Long Way Down (A Gus Dury crime thriller) (6 page)

As the lad on the till rung up the paper I eyed the neat
rows of bottles on the shelf behind him. They had The Famous Grouse, my
favourite brand, but I declined the instinct to indulge.

'Keep a clear head, Gus,' I told myself, sotto voce.

'I'm sorry, sir?'

I was jolted back to reality. 'Eh, twenty Benson's,
mate.'

The young lad turned for the smokes and rung them up. I
added a pack of mint gum from the rack and passed over a twenty: the last of
Danny's pay packet.

On the way out I ducked under an old woman's umbrella —
a stray metal insect leg stabbing at my eyes without mercy. She was unaware or
didn't care. I kept on with a craving for a cig on me but the smirry rain was
back. I opted for gum.

The traffic was backed up all the way to the lights at
Abbey Mount. I could see the bloke from the little art shop wrestling with the
shutters. The windows of the laundrette were bathed in condensation, too much
to tell who was holding the fort, but I stuck my hands in the pockets of my
Crombie and trudged in that direction anyway.

Arthur's Seat was still visible between the gaps in the
tenements — like a gloomy old man crouched on the edge of the city, and passing
judgement, no doubt. I tipped him a wink, we were almost brothers in arms after
all.

As the bell above the door chimed I walked into the
laundrette and looked about. It was empty, at least I thought that at first. I
was turning back for the door when the Polish lass appeared at the far end, her
face pressed into a paper tissue.

'Hello there,' she was eating, her mouth half-full.

'Hi again.'

She wiped the edges of her mouth, lost some lip gloss. 'I'm
just feeding my face!' She smiled, spluttered a little. 'I have cake, would you
like one?'

I shook my head. 'No, thanks anyway.'

She walked behind the counter and dropped her tissue in
the waste-bin. She was smiling again as she rose up on tiptoes to take the
stool. 'You don't have washing with you.'

I removed my hands from my pockets, 'No ... I, eh ...'
The CD was inside my coat, I handed it over. 'Well, here, as a thanks for the
other day.'

She looked embarrassed.

I felt embarrassed.

She spoke first, 'The Stagger Rats ... thank you.'

'You said you liked them, so I thought, y'know ...' I
was getting tongue-tied. It was time to depart. 'So, anyway, thanks again.'

She wagged the CD, 'There was really no need. But thank
you.'

I turned for the door as I reached for the handle I
caught her turning over the CD, reading out the tracks.

'They're playing at the Caves this weekend, you know,' I
said.

'Oh, really ... Are you going?'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Don't know, maybe.'

The bell clanged as I pulled the door wide.

'Then maybe I will too.'

###

About the Author:

Tony Black is Irvine Welsh's 'favourite British
crime writer'. An award-winning journalist, he is the author of some of the
most critically-acclaimed British crime fiction of recent times. His Gus Dury
series features: Paying for It, Gutted, Loss and Long Time Dead, which is soon
to be filmed for the big screen by Richard Jobson. A police series featuring DI
Rob Brennan includes: Truth Lies Bleeding and Murder Mile. He is also the
author of the novellas The Storm Without, R.I.P. Robbie Silva and The Ringer.

Visit his website at:
www.tonyblack.net