Beggars Banquet

‘It’s my money.’

‘You’ll be skint again tomorrow.’

‘Who cares about tomorrow?’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘I always do.’

‘This is very pleasant,’ said Philip.

‘It’s not meant to be pleasant,’ Paul said. ‘It’s a wake, remember?’

‘How can I forget?’

‘Levity ill becomes you, Filipi.’

‘What’s levity?’ Thomas asked.

‘Lightness,’ Leonard explained.

Thomas nodded. ‘Like being light in the head?’

‘Lot of levity about here,’ Paul said, winking.

‘Maybe I’m ill,’ said Philip, loosening his collar. ‘My mouth’s parched all day.’

‘Could be a lot of reasons for that,’ Paul said. ‘Could be nerves.’

‘Nerves?’

‘I saw something yesterday,’ Thomas said, ‘on the telly. It was about these insects that eat each other. Or maybe it was their babies they ate.’

Paul and Philip looked at one another, the way they did when Thomas said this sort of thing.

‘That’s not so rare,’ Leonard told Thomas, his eyes on Paul.

‘You’re a smart one, aren’t you?’ said Paul.

Leonard shook his head, drained one of his vodkas. ‘It’s all relative,’ he said. Then he slipped off his barstool.

‘First one tonight,’ said Paul, smiling. ‘And as usual it’s Leonard. Three shorts he’s put away, but he’s bursting for a piss. You need a bladder transplant, Leonardo.’

Leonard stopped in front of Paul. ‘Maybe it’s just nerves, Paul,’ he said.

Nobody said anything as he left the bar.

The toilet was reeking. There was the constant hiss of a broken ballcock, and names scratched into the paint on the dark red wall. The urinal was a stainless steel trough. It was cooler in here though, damp and cool. Leonard lit a cigarette for himself. He reckoned if it weren’t for the smell, this place would be a preferable alternative to the bar itself. Freezing in winter though. Bloody awful pub altogether, why didn’t they just leave? Well, as somebody had said, where else was there?

The door creaked open and Matthew came in.

‘Matthew.’

‘Leonard.’

The barman went to the urinal and unzipped himself loudly. His stare was high up the wall when he spoke.

‘They’re out for your blood.’

‘What?’

‘Those three. Well, Paul specifically, but he’ll carry the other two. He’s buying, after all.’

‘What have I done?’

‘Come on, Leonard. Paul thinks you shopped Anthony.’

‘Then how come he’s the one with the money?’

‘If it was a cop payoff, he wouldn’t be flashing it about. Get out, right now. Just run for it.’

‘I’ve never run in my life.’

‘It’s up to you.’ Matthew zipped himself up. ‘But if I was in your shoes, I’d be offski.’

‘Where would I go?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was another creak as the door opened. Paul came in first. Philip and Thomas were right behind him. The door closed quietly after them.

‘What’s that you’re saying, Matthew?’

‘Nothing, Paul.’

‘You’re a great one for talking, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘A gossip, a right wee sweetie-wife. Talking’s in your blood.’

‘No.’

‘No? This had the look of a snitches’ convention when I walked in. Guilty looks all round.’

Matthew tried shaking his head.

‘Easy to confuse guilt with fear,’ Leonard said quietly.

‘Know where that money came from?’ Paul said. He wasn’t speaking to any one of them in particular. His eyes were on his shoes, examining the toes. ‘I’ll tell you, it came from Anthony.’

‘Anthony?’ Thomas said. ‘Why did he give you that much money? I mean, he’s usually tight… I mean, careful. He’s ca

Paul half turned his head and gave Thomas a smile full of sympathy.

‘You aren’t half going on tonight, Thomasino. Not like you at all. It’s not like him at all, is it, Philip?’

Philip was wiping his face with the roller-towel. ‘No, it’s not,’ he said.

‘He’s usually quiet, isn’t he?’

‘Quiet as the grave,’ Philip agreed.

‘And even someone as thick as you sometimes appear to be, Thomas, has got to have an inkling why Anthony would give me a load of cash.’ He paused. ‘Don’t you want to know, Philip?’

Philip shrugged. ‘You’ll tell us when you’re ready.’

Paul was smiling. ‘You never change, Philip. Always the same face, the same voice. Nothing out of place. I bet you could do away with your gra

‘I think I’m coming down with something.’

‘Well, we’ll see to it you get a doctor when this is over.’ Matthew started to open the door. ‘ Shut it! ’ Paul smiled. ‘Don’t want to let the heat in, do we?’ He turned to Leonard. ‘Anthony gave me the money because he wants someone taken care of. Someone in particular. He told me once I was sure in my mind, I was to start earning the cash. That’s what Anthony told me.’

‘In other words, he doesn’t know?’

‘That’s right, Leonard.’

‘Fu

‘He trusts me.’

‘But what if he’s wrong, Paolo? What if he’s wrong about that?’ Leonard looked to the other men in the cramped space – Matthew, Philip, Thomas. ‘What if you grassed him up, and we found out?’ They’d all been looking nervous; now they were looking interested. ‘What would we do?’

‘Yes,’ Thomas said quietly, getting it, ‘what would we do?’

Philip was nodding slowly, and Matthew straightened his back, adding an inch to his height.

‘There’s only one guilty party here, Leonard,’ Paul was saying.

‘You really believe that?’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ Paul was staring into Leonard’s eyes. He saw red paint reflected from the walls.

‘You’re saying it’s one of us, Paul. The rest of us don’t like that.’

Leonard took a step forwards. Paul’s hand went to his jacket pocket. Philip was behind him, his arms stretching. Thomas’s hands were fists. Matthew leaned against the door, keeping it closed.

Outside it was dark, no streetlight, no traffic. You would bet that it couldn’t get any darker, but you’d be wrong. People most often are.

Facing the Music – AN INSPECTOR REBUS STORY

An unmarked police car.

Interesting phrase, that. Inspector John Rebus’s car, punch-drunk and weather-beaten, scarred and mauled, would still merit description as ‘unmarked’, despite the copious evidence to the contrary. Oily-handed mechanics stifled grins whenever he waddled into a forecourt. Garage proprietors adjusted the thick gold rings on their fingers and reached for the calculator.

Still, there were times when the old war-horse came in handy. It might or might not be ‘unmarked’; unremarkable it certainly was. Even the most cynical law-breaker would hardly expect CID to spend their time sitting around in a breaker’s-yard special. Rebus’s car was a must for undercover work, the only problem coming if the villains decided to make a run for it. Then, even the most elderly and infirm could outpace it.

‘But it’s a stayer,’ Rebus would say in mitigation.

He sat now, the driving-seat so used to his shape that it formed a mould around him, stroking the steering-wheel with his hands. There was a loud sigh from the passenger seat, and Detective Sergeant Brian Holmes repeated his question.

‘Why have we stopped?’

Rebus looked around him. They were parked by the side of Queensferry Street, only a couple of hundred yards from Princes Street’s west end. It was early afternoon, overcast but dry. The gusts of wind blowing in from the Firth of Forth were probably keeping the rain away. The corner of Princes Street, where Fraser’s department store and the Caledonian Hotel tried to outstare one another, caught the winds and whipped them against unsuspecting shoppers, who could be seen, dazed and numb, making their way afterwards along Queensferry Street, in search of coffee and shortcake. Rebus gave the pedestrians a look of pity. Holmes sighed again. He could murder a pot of tea and some fruit scones with butter.