Last Orders (a Gus Dury crime thriller) (5 page)

Craig had got twitchy in the taxi on the way over,
seemed to want to confide something in someone — it didn't turn out to be me. I
was still scoobied about his role in all of this when he introduced me to
Caroline where she sat on the sofa in the midst of her duvet-day. She was a
pretty girl with a wide, trusting face. The red hair from her photograph was
now subdued by a darker blonde, but the piercing blue eyes still shone.

'Hello, Caroline ...'

She clocked me and then her eyes darted to Craig, who
held up his hands in histrionic style.

'Don't even go there ...' he said, shifting hands to
hips. 'He's nothing to do with me.'

Craig went over to fluff up Caroline's pillows. 'She's
warned me about bringing men back, you know.'

'Oh ...' The confirmation that he was gay just added to
my confusion.

'You pair aren't together then?' I said.

Caroline grabbed back her pillow, pushed Craig's fussing
hands away. 'No, we're just good friends.'

If that was meant to be funny I wasn't laughing. This
girl was a heavily pregnant runaway that her father had hired me to find. Now I'd
set eyes on her I wanted some answers, but I sensed they weren't going to be
the ones I expected.

I could see Caroline and Craig had set up home together
in Poor Street and the idea didn't seem to appeal much to either of them. The
impending delivery seemed to be weighing heavily, in more ways than one, on
Caroline who looked to be near the end of her tether with worry.

'You should know, your father hired me to find you.'

Silence.

Craig pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the
floor; Caroline had him in her gaze but he didn't look up as he buried his head
in his hands.

'Craig ...' she said. Her stare flitted between her
friend and myself. 'What's going on?'

I took a step forward, sat on my haunches beside her. 'Craig
has nothing to do with why I'm here, I found him at the squat and didn't give
him much choice but to bring me here.'

'Some mad Weejie cracked a pot over his head!' said
Craig.

Caroline thinned her eyes and mumbled towards Craig, 'Bloody
Florence Nightingale effect works on you every time.'

Craig pursed his lips, 'Hey, I don't hear you complaining
about me nursing you!'

I felt trapped in a surreal sit-com. I rose to my feet
again. 'Look, is somebody going to tell me what the hell is going on here?'

The earlier silence was joined by a rolling tumbleweed.

I pitched up the volume. 'Right, I have just about
enough brain-cells left to suss that something's not as it appears here, but I'll
be fucked if I can pin the tail on the donkey, so one of you better start
talking or I'm on the blower to daddy ...'

Caroline kicked off the duvet; rising from the sofa was
a struggle in her condition but she managed to find her feet before the
red-cheeked anger subsided from her face. 'No! You can't!'

I repositioned myself a few feet away from her, she had
a crazy look in her eye now and I didn't want her to hurt herself lunging for
me.

'Caroline, calm yourself ...' I said.

'We came here to get away from him.' Her eyes filled
with tears, she was sobbing as Craig appeared at her side and placed a
comforting arm around her shoulders.

'I showed them my palms, tried to reel-in any earlier
threat I'd put out. 'Okay, okay ... don't get upset.'

Craig picked up a stray vibe from Caroline and went from
placid to belligerent in a blink. 'You've no idea what she's been through with
him ... '

His words seemed to set Caroline off again, her lower
lip went into spasm and she sobbed. 'I can't see him ... I just can't ...'

I looked back to the door, touched the sides of my mouth
and wondered if I could have created more panic with a hand-grenade. When my
mobi started to ring the situation went atomic.

'Who's that?' yelled Craig.

I took out my phone, I could see it was Amy. 'It's just
my friend ...'

Caroline joined in the yelling, added in some more sobs.
'Don't let him speak to my dad ...'

'It's not him,' I said. 'Look, I'll ding the call.'

I pressed cancel on the phone, but at once I knew it was
too late. Caroline creased up, she bent over and then her knees folded beneath
her. The yell she let out went back all the way to my ancestors in Africa.

'Oh, shit,' said Craig. 'Oh, shit ... oh, shit ...'

He patted her back, tried to get her to stand.

'What is it?' I said.

'
What is it
?' snapped Craig. 'She's having the
baby.'

* * * *

The ambulance ride out to the Royal passed in unreal
fashion. There was some fuss getting Caroline fastened into the stretcher — her
belly getting in the way — then some more when the paramedics refused to take
both Craig and myself. In the end, I got the seat, because they figured my head
needed looking at; I was already running out of quips for this.

I got a call out to Amy, told her where we were heading.
She said she was jumping in a taxi right away.

'I tried to call earlier,' she said.

'Yeah, well, you could say I had my hands full ...'

'I see that.'

Curiosity got the better of me. 'What was it anyway?'

'I've got some news for you but it'll keep ... it's the
kind of thing that's better delivered in person anyway.'

I hung up, intrigued.

When they wheeled Caroline in she was panting and
gasping — I could hear her even behind the oxygen mask — it didn't look a good
sign. Neither did her slapping fists off the mattress. I was less fazed when I
started to hear some of the screams from the maternity ward: I imagined a
Guantanamo Bay waterboarding session sounded much the same.

'Will she be okay?' I asked as they wheeled her away.

There was no answer save the boilerplate, 'She's
pregnant.'

As I watched her go, some bright spark in blue-green
scrubs put a wheelchair down in front of me and motioned 'in'.

I frowned, 'No chance. I walk fine.'

I managed two steps before my knees went. Seems I'd been
running on my last reserves of adrenaline.

'Like I thought, that gash tells a different story,' he
said. 'How much blood did you lose?'

I touched my head, felt the dried and crusty wound on my
fingertips. The blood had seeped all the way down into my shirt collar, I
traced more all the way to my waistband. 'Would you like me to estimate in
millilitres?'

'Looks like you took quite a clatter.' If this dude was
a doctor, I figured he should be putting his skills to use on someone who
needed them.

I wanted to play wide, say, 'No shit, Sherlock.' But
went with a peacemaker, 'Yes, quite a clatter.'

They spent half an hour or so patching me up. The wound
in my head needed stitches and I landed a nice Rab C-style head bandage to
complete the look of a complete jakey.

I was woozy, maybe a little drugged, when Amy brought in
the news: 'She had a little girl.'

I tried to smile, but my head hurt too much, 'You know
she's not keeping the kid ...'

Amy bit her lip, nodded. 'Yeah, she said ... I could
hardly blame her.'

'What ... is everything okay?'

Amy moved towards the edge of the bed, sat. 'She's fine
... been chirping away like a budgie.'

I tried to sit up but the tight, white linen constricted
me, 'What about?'

Amy put on her shit-stopping serious look, 'It's not
pretty, Gus ... Not in any way.'

I motioned to my head, 'Do I look like someone who needs
sugar-coating?'

Amy stood up quickly, seemed agitated. She took off her
coat and put it over the chair by the bed. The place was like a furnace, I
couldn't fault her for that, but the rolling up of sleeves indicated an
altogether different purpose. 'I checked out our minister ...'

'And?'

'Well, let's just say you were right to have your
suspicions.' Her eyes burned into me as she spoke. 'He's in line to be the
Moderator of the Church of Scotland.'

'Now, that's a big gig.'

She nodded. 'The biggest, comes with the Right Reverend
title ... you could see why he has Oscar night nerves.'

'Indeed he does.'

Amy put her arms round her slim waist, hugged herself, 'Gus,
I feel strange talking about this, but Caroline said some stuff when she, well
after the birth, I think she was still under the drugs, but ...'

I pushed down some of the sheets and edged myself up. I
could see Amy's distress, so motioned her closer. 'Look, if there's something I
need to know, you better just spit it out.'

Amy started to cry. She was a tough girl and this came
out of the blue. I'd never seen her like this before. 'Hey, what's the matter?'

She put her hand to her mouth, 'Caroline says ... he's
the father.'

I slumped, felt the air sucked out of my lungs like a
punch to the gut. '
What
?'

I looked at Amy and saw the emotional dam burst. 'She
says he raped her. She was coming home late, just nights on the town with Craig
... Urquhart hated him because he was gay, called him deviant, an affront to
God. He said she had lost her way and he needed to set her on the right path
... Gus, Caroline ran away because she hates the sight of her father and who on
Earth could blame her?' She put her face in her hands and sobbed harder, 'Gus,
it's too sad for words ... just too sad for words.'

I couldn't listen to any more. I felt a burn in the pit
of my stomach that I knew as anger. It was at the kindling stage just now, the
worst kind. I had known anger all my life and could tell this kind, the
controlled variety, was far more powerful than the volcanic eruptions. I was
ready to flay Urquhart alive.

'Give me my phone over,' I said.

'You can't use a phone in hospital.'

'Fuck it. Give me it.'

She passed me the mobi, it smelled of fags, Silkies.

I dialled Urquhart's number and he answered on the
second or third ring. My voice was firm, the tone as dulled as my emotion. 'Hello,
Minister, this is Gus Dury.'

'Oh, hello … I was hoping to hear from you.' He managed
to make it sound like a pleasant enough social call. Like I was about to offer
to drop off some cakes for a fete. 'Have you uncovered anything?'

My tone sharpened, 'You better believe it.'

'Well, that's wonderful news.'

'Is it?'

'Well, yes, I-I ...' Some of the pulpit-confidence
subsided.

'I've found your daughter, Minister ...' the last word
stung as it passed my lips, felt I needed to spit it out. 'But I've ran into a
few extra expenses along the way.'

He played dumb, milking a reverence he had no
entitlement to. 'I don't understand.'

I ramped it up, my volume, my aggression, the lot. 'Understand
this, my
good
and
godly
man, the price is now two-thousand in
cash by this afternoon.'

'
What
?'

'You heard,
Minister
... You ever want to hear
that Right Reverend bit upfront then you better be where I first met you at
five in the p.m. And bring cash, I don't take cheques, not from the likes of
you.'

I killed the line.

* * * *

I'd never had a good experience in a hospital, didn't
think I ever would. I knew I wasn't alone in that regard. But something stabbed
at me this time, this one time that I was able to be around for the birth of a
child had wounded me more than I could say.

When Debs lost our baby, I knew that was it. They told
her we wouldn't get another chance. And we never did. I don't mean to bring
life into this world: we had no chances left after that. The child was our last
one.

It killed me to think about those days, so I didn't.

There were times when I couldn't look away, though, and
that's where the alcohol came in. I wasn't drinking to forget, I was drinking
to obliterate.

When people ask me why I drink so much, I know the
answer: because oblivion is the only place I feel comfortable.

I tugged my beanie hat over the head bandage and turned
into the shop on the corner of Easter Road and London Road. I ordered up a
packet of Marlboro. On auto-pilot, the girl reached for Lights.

'No, give me the red-tops,' I said.

I was back on the lung-bleeders and I knew they'd be
skating on the River Styx before I attended any fucking hypertension clinic.

On the way towards the Leith San Siro I felt a calm
enter my blood. My father had played there, was a
kent face
all round
these parts. When I thought about him now, I knew I had no feelings in my soul
for him. I knew how Caroline felt, perhaps not emphatically, but I knew the
neighbourhood of her hurts.

She'd never be free of what her father did to her, I
knew that. She'd never lose the guilt, and the pain, and the neat store of
recriminations she'd package up and take with her wherever she went, for the
rest of her life.

But our time was finite and the mind could sometimes be
tricked to forget. I didn't want to think about her life being written-off, I
wanted to think she was stronger than me.

I didn't want to think about the child at all.

Amy had gone to see the poor mite, but I didn't want to
store the image in my mind. Just now the child was merely a jumble of words and
thoughts to me; I couldn't allow it to become flesh and blood. I had a dark
place in my heart reserved just for these sentiments, and that's where I placed
that poor child.

Amy was standing outside the Coopers Rest, oblivious to
a pack of jakies' interest in the pavement scoreline. I waved from across the
street and she nodded, dowped her fag on the wall.

I'd asked Amy along, not as back-up or decoration, but
because she set the tone I wanted. She had edge.

'Hello ...' I said.

'He's inside.'

'Already?'