Hod had the Clash cranked up full when I arrived. ‘Tommy Gun’ blaring out, felt surprised the neighbours hadn’t complained.
‘You’ll get your door rapped,’ I said.
Hod flared out his chest, took a strongman stance. ‘Who’d mess?’
Took his point.
The place looked spotless as usual. Even the kitchen shone like a show home, every surface gleamed. The shine as the uplighters hit the stainless-steel kettle and toaster set almost hurt my eyes.
‘Do you know what this joint needs?’ I asked him.
‘What’s that?’
‘A man about the house.’
Hod took the opportunity to dip into mince mode. He had it down pat, sorta Dale Winton doing Freddie Starr… Whoa, there’s an image.
‘Oooh you are awful,’ said Hod, slapping me on the arm, ‘but I like you!’
We cracked a couple of Stellas and went through to the lounge. Joe Strummer wailed, ‘Someone got murdered, somebody’s dead for ever…’ I got up and turned down the CD.
‘So, the wanderer returns,’ said Hod.
I raised my bottle. ‘Here I am.’
‘ Slainte. What’s the story?’
I filled him in on my brush with the law and everything I’d unearthed about Billy’s demise.
Hod listened carefully. ‘What do you think he feeds it on?’
‘What?’
‘Zalinskas — the wolf?’
‘How the fuck would I know? Probably dog food.’
‘You reckon, like, just from Tesco?’
I couldn’t believe this, after all I’d revealed to Hod, the one thing that had provoked any response was Zalinskas’ pet wolf. ‘Definitely not. A man like Zalinskas, with all his cash, he’s doing his shopping at Waitrose.’
Hod coughed into his fist, made a clearing noise in his throat. ‘You wouldn’t be mocking me would you, Gus Dury?’
‘Never.’
We exchanged some childish dead arms, then Hod fell back onto the sofa.
‘Christ, it’s good to get you back in one piece, mate.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You had us worried for a while there. Amy-’ Hod checked himself, sat up.
‘What about, Amy?’
Hod touched his knee nervously, then looked at his open palms. ‘Think you’re going to have to set her straight, Gus.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s totally, I mean totally, sold on you. It’s not fair on the girl.’
I tried to laugh it off. An involuntary reaction.
‘Or fair on you, you sly bastard,’ I said.
‘No. No way. Seriously, Gus. I like her, for sure, but I’m not talking about that. She’s off tapping brassers for bits of gossip in the hope she can impress you. She’s gonna get herself in trouble.’
I sucked at the Stella. ‘I’ll have a word.’
‘Will you?’
‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’
‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ finished up and the CD slowly ejected. I reached over to my jacket, took Billy’s disk out of the pocket.
‘Here, chuck this on,’ I told Hod.
‘What is it?’
‘Billy had it hidden away.’
‘Had quite a bit hidden away our Billy Boy.’
Hod took the disk, popped the plastic wallet open and slotted it into the player.
‘It’s data.’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s for a computer.’
‘Do you have one?’
‘Gus, for fucksake, does the Pope wear a funny hat?’
Hod left the room. Returned with a Sony Vaio. I should have known better than to ask, the man had a breadmaker in the kitchen for crying out loud.
‘Is there a gadget you don’t own?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, there’s one I can think of.’ He made a buzzing noise, vibrating his Stella bottle in my face.
‘You surprise me. Thought that would have been right up your alley!’
‘Ha-ha. It was, until your mother borrowed it!’
The old dis your mother joke struck a chord, I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I’d been ignoring my mam’s pleas to visit my dying father.
I grabbed the laptop. ‘Let’s get this booted up.’
Hod seemed unfazed, left me to it while he went for some more Stella and some munchies, a bag of Doritos and some salsa dip.
‘Nice,’ I said.
‘You’ll like it. Though I think Pringles might have been a better option.’
‘Hod, I’m not talking about the fucking crisps. Check it out.’
The disk showed a video taken with what looked like a good-quality camera set in the corner of a room. Footage from Zalinskas’ club’s camera; though the image was anything but the kind of thing normally shown on Crimewatch.
‘Social Security style,’ said Hod.
‘What?’
The picture was clear, a brasser straddling some geezer on a double bed. All the scene missed was some dodgy electronic organ music and it could have been sold as a tug movie.
‘Like I say… Social Security style.’ Hod pointed to the screen, mirrored the see-saw motion with his finger.
‘I don’t get you?’
‘Well, you see, Gus, this is what you call Social Security style because the girl’s getting the full benefit.’
He was right about one thing. She was only a girl, no more than fifteen, and at that I was being generous. The face of the guy underneath was harder to make out.
‘Can we forward this?’
‘Oh yeah.’
Hod’s first effort put the video into reverse. ‘Och, hang on… here we go.’
In no time the girl jumped off, moved away to get dressed. Then we saw the guy’s face clearly. My heart tripped.
‘He looks familiar,’ said Hod.
‘I’m not surprised.’
Hod turned to face me, slit his eyes. ‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s on the telly every other night.’
Hod grabbed the screen, leaned in close and creased his nose, the look was concentration. ‘Who is it?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No… I mean, yes, I recognise him, but I can’t place the face. Who is it?’
I took up the laptop, pointed, could hardly believe I was about to say the words, ‘That’s our Minister for Immigration — the Right Honourable Alisdair Cardownie.’