Long Way Down (A Gus Dury crime thriller) by Tony Black Read Free Book Online

Jesus.'
    'Well he's not going to help you,' said Mac stretching a
hand out towards Barry's shirtfront.
    * * * *
    Hospitals set me off. Too many bad memories. The
familiar smells, the disinfectant, the industrial floor-polish; they all just
stick painful pins in me. I walked to the front desk and took directions from a
sister called Agnes who had hair like a crash-helmet, there was a tin of
lacquer somewhere sitting empty that was to blame. Still, she smiled widely
enough and that was something to be grateful for in Edinburgh these days.
    I followed the signs to Danny Murray's ward and hoped I
wasn't going to be greeted with too much of an eyesore. Shakey had a reputation
for being thorough. It was just Danny's bad luck that he was the one who had
been sent to find Barry — but then the Romans would have killed the messenger
so maybe his luck was in.
    The ward was split into a series of private rooms,
almost cell-like; he must have loved that. I turned the handle and went in.
    'Hello, Danny,' I said.
    He looked at the brown paper bag in my hand. 'I hope
that's wet.'
    'Grapes, actually.'
    He looked away. I spotted the monitor at his bedside and
the drip attached to his hand. His head was bandaged tightly but there was
little or nothing the medical staff could do with the bruising and cuts on his
face.
    I pulled out a chair as Danny directed the remote
control to the small television in the corner. Jeremy Brett as Holmes faded to
black on the screen.
    There was an uneasy silence for a moment or two and then
Danny spoke, 'What are you doing here?'
    I sighed. 'What are any of us doing here, mate?'
    He shook his head. 'Bloody riddles.'
    I offered the grapes, they were refused. I placed the
bag on the bedside table. 'I thought you'd like to know that I found Barry ...
like you asked.'
    He huffed. 'Fat lot of good it's going to do me now.'
    The plastic chair was stiff, I eased my back further
into it. 'Fat lot it was going to do you in any case.'
    He turned, a wince crossed his face. 'What the hell are
you on about, Dury?'
    'You didn't want Barry, or should I say Shakey didn't
want Barry ... it was what he had you were after.'
    Danny looked away, held firm.
    I leaned forward a little, lowered my voice. 'The job,
Danny, you were after the details of the job.'
    He turned to face me. 'And?'
    I grinned all over him. 'Don't worry, I have all the
details for you.' I fished in my pocket for the piece of paper where I'd
written down the particulars of a horse trader called McCarthy with a property
in the wilds of Midlothian.
    Danny pressed himself forward in the bed, the stiff
white linen creased. 'They're turning over a fucking stables, are you kidding
me?'
    I shook my head. 'McCarthy sells all over the place, it's
all cash too, they reckon he's holding three-quarters of a mill' at any one
time.'
    A pained smile crossed Danny's face, 'Aye, bet he's
selling to all those bloody Irish tinkers!' He leaned towards the bedside
cabinet and retrieved his mobi. 'Christ, Shakey will love this ... hates horsey
types at the best. All those fucking wax jackets and wellies ...'
    I let him dial the number and headed for the door.
    At the jamb I turned. 'Put in a good word for Barry, eh.'
    Danny nodded, then started to tell his tale.
    * * * *
    It was getting dark when I jumped off the number
26 on London Road. A black lab shook itself and showered me with the water on
its coat. It was that time of night when people started to rush about. The end
of the day. Time to be home. You could be jostled, elbowed, knocked on your
arse if you weren't careful. I trudged into the Booze and News store and picked
up a copy of The Hootsman; there would be nothing in it but old habits die
hard.
    As the lad on the till rung up the paper I eyed the neat
rows of bottles on the shelf behind him. They had The Famous Grouse, my
favourite brand, but I declined the instinct to indulge.
    'Keep a clear head, Gus,' I told myself, sotto voce.
    'I'm sorry, sir?'
    I was jolted back to