Lethal Intent

Fifty-three

Thankfully, there was a television set in the Johnny Groat. Bandit Mackenzie smiled when he saw it, even though it was tuned to an English second-division football match.

'What gives me the idea that you would watch anything on the box?' asked McIlhenney.

'I wouldn't,' his colleague replied amiably. 'But it means that I won't have to talk to you all night.' He rapped on the bar and waved to the fat, middle-aged barman, who had seemed to be doing his best to ignore his two new customers as he leaned on the counter in conversation with a blowsy blonde woman. 'Pint of IPA and a pint of lime and soda, when you've a minute,' he called out.

The steward scowled at him, but picked up two glasses and began to pour. 'Four pound twenty,' he announced, curtly, as he placed the drinks in front of them, managing to spill a little of both.

'Jesus,' Mackenzie muttered. 'Bloody dear lime and soda that!'

'This is a pub, pal, no' a cafe,' he retorted, as he took the detective's ten-pound note.

'Are those pies hot?' McIlhenney asked, pointing to a food-display unit at the back of the bar.

'They will be after a few turns in the microwave.'

'Let's have a couple, then. Take them off his tenner.'

'The bridies is better,' the blonde called out. 'The pies is shite.'

'I was hoping they were mutton,' McIlhenney replied. 'Make it bridies instead,' he told the barman, 'and give the lady another of hers.'

'Gin and tonic, thanks.' She slid off her stool and made her way round towards them. 'Havenae seen you two in here before.'

Looking at her, Mackenzie decided that he preferred the view from a distance. 'If you had,' he told her, 'you'd be psychic. We've never been here before.'

'What brings you now here, then?'

'We like drinking in middens.'

She glanced around the shoddy bar. 'Aye,' she agreed, 'it could do with a lick of paint. Still, there's worse; try south of the river.'

'We're not that stupid,' said McIlhenney.

'Are yis workin', like?' she asked.

'Right now, no,' the detective lied. 'Later on, we will be.'

'Where?'

'The Western.'

Her painted eyebrows rose. 'Are yis doctors?'

Mackenzie laughed. 'Aye, brain surgeons.' He lifted his pint and took a drink. 'Cheers.'

'We're porters,' said McIlhenney, dourly.

'In that case, they'll be no use to you, Dolly,' a guttural voice exclaimed from behind them. 'Porters no' make enough to spend on gettin' their hole. You better look somewheres else.'

The two detectives turned, and looked into dark eyes, scowling from beneath a low forehead. A younger man stood behind him, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. 'Do you mind fucking off?' said Mackenzie, casually. 'We were talking to the lady.'

'Not any more.' The woman called Dolly had returned to her former position in the corner of the bar. 'Did you think you charmed her, man?' Frankie Jakes sneered. 'It's twenty quid in her place upstairs. If I'm wrong and you got twenty quid, go ahead. Your pint won't even be flat by the time you're back.'

'Are you guys her minders, then?' asked McIlhenney.

'I look after her, Mr Porter, if it's any fockin' bizniz of yours. I keep her safe from creeps. My wee brodder here, he have trouble mindin' his own cock.' He switched his scowl to the other detective. 'You new in here, so I make allowances, but next time you tell me to fock off, you in big trouble.' He hitched his shoulders, like a movie gun-fighter; one or two people looked in his direction, as if the scene had been played out before. 'Maybe you better fock off.'

Mackenzie smiled. 'What I'm going to do, pal,' he replied, evenly, 'is finish my drink, maybe have another couple, and then me and big Mac here are going to work. You enjoy your night and we'll enjoy ours.' He patted his colleague on the shoulder. 'Because, believe me, you wouldn't fancy trying to make him fuck off.'

'Leave it, Davie,' said McIlhenney, quietly. 'The guy's done nothing. Don't make him lose face in his own boozer.'

Jakes looked at him for a while, before coming to the conclusion that he might be on the verge of making a large mistake. 'Okay,' he muttered, eventually. 'You just remember what I tol' you.'