‘Aye, cannae wait to get away and get my own place.’

‘Me tae.’

They stood watching the rain fall into dark puddles.

Alec broke the silence. ‘Whit’s your Ma’s new boyfriend like?’

‘Kenny? He’s an evil bastard. I hate him.’

‘Right.’

‘Jock wisnae bad though but he’s an old cunt an’ now he’s in hospital for an operation. Won’t be oot for a month. He’s got an allotment but.’

‘You get tae go down?’

‘Aye, he got me a shed. Padlocked an’ everything. It’s mine. Get tae keep all ma stuff in it.’

Alec sniffed. ‘Whit about this then?’

‘Whit?’

Alec looked down at the bird. ‘See if we leave it here, Rab, will a cat no get it, or a fox? Or just the fucking freezing weather?’

‘Mibbe.’

They stared at the pigeon. Rab spoke. ‘Better to kill it here then than leave it to get scoffed by a fox. Get a brick and bash its heid in.’

Alec looked around the spare ground. ‘Are ye sure?’

‘Aye, it’s the kindest thing. It’ll be our good deed for the day. What did Ms Paton used to call it when she was rabbiting on in assembly?’

‘Random acts of kindness.’

Rab waited until Alec had returned with the brick. The bird watched them with curious eyes. Blinking.

‘Best to just cave its heid right in, smash it to bits quickly. It’ll no feel a thing,’ Rab said. He could feel its heartbeat through the soft feathers. The bird shifted in his hands, its claws curled around his fingers. It settled itself. Waited.

Rab and Alec walked to the edge of the waste ground. ‘Here.’

‘Okay.’

Alec raised the brick above the bird’s head, paused, then brought it down quickly.

Rab stared at him. ‘Ye missed it, ya numpy. How’ve ye managed tae miss it?’

Alec looked at him. ‘Ah cannae dae it.’

‘Christ, how no?’

‘You dae it well!’

Rab sighed. ‘It’s a nice enough wee bird. Disnae deserve to die just ’cause it’s knackered.’

‘Disnae deserve tae be battered tae death cause it’s tired.’

‘Naw, mibbe no.’

‘Naw,’ agreed Alec, ‘mibbe we should batter the cunt that raced it too far?’

‘Aye, mibbe.’ Rab laughed.

They stared at the pigeon. It stared back. Blinked. Curled its claws tighter around Rab’s fingers. Held on.

‘Whit noo?’

‘Fuck knows.’

‘Aye, right enough.’

Rab looked around. Derelict tenements stood waiting for demolition, and lined each side of the waste ground. A couple of flats looked like they might be home to squatters. Folk who shot up on a daily basis, given the number of empty syringes littering the pavements.

‘We could get it up to the top windae in that place.’ He pointed to the last tenement; its windows were meshed with metal, but a hole about two feet square had been cut into the closed door. ‘It’d be safe up there. Nae foxes. Come on.’

On the other side of the waste ground a four-by-four trawled by slowly, its blackened windows reflecting the street lights and rain. It slowed to a pause. Stopped.

Alec and Rab stomped up the stairs, avoiding needles and tinfoil, discarded lighters. Vomit and shit. Up to the top landing. One flat had been burned out, the walls charcoal, the windows blown.

‘Handy,’ Rab walked into what would have been a bedroom. He stopped in the middle of the room and nodded to Alec. ‘Gonnae clear that?’

Alec cleared the shards of glass from the window sill using the sleeve of his hoodie.

They placed the pigeon on the sill. Listened to it coo.

‘Nae food for it, but.’

‘Naw.’

‘It’ll be safe here?’

‘Aye.’

‘Will it go back tae its hame?’

‘When it’s rested a wee bit.’

They left the room, both looking back to check on it. The pigeon blinked and watched them leave.

Outside the wind was up; Rab pulled his fleece close to him. ‘Fuck me it’s freezing. Hame?’

Alec nodded. ‘Hame.’

They walked down the street. The four-by-four was waiting for them; the window hummed as it was lowered. Smithy leaned out, pointed a fat sausage-shaped finger at them. ‘Want a word wi you two wankers.’ Alec and Rab didn’t pause to answer – they bolted across the waste ground, their trainers squelching through mud.

Smithy smiled, let them get a head start before he started the car. He’d enjoy the chase.

Chapter 23

The Smugglers Rest looked exactly as it had on his previous visit. Maybe a little more depressing if that were possible. The twins, Heather and Shona, were perched on bar stools making one drink last them all night. They glanced over and smiled hopefully but Maurice Mason ignored them. The twins scowled, muttered to each other and turned back to their drinks.

Sonny nodded at him. ‘You want your usual?’

Mason smiled. ‘Naw, I’m having a wee celebration, Sonny, gie us a double vodka. And have one yourself.’

Sonny looked up quickly, eyes narrowed. ‘Is that you won the lottery then or what?’

‘No quite but things are looking up. I’m out of the jail, newly single and I’m coming into a wee bit of money soon. So, let’s get the party started.’ He raised his glass to the barman.

Sonny poured himself a shot, kept his voice low. ‘Somebody die then?’

Mason tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘I’m keeping schtum.’

‘Aye, probably safer that way,’ said Sonny.

‘Anyway, a wee toast.’

‘To whit?’

‘To me being newly single, nae girlfriend, nae family, nothing tae drag me down. Let’s drink tae that: absent family.’

‘Christ, I hope to hell mine stay absent. Cunts they are, one and all.’ Sonny raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

Mason glanced across at the twins, noticed that they were still watching him, saw Heather lick her lips, keep them parted while she stared at Mason.

‘They two always working?’

‘Aye, business is slow and they’re trying to keep ahead of the influx for the Games.’

‘The whit?’

‘The Commonwealth Games.’

Mason was confused. ‘It’s no like they’ll be going, is it?’

‘Naw, but they had a wee read at Grim’s article in the Chronicle. Depressed them.’ Sonny shoved the paper across the bar. ‘Be my guest.’

Mason glanced at the front-page article, began reading aloud, putting his finger under each word, sounding out the longer phrases. ‘Fears are running high that Glasgow will fall prey to organised sex trafficking during the Commonwealth Games.’

‘Nightmare,’ Sonny said. ‘The twins don’t need the competition. No to mention it’s a shite life for the wee foreign lassies that’ll be trafficked through the city.’

‘Pigs no dae nothing, is that no whit they’re paid for?’

‘Says in the paper the polis huvnae got much of a clue. Kind of down tae communication and according to the paper, there’s no much between the different kinds of polis. Aye, everyone’s got their problems.’

‘Aye.’ Mason jabbed his thumb in the direction of the twins. ‘Here Sonny, you reckon it’s BOGOF the night, seeing they might lose out during the Games to the wee foreign birds?’

The barman chuckled. ‘Aye, just tell them you read what Grim said in the paper, see how it goes. You’ll be lucky, you chancer. Mind you it’s a quiet night, might be worth a try. Wouldnae get on their wrong side mind you – one punter refused to pay Shona last week. Arsehole tried to dae a runner.’

‘And?’

‘I’ve no heard how he’s doing, but the last I saw was the ambulance crew picking up bits of broken bone from his nose before they carted him off to the Royal. Still a few wee shards out the back that they missed.’

Mason sipped his drink, let the alcohol warm him, knew the twins were still watching him, perched like two wrinkled hawks ready to pounce. ‘Well mibbe I’ll have a wee think about it, but the night’s young yet, Sonny, the night’s young.’

DREAMER