R.I.P Robbie Silva

R.I.P Robbie Silva

a novella

Tony Black

Published by Blasted Heath, 2012

copyright © 2012 Tony Black

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.

Tony Black has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by
JT Lindroos

Photo by
Kevin Mason

Visit Tony Black at:

www.blastedheath.com

ISBN (ePub): 978-1-908688-25-5

Version 2-1-3

THE STORM WITHOUT

Still recovering from the harrowing case that ended his police career, Doug Michie returns to his boyhood home of Ayr on Scotland's wind-scarred west coast. He hopes to rebuild his shattered life, get over the recent failure of his marriage and shed his demons, but the years have changed the birthplace of the poet Robert Burns.

When Doug meets an old school-days flame, Lyn, he feels his past may offer the salvation of a future. But Lyn's son has been accused of murder and she begs Doug to find the truth.

Soon Doug is tangled in a complicated crimeweb of corrupt politicians, frightened journalists and a police force in cahoots with criminals. As he uncovers illicit smuggling activities at the town's port and falls firmly on the wrong side of eastern European ganglords, the problems he left behind in Ulster are now the least of his worries. Only Burns' philosophical musings offer Doug some shelter as he wanders the streets of Auld Ayr battling The Storm Without.

The Storm Without
is a 43,000-word novella, first serialised in the Ayrshire Post.

"an elegiac noir for the memory of a place, delivered in a prose as bleakly beautiful as the setting."
–
The Guardian

"This is the Great Scottish Novel, got it all and just a wee shade more... Classic."
–
Ken Bruen
, author of
Headstone

"Highly entertaining, fast paced and tightly, almost sparingly, written."
–
Undiscovered Scotland

"another masterclass in Tartan Noir"
–
Daily Record

"a thrilling piece of crime writing"
–
Scottish Field

"cracking stuff"
–
You Would Say That, Wouldn't You?

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If I had to say when it started, when the shit really broke, I'd go for the day I met Gail. I was sitting in a drinker at the foot of Leith Walk tanning Tennent's – roughly one hour out my stretch – and retelling the morning's main event. Trust me, after nine months in the pound, a thing like this was an
event
.

'So, I walks out the gates and goes into the first shop I sees, asks for a pack of smokes, I was
gasping
, like.' I got the nodding dog from Wellsy and Bandy Rab. It had been a while since I'd held court with the old crew – boys looked like they were right into it as well – I can feed a yarn with the best of them, known for it.

'And the guy at the till, he's some fat fucking Jambo sitting on his arse with a gut spilling over the counter. Y'know the type, most exercise he gets is doing a couple of scratch-cards a day ...'

Laughs. More nods. Bandy Rab shifted onto his other arse-cheek, leaned into Wellsy, making his pint shoogle in the glass; Wellsy gave him a wee frown that said
cool the beans, man
.

'So, he gives me this look ...' I made the look; that's when I caught sight of the blonde with her eye on me. She was leaning on the bar, pushing out a belter of an arse in cut-down Levis, or was it hot-pants now I think of it? There was definitely a bit of a glossy pout about her lips anyway, I remember that, that and a fair rack as well. I've always been more of an arse man, but well, you notice a thing like that, don't you? She was with a couple of lads, an older bloke that looked a bit of a player and some gimp with a mullet and an AC/DC T-shirt.

I splayed arms, made the gesture – funny how an audience will improve your performance – continued: 'Then he goes ...
Back the way you came
.'

'Eh?' I said it the way I told him. 'And he's up out the seat, goes,
I'm not serving you.
'

I felt the heat rising in my chest, the return of the red mist, as I retold the story – this guy had got my goat. Fucking sure he had.

'So, I looks at him and he turns away, flags me off with the back of his hand like I'm some Calton Hill cock-washer or something.' I mean, I'm six-two and 15 stone. I'm solid too, all muscle, no jelly on me. I went inside this time with a 44-inch chest and bench-pressed it up to 46. Jed the Press they were calling me; no-one could fucking out-press me in there.

I copied the Jambo's dismissive gesture for the boys – they shook heads, knew the score. I saw the blonde was still all eyes for me as well. Made me want to smile but you can't encourage them, makes you look too keen and that's the last thing you want, nothing'll blow your chances faster. A hoor of a business.

I started up again: '
I don't serve your lot,
he goes ...
My lot
, I says,
and what the fuck would that be, mate?
'

I stood up at this point, fair getting into the swing of things, has to be done. It was a big deal to have anything to tell them; fuck all had happened in Saughton that's for sure and certain.

'Now he's on his feet and fumbling about the counter, saying:
Don't call me fucking mate, I'm not yer fucking mate, pal.
He actually calls me
pal
. The fanny. Typical fucking Jambo – he's all right, he's all wrong. But then he arks right up, hoicks out this shooter, old fucking war heirloom ... and the cunt points it at me.'

I hold my finger out in front of me like it's a gun and Wellsy and Bandy Rab get off the nodding dog patter and onto the Ren and Stimpy eyes, staring, just staring. It's a look that says
and where the fuck's this going?
Y'know, like they're not quite sure they aren't sitting with some serious radge that's gone and offed somebody in the last hour. No danger. I mean, I've no fear of doing another stretch, life on the out isn't that exciting at the best of times, but c'mon ...

'
I'm warning you,
he goes, and I'm like in total shock, disbelief y'know ... I'm half-an-hour out the fucking pound and this cunt's pointing a shooter at me ...
Holy fuck
, I says,
stroll the fuck on, mate
... but, he's a Jambo – a fucking fat one 'n' all ... even by Jambo standards – so the reactions can't be so fast, I'm thinking ... I swing my arm round and snatch the shooter out his mitt. He's staring at me now, got that glaiket look that says,
just-how-the-fuck-did-that-happen
and
is-this-bloke-maybe-fucking-Robocop-or-something
?'

The lads lapped it up. Though maybe they were just so relieved that I hadn't offed this prick. Got laughter and back slaps. Wellsy near choked on a bit of swally that came up and out his throat. I watched them sink back in their chairs, wiping their eyes; Wellsy supped a bit of Cally Special to clear the pipes.

That's when the blonde bit turned round fully and put her tits out, leaned back on the bar. Stop the lights, man, I was thinking ... she was giving me the diddy eye. Pure mad for it so she was. Then she caught me staring and a bit of a smile spread on her face, a kinda crooked smile – knew she had the hook in – there were bright white teeth shining out from behind her glossy lips. That's when the mullet-gimp grabbed her arm, tried to turn her round. The old boy was having none of it though, slapped the gimp down. The bold old dude looked a useful sort and the wee man stepped back, looked almost shrunken. I wondered had I seen this big grey-haired guy somewhere before – inside maybe? He had one of those time-done stares, but it was the bit of stuff I was more interested in. I clocked a tattoo on her belly. A wee green clover, like the Tim badge or something, just above the belt-line of her hot-pants. I was thinking,
Christ, no' a Pape lassie with her hand on her tuppence ...
hoped she didn't have a beard like Danny McGrain's.

'So what did you do then, Jed?' said Bandy Rab.

'What do you think I did? ... Got my fucking smokes and got the fuck out of there. Kept the gun, like.' I lifted up my shirt and showed them the old Webley tucked into my denims. The handle was wooden, scratched all to buggery it was, sorta looked like I had a table leg stuffed down my keks ... I was thinking that can't be a good look but then the blonde bit seemed to straighten herself, pushed off the bar and started to walk over. She had one of those model walks, exaggeratedly crossing her legs one in front of the other at every step. Her deep brown, rounded eyes shone as she got closer, but it was the rack I was focused on ... it was like something you'd see on the front of
Loaded
.

Could hardly believe my Donald Duck!

Wellsy and Bandy Rab nudged each other under the table as she holed up in front of us.

'I heard what you said about that guy,' she went.

I played it cool. 'Oh, aye?'

'Yeah ... I know him.'

That threw me a bit, played a safe ball: 'That a fact?'

She leaned over the table, widened those big eyes even further, but my own slipped down the V of her tank-top.

There was more said, but whatever it was I paid so little attention that I couldn't tell you what ... except for one thing: her name was Gail.

* * * *

I'm not known for my good sense, that's a fact. But there was a time I can remember being quite together, we all were, Mam, Jody ... even the Old Boy, though that bastard went down pretty rapid. Down as far as you can go to be honest, in my books anyway.

Jody might not have agreed, but Mam would have if she knew what I knew after she passed away; Jody was just too kind-hearted for her own good, that was her problem. I never had that option. I sometimes think, when you're dealt a shit hand it's all you can play. I mean, you can spend a year and a day weighing up different options, trying to persuade yourself out of the obvious, but you're only delaying the inevitable. You can't deny your nature, who and what you truly are. That's the way I see it anyway, always have. A hoor of a business.

As Gail invited herself into our company, Wellsy and Bandy Rab took the hint – clever boys – and went for the early bath.

'Want to go for a ride?' she said.

I nearly ate my chips backwards.

'
Y'wha–?
' Thought my luck was in for sure. Then she produced a chain with a car key on it and grinned all over me. I felt like a right tube.