Truth Lies Bleeding (23 page)
Read Truth Lies Bleeding Online
Authors: Tony Black
‘I know, but—’
‘There is no buts, Mr McArdle. Our agreement is that you hold the child until we collect.’
‘But when?’
A tut, throat-clearing. ‘Soon. I said soon. Now be patient, Mr McArdle. I’ll be in touch.’
The line died.
McArdle threw the phone on the back seat and hit the dashboard with the heel of his hand. His elbow caught the horn and Melanie came to the window. McArdle frowned at her, started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. He took the car straight to Muirhouse. The light was failing but he could still see enough of the neighbourhood to pass comment.
‘Fucking shit-hole.’ McArdle had been raised in Sighthill, another Edinburgh dumping ground for losers on the lowest rung, but he’d left. He remembered growing up in the scheme, people would tell him that when the flats were built they were highly sought after. The new high-rises replaced cold-water tenements with outside toilets. The boxes were nothing to look at but they had hot running water, toilets and bathrooms and – beyond luxury – fitted kitchens. People were easily bought, thought McArdle. He knew he was right in the case of Barry Tierney and Vee Durrant.
He had bought their first child and now he was taking another one from them for the same price. He tried not to think about the transaction. He didn’t fool himself that he was being benevolent; it was business, but he wanted it out of the way.
A mangy dog barked at him as McArdle got out the car. He stamped his foot on the ground and the beast went running. As he walked towards the open door that hung on one hinge, McArdle tapped the inside of his pocket. He was tooled up, knew better than to come down here without a chib, but he was also carrying the payment for Tierney and Vee.
A junkie on the stairwell asked him for a fag.
‘Fuck off.’ Scum. Just trash, he thought.
As he ascended the steps McArdle scrunched his nose – the stair smelled of piss and vomit. He hated being back in schemes like this. It was almost an insult to him, but at the same time it made him feel good to know he’d got out. He was better than the wasters that stayed there. He was the Deil; he was someone.
At Tierney’s door he thudded on the panel with the outside of his hand.
‘Open up, y’prick.’
He heard movement, coughing. He could already imagine the weak frame of the skinny man stumbling towards the door. There was a rattle of chains, a key in the lock, then a latch being slid. As a chink of light appeared in the gap between door and jamb he forced his way in.
‘Took your fucking time.’
Tierney smiled, a toothless grin. ‘Sorry, man. Sorry . . . Was, er, taking a dump, eh.’
McArdle poked him in the chest. Tierney recoiled. ‘Do you think I want to know what you get up to in here?’ He grabbed Tierney’s jaw, squeezed his lips together. ‘Keep that shut!’
Vee came through from the living room, draped in a long grey cardigan. She held herself in her arms and leaned on the wall for a moment. Straight away, McArdle knew she was wasted. ‘Look at the fucking state of you . . . Not going to get any punters paying for that skanky arse, are you?’
Vee slid down the wall. As her legs folded her buttocks rested on her heels. The belt of her cardigan curled behind her like a tether.
McArdle walked away from them shaking his head. In the living room he put his hand to his nostrils. ‘Jesus, it stinks in here . . . Can you not open a window?’
Tierney came scurrying behind him, grabbed the handle and pushed – a gust of air blew in from the sea. ‘Is that better, Deil?’
A nod was fired in his direction, but there was no real approval attached to it. ‘You live like animals, do you know that?’
Tierney shrugged. He looked over his shoulder to see Vee coming in on all fours.
‘Look, look at this . . . She even walks like a fucking animal.’ McArdle laughed hard, dropped his head and smacked his palm off his forehead.
‘If you say so, Deil . . .’ said Tierney.
The laughter subsided. McArdle strolled around the room. He passed Tierney and grabbed the dazed Vee by the hair, twisted hard. It took her a few moments for the pain centres to register, but when they did she screamed out and flapped hands around her head.
‘See this, see what I’m doing here . . .’ said McArdle. He twisted harder. ‘This is just a bit of fun.’ He dragged Vee to the open window. He could see Tierney growing anxious – the thin man drawing his hands to his mouth.
‘Deil, what are you doing?’ said Tierney.
McArdle silenced Vee with a backhander; the force of the blow raised her on her knees for a brief moment and then her head struck a harsh angle with the floor and she collapsed, splayed out like a rag doll. McArdle suddenly grabbed her round the waist and tipped her over the edge of the window.
‘No! No!’ yelled Tierney. ‘Deil, please . . . No!’
McArdle held Vee by the ankles as he dangled her out of the high-rise. She was lifeless for a brief spell but when she regained consciousness she started to scream.
McArdle laughed, shook her legs, watched her head bang off the roughcasting on the side of the building; little stone chippings escaped. He could hear the dog he’d seen earlier barking as the chippings fell to the ground. ‘Is this not a bit of fun, Vee . . . eh?’ He felt Tierney approach, place a hand on his shoulder. McArdle released one of Vee’s ankles and swung a fist at Tierney. ‘Get back!’
He turned again, looked at Vee dangling over the window, and lost interest in tormenting her. He pulled her ankles in one quick sweep and dropped her back inside the flat. Tierney ran to her side and started to pat her back. She brushed his hand away.
McArdle watched the junkies, wiped his brow. He’d had some fun with them and he knew there was no other reason to come here, unless he was making money. He reached inside his jacket, removed the envelope with the cash and threw it in front of them. ‘Here . . . don’t spend it all in one shop.’
Vee was still shaking as Tierney lunged forward and ripped into the envelope. He tipped the contents into his hands, spread the notes apart, counted. ‘What’s this, Deil?’
McArdle loomed over them, spoke: ‘Your money, isn’t it.’
‘But . . . we agreed more.’
McArdle adjusted his jacket, brushed down his sleeves. ‘That was before.’
‘Before what?’
McArdle leaned over, pointed. ‘How much do you think it costs to keep a kid? Eh? I’m forking out a small fortune on fucking nappies and rusks and Cow and Gate this and that!’
Tierney put the money back in the envelope. ‘We agreed more.’
‘Are you complaining?’ He approached the pair again.
Vee spoke: ‘We agreed.’
‘Well, if you’ve got a better offer, I can always take the money back.’ McArdle reached out for the envelope. Vee snatched it and rose. She stared at McArdle; he could see the veins pulsing in her neck. ‘Nah, didn’t think you had,’ he said.
McArdle turned for the door. As he went, Tierney and Vee held the envelope between them and watched him.
Tierney spoke: ‘That’s us quits.’
McArdle raised a hand above his head.
‘We’re quits!’ shouted Vee.
McArdle turned, stared at them. ‘If you say so.’ He took two steps forward, locked his fingers briefly, then stretched his arms, palms out towards them. ‘What a way to settle your debts . . . You people disgust me.’
He unlocked his fingers and spat at them.
Tierney and Vee didn’t move.
Chapter 29
BARRY TIERNEY LEANED INTO THE bar, raised himself on the little brass rail that skirted its base. The barmen were ignoring him.
‘Prick’s not wanting to serve us, Vee.’
Vee twiddled the black straw in her vodka and Coke. She looked uncomfortable in the George Street style-bar, twitching and jerking at her new blouse.
This part of town was for people with money to spend, lots of money. It was for the bank workers and the young professionals, thought Tierney. They didn’t want him there; they hated him and he hated them back.
‘Hey, you going to serve me?’ he shouted.
One barman was polishing a glass, looked over to Tierney and sighed. The action sparked something in the junkie. He wanted to take the glass from the barman’s hand and thrust it in his face. The bastard, the cheeky bastard looking down his nose at me, he thought.
‘Look at this, Vee . . . He’s talking to his boss.’
Vee put down her glass, slapped the bar. ‘Hey, you serving here?’
The bar staff looked around them, approached Vee and Tierney. ‘If you don’t keep the noise down, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘Eh, what you on about?’ said Tierney. ‘I’m just trying to get a few drinks in here.’
The barman who had been polishing the glass rolled eyes, said, ‘I think, perhaps, you’ve had enough, sir.’
‘Oh do you,
perhaps
?’ Tierney spat out the last word. Some flecks of spittle landed on the barman’s black waistcoat.
perhaps
?’ Tierney spat out the last word. Some flecks of spittle landed on the barman’s black waistcoat.
‘Right, that’s it. Out!’ The other one pushed forward. He slid past the cappuccino machine and opened up the bar counter. He stood hands on hips as he called over the door stewards.
‘Fuck this,’ said Tierney. He launched himself at the man behind the bar. He could feel himself being pulled back as he lunged and immediately realised the door steward had caught a hold of him.
‘Right, don’t make this hard on yourself.’ He sounded Australian, or South African; he was foreign.
‘Get your hands off me, you’re not even Scottish . . . Get back to your own fucking country.’
Vee threw back the last of her vodka and Coke and joined the melee. She smashed the glass over the steward’s head and screamed, ‘Leave him, you bastard!’
Shrieks went up around the bar. Chairs scraped on the floor as people moved away.
‘Get them out! Get them out!’ shouted the manager.
People ran to left and right, headed for the edges of the room to be free of the scene. A group of reinforcements – more stewards – arrived from the front door and Tierney and Vee were bundled onto the pavement. Tierney struggled with the men in black jackets, lashed out and kicked. As Vee was dragged she lost one of her new shoes and removed the other to hit at her attackers.
‘Fuck off . . . Bastards!’
When they got them far enough from the bar, the stewards dropped them on the ground and backed off. They brushed down their jackets as they went.
Tierney ranted, ‘You’re fucking dead, you are!’
‘Calm down, just calm down,’ said the biggest of them. ‘We’ve called the police and they’re on their way.’
Tierney got up, jutted his head at him. ‘You’re dead! Do you know who I am? Barry Tierney, ask about town. I’ll be back to do you in.’
Vee swung her bag as the men retreated indoors, shaking their heads. ‘You’ve lost it, love,’ said one of them.
‘Let the cops deal with them,’ said another.
Tierney watched them go inside. The blood rushed in his veins. He felt his adrenaline spike and looked around for something to throw at the window. There was nothing, no brick or an ashtray even. He scoped about – further up the street there was a chrome stanchion, outside the next bar. He ran over and unhooked the red cord. The stanchion was heavy; he struggled with it down the street but somehow managed to get it onto his shoulder.
‘Vee, get ready to run. I’ll show those bastards.’
Tierney edged closer to the window and started to spin with the stanchion in his arms. When he felt he had enough momentum he released his grip. The noise from the smashing window was like the one o’clock gun. Tierney and Vee ran off, laughing and jeering.
The pair made for Hanover Street and kept going until they were completely out of breath.
‘Did you see their faces?’ said Tierney.
Vee struggled to stay upright, gasped. ‘Yeah . . . Total fucking idiots. You showed them, Barry.’
‘I showed them.’ Tierney felt proud of himself; no one was going to talk to him like that. It was a great feeling to have a few quid in your pocket. He didn’t want to think about how he’d come by it, but that didn’t matter now. He was free of his debts to the Deil, he’d scored enough to see him through the weeks ahead and he had a new set of clothes and more money in his pocket to spend.
He stepped into the road and flagged a black cab. ‘Come on.’
‘Where to?’
‘The night is young, so it is.’
Vee giggled as she was dragged into the cab. Tierney gave the driver the name of another bar – he couldn’t sober up. Not now. As he sat in the back of the cab his mind returned to the events of the last few days and he felt his bolster subside.
‘What is it?’ said Vee.
‘Nothing.’
She knew well what it was, he thought. As he looked at her, eyes slow-blinking, out of it as ever, he knew she was going to be a constant reminder to him. He looked away, out to the road, the hum of street lights and the blur of shopfronts and takeaways on Broughton Street. He felt sick – not physically, deeper than that. He felt sick in his soul.
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