in here, but like I cared. Had some voicemail from Hod: ‘Two things I need to chew you out about, Gus. Gillian’s full-on pissed about Joe Calder. She’s kicking up an awfy stink… wants to see us, soon as. And one word: Amy. Eh, what you playing at, Gus? You promised to leave her out. Right, bell me, eh. Sooner the better.’
He clicked off.
Said, ‘Fucksake.’
Knew Hod was on bricks about this whole thing. Was seriously rattled since Shaky’s pugs doorstepped us. But I’d be fucked if I was having him dictate the way I went about business. Had a flashback to his usual modus operandi: going ape, bustin’ heads. Felt relieved he was being a bit more businesslike, but still, he needed some hauling back. I’d have to tell him to pull his head in. For all his involvement, help… this was my gig.
I checked the text situ.
One from Amy, read: Been checking on oor Ben. No good news. You know he was connected, aye?
That I didn’t know. Had my suspicions; I mean, if Bender Ben was dealing on campus, he wasn’t getting it mail order. Someone was supplying him. The other stuff, the brassers that Rasher mentioned, could all be explained away by some wido contacts, but the drugs game was all sewn up in this town, had been for years. I felt a sudden belt of fear at what Amy was getting herself into. Knew Hod wouldn’t like this turn of events either.
Hit my contacts, dialled Amy.
Ringing.
More ringing.
‘Shit… c’mon, pick up, girl!’
Went to voicemail.
Said, ‘Amy… it’s Gus. Got yer text. Look, when I got in touch I thought you might take a bit of a sniff around the uni, y’know, some of the poncy wee losers. I didn’t want you going anywhere near drug dealers or anyone who might be connected to supplying Ben. You hear me? Right, that’s it. Call me when you get this and for Chrissake keep out of trouble!’
Knew that kind of message would have no effect on her at all. Amy was a force of nature; she did what she did. Headstrong, that’s how to describe her type of woman. I knew this because I had been married to one for so long – Amy and Debs were cut from the same cloth.
I checked the rest of my messages. Nothing special. But according to Vodafone, I’d qualified for free weekend calls. Was jumping ecstatic about that. It was Tuesday – hoped I made the weekend.
Turned on the TV. I’d been charged a Jimmy Denner for the privilege of watching telly in an NHS hospital my taxes had helped fund. Fair boiled my piss but there was worse to come on that front: Gok Wan was on Loose Women.
‘Holy Jesus…’
Was there a worse combination? The hatchet-faced blonde one was keeping her trap shut, though. Probably too scared in case Gok suggested she give her face a good iron.
I couldn’t watch.
Flicked to off.
Got up. I was about to start pacing when my mobi went off.
Was Amy: ‘Gus boy, how’s tricks?’
‘Amy… where are you?’
‘Eh… aye, hi there to you too, Gus.’
‘Look, tell me you’re not up to some shit again.’ My voice was weak, rasping.
‘You sound rough. Been on the piss?’
I wished. ‘Amy, I mean it, I don’t want a repeat of the last time…’
‘Chill. I’ve only been talking to a few folk down the union bar.’
I wasn’t buying that. It was the kind of weak excuse she’d always plied me with, but it felt futile arguing, went with, ‘Gimme it, then.’
Amy’s voice increased in pitch and velocity – she was excited. ‘Well, Ben was quite the lad about town, let me tell you-’
This much I knew, said, ‘Okay, cut out the preamble, eh.’
She sparked: ‘Well, he was all for his Es and whizz, and one or two other things. Had a rep as being able to deliver quicker than Domino’s Pizza… But that’s not the best of it. He was pimping brassers about the party scene like you wouldn’t believe. Cheesy fucker used to say they’d all been personally road tested… cockhead!’
Amy had only confirmed what I already knew and suspected, said, ‘Who was supplying him with the drugs?’ If she’d found that out, we were on to something.
A pause.
Pages flicked on a spiral-bound notebook. ‘Got that somewhere… was some bloke called Gemmill.’
I felt a heat flash in my chest. ‘Danny Gemmill?’
‘Hang on… got it here somewhere.’ She flicked through the pages, ‘Right, here we go… Danny Gemmill, aye… D’you know him?’
‘Could say that.’ If Gemmill was mixed up in the death of Ben Laird, it made sense why he’d been playing Hod and me so hard. Sure as fuck he wouldn’t want Shaky finding out; what he’d want was me off the case, pronto. At the moment, though, this was all reaching. I’d nothing to back it up. Still, it was an interesting association to have uncovered. Would take some looking into.
‘Right, Amy, well done. That’s a big help. You’ve more than earned your weight in Costa coffees. Now, get back to your studies and forget about this case.’
A huff on the line. ‘Gus… are you brushing me off?’
She’d come good, real good – I needed to keep her sweet. ‘No. No way.’
‘Fucking well sounds a lot like it!’
I pulled it in: ‘Look, Amy… this guy Gemmill’s connected to some hard bastards. Kind that don’t think twice about putting folk like me in the ground. You understand?’
‘I’m not fucking dippit.’ Her tone said far more than her words could.
‘I know, I know… and that’s why you’ll stay clear now, Amy. Trust me, if they’ll put me in the ground, they won’t think twice about you. Only, way you’re put together, they’ll likely have some fun with you first… Get the picture?’
‘In Technicolor.’
She hung up.
I stared at the phone, watching the backlight fade. That feeling I’d had, the unsure, hesitant feeling I’d had about contacting Amy, came back, on full heat this time. I was grateful for her help, but wondered what I had got her into. There was no way she’d be walking away from this now. I had to get moving. Dreaded to think what Amy would get up to; just hoped I’d beat her to it. She had an uncanny knack of rousing trouble, of diving in head first when she should be holding back, playing it cool.
Checked the time and date on my phone. I’d missed my meet with Fitz, but I couldn’t help that. I was in hospital; he’d understand, surely.
Dialled his mobile number.
He answered fast – was driving by the sound of things – said, ‘Fitzsimmons.’
‘It’s Dury.’
Van Morrison got turned down on the CD player. ‘By the feckin’ cringe… Dury. Thought you’d been blotted out once and for all!’
‘Close… but no cigar.’
‘What happened to ye?’
‘Let’s just say I… ran into some health issues.’
‘Fucking liver packed in, has it?’ He laughed that up. I didn’t.
‘Look, where are you? We need to meet.’
‘That would be a good idea. I have some things I need to discuss with you.’ This was a turn up for the books. Usually I had to claw information out of Fitz; him suggesting a meet-up was a first. He’d have an ulterior motive, no doubt. He was plod, c’mon.
‘Can you get out to the infirmary…?’
‘Y’wha’?’
‘You heard right. Look, I’m about to check out. Can you pick me up?’
‘Jaysus feck… yer serious. Okay, well, gimme a few minutes. Are you fit enough for this lark, Dury? I mean, nothing I have to say to you will be a comfort in your situation.’
Comfort? What the fuck was that? ‘Trust me, Fitz, I’m as good as I’m ever going to be… Better wear your thick skin too – don’t think I’ll have anything complimentary to say about your lot. Been some serious shenanigans hereabouts. Fucking serious.’
He sighed; clicked off.
I held my breath for a moment; sighed back.