Falling (27 page)
I try to lift Charlie’s head but
it is like lifting a bowling ball.
‘Charlie, are you alright?
Charlie, are you alright?’ I say.
It is clear that Charlie is
anything but alright and is never going to be alright again. Unless you’re a
religious person. In which case you might be able to argue he has never been so
alright as he is now.
Tina clues in quick and steps
back. I open Charlie’s jacket but the documents are gone. A man behind me asks
what I am doing and I realise it looks like I am pick-pocketing. I close
Charlie’s jacket and stand up. I ask if someone could call an ambulance and a
young girl goes for her mobile.
I am close to panic. The crowd
has grown to some twenty strong and I step back and join Tina. We look down at
Charlie and then take another step back. The crowd closes in front of us and we
turn on our heels and leave.
I watch as the maintenance man
and the girlfriend approach the dead accountant. The rubber neckers grow in
number and I tap Jim on the shoulder. He is in his own world but I don’t care
as long as he follows orders and keeps by my side.
The pair are leaving their friend
and exiting the crowd and I can see by their faces they are not in a good
place. You see that look a lot in my job.
They are both dressed to fool but
they are fooling no-one.
We are less than twenty yards
away but they won’t see us. Not without our suits. Jim is in jeans, a fleece
(too hot for a fleece Jim) and a baseball cap from the Rangers FC shop. His
size thirteen trainers are a special order from the internet.
I’ve pulled on a woollen beany
hat, a cream t-shirt and a pair of old chinos that still have white paint
across the knees from a bout of painting I did before Christmas.
If the lovers look carefully
enough they might remember me from less than half an hour ago, when I sat down
next to Charlie, letting my copy of the Glasgow Herald flop onto the vic’s
knees, when I leant over to apologise, when I stabbed him, when I lifted the
documents, when I folded the paper and left. Simple really.
Now for part two.
We fall in behind the love birds
as they exit the square and turn up onto Buchanan St. It is wall to wall with
lunch time shoppers and we have to stay closer than I would like to make sure
we don’t lose them. I hadn’t seen them arrive but I assumed they must have a car.
Either that or they made poor Charlie stagger along on his wasted legs.
I’m surprised when they turn into
the glass bubble that protects the entrance to the underground. Seconds later
we follow them down into the world of the clockwork orange.
Built in the late eighteen
hundreds the underground system is one of the oldest in the world and one of
the smallest. In a ring, that barely leaves the city centre, there are two
tracks - one going clockwise and one anti clockwise. Unlike most underground
systems there is no danger of falling asleep and finding yourself miles from
home. Just stay on and you’ll come back round soon enough.
It got the nickname of the
clockwork orange in the eighties when they replaced the ageing rolling stock
with tiny orange coloured subway cars.
The ticket hall is dark and the
lovers are grabbing tickets from the automatic ticket machine. We hang back and
then buy two tickets as they push theirs into the machine to free up the
entrance barrier.
We follow them down the stairs
but I flip my hand out onto Jim’s chest before we hit the last flight of stairs
leading down onto the platform. The platform is too small to hide on and all
the lovers would have to do is cast their eyes back where they had come from
and we are made. Disguised or not we would be too close to risk it.
We let some people past and hold
our ground on the small landing gaining us a few choice words from those who
have to squeeze by.
The lovers are on the clockwise
platform and I squat down and see them deep in conversation at the far end.
The familiar rumble of the train
approaching echoes around us and then with a roar it bursts from its lair and
the orange cars grind to a halt with a piss of air brakes and the ring of metal
on metal. The doors open and the passengers exit. I wait until I see the lovers
move and then haul Jim down the stairs and into the first car.
The Glasgow underground does not
allow passengers to move from car to car and the cramped interior (Jim has to
bend over double to get in the door) does not allow much of a view of the other
cars. I’ll have no choice but to stick my head out of the door at each station
to see if the lovers get off.
The doors close and the driver
winds up the spring and we are away. Jim is smiling again but the noise as we
pass through the tunnel stops me from asking why. I probably don’t want to know
anyway.
Minutes later we gush into the
next station, Cowcaddens and I stand up and urge Jim to do the same. No one on
our car gets off and when I look along the platform no-one else has alighted. I
pull my head back in and motion for Jim to sit down again.
I repeat this exercise for the
next four stations - St George’s Cross, Kelvinbridge, Hillhead and Kelvinhall.
At Partick our car almost empties and I’m knocked onto the platform by my
fellow passengers. Ahead I see the lovers and they are already at the foot of
the exit stairs. I grab Jim and drag him onto the platform, still smiling.
There is little room to move and
we have no choice but to try and barge our way to the front for fear of losing
the lovers as they exit the station.
We draw looks, curses and a
series of ‘what the f…’s as we go by but I don’t care. Lose the lovers and we
are dead meat. We’ve been told this in no uncertain terms.
We bundle ourselves through the
barrier and out onto the pavement and I look around to catch sight of our
quarry. The station exits onto a small square that is alive with buses and
shops. I spot the head of the maintenance man as he wheels out of sight around
the far corner of the square. I urge Jim into a jog and then slow down as we
round on to the short road beyond the square.
The lovers are keeping up a pace
and vanish left onto the main road. We follow and once we have them in sight
again we hold back, keeping a few people between us and them.
I know this area well. My
grandmother and grandfather lived not far from here for most of their lives.
The lovers cross the road and
head up Crow Rd. I have no idea where they are going but that doesn’t matter, I
just need to keep them in sight until we can get them on their own.
The road runs up hill and there
is a retail park on the right. Guarding the entrance is the ubiquitous
MacDonald’s and the lovers cut up a small set of stairs and push their way into
the land of Ronald.
Jim taps me on the shoulder and
says he fancies a Big Mac. I shake my head and ignore him. Sure lets cosy up to
the two lovers and share a large fries and a Coke.
The girlfriend picks a seat by
the window and the maintenance man disappears to return a few minutes later, coffees
in hand.
They launch into discussion and I
can just imagine the talk revolving around the question of the moment - what
the hell do we do now?
The girlfriend drags out her
mobile and makes a call. She puts it away and they resume their chat.
It takes them fifteen minutes to
down the liquid and then they are on the move again. On up the hill. At the top
they cut into the left and head for a set of white multi stories. Built in 1966
my gran was the first resident of the first one built. I tell everyone that
when I pass. No-one is ever interested.
At the first of the high rises
the lovers stop at the entrance and hit one of the numbers on the security
entrance. After a brief pause they push open the door and vanish inside. I
sprint up behind them and then hit as many buttons as I can. After a few
seconds the buzzer sounds and we are in. Security entrance - joke! Someone
always lets you in.
I know the layout of the flats
and I don’t venture beyond the front door until I hear the lift doors open and
close. Only then do I sprint to the lifts.
There are two lifts and they sit
diagonally opposite the other. Only one is moving and I watch the numbers climb
until it stops at eleven. I wait to make sure it isn’t someone getting on to go
higher - unlikely but not impossible. The eleven stays lit and I press the
button for the other lift.
Almost immediately the door opens
and Jim does his limbo act to get in the door. I hit eleven and we rise to the
faint smell of piss and alcohol. A smell that I figure is an optional extra
from all good lift manufacturers.
We arrive at the eleventh floor
and hold back. Now it gets tricky. The corridor is shaped like a flattened Z
and there are six flats on each floor. The lift we have come up on opens onto
one of the flat doors. If the lovers are at this door we are made. But
there is no one in front of it. Either the lovers have gone inside or they are
at one of the other doors. I count to five and then peek out. I can see a
second door and it is clear.
We exit the lift and I carefully
look round the first corner of the Z and peer down the corridor. There is
another flat entrance on the right and it has no one outside.
There is a pair of fire doors
half way along the main leg of the Z and they have frosted glass meaning you can’t
see beyond. I tell Jim to stay put. I walk along the corridor and swing open
the fire doors. The door to the flat on the right and the door further along is
clear. I walk round the second corner of the busted Z and the one remaining
door is also clear.
There are two scenarios. Either
they are inside one of the flats or they have sussed us and headed straight
back down the fire stairs. I’m guessing they are in one of the flats and
suspect nothing. Their heads aren’t on straight at the moment.
Now we can either wait or start
knocking.
Neither option is ideal. Waiting
sounds good but hanging around in the corridors will only arouse suspicion.
Every door is fitted with a spy hole and everyone knows everyone in these
places. Even if we are not spotted through any of the doors someone will
eventually use the lift and we look as out of place as a snotty hanky in a fur
coat.
Knocking is also risky. It’s not
as if lover boy or his squeeze are going to answer the door and give themselves
away.
We retire to the stairwell. At
least we can now hear if someone is coming and head up or down the stairs as
need be, but on the downside once we are in the stairwell the lifts are hidden
behind heavy doors and the lovers could be away before we know it.
Jim suggests kicking in each door
and doing a bit of US style home invasion. I ignore him but I don’t have any
better ideas.
Then Jim does something I have
rarely been witness to. In fact never been witness to. He has a good idea.
It takes a while for him to
explain it but its simplicity is genius. I grab my phone and call Simon. He
listens to what I have to say and agrees to text me straight away. A few
seconds later the phone bleeps to tell me I have a text and I flip it open,
select the numbers on the text and then I push Jim back into the corridor. I
tell him to stay put and I head through the fire doors and hit dial on my
phone. Ten seconds go by and the fire door opens and Jim is beckoning me.
I join him and he points to the
door nearest to him.
The girlfriend’s phone has just
stopped ringing.
I’m amazed Jim thought of it but
it was spot on the money. It was the girlfriend that had made the arrangements
for the meet from her mobile and hadn’t blocked her caller ID. Hence Simon had
her mobile number on his home phone. Fortunately he hadn’t used the phone
since. After that all he had to do dial 1471 and text me the number. All I had
to do was press and listen for the ring. Go figure. Jim came good.
We return to the stairwell to
consider our next move.
Tina’s friend didn’t exactly look
pleased to see us. She invited us in and took us into the flat’s main room. She
asks if we wanted tea or coffee and I decline the offer. Tina accepts and
disappears into the small kitchen and I hear the start of a conversation. I
wander over to the large window that dominates the room. Beyond is a balcony
with a view and half. I try the door that leads out. It is unlocked and I step
out.
A railing runs the length of the
balcony with a reinforced frosted glass panel beneath it. The whole balcony is
a little more twelve feet long by three feet deep. From eleven floors up the
view is to the west of the city, looking straight down the River Clyde.
At one time the view would have
been dominated by shipyards. Wall to wall from here to Dumbarton. Red Clydeside
in its prime. Clyde-built had been the by word for engineering excellence but a
lack of investment, labour disputes and cheap foreign construction had driven
nail after nail into the industry’s coffin. But all was not lost and from where
I stood I could see the BAE systems yard that had just picked up the lion’s
share of the two new aircraft carriers that the government had ordered.
It wasn’t much compared to the
thousands of ships that men and machine had built over the last two hundred
years but it was a damn fine thing for the thousands who counted on ship
building to earn a living.
I leaned over the railing to look
at the new Glasgow Harbour development that hugged the river. Hundreds of brand
new flats were going up and soon the transport museum would up roots from its
home in the Kelvin Hall and move to a purpose built venue not half a mile from
where I stood. A mile further up the river from that was the new riverside
financial district and across from it the new digital media quarter.
