Life Behind Bars by Linda Tweedie Read Free Book Online Page A

and
sundry that he had done it, and how.  Now I don’t think I’ve come across
many hit men in my time, but even if I had, I wouldn’t expect them to advertise
their occupation.
    There were at least a dozen
witnesses to his confession and we also had it taped on CCTV.  Given that
he was known to the police, it was hardly surprising that a few well-meaning citizens
who had suffered at this buffoon’s hands, reported to the boys in blue that the
culprit was in East Lothian.
    The staff cottage was raided the
next morning and it was reported on the lunchtime news that a man was
‘assisting them with their enquiries.’   He obviously had nothing to
do with the crime, but he had two outstanding warrants for unpaid fines and an
overdue library book.  That was the last we saw of him.
     
    James stayed with us for a few
weeks but without his protector took a quite few second prizes in encounters
with the locals, and he soon moved on to pastures new.

The Cider Man . . .
     
    I always find it fascinating how
differently people appear to others.  Take the Cider Man for
example.  He was to us, an extremely well dressed, well groomed chap who
came into the bar most nights.  He always stood alone, never had any
inclination to join in bar room banter and steadfastly ignored any suggestion
he might want to enter into conversation, with either customer or barmaid.
    He had two pints of super
strength cider and left.  This ritual continued for several years and it
was only when I took over another establishment that I saw another side to him.
    Not once in all the years he had
visited the Tweedy, did I suspect that the cider he consumed with us was not
his only drink of the evening.  It turned out, that we were only one of
four or five hostelries he visited nightly, on his way home from work. 
His last port of call was our new home and he arrived at about 8pm each evening.
    Previously we had regarded him as
well groomed; not by the time he’d finished his rounds.  Once thought of
as quiet and stand-offish, here we couldn’t shut him up.  After probably
eight pints of Dynamite he was certainly the life and soul of the party. 
I often wondered what his wife and family must have felt about his behaviour as
this was a nightly occurrence. 
    He was a real high flyer in local
government, lived in a lovely house and had all the trappings of a decent
‘executive life,’ but eventually the wife left, taking their daughter.  He
lost his job and became more and more shabby.  The last I heard of him was
he was doing agency work and the house was on the market.  
     
    But he still maintained the
façade that he only had two pints of cider.

The Three Marys . . .
     
    Believe it or not, Big Mary and
Wee Mary were sisters.  Who said that parents had no imagination? 
Actually, they were stepsisters and were never apart.  When you saw one,
the other was only a mere footstep away.  I quickly figured out this
wasn’t because they adored one another, quite the opposite in fact; more to
make sure that the other sister didn’t get one iota, or crumb of anything more
than the other.
    They had been thrown together
fairly young; the product of a second marriage, and from day one had competed
for everything.  The last biscuit, who had the bigger boiled egg, you’ve
had one drink more than me.  It was even rumoured that they had two 52” flat-screen TV’s in their sitting room so they could watch different channels at the same
time.  They say that truth is stranger than fiction and how strange is
this?  They were born on the same day; it was three years apart, but
still?
    Big Mary was 5’2”, not exactly Amazonian
and Wee Mary was 5’ so if the big one was wearing trainers and the little one
was wearing heels, Big Mary was actually Little Mary and Little Mary became Big
Mary, confused?  You will be.  They didn’t dress exactly alike but as
near as damn it.  They usually managed to colour coordinate and were often
mistaken for