Snapshot (11 page)

‘Enough’s enough,’ he muttered. ‘We’re out of here.’

‘Right, the Griffin it is then and not before time,’ said Winter enthusiastically.

‘Not quite yet, wee fella. I’m fed up with this game already and I’m going to do what you suggested. I’m going to see if Shirley is still in the building. You go ahead, I’ll see you in there.’

‘Good move,’ Winter replied, with more than half a mind on his own vested interest in the outcome. ‘And if he says yes . . .’

‘Christ, enough already. Will see what I can do. No promises, mind.’

‘None expected. Thanks, Addy.’

It was only a few hundred yards to the Griffin but the walk was far enough for Winter to get a proper thirst on. He wanted his favour from Addison but he also wanted a few pints of the black stuff. His tongue was aching for it. The old
sgriob
was working overtime. But his other
sgriob
, his real itch, was tingling more.

The thought of Shirley giving him the go-ahead to join the case, the only real case in town, was overpowering. Two pints of Guinness and he’d be dreaming about a hole in the middle of a drug lord’s head. And he’d like it.

The Griffin was always more Winter’s kind of pub than it was Addison’s. For him it was a local in the city centre, the kind of everyman bar that Glasgow did best. Old man’s pub, student hangout and theatre crowd all thrown in together. For Addison there were never enough women in it to keep him happy but then again there was never a pub with enough women in it for him.

It had stood on the corner of Bath Street and Elmbank Street for over a hundred years, curving round the corner in splendid wood and leaded glass. Between the Griffin and the lounge bar, the Griffinette, the exterior looked massive with more than enough entrances to make it confusing but inside it was split into three rooms making it much more intimate than it appeared from the street. The leather speakeasy seats facing each other across wooden tables meant the place filled up without a lot of people actually being in it.

That night there were maybe twenty people in the main bar and it gave it the busy, cosy feel that Winter liked. He and Addison were propped up on stools at the bar and the DI was refusing to say how his meeting with Shirley had gone, simply saying that he was waiting for a phone call and didn’t want to jinx it. Instead he was moaning about the lack of talent and suggesting they move on elsewhere. Winter dragged the conversation back to the gangster killings every chance he got.

‘Tell me more about this Ally Riddle,’ he began. ‘Is he going to be able to run Quinn’s business? Surely the hyenas will be moving in to pick over the bones.’

‘Course they will,’ nodded Addison. ‘Jo-Jo Johnstone, Bumpy Scott, Tookie Cochrane or the Gilmartins, you can bet they’re interested. Their kind always have an eye on someone else’s territory if they sense it’s ripe for taking over. But Ally Riddle is still the bookies’ favourite. The word is that he’ll be able to hold Quinn’s mob together.’

‘What about Caldwell’s operation?’

‘Same thing. A couple of his lieutenants, Fraser Gray or Tommy Wright maybe, will have first crack at it but if they don’t show enough balls then Johnstone, Terry and Davie Gilmartin et cetera will be chapping at their door. Whoever killed these two bams has created a vacuum that needs filling. And it
will
be filled.’

There were some questions he knew were better not to ask but Winter never could help himself.

‘Addy, if you guys know so much about what these cunts are up to and who is running what for who, then why aren’t more of them in the nick?’

Addison’s eyes narrowed.

‘Oh right, why didn’t we think of that? Tony, if it was that simple . . .’

A tune suddenly burst from Addison’s jacket, saving Winter from whatever was coming next. It was the theme tune to
Top Cat
, the indisputable leader of the gang, and by the time Addison had wrestled the phone from his pocket Winter had worked out that meant it was Alex Shirley. His guess was on the money.

‘Yes, boss,’ answered Addison as he got off his bar stool, taking the call outside and away from interested ears, including Winter, who was left admiring a full pint of Guinness, thinking not for the first time that it was a thing of beauty. Deeper than the darkest night and topped by a perfect full moon. If it was a sunset they would paint it.

The door swung open again and Addison burst through with a look of triumph on his face.

‘Put your money away, wee man. Drinks are on me.’

Winter could have told him that they already had full pints and that he’d paid for them but there was little point. He knew Addison in full flow and there would be no stopping him.

‘Whisky,’ he shouted to the barman who was in the middle of serving someone else. ‘Two large Highland Parks and one for yourself.’ The last comment removed some of the scowl from the barman’s features and completely washed over Winter’s protests that he didn’t want whisky.

‘Okay, wee man, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

Winter just shook his head wearily and took a gulp of his Guinness. The only thing worse than Addison in a bad mood was him in a good one.

‘What’s that you say? The bad news?’ chirruped Addison, regardless of his silence. ‘There is no bad news just some really fucking good news.’

‘Just tell me.’

‘Okay, that was Superintendent Shirley. I’m on the team for the Quinn and Caldwell shootings! The Temple had already said he’d wanted me on it but the hooker killing threatened to screw that up.’

‘Very inconsiderate of her,’ Winter interrupted.

‘Ach, you know what I mean. Anyway the point is that I was able to convince Shirley that such a sensitive case would benefit from the female touch and that anyway, DS Narey was overdue the opportunity to run an investigation on her own. So he’s agreed to let Rachel take it on from here.’

Winter winced at how well Rachel would take that.

‘Oh, she’ll love you for that,’ he managed sarcastically.

‘Ah, it’s all thanks to you,’ Addison responded with a wicked grin. ‘It was your idea that I ask to get a run on the sniper killings. Great idea, and I’ll make sure Rachel knows it.’

Great, thought Winter miserably. That was all he needed.

Addison was his best mate but he couldn’t help feel a kick of jealousy. He was in where Winter wanted to be. A slideshow played behind his eyes, his mental photographic album of Quinn and Caldwell with single bullet entries through their skulls, in crimson pools that ran city-wide and city-deep. He wanted it more than he could tell anyone, probably more than he could even admit to himself. Now Addison was on the inside and he was still on the outside, his chances of getting anywhere near it relying on Addison putting in a good word.

‘Brilliant,’ he told him. ‘Happy for you. Now remember that—’

‘It’s huge,’ Addison cut across him excitedly. ‘This is potentially the biggest case to hit Glasgow since the Cutter murders. Okay, there’s only two dead but fuck knows where it’s going to end. No way we’ve seen the last of it. Everything I’m hearing tells me it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. My money’s on another body before morning.’

Winter realized that Addison was beginning to get on his nerves.

‘So if you are at the heart of the biggest story in town since Jesus went to Dumbarton,’ he asked him, ‘should you not be out there knocking on doors rather than in here knocking back halves?’

‘Not at all, wee man. It’s been a long enough day and they will still be dead when the sun comes up. Tonight I deserve a drink and so do you.’

With that Addison pulled back his arm in an exaggerated gesture to pat Winter on the back but only succeeded in banging his elbow into the guy standing behind him. He was young and looking the worse for wear and Addison’s elbow caused him to spill a few drops of his pint.

‘For fucksake,’ he shouted. ‘Watch it, eh?’

Addison turned slowly and apologetically.

‘Sorry, mate. My fault. I’ll get you another one.’

‘Too fucking right you will. Get me another pint then you can get tae fuck.’

The guy was about twenty, just five foot four with a close cut of red hair and looking decidedly rat-arsed. He was bridling with some kind of indignant rage, the kind that is fuelled by drink, being ginger and from Glasgow.

Addison just looked at the kid, obviously biting his tongue.

‘Like I said, I’ll get you another one.’

‘Aye, and like I said, you can then get tae fuck, ya cunt.’

‘Hm,’ was all Addison said, nodding to the barman who was anxiously hovering nearby that he should get the guy another pint of lager. The drink was poured and sat in front of the still-seething twenty-year-old.

‘I should fucking think so an’ all,’ he snarled. ‘Fucking eejit.’

Addison shook his head, his patience wearing thin and the good mood he was in from the Temple’s phone call gone out the window.

‘I’ve bought you a pint even though you just spilled a mouthful,’ he told the boy. ‘I’ve said sorry. Now behave yourself, drink it and shut your fucking mouth.’

Addison turned away from the drunk and took a mouthful of his own pint. As he raised the glass, the boy pushed out an elbow and deliberately bumped Addison’s drinking arm causing the glass to chink into his teeth.

Enough was enough and Addison put his glass down slowly before stretching out an arm and shoving the drunken kid clean off his feet. He fell stupidly, trying and failing to grab at the bar counter on the way down but only catching thin air on his way to a hard landing on the pub’s tiled floor. All noise in the Griffin stopped like a needle being lifted off an old LP and there were sniggers and shouts from the speakeasy seats. Out the corner of his eye, Winter saw the barman reach under the bar and take hold of something that was undoubtedly as heavy as it was handy. Addison gave him a level stare to say he’d seen the movement as well and that to bring out whatever was under the bar would be as silly as it was unnecessary. The barman knew Addison was a cop and probably took Winter for one as well. He nodded but didn’t look best pleased.

The boy was flat on his back, embarrassment raging in his eyes, so angry he was almost in tears. He lashed out with his feet, succeeding in kicking the foot of Addison’s barstool.

‘Away home,’ sneered Addison. ‘Your mammy will be wondering where you are.’

Somebody else sniggered and there was a fair chance this didn’t do anything for the ginger guy’s mood. He jumped to his feet, furiously wiping beer puddles from his jeans. In a flash he’d reached inside his coat and whipped out a knife, its blade twirling and glinting under the lights of the pub.

Instinctively Winter stepped off his stool but Addison had beaten him to it and had already pushed an arm across in front of him to hold him back.

‘For fucksake,’ he growled at the kid. ‘More paperwork. I don’t need any more fucking paperwork. I hate fucking paperwork. Do you have any idea how much I hate paperwork? Do you?’

The boy roared and lunged at Addison’s face, slashing towards his cheek. Addison was more than ready for him though, stepping quickly to one side and catching the boy’s wrist as it came through and twisting it till the knife tumbled onto the floor, turning the kid’s arm tight behind his back, grabbing his head back by his hair with the other and making him squeal.

‘I’ll tell you how much,’ Addison continued into his ear. ‘I really, really hate paperwork. So much so that I’m prepared to kick your sorry little arse out into the street on the understanding that you get as far away from here as quickly as you can and that you never set foot in this place again. Everyone is entitled to a second chance and you’ve just had yours. There won’t be another. Understand?’

The bampot muttered an ‘Aye’ and tried to pull away from Addison’s grasp. The DI abruptly let him go and the boy staggered forward comically until he ran through the pub doors without a backward glance. Seeing him go, Addison sat himself back down, throwing the Highland Park down his throat and soundlessly signalling to the barman for a replacement in one seamless movement.

Winter had barely begun to complain that he didn’t want one when Addison shrugged, picked up Winter’s glass as it arrived on the counter and sent it chasing down after his own. ‘Please yourself,’ he muttered.

He was staring past the barman into the mirror behind the bar and he didn’t look – how had Rachel put it? – like a happy bunny at all.

‘What is it with these wee dicks?’ Addison asked without looking at him. Maybe it wasn’t even Winter he was asking.

He sat for minutes, breathing hard and staring alternatively from the glass behind the bar to the one in front of him that held his whisky, pensive and angry. He finally gave up his thoughts to his drink, low enough so that only Winter could hear.

‘You ever watch wildlife documentaries?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘David Attenborough,
Life on Earth
, National Geographic Channel, that kind of stuff?’

‘Well, sometimes. If there’s nothing else on.’

‘Should watch them. Might learn something. There’s this animal, the honey badger. Just a wee thing, no more than a foot high, but it’s scared of nothing. Get them in Africa and western bits of Asia – Iraq and Pakistan and the like. They take on anything and back down from nothing. Reckoned to be the most fearless animal on the planet. They tackle scorpion, porcupine, meerkat, mongoose, gazelle, python, you name it. They even take on small crocodiles and water buffalo.

‘Hard wee bastards and dirty fighters. They say one of its favourite tactics when it’s up against something much bigger than itself, like a buffalo, is to go right for the balls. Bites them clean off and waits for the fucker to bleed to death before ripping it to bits. But for me, the most amazing thing is that when something does get a hold of it, the honey badger still has a trick up its sleeve. It’s got this ability to twist inside its own skin and bite whatever is holding it. Whatever you do, you don’t fuck with a honey badger. Fucking brilliant, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, wonderful. Addy, what’s your point?’

His face hardened.