The Long Midnight Of Barney Thomson (16 page)

James left the shop at around four o'clock, saying that he would return in the morning if Wullie hadn't shown up. His parting words to Barney – come in early so that I can have a word – had had Barney almost cutting the ear off the customer beneath his trembling hand.

It was late in the afternoon, with the day seemingly drifting to a quiet conclusion, when disaster struck. The rush of customers to the shop had ended, the skies outside were grim and dark with foreboding, the March rains had returned with a vengeance having given the city a few hours' respite. Barney and Chris were cutting the hair of one last customer each when the door opened and a figure dashed into the shop out of the rain.

Flat cap pulled low over his eyes, the collar of his coat turned high. He shook himself off, removed his cap, looked at Chris.

Charlie Johnstone.

'I know it's late, Chris, but you wouldn't have time to squeeze in an old muppet like me, would you?'

Chris glanced at the clock, but was not really concerned with the time. 'Aye, no bother there, mate, I'm nearly done here. That old carpet of yours shouldn't take too long.'

Charlie laughed and removed his coat to sit down, nodding at Barney as he did so. Barney nodded back; wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. He returned to cutting hair, but he couldn't ignore the feeling of dread. Of all the people who could have come in.

Barney's stomach churned, great armies of nerves and fear stampeded through his body. The hairs on the back of his head began to prickle and stand to attention. He had to do something.

He glanced at Chris to see where he was with his haircut. If he could get his finished first then maybe he would be able to cut Charlie's hair, making it easier to control the conversation.

Too late. As he looked over, Chris removed the towel from the back of his customer's head and shook the fallout from the haircut to the ground. Barney was still minutes away from a conclusion. Cursed quietly, tried to concentrate on the job. Perhaps if he avoided Charlie's eye he wouldn't speak to him.

His penultimate customer sent packing, Chris invited Charlie up to the big chair and prepared for the final haircut of the day.

'Thanks for this, Chris,' said Charlie, upon his ascent.

'Ach, no bother, Charlie, no bother. Mind you, it's been a right long day and all, what with Wullie not being here.'

Charlie glanced around, noticing for the first time that Wullie wasn't present, as Barney disappeared inside his pullover.

'Oh, right. Away on holiday or something?'

Chris shrugged. 'Tell you, we don't know, Charlie. Don't know what's happened to him. He left the shop on Wednesday. It was about quarter past five, that not right, Barney?'

'Aye,' said Barney, the presence of his heart lodged firmly in his mouth making it difficult for him to talk. If Charlie said something now, Barney was in trouble.

'And no one's seen him since. He's just disappeared off the face of the earth. Even Moira hasn't heard anything.'

Charlie slowly shook his head. 'Aye, aye, that's right strange, so it is. Right strange. Ach, he's probably sitting on a park bench somewhere, drunk out of his face. You know what Wullie's like.' And he laughed, but there was no humour or comfort in it.

'Aye, we know Wullie.'

Barney's hands trembled, the sweat beaded on his forehead. This was going badly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie turn towards him. Knew what was coming.

'Here Barney, that wasn't him in – '

'What d'you make of those Rangers, eh, Charlie?' asked Barney. Smooth, cool, natural. And desperate.

Charlie looked quizzically at him. 'What are you on about? You ken I'm not interested in the Rangers. I was going to say – '

'Aye, I know, it's just, you know, it's getting near the end of the season, and I thought you might be going to the odd game.'

Charlie shook his head the best he could, given that Chris was now at work in and around the area of his left ear. 'I haven't been to see a game of football since my playing days finished, Barney, you know that, for God's sake.'

Chris looked up from the waves of hair. 'What's this great interest in football all of a sudden, Barney? You're talking about the Rangers to just about everyone that comes in here.'

Barney attempted nonchalance. 'I just like to take an interest in what's going on. Football, that kind of thing. You know me.'

Aye, I do know you, thought Chris, that's what's so strange.

Barney stared at them to see if they were about to add to the conversation, but neither of them looked likely. He breathed a sigh of relief. The danger seemed to have been averted.

Charlie started up again. 'As I was trying to say, Barney – '

'So, how's Betty and all that, Charlie? You were saying something about her the other night.'

Shit! Barney, you stupid idiot. Don't mention the other night. Don't remind him, and don't give him the opportunity to ask.

'Aye, well she's not so bad. But you know, it was the other night I was going to mention. Was Wullie not still in the shop when I saw you? I thought he was and I couldn't get a straight answer from you. Head in the clouds, I thought, you know.'

'No, no, Charlie,' said Barney. Big relief – had thought Charlie had been about to mention the plastic bags. If he didn't say anything else, Chris needn't suspect anything. He might yet get away with it. 'He'd already gone a while earlier.'

There was near silence. The mellow clink of scissors. Barney felt the beating of his heart. He was getting to the end of his job and, surprisingly, it didn't appear to be going too badly. Don't mention the plastic bags, Charlie, he thought, please don't mention the plastic bags. Or I'll be forced to kill you.

Charlie nodded suddenly, grunted too. 'Aye, of course. That was about six o'clock, was it not? He'd have been long gone by then, so he would.'

The time! He'd forgotten about the time. Started cutting frantically with nervous fingers to cover up the panic. His customer semi-dozed beneath him, unawares.

Chris looked over. 'Six o'clock, Barney. What were you still doing here at that time? Couldn't have been that busy, surely? And not if Wullie had gone.'

Barney stared intently at the back of the head in front of him, as if trying to sort out some intricate piece of hair sculpture. Tried desperately to think of what to say. He believed himself to be a great barber, but he was crap in a crisis and he knew it.

'Oh, aye, well you know, it was stupid, but I just sat down at the end of the day, after Wullie had gone, and fell asleep. Who'd have thought it, eh? Woke up about six o'clock, feeling like a right eejit, so I did.'

Glanced over at Chris, saw the doubtful look in his eye. Chris looked away, returned to Charlie's hair. Barney could still get away with it if only Charlie kept his fat gob shut. Should have done it when he'd had the chance. What difference would one more corpse have made now?

The shop lulled into silence again. Barney relaxed; the conversation might be over. If he could just finish this haircut and get out of the shop, there had been nothing said to arouse the suspicions of Chris too greatly.

With a final couple of snips and an unsteady sweep of the comb, Barney was done. He lifted the towel, drew off the cape and the bloke was free. A final glance in the mirror, the customer was happy that the cut hadn't been as awful as he'd first suspected it might have been, then, with a brief exchange of cash, he was gone. Barney busied himself with clearing up, hoping he could make it out before anything else was said.

'You were sleeping, Barney?' said Charlie suddenly, as if he'd just been plugged in at the mains. 'I thought you were getting together all that – '

'What d'you make of yon serial killer, eh? That not terrible?' said Barney, but the words stuck in his throat. Knew he was beyond stalling tactics.

'What? No, I wasn't talking about that. Yon pile of garbage you were taking out on Wednesday night, that I helped you with. I thought that was what you'd worked late to do.'

Chris looked up. Curious. Pile of garbage? Penny did not yet drop. 'Oh, aye? And what pile of garbage was this, Barney?'

Barney swallowed, desperately trying to think of what he could say. There wasn't much for it, though – there was nothing he could say. He was going to have to disappear.

He looked up from where he had been busy arranging his scissors neatly on the counter and started to walk backwards. Trapped cat – without the claws.

'What? Oh, aye, well I've got to be getting to the toilet, if you'll just excuse me a second.' And with that he vanished through the door at the back of the shop, hoping that by the time he emerged the conversation would have been dropped.

Charlie watched him go, looked quizzically at the closed door.

'Bloody heavy, so it was. I had to give the lad a lift with it to get it into the back of his motor, so I had. Jings, but it was heavy. And big too. Long.'

'Is that right?' said Chris. The idea had come to him; comprehension slowly dawned. But it couldn't be. Barney? Mild-mannered, boring as you can get, Barney?

'Aye, it is right. What kind of garbage do you lot produce in here, anyway?'

Chris avoided the question. This was to be between Barney and him. 'Well, you've got to work in a barber's shop before you know the kind of things that we have to put in the rubbish.'

Charlie nodded gravely. 'Aye, I suppose you're right. The ways of many men are indeed mysterious.'

The conversation lulled once more, Chris was swift coming to the conclusion of his business. Barney skulked in the back room for a couple of minutes and then to his horror, as he emerged to make a quick exit, it was just in time to see Charlie put on his coat and head for the door.

'Oh, there you are Barney,' he said. 'I'll be seeing you.'

Barney had no words, returned the farewell with a lame nod.

'Right, Chris, thanks a lot for squeezing us in,' said Charlie. 'I hope Wullie turns up in the next day or two.'

'I'm sure he will.'

And with that Charlie was gone. After he had stepped out into the street, Chris slowly closed the door behind him, locked it and slipped the key into his pocket. He turned round and faced Barney. Barney stood with his back up against the rear wall; frightened eyes, muscles tensed.

It was time.

16

Jolene Stabs

Billy Ray Bob Billy Bob

The two men stood face to face across the shop, the tension of unstated convictions thick in the air, Chris's finger twitching at the trigger of his suspicion. He stood in the centre of the shop, hands steady, eyes narrow, stance broad. Gary Cooper.

Barney pressed against the rear wall, where his hand fell on the broom which he had just been using to clear up the detritus of the day. Grabbed it tightly, held it to his side, his knuckles white. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; his face was pale. Knees weak, heart thumped, hands trembled. Gollum; he wilted under the persistence of Chris's gaze.

Neither man yet felt confident enough to say anything. Chris didn't know what to say, still incredulous that Barney could have had anything to do with Wullie's disappearance. Barney waited only to react to whatever Chris might say, for he knew accusations would soon fly. He should've been desperately trying to think of excuses or stories to tell, but his mind was thick with fear. Clogged up. Needed a chimney sweep. His tongue flicked out to remove the moustache of sweat which had appeared above his top lip; a lizard surreptitiously reeling in a small insect.

Chris found his own tongue. He couldn't stand there all night, and although he didn't have a clue what to say or how this might progress, he knew he must say something.

'And what heavy bag of rubbish might this have been that you were taking out to your motor on Wednesday night? Eh, Barney?' he said. Spat out the name.

Barney cowered before the question, his eyes ever more fearful. Tongue darted out in quick jabs; his fingers took a feverish grip on the broom, a staff for fighting. Now he was Robin Hood. A frightened Robin Hood.

'Well?' Chris sneered at him, accusing finger pointing. 'You cut a lot of heavy hair on Wednesday, did you, Barney, is that what you're going to tell me?'

Barney spoke. 'It was just some of my own stuff.'

'What?' he shot back. 'What own stuff? You don't have any of your own stuff. What stuff of yours were you putting into rubbish bags?'

With the words came the doubt. What if it had been something of his own that he'd been taking out? Why should he tell Chris about it? It wasn't as if they were friends. He might do a lot of things that Chris didn't know about. God, maybe he was making a complete idiot of himself. What was he doing anyway? Nothing less than being on the point of accusing Barney of Wullie's murder; a hell of a thing to be doing.

It was not a throwaway line, a casual easily-ignored remark. Working late and carrying a heavy bundle to his car did not necessarily add up to Barney being a murderer. It was strange, and he was acting suspiciously, but it didn't make him a criminal. This was mild mannered Barney. Mild mannered, Barry-Manilow-with-scissors, Barney. Not some bug-eyed psycho.

'Look, it was just stuff, all right? None of your business.'

Chris had been walking towards him, now he hesitated, stopped. He was at an impasse. He couldn't force Barney to tell him what was in the bags and it was still a giant stretch of the imagination to assume that it had been Wullie's body.

Still, there Barney stood before him, clutching desperately onto the broom handle. Would he be acting so suspiciously if he had nothing to hide? Why be so defensive if his actions were innocent? And the consistent interruption of Charlie when he'd been trying to speak to him. Obviously he hadn't wanted Charlie to mention what he'd been doing on Wednesday evening.

He got there eventually; arrived at a conclusion. Barney was hiding something. Definitely. Perhaps it was nothing to do with Wullie, but then perhaps it was. It wasn't going to cost him anything to make the accusation – not his friendship, that was for sure.

And Barney was due for the chop, he knew that. Not a friend, not a colleague.