One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night (16 page)

‘You’re kiddin’ me on.’

‘No shit, Charlie. Matt fuckin’ Black is
here
. Came by, had a wee blether.’

‘Christ. Did he remember you?’

‘’Course he did. He was brand new. He’s no’ changed, really. Had tae tell him, right enough, that American programme he’s on is fuckin’ shite an’ he never even took the huff. He was askin’ for you, by the way, says he’d make sure he got a word wi’ you later.’

‘Serious?’

‘Aye. He even asked who you were playin’ for these days. He was well impressed when I says it was the Arthurlie, but I didnae want you gettin’ big‐
heided, so I tell’t him aboot you gettin’ sent aff last week as well.’

‘Thanks a bunch.’

‘Never bother, it was a blessin’: you wouldnae have been able tae come here the day if you werenae suspended. Besides, I tell’t him it was against Pollok, so you only went up in his estimations.’

‘That’s mair like it. So, whit’s it tae dae wi’ food?’

‘Oh aye, right. Kenny was still hingin’ aboot like a bad smell when Matt came in. Matt goes up tae Jim there an’ says, “Can you make me a large cappuccino, pal?” Jim says sure. So at this point Kenny pipes up an says, “Aye, gie’s wan o’ them ower here as well. I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”’

‘You’re a fuckin’ liar, Eddie. Christ, last time I heard that wan it was Lorenzo Amoruso an’ Barry Ferguson. An’ before that, it used tae be Mark Hateley an’
Duncan
Ferguson.’

‘Aye, an afore that it used tae be Butch Wilkins an’
Iain
Ferguson, but I’m no jokin’, it fuckin’ happened. You tell him, Jim. What happened in here earlier wi’ Matt Black?’

‘Oh don’t, please. I almost gave myself a palsy trying to keep a straight face.’

‘See?’

‘Aye, ferr enough. Class act, the boy Kenny. Jesus Christ.’

‘So whit aboot yoursel’, big yin? Whit faces fae the past have you run intae so far?’

‘Eh, no’ many that werenae on the bus, tae be honest. Lisa McKenzie, I saw her. She was on the tour. She’s a lawyer noo, lives through in Edinburgh. Works for the procurator fiscal, she says.’

‘Married?’

‘Naw, she was on her own. Lookin’ very well. No’ as quiet as I remembered her. I suppose you’d have tae come oot your shell if you’re prosecutin’ crooks, right enough. Oh aye, an’ I saw Tommy Milligan, speakin’ o’ lawyers.’

‘He a lawyer as well? He was always a brainbox, right enough.’

‘Too true. Daein’ well for himsel’ by the look of it. Dear‐
lookin’ watch on one arm an’ a dear‐
lookin burd on the other.’

‘He must be
defendin’
the crooks, then.’

‘Aye, must be. He says tae gie you his business card.’

‘Very good. Cheeky bastard.’

‘Naw, just kiddin’, Eddie. Noo, who else was there. Aye, Eileen Stewart.’

‘Oh aye, I remember Eileen. How was she?’

‘Much the same, just a bit rounder. She’s still a cheery wee soul, but to be honest, I can only take so much of hearin’ aboot other folk’s weans, you know whit I mean?’

‘What’s her man like?’

‘Well, he cannae shut up aboot them either, so I didnae really get tae fin’ oot much else.’

‘An’ presumably you got a closer look at Gavin.’

‘Aye. I recognised him once I saw him, but it’s nae wonder we didnae remember him that well. He was awfy quiet at school, far as I can recall. Nice o’ him tae remember aw us, right enough.’

‘So whit was the tour like, big man? Was I the only wan that missed it?’

‘Eh, naw, no’ exactly. I think Gavin’s nose was a wee bit oot o’ joint aboot the numbers, actually. Bit daft o’ him tae organise it for when everybody’s just got here, though. Maist folk want tae unwind efter the journey, have a lie doon or a shower, you know?’

‘Aye. Bit daft o’ him organisn’ anythin’ in competition wi a free bar, if you ask me, but I know what you’re sayin’. So how come you went?’

‘Politeness, I suppose. Plus Tina insisted – she wanted a nosey.’

‘Are you comin’ here your next holidays, then?’

‘Aye, that’ll be fuckin’ right.’

‘So’s it a dump?’

‘Naw. Naw, far from it. Everythin’ – the bits that are finished, I mean – everythin’s really posh, lot o’ money been spent. It’s just … I don’t know. It’s … it’s … it’s a fuckin’
oil rig
! There’s just nae gettin’ away fae that. Well, that’s no’ fair. It’s no’ like there’s any trace o’ whit it used to be: there’s nae drillheids lyin’ aboot roon the swimmin’ pools, or nothin’. But it’s so kinna enclosed. You’ve got these big hotels loomin’ ower you on all sides, an’ at the parts where you
can
see ower the edge, it just freaks you oot. It’s as if that’s where there should be a road oot the place, but aw there is is a fuckin’ sixty‐
or seventy‐
fit drop.’

‘Nice view, though, is it no’?’

‘Aye, lovely. An’ I’m sure it’ll be lovely doon in Africa an’ all, but it’s … it’s the fact that you cannae touch it, you cannae get any nearer it, so it might as well be wallpaper.’

‘Sure, but is that no’ the idea? Nice views, warm weather, an’ loads o’ stuff tae dae roon the resort?’

‘Aye, I suppose so. There’s plenty of activities, right enough.’

‘Like what, then?’

‘Well, there’s the Lido first of all. You’ll have seen some o’ that yoursel’ on the way in. Aw thae swimmin’ pools connected up wi’ wee channels an’ tunnels an’ bridges an that. The weans’ll love it, that’s for sure. Folk’ll never be able tae find the wee buggers again, but then mibbe that’s another sellin’ point for the parents. The Lido’s no particular tae any wan o’ the hotels – it’s the kinna centrepiece o’ the whole resort. I think he said two o’ the hotels have got their own indoor pools as well, but the Lido’s the main sunbathin’ area. There’s a wave machine in wan o’ the pools, an apparently aw the wee totey wans dotted aboot the place are actually jacuzzis. An’ aw roon the Lido there’s terraces, so’s you can sit ootside an’ have a drink or a bite tae eat.’

‘That sounds quite nice.’

‘Aye, quite nice if you like McDonald’s an’ Pizza Hut, ’cause that’s whit you’re gaunny get.’

‘Aw, you’re kiddin’.’

‘That’s whit Gavin says. But if you fancy somethin’ mair traditional, there’s gaunny be eight chippies dotted aboot the resort.’

‘
Eight
?’

‘Eight. Eight fuckin’ chippies, aff the coast o’ Africa. I think they’re gaunny use wan leg o’ this place for storm’ the tatties, an’ another yin for the lard. So it’s no’ an oil rig noo, it’s a cookin’‐
oil rig.’

‘Jesus. Eight chippies, man. Whit aboot kebab shops?’

‘Oh aye, four or five o’ them as well. Plus six curry hooses an’ four chinkies, but they’re aw indoors, doonstairs. In fact aw the proper sit‐
doon, bottle‐
o’‐
wine restaurants are doonstairs, below decks, if you like. Gavin says some o’ them are at the ootside walls, so there’ll be windaes lookin’ oot tae the sea. An’ there’ll be another yin at the top o’ wan o’ the hotels that looks oot baith sides, oot tae sea an’ doon tae the Lido.’

‘So apart fae eatin’, drinkin’ an’ sunbathin’, whit else is there tae dae?’

‘Eh, well, there’s cinemas doonstairs, a multiplex. An’ bingo halls – a bloody multiplex o’ them as well. Grand prize is a free week at the resort. Second prize is a fortnight. Oh aye, an’ there’s ten‐
pin bowlin’. We walked past that, but it’s no’ quite finished, so Gavin never let us get a look inside. There’s an ice rink as well. We got a wee gander it that, but obviously there was nae ice yet. I’d imagine there’d have tae be a casualty department an’ all, but it wasnae on the tour. There was wan o’ thae laser places, though.’

‘Whit, tattoo removal?’

‘Naw, Eddie, lasers, ray‐
guns. You know, for kid‐
on gunfights.’

‘Oh, heh, I wouldnae mind a wee go at that. Bit o’ target practice. Is it open?’

‘Naw. Nothin’s open, no’ until they move this thing tae Africa. Just as well, tae. If somebody gied you a ray‐
gun, you’d end up blindin’ yoursel’ wi’ it. You’d be better aff stickin’ tae the video games.’

‘Oh, is there an arcade?’

‘We passed aboot five, but before you ask, they’re no’ open either.’

‘Where are they, though?’

‘Same as everythin’ else – doon in the sub‐
levels. I think Gavin said it’s three or four floors deep, across the whole surface area o’ this place. We only saw a fraction of it, which was enough. There’s dozens an’ dozens o’ corridors doon there, linkin’ aw the facilities, an maist o’ them are lined wi’ shops.’

‘Whit kinna shops?’

‘Well, they’re no’ stocked yet, thank Christ. I think if Tina had seen them in aw their glory, she’d have been askin’ Gavin for the brochure for next summer. He was sayin’ there’ll be franchises o’ aw the big high‐
street chains, plus souvenir stores an’ hairdressers an’ beauticians an’ you name it. There’s gaunny be a special sports area as well, wi’ a big bookie’s an’ a sports pub wi’ giant telly screens. Turns oot Celtic, Rangers, Man‐
U, Arsenal an’ Chelsea are aw gaunny get shops tae themsels.’

‘God. He’s gaunny make a mint, in’t he?’

‘Gavin? Sounds like it.’

‘Still, big man, I mean tae say: the pictures an’ the bingo an’ the bowlin’ an’ the shops – you might as well be at hame, apart fae the weather.’

‘Aye, but I think that’s the point. Every room’s gaunny have satellite telly showin’ British channels aw day, plus the place is gaunny have its ain press.’

‘Its ain newspaper?’

‘Naw, a mini printer’s. Seriously. Gavin says they’re negotiatin’ deals wi’ the
Sun
an’ the
Mirror
tae download their pages affa computer every night, so’s they can print their ain special editions for the punters on the rig.’

‘Well, that’s understandable, Charlie. You might start tae feel a bit oota things if you couldnae keep up wi’ who was shaggin’ who back hame.’

‘Pretty hellish, though, the whole place. It’s like Butlins meets ethnic cleansin’.’

‘So what was everybody else sayin’ tae it?’

‘Fuck, some o’ them were right intae it. Eileen Stewart an’ her man, they were practically bookin’ up on the spot, goin on’ aboot how great it would be for the weans. Paul Duff as well, he thought it was the best thing since flush lavies, but you know Paul – mair brains in a puddin’ supper. Lisa McKenzie, though – I thought her eyes were gaunny come oot her heid aboot five times.’

‘Was she impressed?’

‘Well, Gavin seemed tae think she was, but the poor bugger was gettin’ the wrang end o’ the stick. By the end the lassie was tryin’ that hard no tae laugh, she was aboot greetin’. It was murder. Every time I caught her eye, I was nearly away masel’. She’s a good laugh, Lisa. Need tae make sure we get a wee word later.’

‘So, same again, big man?’

‘Eh, naw, no thanks, Eddie, keep your haun in your pocket. I’d better get back up the stair an’ get intae the tin flute.’

‘Ach come on, just wan mair. It’ll no’ take you a minute.’

‘Naw, seriously, Eddie, that’s the part I’m worried aboot. I’m watchin’ how much I drink the night.’

‘How?’

‘Well, think aboot it. There’s times you get blootered an’ it doesnae matter whit you dae or whit you come oot wi’, because naebody knows who you are, anyway. Let’s just say this is no’ wan o’ thae times. This is the last group o’ folk in the world that I want tae make an arse o’ masel’ in front of. I might never see any o’ them again, but just knowin’ would be enough.’

‘Aye, well, big man, it’s times like this you appreciate the benefits o’ havin’ a reputation for makin’ an arse o’ yoursel’. I can get as pished as I like the night, ’cause I’ve got fuck‐
all tae lose. Same again here, Jim.’

After Dawson shot Kilfoyle, Connor had remarked that if he didn’t knock off the summary executions, it was going to end up being a Rambo‐
style one‐
man assault. At the time his intention had been sarcasm, not soothsaying, but then, as a military man, Connor should have known the one about careless talk.

They’d lost four men back at the farm through assorted variants of homicidal mania, and now two more were threatening to desert. Not just any two, either, but specifically two of the team assigned to execute the initial infiltration. With that being a three‐
man op, the rather unforgiving arithmetic left Connor in the aforementioned Sylvester Stallone role.

He looked back across the water to the spur, behind which the rest of the unit was on standby, waiting for his green light to begin the second stage. It was that smoke‐
’em‐
if‐
you‐
got‐
’em moment, except that nobody in their right mind would be lighting up with all those rockets lying around. He thought of how he’d felt, standing there on the sand maybe less than ten minutes ago. The horrors, indignities and stupidities of the morning had seemed forgotten, the smell of sea air even purging the scent of fried Glover, which had enveloped him all day like an everlasting fart. The adrenaline had started coursing through him as he pulled on his gear and checked his weapons. He’d watched Jackson and Gaghen do likewise – slapping mags into breeches, clipping spares to bandoliers, adjusting the shoulder‐
straps on their automatics – and he felt like a soldier again.

This was what it was all about. The golden idea of running his own outfit had been tarnishing steadily up until that moment, having already proven a tedious burden of administration and busy‐
work before this morning added worry and embarrassment to the load. His vision was of orchestrating an elite Unit’s operations in the field, but so far the only field his unit had seen action in was the one behind those outbuildings, where the military operation he’d orchestrated involved five men chasing the highland cow on whose left horn Glover’s head had impaled itself. (Christ knew where his right arm ever got to.)

But once he felt the cold steel of an Ingram’s in his hands, smelled the petrol from the outboard, all of that faded. This was the part he did best, and this was the part that mattered.

All of which made Gaghen’s timing pretty fucking choice.

They’d climbed into the dinghy, the three of them, and set off into the firth. Jackson had the tiller, Gaghen sat at the bow. Connor was in the middle, partially unfolding the plan of the installation because he wanted to double‐
check their secondary route.