On the way out of the factory, the young girl on reception was taking dog’s abuse from what sounded like an irate former employee. He was what the Scots call ropeable, had the sweaty brow, bulging eyes, the lot. Every now and again he’d fling back his head, put on a glower then regain his rant, slapping the desk for emphasis.
‘I’m owed money, wages, not the peanuts they pay you cunts!’ He leaned over her, his face lit red as he showered the hate. ‘What you gonna do about it? I want fucking paying…’
He caught sight of us as we appeared in the foyer, started to wave his hands about. He had a wage slip that he slammed on the desk. ‘This place went to shit the moment they started hiring your lot. No understanding of the workplace — just cheap fucking trash!’
I shot a sideways glance at Mac: he had a swagger on, the kind bouncers wear before throwing folk down the stairs. I’d been on the end of a few like it. I thought about hauling him up, putting in a word to the wise, but this bloke was arcing up big time. I thought there might be an interesting response coming if I let it go.
The girl got out of her chair, cowered behind the phone and dialled for assistance. Mac strolled over, put a hand on the bloke’s shoulder. ‘What’s your problem?’
‘Eh?’ The guy’s face turned to a grimace; his lower lip drooped to reveal two prominent teeth poking up like a bust wicket.
Mac moved his hand from the bloke’s shoulder to his chest, edged forward. Mr Angry took a few steps back, said, ‘It’s got nowt to do with you, pal.’
‘Maybe I’m making it something to do with me.’
I had to laugh, couldn’t get enough of Mac in badass mode. I checked the girl was okay: ‘You all right there?’
She nodded. Seemed a bit shaken.
‘Have you called for some back-up?’
She didn’t catch my meaning, words falling behind the language barrier.
‘Is there someone coming out?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Her speech came staccato. ‘The foreman from the shop floor, he is on his way.’
As she spoke the doors behind us were flung open. Two big biffers in overalls ran through, trailed by a little baldy bloke in a white dustcoat. The big lads took over from Mac, who had the furious worker pinned on the wall by a forearm. ‘All yours, lads,’ he said.
‘I just want my fucking wages… I just want what’s fucking owing to me.’ Soft lad got carted off, raised on his elbows. He didn’t know what was good for him, wouldn’t shut up. ‘You’re a bunch of wankers… I’m owed wages. Think I don’t know what’s going on here? I know the fucking score!’ I reckoned he’d be getting paid in a currency he hadn’t bargained on, probably out the back. I was interested to see how they did business around here — was nothing like I expected. I caught Mac staring at me. We were on the same wavelength: he leaned over and pocketed the wage slip the bloke had put on the desk.
Dustcoat sat the young lass down, patted her on the head as though she was a spaniel. ‘You sit yerself down, hen. I’ll get you a nice cup of tea, eh.’
‘She going to be okay?’ I asked.
‘Anna, oh aye — they’re hardy, these Czechs. Isn’t that right, hen?’
She looked up, put heartmelter eyes on the old fella. He smiled at her, in a fatherly way.
Mac checked out her rack, said, ‘I think you’ll live, love.’
I shook my head, got a wha’? wha’? stare in return. I turned to the young lass, crouched on my haunches at her side. ‘So you’re a Czech?’ I said. ‘How long have you been in Scotland?’
She crossed her legs away from me, shifting her weight uneasily. ‘Not very long.’
The old boy hovered, turned attention to me. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
I looked up at him. ‘You tell me.’
‘Are you after something?’ He wasn’t used to front-of-house duties, checked himself. ‘I mean, is there something I can help you with?’
The place seemed strangely quiet without the shouting and roaring. Even the air seemed stilled, calmer. I played a long ball: ‘You’ve got a lot of Czechs working here…’
‘Yes.’ He was abrupt, brusque even.
‘That causing trouble with the locals?’
Now he bit, nostrils flared: ‘No. Look, I don’t think this is a discussion I should be having with you, Mr…’
‘Dury. The name’s Gus Dury. My brother used to be a partner here.’
The girl got up, patted down her skirt front, seemed to mumble breathlessly in Czech, then ran off down the hallway.
Dustcoat calmed, watched the girl stumble a bit on the carpet tiles, then, ‘We, eh, all heard. I mean there was an announcement, before the police came… I’m sorry for your loss.’
I breathed deep. Looked away.
‘He was a good man, always very… fair, with everyone.’
I drew back my gaze. I still had the speed firing and my thoughts ran from one end of my mind to the other. I knew this wasn’t the place for a beat-down; hadn’t worked with fat Davie. I said, ‘If you think of anything that might be worth my looking into, maybe you could give me a bell.’ I picked a Post-it note off the desk, scribbled down my number.
Dustcoat snatched the piece of paper from me, buried it in his pocket. ‘Yes, of course.’ He quickly turned, went off in the same direction as the girl.
I hollered after him, ‘Wait a minute. What’s your name?’
He stopped still, cricked his thin neck to face me, said, ‘Andy.’ It was almost said too quietly for me to hear.
‘Andy what?’
‘… Just Andy.’
He’d disappeared round the corner before I had a chance to weigh up what I’d just seen.
‘What you make of that?’ I said to Mac.
He shrugged, thinned his eyes. As we went for the door, he said, ‘That Anna, though… Think I’m in there?’
‘Mac, I don’t think she’d give the likes of you a date on a calendar.’
He clutched at his heart. ‘So cruel.’
I gave him a wee reminder: ‘You’re married.’
‘What she doesn’t know can’t harm her.’ He actually smiled as he said it.
I gave him another dose of reality: ‘You’re deluded too.’
‘Well, there is that. But still, I can dream.’
He had me there. ‘We can all dream, mate. Though I’d say our Anna’s dreams are turning into nightmares.’
Mac trudged through the slush of the car park to the car. The dog jumped about on sight of us. ‘How do you mean, nightmares?’ he said.
‘Couldn’t you tell?’
‘What, being dug out by…’ He produced the wage slip belonging to the mentaller. ‘… Ian Kerr of, where’s that?… Pilton.’
‘Yeah, but there was more than that. I got the impression that was a regular occurrence. See the way yer man Andy fired through those doors with a couple of lumps? He had a routine. That was all a little too practised for my liking.’
I turned the key in the car door; the central locking was slow in the cold but got there in the end. Usual was sitting in my seat. As I got in he jumped first into the passenger’s side then over to the back again.
Mac got in and frowned at me. ‘Those boys were hardy, deffo. I think they’re just off the shop floor, though. Andy probably just grabbed the biggest going.’
I reached for the seatbelt. The inertia-reel stuck a bit, gave it a good tug, said, ‘Well, maybe our man Ian fae Pilton will fill us in.’
Mac grunted, ‘If he can still speak after he’s been filled in!’
I punched the engine, spun tyres. Gave a last glance to the factory: thought I might rumble Davie at a window but he was nowhere to be seen. The place looked so ordinary it unnerved me.
On Newhaven Road I sparked up a Marlboro, chucked the pack in Mac’s lap. He still looked deep in thought, cogs turning like Windy Miller’s gaff. ‘Are Czechs legal here?’ he said.
‘Oh yeah. Don’t get so many of them as the Poles, that’s all.’
‘Still, legal or no’, times are hard and nobody likes to see their job being taken by a foreigner. See all those protests on the telly, barricading in those Italian workers?… Mental.’
I nodded, wound down the top of the window to let some smoke out. ‘They’ll be undercutting the wages. By how much, though — that’s the question. I don’t deny anyone a job, but if they’re getting below the going rate then everyone’s getting ass-fucked.’
‘Except the boss man.’
I wound up the window again. It was too cold to let any air in. ‘Michael wouldn’t go for that.’
Mac swivelled on the seat, ‘I wasn’t trying to say-’
‘No. I know… I wasn’t having a go either. What I’m saying is, Michael wouldn’t go for that kind of racket, I know it.’
Mac’s mind ground out an answer: ‘But fat Davie might.’
‘Bang on.’