Читать книгу You Have Been Murdered! - Michael Scopus - Страница 8

Inverness, Scotland

David had finished his work as a courier for the day and, as usual, ahead of schedule. He drove back to his flat in North Kessock over the Kessock bridge spanning the Moray Firth, the outlet of the famous Loch Ness to the sea. Although just half an hour ago it had been overcast and raining, the sun, although now low in the sky, was shining brightly and a brilliant rainbow had formed framing the picturesque Cairngorm mountains. He had chosen to live outside of the city because it was isolated and peaceful and the flat specifically because it had a balcony with a good view of the marina at the mouth of the River Ness. He loved to sit on the balcony and watch the boats come in and out.

Inside the flat, David hung his cap on the coat peg by the front door and put his keys in the tray on the small entry table. The flat was sparsely furnished and painted a clean, stark white. The lounge consisted of a small but well-padded and comfortable plain blue fabric couch, a folding wooden dining table with two folding wooden chairs, and a portable color TV on a small cabinet. A portable electric fan heater which David had never used provided the only heating for the flat. The bedroom had an old but comfortable queen-sized bed and a set of drawers and the bathroom had the basic utilities with an electric boiler and shower. The small kitchenette was furnished with a few scattered cupboards, a kitchen sink, a gas stove, and a small fridge on top of the worktop.

David was in his mid-thirties of average height and athletically built and he kept himself fit. He enjoyed jogging alongside the river when the weather was fine and sometimes went for long walks over the Munros,2 with their stunningly beautiful views and thick carpets of violet heather. But other than that, apart from work, he didn’t go out much so that left him plenty of time to sit on his balcony to watch the boats and reminisce. Although he had only been living here a short while he had already been pleasantly surprised by the warm hospitality of the Scottish Highlanders. David’s London accent gave his Englishness away as soon as he opened his mouth, but he found himself accepted wherever he went and felt none of the prejudice for the English so often touted in the media. All in all, he loved living in Scotland and hardly missed the drab streets of London, but he did miss Kathy. David took a bottle and a glass from one of the kitchen cupboards and, sliding back the patio door, exited onto the small balcony where there was a weathered, white plastic table and chair. He sat down on the chair and breathed deeply; the cool evening air formed a small cloud from the condensation of his breath. He unscrewed the top from the 15-year-old Glenfiddich bottle of whisky and poured himself a drink. Gazing down into the yellow liquid swirling around in his glass he thought about how his life had been not so long ago; he remembered the London pub.

♦ ♦ ♦

“Get ‘em in then Davy, it’s your shout!” Mark yelled from across bar above the music blaring from the jukebox playing ‘The boys are back in town’, some 1970’s throwback.

David was standing at the bar of the Manor Pub in the East-end of London with some of the Mitchell gang having a few drinks and watching the football match on the big screen. The Mitchell gang were an infamous east London gang led by Reggie Mitchell and his younger brother Gary aka Gazza. Rick, Mark, Jack, and Sid (aka Vicious) all young men in their twenties and early thirties made up the other members of the gang. David was not really a member of the gang but served as the gang’s ad hoc getaway driver.

The bar was crowded, and Rick, Mark, and Jack were playing noisily on the pool table, laughing and joking as they did trick shots slamming the balls around the table. Sid was playing on the slot machine with Gary, bashing the side of it and swearing as the machine flashed its lights, its blaring electronic laser-like sound, despite the jukebox, informed the whole bar that they had lost again.

David raised his eyebrows. It was often ‘his shout’. But he turned obligingly to Dick the landlord and ordered the drinks.

“Give us five of the usual please Dick and I’ll take a large Scotch. Oh, and have one yourself.”

Dick was a large man in his late fifties with tattoos festooned on his forearms from his former navy days. He took no nonsense from his customers but even he was wary at upsetting the infamous Mitchell brothers, especially Gary. Gary was called Gazza by his mates after the famous British footballer but that was where the similarity started and ended. Gazza the footballer was known for his emotional outbursts, even openly crying on the pitch when England lost at the 1990 World Cup. Gazza Mitchell, on the other hand, had a violent and uncontrollable temper when things didn’t go his way as several men had discovered to their detriment.

“Cheers Davy, rough night eh?” Dick nodded towards Gazza who was now kicking the fruit machine, as he placed the large scotch in front of David.

“Yeah, well you know Gazza.” Replied David. As he was speaking and watching Gazza, Gazza looked towards the bar and noticed David and Dick watching him.

“Oh, oh!” said Dick looking away quickly and then disappearing behind the bar to get the rest of the drinks.

“Oh shite!” exclaimed David turning away and lifting his glass to his mouth.

Gazza gave the machine one last kick before staggering across the floor to the bar. He put an arm on David’s shoulder and spun him around to face him.

“Talking about ME were ya?” Gazza shouted into David’s face while rising on his toes and glaring menacingly.

There was a pause. Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and looked at Gazza in morbid fascination as if watching an accident that everyone knew was about to happen.

“No, er, just saying how Dick should get rid of that rip-off one-armed bandit.” David’s voice sounded a little nervous as he nodded towards the slot machine.

Gazza smiled a crocodile smile.

“Chill man out, I’m only messing with ya!” Gazza shouted to the relief of everyone in the bar who now continued what they were doing.

“Davy, my man!” Gazza exclaimed loudly for the whole bar to hear again as he put a friendly arm around David’s shoulder and pulling him close, he spoke quietly into his ear.

“So, it’s all set. I need you to drive for me on that job tomorrow. Don’t mention it to the others, don’t want Reggie finding out, you know how paranoid he gets when I go out for a bit of fun on my own.”

“Just the two of us? I dunno, Gazza. You know how he is.” David replied a little nervously.

“Reggie won’t know. He’s away on ‘business’ and don’t get back ‘til the day after tomorrow and by then, job’s done. Besides, you said you need the money, right? You only gotta do the wheels. Mark got me tooled up an’ everything else is sorted. As I said there’s fifty grand in this and half is yours. I need to have a crack at this job for myself, prove to Reggie I’m up to it. It’s there for the taking. Rude not to, right?”

David nodded his reluctant agreement with a half-smile and raised his glass to his lips.

“So that’s sorted.” Gazza playfully slapped him twice on the cheek. “You just remember to pick me up at 10 o’ clock sharp, right?”

“Come on you Spurs!”3 Gazza roared as the big screen TV replayed a slow-motion goal.

♦ ♦ ♦

A large barge was sounding its horn as it passed under Kessock bridge on its way out to the North Sea. David gave a deep sigh as he finished the last of the whisky in his glass. It was the end of another meaningless day.

2. A Munro is any mountain in Scotland with a height over 3,000 feet.

3. Spurs short form of Tottenham Hotspur.