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Authors: Louise Welsh
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screwed. You get caught, say I duped you. We go back a long way.’ Then he said the six
words that should have sent signals flashing. `You know you
can trust me.’
`Look, Rilke, we don’t even know that they’re watching the
building - we have to assume that they are, but who knows what goes on in the life of a polis? I’m small fry. The CID would probably smoke that in a week. No, they did a big production number last night and came up with nix. My guess is that they’ll be pissed off and go on with the next thing. Maybe an unmarked out front for form’s sake. I go out the front door carrying a suspicious-looking carrier bag. Inside that bag another one, wrapped up inside that, a box in ten layers of newspaper, and inside that thon hideous china Alsatian Frances gave us when I had Nero. By the time they’ve unpeeled that lot, you’ll be well over the back court and away.’
He looked pleased with himself.
`And that’s your master plan? You create a diversion while
I leg it with the incriminating material.’
`Simplest is best. We’ll meet up at yours, I’ll get the gear to Gerry and give you the info. Christ, I’ll even chum you to the meet. We can go for a pint after.’
`They’ll have seen me coming in.’
`Rilke, there’s nine flats in this building, six of them
multiple occupancy. This area of Glasgow suffers from a
preponderance of single, middle-aged men with a drink
problem. They’ll not have noticed you.’
`Still no way, Les.’
`I’ll put you in touch with the person you need to talk to. This boy covers his tracks - you’ll never find him without me.’
Four cans and three joints later Leslie was handing me his
keys.
`Double-mortise the front door and make sure you lock the
back entrance to the close. I don’t want any junkies sneaking in for a smoke.’
He swaddled the cheap china ornament in two newspapers,
hunted through the detritus on the floor for tape, then gave up in disgust.
`I hate this, fucking hate it, there’s no need for this mess. They could look and put things back as they go along. You know why they do it, don’t you? There was no pause. Les, like Rose, was the master of the rhetorical question. `Psychological torture.
Bloody Nazis. What kind of sick fuck becomes a polisman??
‘James Anderson.’
`You know how I feel about that. A good man gone bad.’
`I saw him yesterday.’
`Oh yes? Leslie had found the cardboard box his stereo had
come in and was cutting it down to size. `Did he take down
your particulars??
‘Aye, he did.’
He stopped, knife poised mid slice.
`Christ, he never. I thought he was straight in every sense. I thought it was just one of those boyish things, you know,
quick Willy-rub behind the bike sheds.’
`We didn’t have bike sheds at our school.’
`Come on. I’m filled with girlish curiosity.’
`Is that what you call it? No, it was nothing like that. I got nicked in the park last night. Anderson called me in from the front desk and let me off with a talking-to.’
`Oh that’s great. Fanbloodytastic. You can’t even sniff
around the park without getting nicked. That fills me with
confidence.’
He was wrapping the box in a series of carrier bags,
smoothing out creases, splitting the handles and tying them
together.
`Maybe you should get somebody else.’
`Look, I’m just a bit rattled. Of course I’ve got confidence in you. You’re a smooth operator, I know that. Just try and
not screw up, eh? He slipped the package into the final bag, patting it affectionately. `There, that should take a while to unwrap.’ He pulled down a swing coat from the back of the
door and zipped on a pair of calf-length black boots. He
wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. He turned and gave
me a grin. `Ready to go??
‘Are you sure you want to go out like that in daylight??
‘Ach I do it all the time. Nobody looks at me and if they do they just think I’m a hacket woman. Anyway, some of
words that should have sent signals flashing. `You know you
can trust me.’
`Look, Rilke, we don’t even know that they’re watching the
building - we have to assume that they are, but who knows what goes on in the life of a polis? I’m small fry. The CID would probably smoke that in a week. No, they did a big production number last night and came up with nix. My guess is that they’ll be pissed off and go on with the next thing. Maybe an unmarked out front for form’s sake. I go out the front door carrying a suspicious-looking carrier bag. Inside that bag another one, wrapped up inside that, a box in ten layers of newspaper, and inside that thon hideous china Alsatian Frances gave us when I had Nero. By the time they’ve unpeeled that lot, you’ll be well over the back court and away.’
He looked pleased with himself.
`And that’s your master plan? You create a diversion while
I leg it with the incriminating material.’
`Simplest is best. We’ll meet up at yours, I’ll get the gear to Gerry and give you the info. Christ, I’ll even chum you to the meet. We can go for a pint after.’
`They’ll have seen me coming in.’
`Rilke, there’s nine flats in this building, six of them
multiple occupancy. This area of Glasgow suffers from a
preponderance of single, middle-aged men with a drink
problem. They’ll not have noticed you.’
`Still no way, Les.’
`I’ll put you in touch with the person you need to talk to. This boy covers his tracks - you’ll never find him without me.’
Four cans and three joints later Leslie was handing me his
keys.
`Double-mortise the front door and make sure you lock the
back entrance to the close. I don’t want any junkies sneaking in for a smoke.’
He swaddled the cheap china ornament in two newspapers,
hunted through the detritus on the floor for tape, then gave up in disgust.
`I hate this, fucking hate it, there’s no need for this mess. They could look and put things back as they go along. You know why they do it, don’t you? There was no pause. Les, like Rose, was the master of the rhetorical question. `Psychological torture.
Bloody Nazis. What kind of sick fuck becomes a polisman??
‘James Anderson.’
`You know how I feel about that. A good man gone bad.’
`I saw him yesterday.’
`Oh yes? Leslie had found the cardboard box his stereo had
come in and was cutting it down to size. `Did he take down
your particulars??
‘Aye, he did.’
He stopped, knife poised mid slice.
`Christ, he never. I thought he was straight in every sense. I thought it was just one of those boyish things, you know,
quick Willy-rub behind the bike sheds.’
`We didn’t have bike sheds at our school.’
`Come on. I’m filled with girlish curiosity.’
`Is that what you call it? No, it was nothing like that. I got nicked in the park last night. Anderson called me in from the front desk and let me off with a talking-to.’
`Oh that’s great. Fanbloodytastic. You can’t even sniff
around the park without getting nicked. That fills me with
confidence.’
He was wrapping the box in a series of carrier bags,
smoothing out creases, splitting the handles and tying them
together.
`Maybe you should get somebody else.’
`Look, I’m just a bit rattled. Of course I’ve got confidence in you. You’re a smooth operator, I know that. Just try and
not screw up, eh? He slipped the package into the final bag, patting it affectionately. `There, that should take a while to unwrap.’ He pulled down a swing coat from the back of the
door and zipped on a pair of calf-length black boots. He
wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. He turned and gave
me a grin. `Ready to go??
‘Are you sure you want to go out like that in daylight??
‘Ach I do it all the time. Nobody looks at me and if they do they just think I’m a hacket woman. Anyway, some of
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