The Papers of Tony Veitch

22

Dave McMaster was staring at the object again when he heard Lynsey coming back into the flat. In his head he referred to it as a ‘beady’. That was what Lynsey had called it. He watched it while the bubble-bath moved around the hardness of his body as if he was getting a fitting for velvet. Maybe it was because you could get it to throw up beads of water. At first he had thought it might be a toilet for dwarfs. He smiled at himself, remembering the old joke about the girl who was told to use toilet water and got a lump on the back of her head when the lavatory seat fell.

Lynsey came in. Looking up at her, he did a mental double-take in disbelief that she was with him. She was wearing cords and boots and a striped shirt and her hair looked as if it had been mussed by Vidal Sassoon. He remembered that he was in a place he didn’t want to leave. The proof he was going to give her of his concern for Tony should help to keep him there. He tried to tell from her face if she had found out what they had to know. But in certain moods her face told you as much as a clock with no hands.

She sat on the toilet with the lid down and looked at him. He liked the way the water would be outlining his torso like grease. He smiled but she didn’t respond. He tested.

‘Ye gonny get me a drink, Lynsey?’

‘At this time, Dave?’

‘Well, Ah’ve seen them doin’ it in the pictures. Drinkin’ in the bathrobe an’ that. Ah always fancied it.’

He knew she liked the idea of the hard man who was really a waif at heart. It worked again.

‘Well, something civilised. Gin and tonic?’

‘Aye. Wi’ lemon and ice. Ye’ve got tae learn not tae pick yer nose an’ chew it sometime.’

She went out. Having half-dried himself, he had a quick go at the beady. No wonder there were a lot of upper-class poofs. Drying himself and putting on the Paisley-pattern dressing-gown she had bought him, he thought about it. That was how things had been arranged. Everything was a kind of beady, to make you feel bad and realise you didn’t belong because you didn’t know how it worked. Well, he knew now, and he wasn’t impressed.

When he came out, the drink was waiting for him. He sat at ease and sipped it. He wished he was as sure about how she worked. She was flicking the pages of a magazine in that way she had, as if the goings on of others were strange and she could never quite get interested in them. He realised that no matter what they got round to doing in bed, there was always a piece of herself stayed cordoned off, like the part of the stately home the punters just get filing past and the notice says ‘Private’.

‘Ye saw that wumman?’ he said.

She nodded.

‘Well?’

‘I know where Tony is.’ She looked up from her magazine. ‘I was tempted to go and see him.’

‘But ye didn’t?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

She told him where it was. He was surprised how close it was to where Tony had been.

‘Ye know what we’re gonny do?’ he said.

‘I’m just hoping you do.’

He was going to tell her when the phone rang. He shook his hand at her, crossed, still holding his drink, and lifted the phone. His guess had been right. Mickey Ballater sounded as if he was trying to arrive through the earpiece.

‘Listen, you! Ma legs are tired goin’ the long road. All Ah’m findin’ out is that you two know more than ye’re sayin’. It’s talkin’ time.’

As Ballater raved on, Dave held the phone out so that Lynsey could appreciate the reality of what they were up against. The voice raged faintly like a trapped wasp looking for something to sting.

‘We’ve been workin’ on it,’ Dave said, watching Lynsey. ‘We think we can find out the day. Ye’ll get a phone-call at that number o’ yours. Ye’ll be there?’

The silence at the other end was Ballater’s anger communing with itself.

‘How long?’

‘A few hours at the most.’

‘Ah’ll be there. If Ah don’t know where Veitch is by the night, ye can emigrate.’

Dave had other plans. He put the phone down and sipped his drink.

‘Ah could get tae like that,’ he said. ‘It’s like drinkin’ shaddas in the summer.’

He crossed and ruffled her hair.

‘Lynsey,’ he said. ‘Two choices for aul’ Tony. The polis or the Clyde. Ah think he’s better wi’ the polis. Fair enough?’

She looked up at him.

‘He could get away.’

‘Tony? Tony couldny negotiate an adventure playground. You know ’im, Lynsey. What chance has he got? Cam Colvin’ll kill him. Very easily and very painfully. That’s what’ll happen if we don’t help.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘Two things. Help Tony and keep ourselves in the clear.’

‘How?’

‘Macey. First, we find Macey. He’s in far more trouble than we’re in. Or Ah can put ’im there. If ye’re lookin’ for a favour, always find somebody that needs wan.’

‘Dave. Will this work?’

‘By tonight Tony’ll be in the nick.’ He winked at her. ‘Protective custody, they call it.’