‘Turn this up some more, Col,’ I said.
‘Good evening, Polly,’ said Cardownie.
‘ Wanker!’ I shouted at the screen.
‘Minister, judging by the number of protesters, there seems to be quite a significant opposition to your party’s policies on immigration.’
He put on a piranha smirk. ‘Well, Polly, let’s put things into perspective, a handful of very vocal protesters does not signify a backlash against the government. Let’s not forget, we are the elected party. And, as the elected representatives of the people, can ipso facto claim some measure of assumed support for our policies.’
The schoolie looked dumbstruck. Swear a giggle came from her. Capitulation writ large on her peaches and cream complexion.
‘But, well, why do you think these people are here, Minister?’
‘A good question, Polly. And if I may, eloquently put. One can only assume that the overzealous actions of some rogue police officers has, rightly — I reiterate that point, rightly to my mind — raised the indignation of some sections of the populace.’
Col bridled. ‘Fucking hypocrite!’ he said.
I rocked on my heels, taken aback. I had never heard Col make such an outburst. Couldn’t even remember hearing him swear.
‘What’s that, Col?’
He turned to me, eyes wide, said, ‘Well, he’s a politician, isn’t he.’
I couldn’t read Col’s thoughts, but Cardownie got his goat, I saw that clearly enough.
‘Yeah, like I say, a wanker. He’s trying to put the blame on plod. Buck passer.’
I watched Cardownie smarm his way through the shit-storm with heart-stopping ease. Couldn’t believe anyone bought this. Dredged up an adage from David Hume: ‘Nothing appears more surprising to those who consider human affairs with a philosophical eye, than the ease with which the many are governed by the few.’
Suddenly, Col’s interest shifted. He reached for the doofer, switched off the telly. ‘Have you any news for me, Gus?’
I tapped the bar. ‘Have you any booze for me, Col?’
17
Col turned to his optics, put a stare on me as he filled a shot glass with Jack Daniel’s. Tennessee’s finest, old-time number seven. Good old Col, he’s got my number.
‘Well?’ he said, placing the whiskey in front of me.
‘Go well with a pint.’After a comment like that, anyone else would have blown it, not Col. Cool as you like, he pulled down a pint glass.
‘Guinness?’
‘Nice and creamy.’
I will never tire of watching Col pour a pint of the black stuff. It’s an art. Getting the consistency right is the first tester. Length of wait the next. The head requires a special kind of genius.
Col put the pint down, leaned on the bar. I knew he was desperate to prise information from me. I was desperate to avoid the subject. I had some details to give him, but I’d plenty more to leave out.
I avoided his gaze, grabbed up the telly doofer. Doctor Who had started.
‘Never the same without Tom Baker.’
‘What?’ said Col.
‘The Doctor — to me he’s still Tom Baker, they can never replace him. Like Bond, you know, everyone has their Bond. It’s a moment in time, a peak of interest, when the character first comes alive for you.’
Col returned to the Guinness. Worked on the final third of the pint. Minutes later he thunked down the glass. The shamrock drawn in the creamy head shuddered over the edge in the wake of his frustration.
‘Thanks, Col,’ I said. The taste danced on my lips. A joy like no other.
I knew I’d delayed the inevitable long enough.
‘Shall we, er, move to the snug?’
Three quick nods, a wipe of the bar, and Col led the way.
The snug was empty. At night time, you fight for a seat here. This time of the day, though, was for hardcore drinkers. The lonely looking for company. The dole moles.
The Wall felt like home, the snug, like my front room. Each name carved in the wood panelling as familiar as a family photo. The crushed and worn seat cushions were — what’s the word? — cosy. You couldn’t recreate the feel of this place with a million quid. Pubs like this, they need to evolve.
I drained my JD, fired right in. ‘There’s some… progress.’
‘ Uh-huh.’
‘I don’t know how to put this, Col, so I’m just going to tell it straight.’
Col’s expression tightened. I traced the fine lines around his eyes, they crossed his cheekbones like girders on the Forth Bridge. ‘I wouldn’t want you to soft-soap me, Gus.’
‘All right, but if you feel the need to, just stop me.’
‘I won’t!’
Took a breath, dived right in. ‘Look, Col, I think Billy was involved with some very shady people.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’
‘I’ve known for some time that that boy was no angel. If it wasn’t for his mother-’ Col broke off suddenly. ‘Well, what have you to tell me?’
‘The outfit he worked for are a heavy-duty Russian firm. We’re not just talking about wee boys twoking car stereos here, Col.’
‘What line are they in?’
I nearly laughed, he made it sound like we were two salesmen, bumping into each other in a Little Chef on the M8.
‘I can’t be sure of anything at this stage, but, and I think I’m only scratching the surface here, they look like people smugglers.’ I took a deep breath. ‘No, worse, it’s young girls they’re bringing in.’
‘For what?’
‘Hazard a guess.’
Col sat back in his chair. A pious look crossed his face. I wondered if he weighed what I said against his religion. I didn’t think the good book had a section that read: ‘Thou shalt not smuggle thy poor European neighbours.’ But what did I know about that?
‘It’s Nadja, isn’t it?’ said Col.
I nodded.
‘I knew she was bad for him right from the start. I saw she was no good. I told him, Gus. I did.’
I couldn’t muster the words. Col reeked hurt. There was nothing to be gained by telling him about the threat on my life. I didn’t want to worry him, or worse, freak him out completely. I wasn’t going to have Col pull me off the job. More than ever I felt the weight of duty pressing on me. The man looked ready to crumble into pieces.
‘I just can’t believe my Billy was involved.’
‘Col…’ He wasn’t listening to me.
‘I just, I just can’t believe it.’ He looked into me. ‘Not my boy, not my son.’
‘We don’t know he was involved.’
‘Oh he was.’ Col sounded certain. ‘I just need to know why.’
I wanted to tell him I’d do my best to find out; but I knew anything I said would sound trite. Went with, ‘How’s the wife coping?’
‘She has her moments, y’know. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same. There’s nothing I can do about that now.’
‘Are you looking after her?’ I’d blurted it out all wrong. Christ, why did you say that, Gus?
Col’s eyes shone like match tips. ‘Of course.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘I know, I know. You’re a good man, Gus. I can’t tell you how much I- how much we both appreciate what you’re doing.’
‘I was just-’
He raised a hand. ‘Look, there’s no need. I want you to have no doubt about the debt I owe you for this. There is no one else can give me… closure.’
Closure. What was that? Jeez, I wanted a smoke.
‘This smoking ban’s a bastard, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Oh, sorry, you want a cigarette. Shall we go outside?’
‘No, I’ll go upstairs. I need to pack anyway.’
‘Pack?’
‘Yeah. I’ll be moving out for a while.’
‘But why? Where will you go?’
‘I need to lie low for a time, Col. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to worry about. I just need to put a bit of distance between myself and this life for a while.’
‘Are you in trouble, Gus?’
‘No. God no. I just need to keep a bit of a low profile right now, if I’m to get close to this mob.’
‘I see. You’re going under cover.’
Under cover. Please. Saw myself on a stake-out with a bag of doughnuts.