protesting against the occupation of Iraq. At the very least he’d have been tending his cannabis harvest. This guy was probably going to see his financial adviser or going home to watch Neighbours . Oh he’d have done.
Still he was only number fifty-four.
My heart was pounding. I told myself to be calm. Fifty-six would be here and nothing could stop it any more than worrying would hasten it.
Fifty-five was an old Chinese woman. She was maybe about 120 and seemed less than five foot but then she was bent near double, forced over by time and rain. Something about her reminded me of an old neighbour. I couldn’t think of her name but then I couldn’t think of much else but the next person that would walk past me. It could be anyone at all. It excited me, sickened me, slightly scared me. My pulse galloped.
I dragged my eyes along the pavement but saw no feet. There was no one in the three or four yards of me. Then I saw a pair of shoes. Small shoes.
I raised my eyes and saw a boy of about eleven or twelve. Fuck.
He had a mop of fair hair and a squint grin, scuffing his feet along Sauchiehall Street as he gazed half-heartedly into shop windows. Oh fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He seemed in a bit of a daydream, this kid without a care in the world. The tail of his shirt was hanging below his jumper in the way that boys liked to wear it. Faded jeans. That silly, quirky grin.
Rules. Number fifty-six.
I felt sick to my stomach. Rules. My rules.
The boy glanced up, curious. I must have been staring right at him. Of course I was. He was still walking and I willed him to stop. He wasn’t going to. He was nearly in front of me. Stop, you have to stop.
Two more steps and he would be number fifty-six.
Then, from somewhere off my radar, a shape pushed past the boy, barging into his shoulder and knocking him over. The shape charged past me.
I watched the boy pick himself up and offer a dirty look to the person that had shoved him.
I followed his gaze and saw a short, stocky guy in his mid-twenties barrelling back up the street, not mindful in the least of anyone around him. I was looking at the back of number fifty-six.
Or number three depending on how you looked at it.
CHAPTER 12
I followed him, this little guy who liked to push wee boys out of his way. Not just kids either. The squat, weaselly man didn’t have much care for anyone in his path. He barged past women, he got in the way of men bigger than him. He walked with the disregard of a bully and the confidence of someone twice his size.
I stayed ten and twenty feet back. I watched.
He was maybe five foot six, with short, spiky hair, weighing twelve stone or so. He turned a couple of times and I caught a bashed face that looked as if it had been in the wars. He looked like a dog with a bad temper.
He cut a path back up Sauchiehall Street. He had a strange confidence for such a wee guy. No fears. His strut reminded me of Carr. Little men, big egos, yet completely different.
I didn’t have time to think about Carr. This man was in front of me now. I might never see him again. The time was here and now. However risky, however long it took. If the chance came it would have to be taken or be lost. I knew it.
The little man passed people who recognized him. Two young guys in near-ned uniforms. They got close and they talked fast. Little Man looked around before shaking his head. He nodded towards the concert hall end of the street. They looked at each other and then they nodded too. They walked away from him.
Little Man had talked a lot with his hands. His eyes were going right and left, his mouth was tight and fast but his hands were working overtime. He moved on.
He hit the pedestrianized area and kept walking. When the road crossed with Renfield Street he jinked to the right, causing two girls to move out of his way, and entered a pub, Lauders.
This wasn’t good. I didn’t mean it to be like this. I chose Sauchiehall Street for my own reasons, but only to
Still he was only number fifty-four.
My heart was pounding. I told myself to be calm. Fifty-six would be here and nothing could stop it any more than worrying would hasten it.
Fifty-five was an old Chinese woman. She was maybe about 120 and seemed less than five foot but then she was bent near double, forced over by time and rain. Something about her reminded me of an old neighbour. I couldn’t think of her name but then I couldn’t think of much else but the next person that would walk past me. It could be anyone at all. It excited me, sickened me, slightly scared me. My pulse galloped.
I dragged my eyes along the pavement but saw no feet. There was no one in the three or four yards of me. Then I saw a pair of shoes. Small shoes.
I raised my eyes and saw a boy of about eleven or twelve. Fuck.
He had a mop of fair hair and a squint grin, scuffing his feet along Sauchiehall Street as he gazed half-heartedly into shop windows. Oh fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He seemed in a bit of a daydream, this kid without a care in the world. The tail of his shirt was hanging below his jumper in the way that boys liked to wear it. Faded jeans. That silly, quirky grin.
Rules. Number fifty-six.
I felt sick to my stomach. Rules. My rules.
The boy glanced up, curious. I must have been staring right at him. Of course I was. He was still walking and I willed him to stop. He wasn’t going to. He was nearly in front of me. Stop, you have to stop.
Two more steps and he would be number fifty-six.
Then, from somewhere off my radar, a shape pushed past the boy, barging into his shoulder and knocking him over. The shape charged past me.
I watched the boy pick himself up and offer a dirty look to the person that had shoved him.
I followed his gaze and saw a short, stocky guy in his mid-twenties barrelling back up the street, not mindful in the least of anyone around him. I was looking at the back of number fifty-six.
Or number three depending on how you looked at it.
CHAPTER 12
I followed him, this little guy who liked to push wee boys out of his way. Not just kids either. The squat, weaselly man didn’t have much care for anyone in his path. He barged past women, he got in the way of men bigger than him. He walked with the disregard of a bully and the confidence of someone twice his size.
I stayed ten and twenty feet back. I watched.
He was maybe five foot six, with short, spiky hair, weighing twelve stone or so. He turned a couple of times and I caught a bashed face that looked as if it had been in the wars. He looked like a dog with a bad temper.
He cut a path back up Sauchiehall Street. He had a strange confidence for such a wee guy. No fears. His strut reminded me of Carr. Little men, big egos, yet completely different.
I didn’t have time to think about Carr. This man was in front of me now. I might never see him again. The time was here and now. However risky, however long it took. If the chance came it would have to be taken or be lost. I knew it.
The little man passed people who recognized him. Two young guys in near-ned uniforms. They got close and they talked fast. Little Man looked around before shaking his head. He nodded towards the concert hall end of the street. They looked at each other and then they nodded too. They walked away from him.
Little Man had talked a lot with his hands. His eyes were going right and left, his mouth was tight and fast but his hands were working overtime. He moved on.
He hit the pedestrianized area and kept walking. When the road crossed with Renfield Street he jinked to the right, causing two girls to move out of his way, and entered a pub, Lauders.
This wasn’t good. I didn’t mean it to be like this. I chose Sauchiehall Street for my own reasons, but only to
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