Read Online Blood Whispers by John Gordon Sinclair - Free Book Online Page A

car?’
    Besnik smiled to himself. ‘I didn’t smoke in the car, the cigarette was outside the whole time.’
    ‘That’s not what I asked. I asked if they told you not to.’
    ‘They told me not to, so I didn’t.’ He let a little edge creep into his tone.
    ‘You like Greta Tafa?’ asked E Zeze, referring to the folk music that was playing quietly through the car’s speakers.
    ‘I like her, but not the music so much. Why? You don’t like to have music playing either? I didn’t get a note about that.’ Messing with E Zeze now. ‘She’s pretty hot. Do you think she’s pretty hot?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You sure? I figure maybe you’d prefer her husband.’
    ‘Is our destination programmed into the satnav?’
    ‘Yes,’ replied Besnik, after giving it just enough time to let the little shit know he was the one breaking the rules now by doing all the talking. ‘But only the city, not the actual address: that I keep in my head in case we get stopped by the cops; so we don’t give them any idea as to where we’re headed.’
    ‘What are you going to eat?’
    Besnik screwed up his forehead. ‘What?’
    ‘When you stop for food, what are you going to get?’
    Besnik shook his head slightly. ‘Why? You hungry now?’
    ‘Depends on what you were thinking of.’
    ‘So now ’cause you’re hungry it’s okay to have a conversation.’
    E Zeze didn’t look too happy at that one, but Besnik didn’t care. ‘I don’t think you get to choose round here. You just have to go with what you can find that’s open and be prepared to eat something that’s been fried.’
    Besnik checked the mirror again. E Zeze had zoned out.
    Neither of them spoke again until Besnik pulled up – almost an hour later – outside a chip shop in the small coastal town of Tarbert.
    ‘Why are you stopping?’
    ‘’Cause I got my foot on the brake . . . and I need some food!’
    Besnik turned off the ignition. He didn’t ask E Zeze if he wanted anything, figuring if he did, he would make him ask. He had the door open and was halfway out of the car when E Zeze mumbled something.
    ‘What d’you say?’ asked Besnik, ducking his head back inside.
    ‘Would you mind leaving the music on? Tafa is a particular favourite of mine.’
    Besnik shot E Zeze a look. ‘Sure,’ then leant in and stuck the keys back in the ignition.
    As he walked away he glanced over his shoulder and caught Engjell E Zeze’s unpleasant little face peering at him through the rear window. E Zeze gave a twisted half-smile which made Besnik want to walk over to the car and punch the little fucker unconscious. It was the only way he could see himself getting through the rest of the journey back to Glasgow.
    There was a short line of people waiting to be served inside the chip shop.
    ‘Fish’ll be a few minutes, do you want me to put one in for you?’ asked the girl serving behind the counter as Besnik joined the back of the queue.
    ‘Yes, is okay.’ He had been in Scotland for just over three years now and although his spoken English wasn’t good he could still understand most of what was being said.
    He pulled out a pack of Marlborough and his Zippo, and lit a cigarette.
    ‘Not allowed to smoke on the premises. If you want to stand outside I’ll tap the window when your fish is ready . . . okay?’
    ‘Ah, yes, is okay.’ Besnik headed outside.
    The sky overhead was black and clear. The fish-and-chip shop overlooked the natural harbour – one of only a few in the whole of Scotland. Besnik leant with his back against the large pane of glass and looked out across the water to the lights twinkling on the far shore. He took a long drag on his cigarette then exhaled with a deep sigh. This was the sort of place he could imagine bringing up a family: well away from all the shit that was going on in Glasgow, far enough away from Albania not to be recognized. He looked along the road to where he’d parked the black Mercedes in a pool of light cast down from an