Glasgow, Motherwell
1-30 p.m.
April 18th
David sat in an armchair leaning back. His father sat opposite holding the Sig 220 rail, turning it over in his hands. They’d sat and had lunch, small talk had passed between them, but the ‘elephant in the room’ had remained un-remarked upon until they had sat down together in the lounge after lunch and David’s father had asked after the weapon he was carrying.
“It’s a neat enough weapon so it is.”
“It did the job.”
“Some job for a history graduate son of mine.”
“Oh come on father…” David sighed.
“I didn’t work those years under fire and in danger to watch you do the same. I had hoped you’d find a nice, clean safe job.” His father said aggrieved.
“Well it looked like it up to a point… But…” David tried to think of something to say, but his father’s sadness took his words away.
“I never told you about the things I saw, but I told your mother, god rest her and she told me she worried every day I was in Ireland. Mary’s pregnant and there’s your son. You can’t put her through that.” His father handed the weapon back and looked him in the eye.
“I know… I know… but I can’t run away…you taught me that you know.” David smiled and his father softened.
“Well I might have been wrong. What have you to do now?”
“I’ve been sent home and I’m to get counselling.”
“Good. Firstly you don’t play the hero. You let someone else chase these men. Second you take the counselling. We got none of that and I can tell you I still see things that’d turn any man’s stomach.” His father said rising from his chair.
David rose from his seat. His father had moved after his mother had died; too many memories in the old house his father had said. Around him though were pictures, familiar items, pictures of their family life such as it had been. David’s gaze was caught and trapped by the image of himself, at his own son Conor’s age, on his father’s shoulders, a photo taken by his mother, in woods in Devon.
“David. Don’t get yourself killed.”
For the first time in his life David saw tears in his father’s eyes. “I can’t stand to lose anyone else, not after your mother and where would Mary and the children go?” His father’s voice was cracking slightly.
David closed on his father and for the first time since he was a child the big man embraced him in a tight strong hug. They stood for a moment and broke away from each other his father patting his back.
“Now look what you’ve brought me to, blubbing like a woman, away with you.”
David picked up his bag and holstered the Sig.
“I’ll call you. Maybe you should come down sometime.”
“Aye take good care son.”
David left the house, pausing before he closed the door behind him. A prayer to get home safely passed through his mind and he began the short walk around the corner to Monty’s house.
Stanton stood at the window of Clarky’s house a mug of tea in his hand staring through the net curtains at the white satellite dish on the house opposite.
“My god Trev you’re right in it pal and no mistake. Jesus the dog too.”
“Well you remember that time…” Stanton began.
“Yes but that was war my friend.” Clarky said.
“I need a way out, one that doesn’t show me up on CCTV.” Stanton said suddenly
“You do right enough. Listen I’ve an idea, I’ll just get a map.” Clarky left the room.
Clarky had been glad to see his friend, but he wanted him out of the house. He’d seen the news and asked about the lorry at the race course. Part of him was praying that Stanton had enough regard for him not to kill him.
At the window Stanton started suddenly as David walked up the street and onto the path of the house he was looking at. He instantly recognised the big Scotsman from the railway station at Perth. He stepped back into the shadow of the curtains.
“What is it?” Clarky was back in the room.
Stanton turned to face him eyes blazing.
“Did you grass me up?” Stanton hissed.
“Good God no Trev why do you think that?”
Stanton grabbed him by the arm and thrust him to the window.
“You see the big man going in? Well he was at Perth station last night. Why would security be here?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not come here, to my door has he and there’s no armed police out there.”
Stanton let go his arm and let out a laugh. It was true enough. They were looking for him and he knew it must be the DIC people.
“DIC the white satellite dish! So that’s how they do it. I’m sorry my friend I’m a little nervous.”
He watched from the window as Clarky laid out the map on the coffee table. McKie came out with Monty and they got into the car.
“I’ll be seeing you again some day no doubt.” Stanton said to the vehicle as it passed fixing McKie’s form and face in his memory.
“Come away. I’ve a good plan to get you out. It’ll even give you a choice as to whether to continue with this job or disappear.”
They went to the map.
“The other side of Glasgow is the Clyde Marina with boats of all kinds. I’ll drive you up. There’ll be at least one boat leaving at some point this afternoon and if there isn’t I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Good idea, keep going.”
“You can travel down the coast and pick any point to stop and go inland or as I said just keep going.”
“Good. Let’s get ready then. How long will it take to get there?”
“An hour or so.” Clarky said
“You’re a good comrade.” Stanton patted his shoulder.
“We’ve been through too much for me to let you down.” Clarky said warmly.
Stanton looked him in the eyes. “… but you’ll be glad when I’m gone.” He said bringing the truth he saw in Clarky’s eyes into the open.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. Look… when you’ve done this job… if there’s trouble make your way back here… if you have to.” Clarky trailed off speaking.
Stanton slapped him on the shoulder again. He was grateful, but he knew that Clarky was just making himself useful enough not to be killed. It was a bad business when a man’s friend feared him as much as his enemies.