Watcher Page 7

  ‘Mind my fingers.’ Jack flapped his hands theatrically in the air. ‘I got mustard and ketchup – I don’t know which you prefer.’ I didn’t get the chance to find out; the hot dog was teetering on the edge of my lips when a shower of ice came down on top of us. ‘Connie!’ I screamed as she dug her blades into the ice and came to a sliding stop, shaving the top layer of the rink off and depositing most of it on Jack Deans – the residue ended up on my hot dog.

  ‘Whaaat?’ Her eyes widened with innocence as Jack wiped the melting chips of ice from his face. ‘When you said a friend was coming Christmas shopping with us, I thought you meant Joe – why is he here?’ Connie turned her back on Jack, ignoring him completely as she continued whining in my face. ‘He’s not coming to Lavender’s wedding, is he? Promise me he’s not coming – cos I don’t want Glasgow Joe to be in a mood, I’ve been looking forward to this wedding for ages.’

  ‘Lavender only set the date six weeks ago,’ I told her. (I didn’t want to point out that we had all only known her for about five minutes; it might sound like I was surprised at how little time it had taken her to become part of the group. Truth be told, I was – and a little jealous, as I wasn’t that sort of person myself.) Taking advantage of her change in mood, I was in the process of escaping, gingerly. I inched along the barrier; luckily, Jack walked beside me – anywhere he was, Connie was sure not to follow.

  ‘Ten quid says that by the end of today she’ll be eating out of my hand,’ he whispered to me. We both half turned and watched her skating backwards, arms stretched out like the wings of an aeroplane, the point of her tongue poking through her teeth in studied concentration. He’d raised one bet I didn’t want to win.

  We left the rink. Next on the itinerary was the Edinburgh Ferris Wheel, adjacent to Sir Walter Scott’s monument in Princes Street Gardens. The shrine to Scott resembled an illuminated wedding cake – wedding cake always makes me sick, and not just because I hate fruitcake. I was trying to overcome my fear of heights by confronting it. Standing in the queue with jostling, excited teenagers, it felt like one of my dumber ideas. Connie refused to allow Jack to come on with us, hissing that he would unbalance the basket and make it unsafe, cleverly playing on my weaknesses. Her behaviour towards Jack was outrageous really; I was looking forward to getting her on my own to tick her off or bribe her. I hadn’t yet decided which tactic would be the most effective.

  As soon as the wheel swung into action, I knew my scheme was flawed: fear of heights can be dangerous. I remembered reading on Wikipedia that acrophobics have the urge to throw themselves off high places despite not being suicidal – I’d soon find out if I fell into that category or not. It seemed an especially bad idea when the wheel stopped at the very top; I hadn’t noticed that the wind had got up until then. Connie leaned over the edge and the basket swung round and round. I got the same feeling when I watched the part in Carrie when she was prom queen one minute, then the next covered in pig’s blood. Everything is fine, breathe deeply and just look down, I told myself. I could see the Princes Street shoppers a hundred and fifty feet below me. They swarmed like ants in and out of stores, desperate for a last-minute bargain and oblivious to the drama of me, terrified, playing out above them. Connie was leaning out of her seat and shouting and waving.

  ‘Cal! Cal!’ she shouted for some reason, flailing her arms around – a lunatic oblivious to her own safety. A chill ran down my back like an ice cube. I tried to grab Connie and get her to sit down but I was afraid that any sudden movement would send her over the top of the ferris wheel. I had seen too many disaster movies; racing thoughts showed me Connie tumbling through the air until she landed, a broken doll gone from my life forever. I didn’t know that there was a feeling around that made you think that your heart could puncture your ribs at any moment – until then. A mouth as dry as a desert river bed meant I couldn’t scream her name. If loving a child gave you this much fear, I was glad I had decided to remain childless – Connie was more than enough.

  Shuffling along the seat redistributed the weight in the basket, causing Connie to lean out even more. Sensing my discomfort she was playing up. ‘Cal – look up! It’s me, Connie!’ Her voice had risen by several octaves. By this time, other passengers had begun to notice she was in danger of falling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them pointing with one hand and covering their mouths in disbelief. I’d had enough and lunged and grabbed the back of her coat, breaking two fingernails in the process. Roughly, I hauled her in.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? Do you have a death wish?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I sounded just like Grandad.

  ‘Are you blind, Brodie?’ She took a deep breath and waited for my answer, which wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Didn’t you see him? Cal?’ She nodded expectantly, waiting for recognition as we finally got off the ride. The blank look on my face finally registered with her and she rolled her eyes at me. ‘He’s a friend of Moses’ and if we hurry we’ll catch him!’ She grabbed my arm and pulled me, leaving Jack to follow. I could tell Connie was getting on his nerves. I wasn’t sure if she was intent on getting rid of Jack, or if she truly had a crush on this Cal guy. I thought it best to check it out because there was no way she was dating a Dark Angel. I realized again I was acting like Grandad – he hated me going out with Glasgow Joe, but surely that was different?

  Princes Street was still busy. Six Russians from the St Petersburg Brass Band were playing a quick march, which was exactly what Cal did when he saw us coming. I recognized him at this distance; he was the guy selling drugs with Blind Bruce in George Street outside Susie Wong’s. Oddly, a woman in her fifties held his arm. It took me a few minutes to work out that she was probably his mother – even Dark Angels have mothers.

  The young man was well away by this time, but I had other plans than following a spotty youth anyway. I wanted to relive my childhood through Connie. It was a long shot, but everyone else had bought her a fantastic present and I didn’t want to look like Scrooge, so I reckoned that, if I dragged her around Jenners, with Jack behind us still, perhaps I could see what made her eyes light up. Visiting Santa had been a tradition that Mary McLennan and I had. She took me to see him on two separate Saturdays because I refused to believe he would remember what I wanted. Connie was almost as tall as me and wearing about a ton of lip gloss and I doubted I could make her go to the grotto under any circumstances. We wandered around for a little while and I tried to see enthusiasm at every opportunity – but with Kailash and Malcolm there for her every whim, and a whole new ‘family’ dancing at her feet, Connie was never going to get thrilled about a cuddly toy or a pair of slipper-socks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Princes Street, Edinburgh

  Sunday 23 December, 3.40 p.m.

  The hunched babushka leaned on her walking stick, bundled up against the cold, wearing every article of clothing she owned. Her grey-coated tongue played with her false teeth. Mashing her jaws together, she moved the dentures in and out to pass the time. The Watcher sniffed and got the smell of stale urine on her – he was disgusted, but the old woman was safe from him.

  Last-minute Christmas shoppers moved like shoals of fish, endlessly weaving in and out. The windows of department stores were filled with golden tinsel, and expensive dresses that would cost less than half that price in three days’ time. The babushka stood in the centre of the pavement, craning her neck, hunting for something, someone – the good citizens of Edinburgh gave her a wide berth but she’d found her mark.

  The Watcher giggled to himself: Who knew that he had so much in common with peasants? Actually, on second thoughts it was an unpleasant idea.

  The old woman reached out and grabbed Brodie McLennan. Clawing on her clothing, she demanded help. The babushka’s voice was guttural, low, like a cat ridding itself of a hairball. He shuddered. Her gnarled hands waved a piece of paper in front of Brodie. The Watcher squinted. It was a photograph she was brandishing – it was impossible to tell but he imagi
ned that he knew the face.

  Sniggering, as Brodie spoke slowly and deliberately, it was obvious to The Watcher that the hardhearted bitch was trying to palm the babushka off with enough money for a cup of hot chocolate and no more. Brodie raked through her pockets, coming up with some loose change, which the old woman took and secreted in her bag, but she held on tight to Brodie – this was not an end to the matter. Jack Deans tried to pull Brodie away, but Connie spotted his move; she was having none of it. Suddenly, the old woman’s plight became the most important thing in the thirteen-year-old’s life. Testily, she slapped Deans’s hand and pulled Brodie over to the babushka.

  Deans pulled out a well-used wallet and handed Brodie a ten-pound note. ‘It’s really not going to work, Brodie,’ The Watcher heard him say. ‘She’s oblivious to my charms.’ Brodie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Fine – you’re right. I just think you could try a little harder.’

  The Watcher smiled slowly, satisfied that Brodie had been hoodwinked – it made him feel safer. He moved in even closer. He needed crowds – it was easy to get lost in them. An electric shock passed through him as he crept nearer still. Close enough to see that Jack Deans wanted rid of the precocious brat as soon as he could. Connie was obviously cramping his style. He giggled to himself again – in a way, he was about to do Jack Deans a big favour.

  The cold damp air was making Brodie’s beautiful red hair curl into a rumpled, just-crawled-out-of-bed look. The Watcher licked his lips and flexed his fingers; he was itching to make his move. He could feel his impatience growing. Closing his eyes, he centred himself – act in haste, repent at leisure. Another of his mother’s maxims. For several long seconds he breathed deeply, consciously relaxing every muscle in his body. The rattling tin broke his state. His eyes flashed open and the Salvation Army officer stepped back. She saw something that gave her pause and caused her heart to race a little; withdrawing the tin she scuttled away.

  The Watcher ran, sprinted around the corner – but it was too late. Brodie, Connie, Jack Deans, and the babushka were disappearing in a taxi.

  She was getting away from him – again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Danube Street Casino, Edinburgh

  Sunday 23 December, 5 p.m.

  Glasgow Joe opened the front door of the casino to us, looking surprised, to say the least – and he didn’t like surprises. He always said he’d never met an assassin who did, which was fair enough. Not that he was in that line of business any more, of course – he’d given that up for me. The fact that I’d brought Jack Deans with me was obviously another source of displeasure. Joe flicked his eyes over his so-called rival, and I could almost hear him thinking that Deans was too bloody smooth by half. In fact, I’d been wondering myself whether Jack hadn’t been scrubbing himself up a bit better since he’d returned – maybe it was my imagination, but I thought his hair had fewer grey streaks in it than before.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ I said, ignoring the fact that he was Kailash’s partner in the casino. In spite of Kailash’s protests to the contrary, she was considering dumping the brothel end of her business and concentrating on Internet gambling while still perfecting it in the real world too. The billions-a-year in profit made from online betting was too much for her to resist – she wanted a piece of the pie and had decided to share it with Glasgow Joe. The initial income was set to their quadruple projected forecasts. Joe was going to be rich soon, very rich, but all the money in the world wouldn’t solve the problem he was clearly having seeing me with Jack.

  ‘Members only,’ he snarled, sticking out his hand in front of my companion. The two men stared, digging into each other. Joe’s eyes were stained with insomnia. Jack was the only one who was smiling, and he smiled like the cat that had the cream – in Joe’s mind the bastard probably had. I was annoyed at both of them – and myself.

  ‘I told him you wouldn’t let him just walk into your casino!’ shouted Connie, stirring from the back of the line where she was jumping with glee at the thought of Jack being blackballed. Joe was trying to teach her about good sportsmanship, something he knew little about, so, reluctantly, he stepped aside and let Jack in. It was an upmarket establishment, though. How would we explain the smelly old bag lady beside us? ‘She’s with me,’ Connie piped up, as she pushed the crone inside the hallway, obviously having fallen for whatever story she had been fed.

  The arrival of our strange party disturbed the gamblers for no more than a few moments before we were shepherded downstairs to the private quarters. Glasgow Joe remained frozen at the front door. He craned his neck to survey his casino. He was acting strangely, as if something was very wrong.

  ‘Joe!’

  He turned. Connie stood alone at the top of the stairs, waiting for him to join them. At least she was looking after his interests. Reluctantly, it seemed, he closed the door. What was he up to? Kailash owned two Georgian townhouses in Danube Street. They were adjoining properties linked by a corridor in the basement. Connie was allowed in the casino side, but the girls used the area underneath it for rest and recreation. The kitchen and cellar of the brothel had been transformed into the S&M dungeons that Bancho had been so interested in.

  ‘Hey!’ whispered Connie loudly to Joe. ‘You need a friend?’

  Glasgow Joe shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t if you’d left me upstairs,’ he muttered.

  ‘And miss your chance to get one over on Jack? I’ve been watching your back all afternoon – if I’d known you were just going to roll over, I’d have saved myself the bother.’ Her bottom lip stuck out, a sure sign she was ticked off.

  Joe smiled, almost feeling sorry for Jack Deans – he knew just how bloody awkward Connie could be when she set her mind to it. I didn’t know whose side to be on – they all had claims on me.

  Kailash wandered in and caught Joe’s eye. It was early. She wasn’t dressed to receive her special clientele. A diva in a white Armani trouser suit, Kailash would never approve of a dressing-down day at work. I couldn’t help but squirm as my mother scrutinized my unkempt appearance and my usual biker gear.

  Sniffing loudly, Kailash looked pointedly at me, Jack and Connie. Raising her eyebrows, we were left in no doubt that she wanted an explanation, and what Kailash wanted, she generally got.

  ‘Gloria! Get her something to eat!’ Kailash ordered the young girl who was making herself beans on toast. ‘It’s hard to tell under all those clothes, but I suspect the old biddy hasn’t had a square meal for some time.’ Nodding towards the babushka, Kailash recognized the hungry look in the old woman’s eyes. Connie took Gloria’s phone and plonked herself on the window seat to play a game, while the rest of us got on with being uncomfortable around each other.

  Sitting down at the table, the old woman yammered at Kailash, who held up a beautifully manicured hand and, immediately, the crone fell silent. She slid the photograph across the table to my mother who manoeuvred it with her fingertips. Breathing deeply, she seemed to be thinking about what to say next.

  ‘Can you help her?’ I asked.

  ‘How much has she told you?’ Kailash replied.

  ‘Very little – she can’t really speak English. She waved that photograph at us, the way she had been waving it at everyone. She was crying and wailing and kept clutching it to her breast. I take it that’s her granddaughter and that she’s disappeared?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ she murmured. ‘That’s what we need to find out. We need help here. Gloria! Get Contessa!’ Kailash ordered. ‘She’ll be busy, but for once we can interrupt.’ Malcolm had been keeping a low profile, embarrassed by his bruises which couldn’t be hidden even with thick makeup. But now he emerged to hand Kailash a strong cup of tea, no doubt full of sugar. ‘On second thoughts,’ she said, ‘you go as well, Malcolm – make sure that she hurries.’ He shook his head and, muttering, walked out the door.

  A silence fell on the room and the smell of burnt toast permeated the air. Gloria had forgotten to take the bread out of the toaster when she’d put it in for a seco
nd browning. Joe opened a window, only for Connie to whine: ‘Do you want me to catch my death?’ She pulled her anorak hood up without breaking stride as she played the game, her thumbs working at double-quick speed.

  It didn’t take long before Contessa swept into the room, like a Siberian wind rolling along the Road of Bones, pulling her short red silk dressing gown around her. I swear that Jack almost swallowed his tongue trying not to look at her pierced nipples through the fabric. At nineteen, Contessa was a girl of contrasts, from her snow-white skin to her short carbon hair and sky-blue eyes; she was every boy’s fantasy of a vampire. And maybe Jack and Joe’s too, the way they were drooling.

  The babushka ran rosary beads through her fingers, muttering prayers. Beads rattling, she leapt from the seat and threw herself before Contessa, clutching the prostitute’s improbably long legs. The supplicant pulled the robe from Contessa’s shoulders revealing a tattooed snake; the head of the king cobra nestled at her neck and the tail disappeared down her back. Bending over, Contessa helped the babushka to her feet and Jack helped himself to another look as he tried in vain to figure out exactly where the tail of the snake ended.

  Tears of gratitude were diverted down the wrinkles on the old woman’s face as she heard the mother tongue on the girl’s lips, while Kailash and I exchanged smiles of self-satisfaction – too soon, too soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Danube Street, Edinburgh

  Sunday 23 December, 5.15 p.m.

  Contessa was a people person – in her line of work she had to be. Born on the wrong side of the tracks, she had reinvented herself at fourteen. Following that, she’d turned up at Kailash’s door when she was seventeen. She hadn’t been turned away and Kailash had never regretted her decision.