Paying For It

2

I knew Gus Dury when… when? When he held down a job? When he still had a wife? When he never drank himself to oblivion every night? I knew that’s what they said, once Billy got put in the ground, and everyone ended up back at Col’s pub.

The Wall, or the Holy Wall as Col’s mates called it, is a bit different to the usual Edinburgh watering hole. There’s no polished granite bar, Bacardi Breezers, or rocket salad on the menu. Down at heel is the way the ad agency ponytails might describe the Holy Wall. The floor’s linoleum, the seats, PVC. There are so many layers of nicotine in the joint you’d get a decent rollie out the woodchips. It’s rough beyond belief. Just my style.

The name suits too; you see Col has faith. The Big Faith. And faith in me. Don’t know why, he just does. He says he sees something in me. I suspect it’s the Grouse and Black. Col doesn’t drink, but for me it’s a full-time job.

‘I was sorry to hear about how Billy… you know, went, Col. Really very sorry,’ I mumbled, broke up my words and choked on ciggie smoke. This was something I’d wanted to say from the heart, but it got slopped out. ‘Malky — y’know the wido — he gave me the rundown. I’m so sorry, Col. Really very sorry.’

Col placed a hand on my shoulder, ‘You heard all about it, did you?’

I lowered my brows; gave a brief nod.

‘My Billy shouldn’t have went like that. He was talking about making it big the last time we spoke — he was full of grand plans, you know.’

Col trembled, stammered on his words. He seemed to age decades before my eyes.

‘He was full of talk about making his pile, Gus, but he went wrong somewhere. His mother’s beside herself, the house is a total midden — you should see the state of it!’

I felt taken aback, but I saw he’d only reverted to type, tried to cover his feelings with humour.

I joined him, said, ‘I don’t do dusting, Col.’

Laughter.

We’d lightened the tone. Col tried a weak smile. ‘I have no work for you in that line, but there is something you could do for me.’

He leaned on the bar. His eyes widened, showing their whites, but the dark centres haunted. ‘You know about this kind of thing, don’t you?’

I tried to look away but his eyes left me nowhere to hide.

‘Col, I’m out the game.’

‘But you have the form. This kind of thing’s just your line.’

I knew what he meant, but that felt like another lifetime ago.

I raised my glass, drained it. ‘This is my line now.’

‘Gus, c’mon, you forget I knew you before.’

I knew what before meant right away.

The thing is, I owe Col. Not in a debt sense, just — well — morally. He’s been good to me since my troubles started, a bit like a father figure. Not like my father though. Uh-uh. The mighty Cannis Dury has few to match him. You might say it’s because Col is so unlike my old man that I feel he deserves my respect.

‘I’d like to help, I really would, but what could I do?’

‘Same as before when we had that spot of bother.’

When everything went tits up for me, Col helped out. Some of his employees thought they’d been recruited on two hundred a week and all they could pilfer. He gave me the security gig and a roof over my head. I felt very grateful. Still do.

‘That was a different matter entirely.’ On-site snoop to jumped-up gumshoe looked quite a leap to me. I felt happy enough with our current arrangement — free flat, only a stumble from the bar.

‘Just have a look around in the city, go to your old mates and do some sniffing about.’

‘Hacks have no mates, Col.’

‘You’re no hack — quality you are boyo!’

I laughed. ‘Half right. I’m no hack any more.’

I raised my glass, motioned to the whisky on the shelf. Col fired off a refill, planted it in front of me. His eyes widened again. When I looked in them I saw they’d grown rimmed in red. I saw the worry there. Genuine grief. I knew the territory.

‘No promises,’ I said.

He smiled, and those eyes of his shone like headlamps. ‘It’s a deal. Gus, I could ask no more. You’ve no idea what this means to me. The father-son bond is a very precious thing.’

‘Tell me about it,’ I said.