Mr Inglis clapped his hands together and roared out a laugh, hunching his shoulders, doing a little two step, as if the ground beneath his feet was lurching. You remember that Russian? What was his name, Mikhail Massivesonofabitchovitch? Fists like shovels?
The young man had duct tape over his mouth which explained the silence tears and blood running down his angular face, grunting every time Parka Jacket slammed another boot into his stomach, ribs, thighs, and back. He was razor-thin, with straggly brown hair and Keith Richard dreadlocks.
Thirteen rounds! Mr Inglis beamed. Man, that was a beautiful fight.
Parka Jacket staggered back a few paces, then bent double, hands on knees, puffing, breath steaming out from inside his fur-trimmed hood.
Mr Inglis popped a couple of punches into the air. Right hook, jab, jab, then that haymaker! Wham! He shook his head.
Happy days You hear he croaked it? Three weeks after he got out of hospital, bunch of guys lost a lot of money on the big Ruskie decided to recoup their investment. Used a wood-chipper.
Lovely. Mrs Kerrigan said you wanted a word?
Man, you were something special He tilted his head on one side, eyes flicking across my face. Probably taking in the bruises and the scabbed-over scrapes. Let s see them golden hands of yours.
I held them up. Wanted to drop off a chunk of cash. I know I ve been a bit behind but
Ash, what do I keep telling you? He shook his head. Sighed. Gottae go in with your elbows, not your fists. Look at these knuckles. With your condition?
I know I m a bit behind, but
See, you use this bit. He pressed his right fist into his right shoulder and threw the elbow out, head height, fast. Caught it with the palm of his left hand with a sharp smack. No cartilage in there, no joints to break, just a nice wee slab of bone to shatter the bastard s face with He frowned. Turned. Mrs Kerrigan?
She appeared beside me without a sound, as if she ran on castors. Wellington boots in stealth mode. Mr Inglis?
He hooked a thumb at the young man bleeding into the grass.
Aye, what s the story?
This little bollox needs taught a lesson in manners. Robbin off his employers.
Parka Jacket straightened up, grinned from the depths of his fur-lined hood, then stomped on the T-Shirt s head a couple of times, grunting with the effort.
Mrs Kerrigan nodded. That should do, Timothy. Break both his legs, then yez can dump him outside Accident and Emergency.
Parka Jacket got to work.
Mr Inglis turned his back on the beating. I hear you ve had a wee problem with that house of yours in Kingsmeath. Place is all flooded and wrecked?
I stared at Mrs Kerrigan. Council says it s not fit for human habitation.
Never was, Ash. Come on: enough with the hair shirt. You got to live for the day, cos Mr Time s gonnae eat you up. He curled his hand into a fist. Squeezing the life out of the air. Man like you shouldn t be living in a shitehole like that. How about I set you up in one of them executive flats down Logansferry? Dock-front property: got a whole heap of them sitting empty. Every bugger s broke.
Well, thanks, but really I can t
Nah, not another word. Be my pleasure. What are friends for?
T-Shirt screamed behind his duct-tape gag as Parka Jacket jumped up and down on his shins.
Mr Inglis, I
Mrs Kerrigan ll sort you out keys and that. He grabbed my hand again and pumped it in his car-crusher grip. Don t be a stranger, OK?
Constable Henderson? Mrs Kerrigan took my arm and led me away towards the exit. Seven hundred pound deposit, plus one month s rent payable in advance. Call it eleven hundred for cash. We can add it to the six thousand yez already owe.
But I don t want
And just so we re clear, I m needin half by Wednesday lunchtime, and the rest the week after. Mr Inglis likes yez, but that doesn t mean you can do a legger on your debt. Mrs Kerrigan stopped outside the entrance to the tunnel, the stand looming above us. She pulled out a small yellow notebook and scribbled something down, then tore out the sheet, folded it in half, and handed it to me. Let s not get back into arrears, OK? Cos if ye miss yer payment by so much as a gee hair, yez ll end up as dog food. And I will personally feed yer yockers to the greyhounds.
I don t want a bloody flat!
She pulled on a tight little smile that didn t touch her eyes. Constable Henderson, are yez really spittin in Mr Inglis s eye, when he s been nothin but the friend of ye?
I stared at her in silence.
She stared back. Then nodded. Thought not. Now if yez are lookin for a way to repay Mr Inglis s kindness, ye could think about doin him a favour. Brian Cowie s comin up for trial in a couple of weeks maybe yez d like to lend a hand gettin him off: names and addresses of the witnesses, copies of statements, that kind of thing.
A favour.
It ll get yez a thousand off what ye owe. She shooed me off down the tunnel.
I stomped away into the darkness. Seven and a bit grand
