Paying For It (18 page)

I stood up, helped myself to more Armagnac. ‘Good stuff this. I could see how a taste for the finer things might turn a young lad’s head – Was that it, Mr Zalinskas? Did Billy get greedy?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. He was a valued employee, his death was a loss to all of us. Myself especially.’

I chanced my arm. ‘That’s not what I hear. Some say you had good reason to get rid.’ I moved over to the wall of monitors. ‘Quite a dust-up the pair of you had before his death. Did the cameras capture that?’

Zalinskas kept shtum. Rolled the glass between his palms.

I slammed my hand on the marble top. ‘Nothing to say?’

‘Calumnies are best answered with silence.’

‘Ben Johnson.’

‘You’re obviously an intelligent man. Why are you pursuing such rumours, such lies?’

I played him at his own game. ‘What’s a lie but a truth in masquerade?’ He looked up, obviously not a Byron fan.

He faced me, I thought he might crack, but then he smiled. ‘Dig away, Mr Dury. I can assure you there is nothing to implicate me in Billy Thompson’s death.’

‘Maybe not – but a little mud sticks, no? You’re already being dragged through the courts. Two cases would be very messy.’

‘A tenuous connection, don’t you think?’

His cockiness pressed on the bolts that held in my anger. I felt tempted to slap some information out of him, but he seemed too secure for that.

Zalinskas rose, moved back to the wolf. ‘You know, only the pack leader is ever allowed to raise pups,’ he said. ‘I can assure you, Mr Dury, I take my responsibilities to my pack very seriously.’

‘And when the time comes for the pup to challenge the leader, what happens then? Sorry, we’ve been there already, you explained. Of course. Look, Zalinskas, I know what kind of an outfit you run here. I know about Billy’s plans. I know about the …’

Zalinskas’ eyes widened. I had him where I wanted him, rattled. But I’d get no more from him, I knew that. The result I wanted depended on his next move outside this room. I’d made him sweat, now I needed to step back and observe.

He drew a curtain over the wolf’s cage, turned and walked back to his desk. ‘I see you have been talking to Nadja, Mr Dury.’ He pulled deep on his cigar. ‘I warn you now, her word is not to be trusted.’

‘Thanks for the friendly advice. I’ll store it away.’

‘Nadja has her own … agenda.’

‘Haven’t we all?’

‘Indeed we do, Mr Dury.’ He pressed a button on his desk and the door I’d come through clicked open, the pug and two uniformed filth walked in.

‘I believe this is the man you’re looking for officers,’ said Zalinskas.

ZALINSKAS SMIRKED AS he welcomed in the filth. A glare in my direction said he’d been messing with me, but now he’d tired of the game. I’d seen the look before, on Hannibal Lecter, waited for the, ‘Do you hear the lambs, Clarice?’

Tried to stand my ground.

‘This is all very cosy, fellahs,’ I said as the cops approached me, ‘but if you don’t mind indulging me a few moments – what’s the charge?’

One of the cops touched six feet, carried a build that said he was no stranger to the police gym. He seemed to take my query as a personal slight, lunged at me.

I took a killer punch to the gut. Then a knee to the kidney that splayed me on the floor like the dead tiger. I felt my insides scream. I tried to cry out but my breath deserted me. For more than a few seconds I believed my next move was going to be onto a mortuary slab.

‘How about resisting arrest for a start,’ said plod.

I found a dim light ignite some strength, it felt like courage. ‘Nice try. What am I supposed to be resisting arrest for?’ I rolled onto my haunches, each breath felt like acid poured in my lungs.

‘You cocky cahnt.’

Plod was London. It only made me more determined to mess with his head.

‘Come on, I’m trying to help, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble with your superiors – your porcine brethren who walk on two legs.’

He went for his baton. It flashed in the air above me, I saw this turn was well practised. I couldn’t move, braced myself for bone-shattering.

‘Stop!’ Zalinskas stepped in. ‘Not here – take him away.’

I felt myself lifted by the collar, my arms jerked round to my back as I was cuffed.

‘Gentlemen, please, you’ll damage those bracelets if you’re not careful.’

‘Shut it,’ said London.

I managed a last glance at Zalinskas, a smirk of my own. ‘Nice one, Benny, I love your work!’

He mulled it over. I thought he might answer, show some kind of emotion but he merely turned away from me, went back to his desk, lit another cigar.

As plod led me away Zalinskas blew smoke into the air. He had no more words for me.

‘Goodbye, Mr Zalinskas,’ I shouted, ‘no doubt I’ll be seeing you again.’

‘Move your fakhin’ arse,’ said London, sticking his baton in my shoulder blades and twisting it, hard.

All told, I thought, not a bad little result. Sure, I wondered what awaited me at the station, but I’d made an impression on Benny the Bullfrog. I’d taken his casino for a few grand and, most importantly, let him know I was very definitely onto him. I’d given the bastard something to think about.

On the floor Amy and Hod waited by the door.

‘Gus, Gus!’ cried Amy. ‘Oh my God, what have they done to you?’

‘It’s nothing,’ I said.

‘Shift,’ said London, he moderated his language now we were in the full glare of the public.

Amy threw her arms around me, ‘Oh Gus, Gus …’

‘Quick – the cash – it’s in my pocket.’

‘Miss, leave the suspect alone, please,’ said plod. He clutched her arms, lifted her away from me.

‘Gus, I have it,’ she said, waving the rolls of cash.

‘Great. Hod, the cash, take it to the crem. Milo Whittle, that’s my mate, you have to pay for the funeral expenses tomorrow.’

‘Move,’ said London. Another prod in the back, he’d lost patience with me.

‘Hod, did you hear me?’

‘Milo Whittle.’

‘That’s it. The works, do you get me? I want him sent off in style.’

I saw Amy raise a hand to her face and start to cry. It was the last thing I saw before plod threw me into the back of a meat wagon.

‘Wait till we get you down that fakhin’ station, you saucy little cahnt,’ said London.

THE FILTH WASTED no time throwing me down the stairs. Sorry, I slipped of course.

London had a thing for punching me on the head, probably imagined it would be harder to spot the injuries. He had a fair punch too, knuckles like the pattern on Charlie Brown’s jumper, and plenty of energy. I prayed he’d tire himself out, bust a hand. But this was Robocop. He’d stop when he was told.

I spat blood, but I’d been worked over before. After a dozen or so blows a numbness settles in. I watched the punches coming and relaxed into them, he couldn’t dent me. I imagined myself as Ali on the ropes to Foreman; I could take the punishment. What was the worst that could happen? He’d kill me. Well, I’d no fear of death, that’s for sure. I thought, ‘Bring it on – give me your worst.’

‘You’re gonna need a mop and bucket in here soon,’ I said.

‘Shut your lairy little hole.’

‘Will you do it yourself? Can see you in a set of Marigold gloves. Have you got a tabard too?’

He stood back from me, panting. He showed his bottom teeth. London had borrowed this look from Lenny McLean, the Guv’nor, but he was no bare-knuckle fighter. A few good jabs would put him to bed. He looked like every filth I’d ever known, could only handle a fight with the odds stacked in his favour. It’s the old story all over. Weak fucks join up because they know it’s their best chance of getting on a winning side.

A green light flashed above the door and London straightened his back.

‘That you off then?’ I said.

He pulled back his arm, a fist hovered in the air.

I smiled at him. I felt the blood squelching. I’d lost some teeth. But I felt no sense of defeat, and he saw this. I’d taken the best he had to offer and I still smiled.

London lowered his fist, saw I wasn’t worth the energy.

‘You’re fukhin’ mental, d’you know that?’ he said.

‘Whatever – the green light’s flashing. Time to get the kettle on for the DCs.’

He looked at me like I was seriously tapped.

‘Proper mental, that’s what you are.’

My smile sat in place as I threw back my head and roared with laughter. Quite a victory, it felt good. Bring on round two.

For an hour they left me to my own devices. Then brought in a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush.

‘Clean this shit up,’ a lad in uniform told me, must have been twenty tops, hair still parted with his mother’s spit.

I walked to the bucket and kicked it over. ‘Bite me.’

Uniform didn’t know what to do. Walked out, leaving the bucket behind him.

Inside a minute two gut-huge inspectors appeared. They took an arm each and dragged me out the door.

Together they said, ‘Walk.’

They took me to another cell. Table and chairs, camera in the corner.

‘Sit.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ I knew they were the real deal. I also knew I’d already been through the worst. From here on in, we got down to the meat and potatoes.

‘Gus Dury,’ said the heavier of the two, Markies shirt, Farah trousers and a Freddie Mercury tache.

‘That’s what they call me.’

‘Lose the fucking attitude.’

I leaned forward, said, ‘Lose the fucking tone, you’ve nothing on me. Whereas I’ve a delightful tale of police brutality to splash over the papers tomorrow.’

They both laughed. Looked at each other, I expected back slapping.

‘Who’d print anything from a piss-wet old soak like you, Dury?’

The second doughnut-muncher stood up. He looked about five-eight in his comfortable Clarks shoes that squeaked on every step. ‘We have a stack of witnesses to your resisting arrest, Mr Dury. I’d recommend you cooperate, it’s to your advantage.’

‘Christ almighty. Spare me the good cop bad cop routine, eh?’

Silence. Then: ‘Cigarette?’ said Clarks shoes.

‘Silk Cut?’

‘I’m cutting back.’

‘Have you no real fags?’

The pack went down. I picked out a tab, the cop lit me up.

‘Like a breath of fresh air,’ I said.

‘That’s how I’m hoping this, shall we say advice, will greet you, Mr Dury.’

‘Come again?’

‘Stay away from Mr Zalinskas.’

‘Am I hearing right?’

The cop with the tache leaned forward, banged on the table. ‘I’m warning you, you’ll take this—’

‘Is that what you say to your men friends? You charmer.’

He had to be held back after that, it was like
Hill Street Blues
all over.

‘Mr Dury, I’d take my partner’s advice.’

‘Partner, so that’s how it is. Tell me this, I’ve always wondered, is it better to give than to receive?’

Moustache got out his seat again, managed to land a slap on my face. ‘You cheeky pup, I’ll hang you the fuck out to dry, do you hear me?’

‘Reg, Reg … control yourself.’

‘Och, I’m fucking through with this.’

‘Reg …’

He headed for the door. ‘Dury, I swear to Christ, you’ll be in the Forth if I hear your name in the same breath as Benny Zalinskas’ again.’

He left.

‘Excitable chap your partner.’

‘I wouldn’t treat his advice so glibly. Mr Zalinskas is a very influential person in this city.’

‘With both criminals and the police, I see.’

‘Mr Dury, please …’

‘Please? Fuck off. What’s he got on you? Some pictures of you two fags in flagrante delicto?’

A shake of the head. ‘I can see you’re going to cause us some trouble, Mr Dury. I’m very sorry to hear that.’

‘Oh, I bet you are.’

‘I’m prepared to ignore your actions on this occasion. Put them down to, shall we say, misplaced chutzpah.’

I laughed.

‘But, I can assure you, if we have cause to speak again, you will regret it – most assuredly you will.’

I SPENT THE next twenty-four hours in a cell. When they let me go I got handed a polythene bag holding my watch, wallet, phone and some change.

Guy on the front desk said, ‘That’ll be you off to get hammered.’

I’d never seen him before. ‘What?’

‘The booze is oozing out of you.’ He shook his head, slammed closed the black diary he’d been writing in, said, ‘Fucking alkies.’

On the way out the door, I started to shiver. My mouth felt like an open wound. Missing teeth catching the cold air of morning. I had managed a hundred yards when I heard my name spoken under breath.

‘Gus – Gus, over here,’ was called out from a dark vennel along from the police station.

I looked about. I wasn’t keen to venture into more trouble.

‘Gus, come here, would ya?’

I recognised the voice this time. Tried to make it look casual as I walked into the narrow street.

‘Christ, Fitz, this is a bit close to home for you, isn’t it?’

‘I had to grab you.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with the caff?’

‘Why do you think? You’re a marked man, Dury. By the Christ, aren’t ye ever!’

I let out a sigh. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Fitz eyeballed me. ‘Jaysus, they did some job on ye boyo. Was Rambo, no doubt.’

‘What?’

‘London fellah. Built like a brick shithouse. He came up here about six months ago, playing the Big I Am, so he was. No one was afraid of him, mind. Christ, haven’t we Celts been sending them home to think again for long enough?’

‘Yeah, sounds like him.’

‘Ah, he’s a gobshite, I wouldn’t sweat over him.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Arrah, I wouldn’t give the likes of him the steam off my piss.’

I saw Fitz had a personal animus for this cop, but knew he hadn’t pulled me up to have a wee office bitch. ‘Fitz, did you have something for me?’

‘Have I ever.’

‘Well, let’s hear it.’

‘I’ve done a bit of digging about, like you said I should.’

‘And?’

‘You were right. If vice are interested in Benny Zalinskas, I’ve started taking it up the Gary Glitter.’

‘So someone was feeding you a cover story. Who?’

‘Not so fast, Dury. Remind me why I should tell you anything?’