The Papers of Tony Veitch

24

For Macey the familiarity of the day had fragmented when Lynsey Farren walked into the lounge of the Lorne Hotel like a mannequin parade and the two mates at his table watched her approach as if they were buyers for a surplus store who had wandered into a salon. Since then each next thing had been another shake of a kaleidoscope his hand wasn’t holding.

Walking beside her, he felt as conspicuous as a lapel-badge and about as self-determining. The Central Hotel was another strangeness. Its big, weathered exterior, constructed in a time when the power issuing from the steam train had obscured the possibility of alternatives to itself, had been a familiar landmark to him since boyhood but had never seemed more relevant to his life than the Necropolis.

He was entering it for the first time and a couple of porters looked at him as if they knew that. Put a monkey in a toy uniform, Macey thought, and it will try to pull rank. Lynsey Farren went up the wide carpeted staircase in a way that suggested she owned it. Macey watched her buttocks move in her fawn cords as if they were chewing a very sweet caramel. He followed her through the first double doors on his right and along the corridor past the empty lounge-bar to where the weirdest moment of a weird day was waiting for him.

In the coffee-lounge looking up from an armchair like Lord Saracen receiving guests in his mansion was Dave McMaster. On the table in front of him was a silver coffee service, three cups and a plate of dainty biscuits. One of those Sunday papers that look like a paperback library was open on his knees. What was he doing with it, Macey wondered. Looking at the pictures?

Dave McMaster gestured them to sit down. Macey was relieved. He had thought maybe he was supposed to stand at attention.

‘Coffee?’ Dave said and poured two cups. ‘Ah’ve had mine.’

Macey took his white and, watching Lynsey Farren not bother with milk, the unfamiliarity of where he was came to him again, heightening his senses. He had never understood people taking coffee black. You might as well lay into a cup of cascara. He put three lots of sugar into his own and checked the room.

You could have more fun in a coffin, he thought. There was a man sitting across from them with used coffee-things in front of him. He was reading typewritten sheets of paper and making notes. Probably early thirties, he looked so set already. Macey thought he had probably been born in a pin-stripe suit. The only other people were a middle-aged couple. The man was having a staring contest with the carpet.

‘Lynsey wid tell ye,’ Dave said.

Macey found himself too busy chewing a biscuit to answer at once.

‘Ah know about yer connection wi’ Big Ernie Milligan.’

Macey had his line ready, might as well try it.

‘He wis tryin’ tae nail me for somethin’. But Ah managed tae wriggle out.’

Dave looked at Lynsey Farren and smiled. When he turned the smile on Macey, the eyes had gone dead above it.

‘Good for you. Ah’m that pleased. Very decent of the polis. Tae charge ye in the Albany. Lucky he didny throw you into a pent-house cell.’

‘It wisny a charge, Dave. More a kind of-’

‘More a kind of load of fucking shite,’ Dave said quietly. ‘You want to explain it tae Big John? Wriggle out? Be like tryin’ tae wriggle out fae under a steam-roller.’

Dave offered him another biscuit but he wasn’t hungry.

‘You’re a tout, Macey.’

Macey sat sickly still, a man who might just have heard his own epitaph, while Dave held up the reality of his situation against the light, an X-ray plate that only he could interpret.

‘You’ve pissed on Cam Colvin. And John Rhodes. You shoulda done something cleverer, Macey. Say, playin’ at tig wi’ King Kong. Macey, Macey. You’re very fragile now. You could die of a phone-call.’

‘Ah’ve never given away anythin’ that matters, Dave. Never. Just a lotta stuff that everybody knows anyway. Honest. It’s just tae keep Big Ernie off ma back.’

Dave was smiling, solicitous as an undertaker.

‘Maybe ye’re tellin’ the truth, Macey.’

‘Ah am, Dave. Ah am.’

Dave was considering.

‘Tell ye what. You do somethin’ for me an’ Ah went blind on Saturday night. Okay?’

In Macey’s experience nothing was more suspicious than inexplicable generosity.

‘Whit-’

‘Macey. Whit ye tryin’ to do? Drive a bargain or somethin’? The firin’ squad’s lined up. You tryin’ to get a price for the blindfold?’

Macey had to admit to himself he was against the wall.

‘Ah’ll do it,’ he said.

‘Correct. Here’s the score. Ah’m more than a wee bit fond o’ Lynsey here. An’ Tony Veitch is a family friend. He’s got to get it from somebody. We want it tae be the polis. Anybody else, it’s gonny be awfy sore for him. So Ah’m gonny tell ye where tae find Tony Veitch.’

He did. Macey’s day was in such small pieces he could no longer see any shape to it all. Why was he being told this?

‘Because Ah want you tae use that information in a special way. Mickey Ballater’s on the hunt for Tony. You’re gonny tell ’im where Tony is. There’s the number tae phone.’

Macey was wishing he had his name sewn on the inside of his jacket. He would have liked to check.

‘But Ah thought ye want the polis tae find him.’

‘Don’t think. Just listen. Before you phone Ballater, you phone Ernie Milligan. Once ye’re sure the polis’ll get there first, then you phone Ballater. It won’t be your fault the polis knew before him. And everybody’s happy. You. Me. Lynsey. Ballater. Everybody. An’ Tony’s safely in the nick. A happy ending. Just call me Walt Disney.’

He smiled at Lynsey and she touched his arm affectionately. She had been willing throughout the meeting to let Dave handle everything. Macey wasn’t sure that he shared her willingness — not that he felt like saying.

‘Agreed, Macey?’

‘It’s agreed, Dave. Ah’ll do it the way you tell me.’

Dave stood up and Lynsey joined him.

‘Tomorrow. Ah’ve never been in this place in ma life. Macey. Have you?’

‘Never.’

They went out, leaving Macey concussed. Dave doubled back in immediately on his own.

‘Oh, Macey,’ he said. ‘Try the wee ginger nuts. They’re smashin’. By the way. If ye mix up the order of who ye tell first, Ah won’t be worried. As long as ye don’t mention it tae Lynsey. Okay?’

Macey was still sitting there trying to work out what was happening when the waitress came up and handed him a piece of paper. It was a bill for coffee and biscuits for three. He sat staring at it, wondering how much was going to be added to it if he wasn’t careful.