Christmas music that was pumping out of the open door of the club and, as usual, Moses’ addiction to crime disheartened me. ‘There’s no need for that petty theft,’ I told him. ‘You’re making enough from your legit businesses.’ I moved to put my helmet on.
‘How do you know what’s enough? Do you have any idea how much it’s cost me to put this place together?’ he said, shrugging his shoulders as if speaking to a child. ‘The fucking smoking ban has made it impossible to turn an honest buck.’ We were staring at the hapless smokers as they talked, huddled around an ineffective patio heater. ‘Even the brothels have been hit – has Kailash not told you?’ He looked into my face, expecting confirmation.
‘We don’t talk about her business,’ I said, tightening my lips to give him a warning look; sadly, subtlety is lost on Moses.
‘Illegal brothels are setting up everywhere,’ he said, as if hoping I’d be sympathetic. He was so wrong, but as usual couldn’t read my face, so continued. ‘They’re bringing in girls from Thailand, Poland, Romania. Sex slaves, Brodie – the bosses don’t pay them a penny!’
‘What do you want me to say? You want my sympathy? Is that it? All brothels are illegal in Scotland, Moses, not just the new ones – the fact that they get called saunas doesn’t give them any legitimacy.’ He looked at me blankly; morality wasn’t something he could understand.
‘You should take an interest, Brodie; after all it’s your inheritance. Well, yours and Connie’s. What have you got her for Christmas?’
He wasn’t remotely interested in what I’d bought Connie for Christmas – which was just as well: he was too interested in his own gift. ‘I’ve imported the latest games console from Japan – it isn’t even out here till next autumn.’
‘Great. I hope it isn’t knocked off,’ I said churlishly. He tried to look hurt – and failed miserably. Moses was anxious for me to go, a sure sign he was up to something. I held my breath and watched where he was deliberately not looking. Then I spied them, just around the corner where a smaller queue had formed in front of Blind Bruce and a new member of the gang. I winced as I looked at Bruce – he, and his sightlessness, were kept around as permanent reminders of what happened to Dark Angels who crossed Moses. He had deliberately blinded Bruce after he had questioned the authority of the Dark Angels’ leader, cut out his eyes as easily as peeling a banana.
‘Who’s that?’ I pointed to the new guy.
‘He’s the chemist.’ The fact that Bruce was now the one holding the street drugs only emphasized that he was an expendable – probably the most expendable – member of the gang. Moses Tierney has a flair for the dramatic, one that’s shared by the rest of the Dark Angels.
‘What’s his name?’ Moses was staring in the opposite direction, which was interesting – maybe he was embarrassed about selling drugs on street corners after all. ‘You know,’ I continued, ‘I’m not going to give up; and if he keeps standing there, I’ll be representing both of them, him and Blind Bruce, in court tomorrow anyway.’ Moses looked disappointed. He was hiding something – we were both sure I didn’t want to know, but it had gone too far now.
‘If I tell you, will you go?’ he asked, and I nodded. ‘His name’s Cal.’ I sniggered and flicked my eyes over the new guy. There was something different about him; for a start I could see the roots of his ginger hair, but he was also wearing a Breitling watch which, from where I was standing, looked authentic. I was surprised to see that he wore handmade brogues, of the type that Grandad wore. Odd.
I had to go. As I opened the throttle along George Street I felt as if strange eyes were upon me. I tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling and hoped that I was just picking up on the air of panic in the city.
Perhaps I had just outstayed my welcome.
George Street, Edinburgh Sunday 23 December, 1.25 a.m.
He stopped whistling to himself when he saw her – he knew it was her even before she took her helmet off. When she shook her curls free, he felt that she was toying with him but he was still mesmerized. His jaw was tight and his neck stiffened. He’d show her and then she’d be sorry.
The Christmas lights shone on her face and The Watcher was pleased that Brodie no longer looked tired or edgy. He hoped this situation would continue. Nothing wrong with a false sense of security – he needed a few more days to bring his plan to fruition. The thought of his plan excited him.
Her long auburn hair spilled around her shoulders in a whirl of tendrils. He cursed the fact that she was wearing her leathers but he could still imagine her body underneath them. He had a very good imagination.
He sniffed the cold night air – just on the periphery he imagined he could smell her. It felt as if she had been talking to that delinquent forever. What did she see in him? Didn’t they know what time it was? It was way past a good girl’s bedtime. A slow smile broke out on his face and reached his eyes. Tapping his fingers on the lamppost he bit his lip to cool his impatience – it was not yet his time.
A pretty girl like Brodie McLennan shouldn’t be left alone in a city like this when the Ripper was on the loose. A discreet laugh escaped his lips. Passers-by probably wondered what his private joke was, but it would remain private; that was the whole point of secrets. The Watcher liked secrets.
The Harley growled into life but she didn’t drive off. He was torn; it bothered him when she talked to Moses Tierney but at least he knew where she was. The Watcher knew that Tierney wanted her to leave; he kept looking over Brodie’s shoulder as if he was expecting someone he didn’t want her to see. When she finally did leave, The Watcher would have to find her again and that wasn’t always easy. He held his breath as he saw her drive off into the night. Resentment tightened the knot in his stomach – he couldn’t follow her yet.
Five minutes passed before Tierney’s mystery guest showed up. The Watcher wasn’t pleased. The rumble of a bike engine had quickened his pulse for a moment. She’s come back. But it wasn’t Brodie. Glasgow Joe got off his trike and started snooping.
The Watcher disappeared into the shadows to wait.
St Leonards Police Station, Edinburgh Sunday 23 December, 1.35 a.m.
St Leonards police station was aglow. The artificial Christmas tree twinkled as its lights flashed on and off – it was enough to cause a punter to have an epileptic fit. As usual my timing was impeccable. I was parking the Fat Boy just as the meat wagon arrived with its cargo of petty criminals, herded up from the city streets. Normally, it’s a wonderful opportunity to score new business, but Sergeant Munro was hovering and I knew he would do anything to thwart me. Did that man never sleep?
The lager louts were drunker than usual, filled with Christmas cheer and all manner of illegal substances; there were many well-kent faces in the crowd.
‘Brodie, darlin’ – you look beautiful! Gies a kiss for ma Christmas!’ I could always rely on wee Billy Palmer for an arrest and a compliment; the effect of the latter was shattered seconds later when he threw up in the gutter. The other prisoners laughed and jeered.
‘Better out than in, son, that’s what I always say,’ said Sergeant Munro. Billy Palmer lifted his head and wiped his face on the sleeve of his grubby hoody. Ever the gallant, he blew me a kiss – he used the hand which had L.O.V.E. tattooed on the knuckles.
It was a right rogues’ gallery tonight. I’d represented most of these wasters at one time or another over the years. Shuggy McAllister was dragged along by Sergeant Munro – right through the diced carrots and custard or whatever it was that had been