Filth (5 page)

I’m fucking burning inside though when I see that silly wee cow Amanda Drummond here. What the fuck is she daein on a murder team? Wouldnae trust her to pick the fucking curtains for the office.

Why doesn’t anybody tell that silly wee lassie that she is superfluous now that we’ve got that big blonde civvy piece wi the waxed legs and sunbed tan handing oot the paperwork? Yes, and she’s here now, coming right into my sights. Phoah! She passes me a briefing note.

– Thank you my darling, I smile at her and she gives me the unfazed measuring look of the game hoor who kens what she’s aboot.

– Fuckin doll, I hear a voice in my ear. It’s Ray Lennox.

– What the fuck are you daein here, I ask him, – I thought you were on D.S. duty.

I ken what the cunt’s daein here awright; he’s stalking that blonde piece, that’s what he’s daein here.

– I’m on my way. Just popped in to say good morning, he smiles, and departs. Lennox has trimmed his mouser, but he’s gone over the score. He looks like a fuckin pansy now.

I pucker my lips in the direction of the blonde piece’s arse, gift-wrapped perfectly as it is in that tight skirt, but the gesture which was meant for Ray’s matey complicity is picked up by the ice-hearted hanger-on Amanda Drummond.

I ignore The Thin White Puke’s distasteful scowl. I nudge Dougie Gillman next to me who clocks the blonde piece’s erse with an evaluating, approving nod.

Toal’s off on one, flapping with only semi-restrained excitement: – As you know, we now have a positive identification of our victim. He is one Efan Wurie and he is a freelance journalist from Ghana who was working in London. We are unaware of his business in Edinburgh and friends have said that he was here on holiday.

A funny time to come up here for a holiday. Up tae nae fuckin good ah’ll bet.

– Some holiday, perr boy, Peter Inglis nods.

Yes, vintage form is being displayed by a certain Inspector Robert Toal, or if you like, he’s spraffing the same auld fuckin shite as the bastard’s prone to do. – We’ve heard from the Met that our man was recently the victim of an attack in Haggerston, London. On the second of February, this year, he left a bar with two friends. He was set upon by some thugs who came out the back of a van with baseball bats. This was reported but no arrests were made.

– You think maybe one ay they racially biased mobs did the darkie-boy over? Gus asks.

Amanda Drummond winces. Toal looks tired. – We can’t say. It might be coincidence. However, this incident must have been in the man’s mind as he climbed the steps up to the North Bridge. That makes it even more surprising he wasn’t more careful. Toal looks at us for a reaction, but naebody’s saying a dicky bird. Then he turns and focuses on me. – Bruce, can I see you in an hour in my office?

I feel a shiver. I don’t want anything to do with this case. – Need to make it two hours gaffer. I couldn’t stop myself from saying that horrible word which I try never to use in connection with Toal. I hate myself for being so . . . subordinate. Fuck’um. – I’ve a meeting with the Lothian Forum on Racial Equality. I thought it best from a com rels perspective that we keep in touch, allay fears and what have you, this being a sensitive case and what not.

– Good thinking Bruce, that’s the ticket. Make it two hours then.

I feel a rising glow in my chest. I’ve been out of sorts lately but I’ve still more than enough gas in my tank to see off the likes of Toal. No way am I going to visit a bunch of jungle-bunnies and their nursemaids. I need two hours for my lunch, minimum requirement. I head out with Gus, but as we’re leaving I get pulled up by Amanda Drummond. – Bruce, can I have a word?

– You, my darling, can have a word any time, I smile at her. A waste of time that approach, with such a glacier-hearted dyke, but you have to remember that even glaciers thaw, just as long as you keep the heat turned up. And if there’s one thing that Bruce Robertson knows, it’s how to do
exactly
that.

She scowls at me, – It’s just that I was speaking to Alan Marshall at the Forum this morning, and he said nothing to me about a meeting with you.

– Hmmm, I rub my chin. I’ll need to get closer with that razor. A real close shave; that’s what’s required. – Must be some wires getting crossed somewhere. I’ll get back to you on that one later Mandy love, I say, winking and turning away.

– It’s Amanda, and it’s not love, she hisses, but I’ve already turned my back and I’m gesturing at Gus to head off, totally ignoring the silly wee trollop’s ineffectual bleatings.

You are dismissed, girlie
.

We get into the car and head out to Crawford’s. In the queue we see two uniformed spastics whom we know but can’t place their names. Veteran P.C.s. Myself and Gus look down on them; going nowhere fast in the career structure of the force. When we’re in choosing our food, this cheeky auld cunt looks at the uniforms and says, –They’ll no be brekin intae this place anywey. Bakers n chippies, the safest places in Edinburgh!

The constables get a big red beamer up the side of their faces. I count my blessings on occasions like this that I’m in a plain-clothed job. The spastics blush and head off, while Gus and I get back into the motor.

– That Drummond lassie. Needs a good fuckin ride, that’s what she needs, I tell him, starting up the Volvo and feeling a testosterone rush as I shunt the beast up a gear. C’mon baby, take it.

Gus smiles. He’s a nice auld cunt. A bit churchy, but he doesnae push it doon yir throat. – Yir an awfay man Bruce, he says.

– Looks the type that’s been disappointed by a man. Probably frigid, I speculate, as we turn into Raeburn Place. I could go a pint and one of they steak pies from Bert’s Bar. Better than that Crawford’s shite. But on second thoughts one pint might lead to a dozen and I’m with that auld cunt Gus who won’t piss it up on duty. I’ll have to tough it out.

– Nice lassie though, says Gus, mildly challengingly.

– Oh aye, she’s a nice enough lassie, I agree. Best to back down at this stage. I’ll put Gus right about that hoor soon enough.

I switch on the radio. There’s some quiz programme on Radio Forth.

– SO MALCOLM, YOU HAVE THREE CHANCES TO WIN THE JACKPOT PRIZE. READY?

– THINK SO!

– RIGHT. WHAT CONTINENT IS PARAGUAY IN?

– EH . . . IS IT EUROPE?

– OOOHHHH . . . SORRY MALCOLM. IT IS, IN FACT, IN SOUTH AMERICA. NEVER MIND, TRY AGAIN. THE CAPITAL OF HUNGARY IS . . .?

– EH . . . OH . . . EHM . . . TRANSYLVANIA?

– OOOHHHH . . . I’M SOREE MAAL-CUM . . . IT IS IN FACT BUDAPEST! YOU’RE THINKING OF THE VAMPIRES AND ALL THAT SORT OF THING AREN’T YOU?

– YEAH BOBBY, AH WIS JUST THINKIN OF COUNT DRACULA AND ALL THAT STUFF.

– NOT TO WORRY. YOU STILL HAVE ONE MORE CHANCE TO WIN THE JACKPOT PRIZE. READY?

– EH . . . YEAH.

– OKAY. THE SEXY SINGER TONY FERRINO IS PLAYED BY WHICH COMEDIAN?

– AW . . . I SHOULD KNOW THIS . . . IS IT STEVE COOGAN?

– STEVE COOGAN IS CORRECT! MALCOLM WINTERS OF LARKHALL, YOU HAVE WON OUR JACKPOT PRIZE OF FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!

I switch that shite off and put in a tape, Saxon’s debut album
Wheels of Steel
, and for many their best. I’m more into
Denim and Leather
though. I watch Gus’s rubber puppet-face twist in distaste as the boys crank up.

– What a din Bruce! Dinnae ken how ye can listen to that!

– It’s white man’s soul music Gus. We came, conquered and enslaved, I explain.

We get back about an hour later when who should come down into the office but Toal. We agreed two hours; he’s fucking up my crossword time, the helium-filled wank-bag. Toal doonstairs. Toal, here! We are privileged! Normally that spastic never leaves his desk. I never knew the cunt had legs until I saw him one night in the foyer of the King’s Theatre when I was taking the wee yin tae the panto. There’s that cunt Toal just standing there, and he fuckin cold-shouldered me. I mind the bairn asking who he was and me saying, that’s one of the bad men I put away once doll. She frowned at the shit-bag after that!

– Robbo . . . in here, he points to the interview room and shuts the door behind us. – Listen, keep this under your hat, but as you know things are pretty stretched around here, particularly until we get the new D.I. post filled in the reorganisation in the New Year.

My
post. But listen tae Toal; making out that he
wants
one of us on the same grade as him, when he does nothing. Anyway, as things stand I should be on a much higher grade than that imbecile. I would have as well if Carole hadn’t made us fuck off to go to Australia for six bastarding years.

– What I want you to do, in effect, is to lead up the team on the Wurie case. I’ll be around to oversee, but I’m pretty much tied up with this reorganisation bollocks. I got a note from Busby, he’s going to be off for some time yet. I don’t know how they expect me to run this division with an inspector short. Anyway, mind and keep me posted. I want this cracked sharpish.

The toss is trying to butter me up because he thinks that if he makes me responsible for this case then I won’t want to take my break in the Dam. Fuck his memo; I’ll kick up a stink through the Federation and the craft if I have to. Same rules apply. I then have to listen to his smarm about how good an officer I am, and I suppose it’s true.

I want that fuckin promo awright, that inspectorship. It’s mine, my entitlement, in terms of experience. Any cunt in the service’ll tell you that. Fuck me, I couldn’t be any worse than the last waster they made up; nobody could. Busby, suffering from so-called stress. He’s never away fae the fuckin gowf course. No bad for some, he’s goat the welfare spastics twisted roond his finger. I’d gie the useless farting cunt his jotters, then we’d have two inspectorships up for grabs in the division, and it wouldnae cause as much of an atmosphere wi the boys in the cannie. But me: eight wasted years. What did they think I was daein in Sydney aw that time? Playin fuckin tiddly-winks? Counts for nowt, overseas service, under their stupid rules. And cause of her, her that doesn’t know her own mind. Edinburgh Carole: ah want tae be oot thair beside ma mother. Sydney Carole: ah cannae settle, ah miss ma sister. Her sister: the only thing I missed aboot her sister was gettin my hole off her.

– I decided that with your homicide experience, Toal confirms, – you were the man to lead the team. Effectively then, you’ll be acting inspector. We can’t do anything about the remuneration, but if you get a result here it’ll stand you in good stead, for eh . . . the future. You’ll have Inglis, Bain and Drummond on the team, with uniformed officer support.

I detest Toal, but he knows his job. You have to give the cunt that. He slaps me on the arm and I just nod. We leave the room. – It’s settled then Bruce, he smiles.

In the short time it takes to exit thon interview room and stick on the kettle, I realise that the cunt’s almost got away with his flattery bullshit. Toal kens fuck all aboot the job. Promotion or no promotion, I’m offski tae the Dam.

I note that Amanda Drummond’s been hanging around, making out she’s talking to Gus, but really waiting to pounce on Toal. She comes over. – Excuse me Bob, can I have a quick word?

Bob, is it now?

– Sure, Toal says, then turns back to me, – Mind Bruce, what I said.

– Aye, I mumble. I move across to Gus, watching Toal’s chunky frame and Drummond’s matchstick body recede down the corridor. Fuckin Laurel n Hardy right enough. – If he thinks I’m busting a gut about solving this case, he’s fuckin mad, I tell Gus.

– The way I see it, this is aw politics, Gus shakes his heid wearily. I like Gus. He looks like a Jim Henson puppet and he’s yesterday’s man, but I like him. I can afford tae like the cunt. He’s in for the promo as well though. The odds against him? Too high to calculate.

– Damn fuckin right it is. I give up my winter’s week in the Dam, which the cunt knows I have every year at this time, just soas I can find out who topped this coon and get brownie points for a certain Mister Toal? I do look sweet. I look very fucking sweet indeed. No thank you Mr Toal. No thank you Mr Niddrie.

– He’s goat us ower a barrel though Bruce. That inspector’s post fae the reorganisation.

– That’s nowt tae dae wi it! I snap too loudly at Gus, who looks fretful. I’ll have to watch this temper. I backpedal, – He’s goat fuck all tae dae wi whae gits that. You think Niddrie or any ay the cunts on the promotion board’ll listen tae that tube? What does he ken? He kens fuckin nowt! Sum total: the big fuckin zero, I tap my head.

I leave Gus to think about that. The auld cunt really thinks that
he’s
gaunny get the job. Wrong! Saw-ree! He got too soon old and too late smart. I get on with my crossword in the
Sun
.