R.I.P Robbie Silva (4 page)

As we turned the bend, I removed the stocking. Gail took hers off too and dropped it on the street.

'Pick it up!' I said.

'What?'

'Pick it up ... think the Filth won't find that?' Jesus, these days, you can't be too careful. Don't need to watch CSI to get the fucking message ... one hair and you're done.

She picked it up, started to jog, but I hauled her back. We settled into duckwalking towards the car. I was still pumped, sorely pissed and ready to cane Gail's arse for her but experience had taught me to keep it together at times like this.

I was clocking the garage, looking for signs of life when I heard the beep-beeping. Up the road – where the Beemer was parked – an HGV was turning. Fuck! This was all we needed. I saw from the driver's face that he was lost, had taken a wrong turn and was trying to manoeuvre himself out of trouble. I knew the fucking feeling.

'Shit ... what do we do now?' said Gail.

I grabbed her wrist, walked her towards the wooden gate I'd checked earlier. When we stopped I pressed my back against the panel. The locks were rotten and the screws rusted. I leaned my weight there for three or four seconds but it didn't shift.

'What's wrong?'

I didn't answer.

The gate was stronger than I thought.

The beep-beeping continued up the road. The driver was embarrassed. He waved, thought we'd stopped to look at him. I gave him a nod; as he turned back to the wheel I put the force of my shoulders into the gate. It sprung.

'Right, this way ...' I said.

The last thing I heard as I eased through the gap was the beep-beeping being replaced by the sound of sirens. It was the filth.

* * * *

I'd fucked up and I knew it.

Normally on a job like this there'd be two motors – one from Sam's Hot Car Lot and a change-over car that's near-as-damn-it to legit. But Christ on the bloody cross, I'd dived in with only the one car ... and one we couldn't get to at that. A hoor of a business.

The filth were on the main street now, couple of squad cars by the sound of it. I heard some randomers shouting at them – probably directing them to our whereabouts. Gail looked a bit grim; she was panting hard and there was sweat on her brow and her top lip.

'What do we do?'

'Follow me.'

It was a back yard to a block of flats, what you might call a drying green. I ran to the edge of the wall and took a deck at the path; it led nowhere.

'Fuck.'

'What's up?' She was panicking.

I took off my shirt and threw it on the grass, told her to do the same.

'What?'

'Don't fucking question – do!'

She stripped and I ran to the line, hoicked down a couple of white shirts – they were obviously some square-peg's ... was a good drying day after all.

'Here, get this on!' I said to Gail.

As she buttoned up I scooped up our old clothes and ran them over to the dumpster. I was thinking about the next move the whole while; in a few minutes plod was going to come rumbling up the side path and right into us.

'What about the car?' said Gail.

'Leave it ... you can come back when it's dark. Or better yet, get someone to collect it for you.' We were smack-bang in the middle of no-man's land. There was no way of blagging a motor in a hurry and I'd ran right out of time to think. 'Right, over here.'

I put my fingers together, gave Gail a punty up the wall. She could hardly reach the top with her fingers but when she got high enough I put my hands under her shoes and lifted her over. She climbed up on top and sat there. 'Jump ... fucksake, jump.' This girl, I was coming to realise, was either utterly reckless or utterly dippit. Either way, if she didn't find sense in the next few seconds, we were fucked.

I followed after her. The wall was a good ten-feet high but I'd been doing the chinnies inside and the arms were well able to get me over. As I reached the top I spied a curtain twitching in a second-floor window of the flats. Looked like trouble. I could see myself hauled down the nick, being ID'd by some fucking busybody. I rested a moment to see if the cunt would show his face – you get a look at them, a good look in their eye, and they think twice about shouting out – but no-one showed.

I eased myself down the wall; Gail was biting her lower lip now. I heard the filth close by. There was the sound of cuffs rattling on belts, then the sound of walkie-talkies. Gail started to whimper; tears welled in the corners of her eyes. I watched her lips curl down and then she showed her bottom row of teeth. I knew that she was a heartbeat away from full-on bawling and that would be that.

I grabbed her round the neck, put my hand over her mouth, whispered,
'
Now look, shut the fuck up, right?
'
Her eyes widened; there was fear in there; I knew the territory. I grabbed her, lifted her clean off her feet and eased us into the wall. The walkie-talkies were inches away from us now. All that separated us from the long arm of the law was the width of two rows of brick. I nodded towards the wall; Gail
'
s eyes started to fully moisten, pools gathered on the lower lids then began to run over the rims. Black-mascara streaks trailed down her cheeks. I felt the hot tears on the back of my hand.

'
No sign of them here, Sarge ... over,
'
said plod.

The walkie-talkie let out a static crackle.

'
Right. Got that.
'

I waited for a moment, frightened the pounding of my heart might give our place away over the wall, but then the radio sparked again.

'
Take the through-road with Mike, eh Davie ... Over.
'

'
Okay, boss. Over.
'

I heard plod holster his walkie-talkie, then call out.
'
Mike ... back this way.
'

I heard their cuffs rattling as they ran. I waited for the bang of the gate, then let them get a few yards up the road before I turned back to Gail. Her eyes were scrunched up now. I didn
'
t feel confident enough yet to release my grasp, said,
'
You have to keep it down, right?
'

She nodded.

I let her go.

Gail stepped back from me, then doubled over and puked.

'
Jesus,
'
I said.
'
This really is fucking amateur hour.
'

I was still shaking my head as she straightened up, wiped the back of her mouth.

'
What now?
'
she said.

I pointed to the water butt sitting next to the fence on the other side of the back green.
'
There, up and over.
'

She turned and started for the wall; I called her back.
'
Uh-huh ... stick to the line of the building. Slow and casual, right? They
'
re looking for a pair on the run so don
'
t let
'
s fucking telegraph it for them.
'

As we set off I heard more sirens coming into the next street. They had us just about surrounded. For some reason a song I fucking detested started in my head ...
I need a miracle, I need a miracle ...

* * * *

Over the fence I did a quick recce of where we were. There was little or no room for manoeuvre, I knew that. I figured getting onto Gorgie Road would be our best bet. Would fucking have to be, we had nothing else going. I had a mate in the Dalry area; figured if I could at least get to a payphone I could bell him for a pick-up.

Moosey owed me.

We
'
d been cellmates a few years back, but Moosey had started his stretch off in the worst possible way. He was a swooper – one of those cons that case the yard for fag dowps, dropping like gulls on them. I had to tell him straight if he carried on like that he
'
d never develop any cred, would likely end his days in there as some fat cunt
'
s bitch. He got the message, eventually. But Moosey was one of those dafties you really needed to look after; like I say, he owed me.

When we hit Gorgie Road I tried to convince Gail that we needed to look as casual as possible.

'
Grab my waist.
'

'
Eh?
'

I put an arm round her. I was smiling, a wide-old grin, was trying to look the part.
'
Snuggle up, hon.
'
After my earlier outburst the poor girl still didn
'
t know whether she was about to get a slap. I said,
'
We need to look the part ... The filth
'
s flying about all over the shop.
'

I was still sweating, felt the shooter slipping in my waistband as the moisture collected there. I tried to nudge it into place by contracting my stomach. Last thing I needed was a gun slipping onto the pavement and blowing the scene.

We got as far as a little Chinese carry-out place that was open for the lunch-time shift. Slipped in and prayed for a phone, nearly felt ready to kiss the little dude behind the counter when I saw the yellow payphone on the wall.

I popped in a few coins.

Ringing.

More ringing.

'
Christ, Moosey ... pick the fucking phone up.
'

The Chinese bloke slit his eyes at me. I smiled back, turned away. I knew he was getting suspicious. I nodded Gail towards the menu board. She took the hint.

'
Hello ...
'
It was Moosey.

'
Moosey, mate ... how y
'
doing, there?
'

'
Jed ... that you?
'

'
Aye, the very same. Look can
'
t talk right now. Need a bit of a lift, in a hurry like.
'

A gap on the line. Moosey
'
s voice came back low and flat.
'
This a lift
lift
or are you up to your nuts in something there, Jed?
'

I turned back to the counter; the Chinese bloke had gone out the back.
'
Look, Moosey, I need a fucking pick-up on Gorgie Road, now! ... You fucking owe me, so move your arse.
'

'
I don
'
t know, mate. I mean ...
'

I upped the ante.
'
Look, Moosey, there
'
s a nice drink in it for you. I
'
m at the Chinese ...
'
I looked at the menu.
'
Red Dragon.
'

There was a gap on the line, then a sigh.
'
Aye, okay. But I
'
m not driving you anywhere. I
'
ll leave the keys in and then you
'
re on your own.
'

'
No worries. What kind of motor is it?
'

'
Dunno ...
'
he paused for breath, sparked up a tab,
'
haven
'
t nicked it yet.
'

* * * *

The Chinese bloke made a reappearance. I made a big effort to get on his good side right from the off, ordered up a chicken chow mein, barbecue spare ribs and a few tubs of rice, prawn crackers, shit like that. He jotted the lot down, shoved the order chit through a latch at the back of the shop.

'Fifteen minutes,' he said.

I nodded, turned back to Gail. She had a sour look on her puss. She twitched as two more police cars, sirens wailing, sped up the road. I put a hand on her arm; she pulled away.

'Look, we're half-way there.'

She stared me down, said nowt.

I tried again. 'A mate of mine's coming out. He's dropping us off a set of wheels, then we're going to get out of here.'

She didn't buy it. I felt like leaving her to it. I mean, this had all been her doing. But I knew I had to front it out; hadn't bailed on a crew yet, even if it was a bullshit one like this.

As Gail sat there, head down towards the floor, I caught sight of an expression I thought I'd seen before. It was on Jody; she wore that look when something was wrong. I remembered seeing it once after I came home from working my first proper job. Oh yeah, work, a proper job.

I'd been a mechanic's mate, fucking grease monkey. We were both still at home then. Well, Jody and me, and the old man. Mam was gone. Jody hadn't left school yet. She was in one of those grey V-neck jumpers that kids used to wear to school back then. Her hair was tied back in a band and there was a spread of school books sitting on the dining-room table, like she'd just tipped out her school bag.

When I walked in Jody was staring – just like Gail – off into space. It sounds so run-of-the-mill, so everyday, but it wasn't a look like you get on some square-peg's coupon in a post-office queue or some old grunter at a bus stop who's just bored out of his tits and looking for an excuse to kick off about something or other. Nah, this was pained. Only way I can describe it, pained.