Читать книгу The Watcher - Grace Monroe - Страница 13

Chapter Seven

Susie Wong’s, George Street, Edinburgh Sunday 23 December, 1.25 a.m.

I’d ridden the Fat Boy thousands of times – I needed the instant focus that comes over me when I kick-start the engine. I wanted the answers to some questions and the first one was – how drunk was I when I dragged Jack Deans back to my bed? Sadly, I couldn’t have been that bad as I seemed fine to drive – I’d have to just put it down to bad judgement. Again.

I had other things to bother me – I had to get to Malcolm and had been delayed by the festive scenario I’d just left behind in my flat. A chill had settled in my bones; I hoped it could be explained away by the fact that it was minus two degrees. The pavements were slippery and young girls teetered down the street singing Christmas songs.

Following Malcolm’s instructions I headed off to meet Moses en route to the police station. The Christmas lights were up in George Street and it was quite a show, classier than the Blackpool illuminations – I didn’t like to admit it, but they always made me feel good. Moses Tierney, leader of the Dark Angels gang, and my most important client, had opened a new club there. I walked into Susie Wong’s and saw him immediately. As usual he was dressed in full-length black leather coat, leather trousers, black silk shirt and handmade boots. He was leaning on his ebony walking cane surveying the scene when I got there. He raised his cane in salute to me but kept his eyes firmly on the queue. Very few people in Edinburgh know he is the owner; they dismiss the presence of the Dark Angels as the hired muscle, but Moses is shrewd. I’d never underestimate him.

‘Have you got Malcolm’s pills?’

‘They’re just coming.’

The burglary skills of the Dark Angels come in handy sometimes.

‘Business is good,’ I commented, shaking my hair, trying to get the knots out of it. Moses turned to me and said, ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ before turning away. I followed the line of his eyes. A large queue had formed outside the club where two young Dark Angels were out of uniform. The Dark Angels were a brand. They marketed fear in the city, instantly recognizable from their platinum-white hair and ashen skin. Both sexes wore black from head to toe, including nail varnish. Mascara was optional for the men; immaculate grooming was not. They scared lots of people, but I loved them. Moses had looked after me for years – many of them without me knowing it – and, along with Kailash, had saved my life. He wasn’t a criminal to me; he was a guardian angel.

‘What are you up to?’ I asked. Moses didn’t reply: too busy directing operations. It was a game that we often played – I had to see if I could figure out his scam, even although we both knew that, as soon as I did, I’d have to leave. It was bound to be illegal. I scrutinized the two Dark Angels. They were beautiful – but that was generally the case. The boy was around seventeen and wore a 1920s evening suit, with tails and a white tie. A battered brown leather suitcase was open on a table. It contained his props. He pulled out two scimitars. To prove the sharpness of the swords, he went up to a man in the crowd. Grasping hold of the man’s tie in one slashing movement, he cut it in two. The man’s face fell and the crowd stepped back uneasily. They all agreed it was sharp.

‘He’s going to fix the guy’s tie, isn’t he?’ I was nodding in Moses’ face as I asked.

‘No.’ Moses turned his mouth down and shook his head.

‘That tie is silk, Moses – you can’t let them go around destroying customers’ clothes. In case it hadn’t occurred to you, it’s bad for business.’ My tone of voice was getting higher. Grandad was coaching me to speak low and slow like Ingrid Bergman, but right now I was doing a fair impression of Betty Boop.

‘Do you really think I’d let someone as ugly as that in my club? Anything that happens in the queue will only be to punters that the bouncers won’t let in.’ Moses laughed, as if I was the one who had lost my marbles. The performance was hypnotic. The magician’s assistant had ignored the cold and was wearing a pink tutu. She looked like a malevolent Tinker Bell. It wouldn’t be fair to say that all eyes were on her colleague, because she was a beguiling sight. It was true that eyes, particularly male eyes, were on her, but they definitely weren’t watching the hands that were picking their pockets. It was just as well they wouldn’t miss their wallets until they tried to pay for the taxi home.

‘Here.’ Moses handed me a bottle of pills, which he’d just been given. I shuddered. The news that I was buying drugs would be all over the ‘steamie’; Moses’ reputation as the main supplier of ecstasy was well known. I wanted to rattle them and shout ‘angina pills’, but who would want to believe that?

I’d seen enough. I was tired of the generic 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.