“Ouch. I’m hurt. Not all of us can afford to go to the Rainbow Room you know. I wonder what it is that Tom sees in you… your bleached blonde hair? Your orange sunbed tan? Your hatchet face? Your shrill voice with its extensive vocabulary?”
The sharp intake of breath practically sucked my ear off. “You’ve read my text messages you nosy bitch. I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Well, why not? That seems to be your answer to everything. Hopefully you’ll get a bulk discount from your friend Billy.”
“I… shit… I… You’re fucking dead. Fuck… you’ve got to let me have the bag back. Please…” In the space of one sentence her voice changed from harridan to whiny six year old.
“No. Actually, doll, I don’t have to let you have the bag back. I don’t have to do heehaw.” I shut the phone when the shrill voice started up again. I wondered whether Stewart was deaf. I’d been speaking to her for two minutes and that voice was really starting to grate on me. Some women give the rest of us a bad name.
I hugged my jacket closer to me and stared at the muddy Clyde as I thought about what I should do next. When I stole the bag it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I’d been watching the woman for a while and when she put the bag down I just acted on impulse. Things had taken a surprising turn, but I was sure I could turn the situation to my advantage. I just needed to work out how.
The phone rang.
“Listen you fu…”
It rang again.
“Don’t hang up.”
“Then do try not to insult me. All that swearing is getting on my tits.” I was enjoying this. It would seem though that poor Gillian would not recognize irony if it jumped up and bit her on the arse.
“Insult you? Where do you get off being so high and mighty? You’re the fucking junkie, bag stealing bitch…”
She may well have been right, but I cut her off anyway. Besides, if we were talking about taking the elevator to the moral high ground, at least I was getting on it about halfway up. I think adulterous, hitman-hiring shrews were roughly three floors below the basement.
“Please don’t hang up.”
“Better. Now, give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”
“A hundred pounds.”
“What is?”
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds if you give me my handbag back.”
I laughed. “Is that supposed to be a tempting offer?”
“Aye. Fuck… I don’t know. It might save you sucking some guy’s dick up an alley. What’s the going rate for smack these days you…”
“Now now, Gillian. You know what happens when you start hurting my feelings. And if I hang up this time I’m going to take a wee wander up to Pitt Street and visit Strathclyde polis. I have an idea they might be interested in the contents of your phone.”
“Oh, aye. That’ll be right. I can just see you walking in there and saying ‘Officers, here’s a bag I mugged off of some wee wifey at Central Station.’“
“Maybe not, but I might just take one of these crisp twenties in your lovely flash handbag and buy some stamps. If I send it registered post it might even actually get there.”
“Shite. How much do you want?”
I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to come across as too cheap, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to name a price that was so high that she would take the chance on me not going to the police. “Two thousand pounds.”
“Two grand? You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope. I’m not smiling here. Two thousand. I think that’s very fair. Tell me… just out of curiosity… does Tom know about your little plan to off your respective spouses?”
“Tom…?”
“Yeah, you know, the poor misguided fool you’re bumping uglies with.”
“Of course he knows. It was him who gave me the idea.”
“Really? Sounds like you’re a match made in heaven.”
Again, the irony was lost on her. “We are. We love each other. Can’t keep our hands off each other. His wife is apparently a fat, frumpy bore, and my husband can’t get it up any more.”
“No wonder. You’ve probably sucked the life right out of him. And not in a good way.”
“Oh shut the fuck up, you blackmailing bitch. When do I get my bag back?”
“Well, let’s see. When can you get the £2,000?”
“Tomorrow.”
Obviously I should have asked for more. “Do you know the Necropolis?”
“The big cemetery? I know of it, yeah.”
“OK. Egyptian Vaults. Eight p.m. tomorrow night. You can get a map off the internet. Oh, and bring your bit on the side. I’d quite like to see what all the fuss is about.”
I shut the phone off before she could whine. I could tell from the noises on the other end of the phone that she was winding herself up to go off on one and, quite frankly, I’d had enough of her. She was mouthy, self-centered, trashy and shallow. Her plans proved that she was also dangerous and I didn’t trust her one little bit. If I was going to meet her and Tom I needed some insurance. I opened the phone again and went to her contacts list. The phone was answered after one ring.
“Aye?”
“Billy? I want to buy a gun.”
The Necropolis was locked up at dusk, but it’s easy to get in, and so huge that it’s impossible to ensure that no one does. I’d arrived at seven p.m., crossed the Bridge of Sighs, and made my way to the Egyptian Vaults via a circuitous route, just in case Gillian and Tom had planned a wee surprise for me. The place was not exactly welcoming during the day, but it was even less so after dark. Dilapidated and overgrown, it was a haven for junkies, wee neds drinking Buckfast and taking illegal substances, the homeless and the hopeless. Between some of the gravestones and in the sheltered spots beside the vaults were sleeping bags – as yet unoccupied – their owners perhaps at the soup kitchen on East Campbell Street, getting a little warmth and light before returning to this creepy place to sleep.
I wasn’t worried about the dead. It was the living that concerned me, and I gripped the gun tighter. Billy had put me in touch with an acquaintance, who knew a guy, who had a friend who could possibly lay his hands on a gun. All very cagey, lots of ifs and buts, but I think Billy thought I was Gillian, since I was ringing from her phone, so he opened a few doors for me. I guessed that the fifteen grand she had paid him would help. I assured him – as Gillian, of course – that I wasn’t going to do a DIY job and cut him out. I just said I needed the gun for protection.
I met Billy’s contact behind a pub in Possilpark. Just to be on the safe side I wore a blonde wig and sunglasses. I felt like Dolly Parton in a bad spy movie. The transaction had been quick and easy. The guy had turned out to be a man who could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. His cheekbones were prominent and angular and when he sucked at his cigarette his face turned into a skull.
“Do ye ken how tae use it?” Spittle came out of his mouth with every word. He had a set of false top teeth that he appeared to be breaking in for someone with a much bigger mouth, and no bottom teeth at all, which caused his face to cave in when his mouth was closed.
I nodded. I had grown up on a farm. “Aye.” I held out the money we had agreed on and he passed over the padded envelope containing the gun.
He took one more drag of his cigarette. “Good luck, hen.”
“Cheers, pal.” And that was that. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it was like going into the newsagents and buying the Evening Times.
I reached the Egyptian Vaults and chose a vantage point where I could see but not be seen. Just before eight o’clock I heard footsteps coming up the path.
“This woman’s a weirdo. Why the hell did she want to meet us in this godforsaken place?” I recognized that shrill, whiny voice.