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I miss Marty, too. He was in the same class as me at school. We used to be friends, and I spent half my teenage years hanging around this pub. Jenna was just a kid then, but she trailed after us whenever she could, until we got fed up with her and told her to piss off and play with her dolls. Then she’d flounce away in a huff, until the next time.
I cast a critical eye over her now. Split lip and bruised cheek aside, she’s filled out well. No man with a pulse would object to her company these days, not that this in any way excuses or accounts for the actions of the so-called officers of the law. Rape is not about sexual attraction. It’s violence and power, plain and simple.
I give myself a mental shake. Back to the business in hand. “I’ll need to see the accounts,” I tell her.
She looks up at me. “Why? It’s all in order. You know I keep good books.”
“Do you?” I raise an eyebrow. “We know the pub’s doing all right. The bar’s full most nights, and there’s plenty of ale swigged. So, what’s happened to the profits?”
“I just… It’s a temporary cash flow thing.”
“Why?” I press her. “What’s been going wrong lately?”
“Nothing. Trade’s slower than you imagine just now, but it’ll pick up.”
I shake my head. “Jenna, trade isn’t slow. You’re as busy as ever, and there’s money going into the till. So, I’ll ask again. Why isn’t Ethan getting his cut?”
“He will, I swear.”
“You’re not answering my question, Jenna.”
“Please, just let me have a week or so, and I’ll make up the difference. You know me, Iwillpay. I swear.”
I’d like to believe her, for old time’s sake if nothing else, but the facts are staring me in the face. Even so, I decide to give her a chance to make good on her promise.
“Right, here’s what I’ll do. You can have one week, no more, then I’ll be back to collect what’s owed.”
“Thank you.” She offers me a tremulous smile, somewhat wrecked by her swollen mouth. “I won’t let you down.”
“You’d better not. You know what comes next if you don’t make this right. We need to make examples…”
“I know.” She twists her fingers together.
I see no need to elaborate. “Right. I’ll be off. I’ll take the books with me.”
She nods. “I’ll go get them.”
I exit the pub to find Stefan Romanesque, usually known as ‘Rome’, waiting for me outside in one of our four-by-fours. He’s one of the Savage soldiers currently working out of the mansion, and I assume he was sent by Jack to pick me up since he dashed off in the car we’d been sharing. Rome waves me over and opens the passenger door.
“Need a lift back?” he asks, grinning.
“Thanks.” I get in beside him. “We need to do a little detour on the way.”
“Oh. Where are we headed?” He starts the engine.
“Scotstoun,” I reply. “The high-rise flats, near the station.”
He nods and pulls away from the kerb.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re parked at the foot of a multi-storey block where I happen to know a certain Detective Constable Nigel Waddington lives on the seventh floor. Another classmate of mine from back in the day; I recognised him instantly at the pub. I’m not sure if he realised who I was, but this is an oversight I mean to put right.
Nigel Waddington was a slimy little bully, even then. He never picked on me, he wouldn’t have dared, but he made the lives of some of the smaller kids a fucking misery. I never got involved, it was none of my business. This is another oversight to be rectified without delay.
“Do you need me to come up?” Rome offers.
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ve got this. Give me ten minutes.”
Rome settles in to wait, while I exit the vehicle and make my way to the main entrance to the flats. I’m spared the bother of breaking in when one of the other occupants, a young woman with a pushchair and a squalling baby, exits as I jog up the steps. She holds the door for me. Very helpful. I thank her and slip inside.
