The Bad Fire by Campbell Armstrong Read Free Book Online

part-time job with Century 21 and every Wednesday and Friday she went to a health club where she rode an exercise bike and checked her pulse rate and blood pressure, then drank lo-cal fruit smoothies with her pals in a health-food bar.
    â€˜Ready,’ he said.

8
    Sun burned fiercely on the mouth of the Clyde. A launch, a thirty-footer, was anchored about a quarter of a mile from shore. Christopher Caskie stood unsteadily on deck and watched small boats sail towards Ardrossan, Ayr, the Isle of Arran. Sails dazzled yellow and white in the hard light.
    Caskie was a card-carrying landlubber. The sea affected his stomach. The rise and fall of water was gentle but it made him queasy anyway, and he had to sit down. He closed his eyes, felt the sun on his eyelids. His short white beard was warm.
    He heard footsteps on the stair that led from the lower deck. The man who appeared was six feet six inches tall. He had a tubercular appearance, circles the colour of grape juice under his eyes. His pear-shaped face was too small for the rest of his body. He wore a black silk shirt and white slacks. He farted quietly, sighed with pleasure, then sat down beside Caskie.
    â€˜There’s nothing in the world as satisfying as a good healthy expulsion of gas,’ the man said. His name was Roddy Haggs.
    Caskie said, ‘I suppose that depends on your priorities.’
    â€˜Ah. Are bodily functions off-putting to you? Note to self: do not discuss gases with Caskie.’ Haggs studied other boats in the vicinity with his binoculars. ‘Look at that. Look at that. Fuck me. I know what I’d like to do to her. Ooo.’
    The object of Haggs’s lust was a tanned blonde teenage girl in a neon lime bikini who dived from a small yacht about three hundred yards away. She vanished underwater, then surfaced laughing. She climbed back into the boat. She had a melodic laugh. Her water-flattened hair was pressed to her skull.
    â€˜Very nice,’ Caskie said. He felt Haggs expected an appropriate response. They were members of the same club: men of the world. But different worlds.
    â€˜ Nice? Show some enthusiasm, Caskie. She’s completely shaggable. What they call a babe . Don’t tell me you wouldn’t fancy a poke at that crumpet.’
    A high-powered speedboat passed, sending waves towards the launch, which trembled a little. Caskie felt his stomach tighten.
    â€˜Beer?’ Haggs asked.
    â€˜I’ll pass.’
    Haggs popped a lager and slurped it. ‘I’m fascinated by the idea of squeezing out whatever deep secrets the former jockey knows about good old Jackie’s mysterious enterprise. I’ll pop him like a bloody flea. Talk to me about the daughter.’
    Caskie shrugged. ‘Divorced. Intelligent. She had a fondness for amphetamine a few years back but she kicked it. I seriously doubt she knows anything. She was close to her father. But I don’t imagine for a moment he discussed his business with her.’
    Haggs said, ‘Which leaves Senga.’
    â€˜Senga’s a good-hearted sort, but probably hard as bloody nails if you step on her toes the wrong way. I don’t think she’s privy to anything either … I’ll tell you one thing, Haggs. Her heart may be good, but it’s broken right now.’
    Haggs was silent for a time, cracking his knuckles. Caskie wondered if the silence was some form of sympathy, then decided it was more likely that Roddy Haggs didn’t have a clue what to say about grief. He just wasn’t good with little sounds of commiseration, the so sorrys and the oh dears that were the basic currency of response to human tragedy.
    â€˜I bet she kept her ears open,’ Haggs said eventually. ‘I bet she knew Jackie’s business.’
    â€˜Even if she did, which I doubt, it doesn’t mean she’d be willing to repeat anything she heard,’ Caskie said. He stroked his white beard. He thought it made him look almost