‘Like a fucking CID convention,' Mackie muttered to himself as he pulled his car into a parking space in Powderhall Road, around a hundred yards away from the red-painted shop front of the Hot Spot sauna and massage parlour.
As he looked along the street, he could see a flash of Andy Martin's blond head and the bulk of Mcllhenney in the front seats of an anonymous blue Sierra. They were parked around twenty yards beyond the Hot Spot, with a clear view of the entrance. Fifty yards further on, Mackie recognised a red Metro GTi, and saw the outline of a figure in the driver's seat.
Mackie was almost level with the Sierra before Martin spotted his approach. He looked up, surprised, but reached round at once and opened the rear door. Glancing around to make sure that he was unobserved, Mackie slid quickly into the back seat.
`What are you doing here?' Martin asked sharply.
`Sorry, sir,' said Mackie, 'but we've got a wee situation. You weren't thinking about raiding that place, were you?'
`No,' said Martin, shaking his head. 'We're just keeping it under observation for now. It seems that Tony Manson hasn't left a will. In the absence, wee Cocozza's appointed himself administrator of the estate. We've had no word of any drugs action for a while but, as far as we can see, Cocozza's still running the girls in the saunas. I want to put a stop to that, so we're building up a photograph album of his punters. Once we've got enough, I'm going to give him a straight choice: pack it in or I go to the Law Society. I tell you, we've got some crackers already. Bankers, lawyers, accountants, even a certain deputy Fiscal. The professions are well represented at the Hot Spot saunas, that's for sure. But today. . today could be very interesting indeed. Cocozza's in there himself, and four other guys have gone in while we've been watching. Once of them we recognised.'
`Tall, well built, smooth-looking guy, late thirties, went in about fifteen minutes ago. Yes?'
`Him? No. Never seen him before in my life. No, I was talking about Eddie Gilhooley. You've heard of him, haven't you? The Godfather of Glasgow. Tony Manson's opposite number through in the west. A premier-league drug baron, if ever there was one. So who's this other guy? And what's your problem?'
Mackie took a deep breath. 'Paul Ainscow. Maggie Rose followed him here from Stirling. She's back there.' He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. 'We've got him under round-the-clock watch for the boss. He thinks he's-'
Martin interrupted. 'Yes, Sarah told me all about it. So that's Mr Ainscow. He keeps some funny company, then. Wonder what the hell he's doing here?'
`Aye, and the boss'll wonder too. You don't know who the other guys are?'
'No. We should have some pretty good mug-shots though. We'll get them processed as fast as we can, and run them through the PNC. Could you take the film back to the lab for me?'
`Sure. I'll tell them it's a SB rush job. I'll do the PNC check, too.'
`Thanks,' said Martin. 'Meantime I'll go along and say hello to Maggie. Odd job for a woman, isn't it, sitting all evening in Powderhall Road waiting for your subject to get his end away!'