‘My hands are on the steering wheel,’ MacAskill said.
‘Keep them there,’ Margaret said. ‘There’s a good boy. You’re learning. Now, Tiny, he doesn’t learn at all. You could tell him till you’re blue in the face why he shouldn’t do something, he doesn’t listen to a word anybody says, and he goes right ahead and does it anyway.’
‘Well,’ MacAskill said, ‘we don’t all stick to the straight and narrow all the time, know what I mean?’
‘I play it straight,’ Margaret said, ‘and so will you, just as long as you’re with me. But Duncan MacCormack, he’s not like that. He pulls some stroke or other and people find out about it. Instead of being ashamed he’s got the cheek to try a new trick the following day. Other guys, after doing something naughty, they lie low for a while until things have cooled down a bit. You know the Elder?’
‘No,’ MacAskill said, ‘I don’t think I’ve heard of anybody that goes by the name of the Elder.’
‘The Elder is a fine man,’ Margaret said. ‘He’s a guy I know. A real kind gentleman from Lewis. Does some work for me occasionally when I need somebody who looks really wild and tough – say, I’ve sent out a bill and some hero decides he’s not going to pay, you understand?’
‘I’m afraid I do,’ MacAskill said.
‘Well, the wife gets a call from the Elder at the house. The Elder puts the fear of death into her. You’d think to hear him talking he had something seriously wrong with his throat. “Where is he? I call him at the office, he’s not in. Same thing at the house. He lives in a tent, is that it? Ask him to call me,” he says. Always, they call. After they talk to the Elder they understand they’ve got to pay me. Takes some time, but gradually they get used to the idea it’s inevitable, and I get a cheque.’
‘You want to hire this Elder fellow, do you?’ MacAskill said.
‘Maybe,’ Margaret said. ‘Aside from Tiny, there’s two other guys involved in this. There’s one young guy from Boisdale who does things for Duncan MacCormack and who went on an expedition to Ireland with him. That one I’m fairly sure of. The other kid, I’m not so sure about. He’s disappeared somewhere. But he is a Macdonald.’
‘That the fellow who’s married to one of the Russian girls?’ MacAskill said.
‘They’ve both got Russian wives,’ Margaret said. ‘The first kid – he’s called Davy – he’s married to Tamara, the big weight-lifter, but I don’t think he sees much of her after what happened at the Registry Office.’
‘What happened?’ MacAskill said.
‘Some kind of mishap,’ Margaret said. ‘Don’t ask. He freaked out. No wonder. That woman knows tricks. And if your Mary knew about them, she’d go down to the police station and ask them to arrest her.’
‘Hmmm,’ MacAskill said, ‘things are going to hell on wheels. Himself is not terribly pleased at all.’
‘I can believe it,’ Margaret said.
‘As you know,’ MacAskill said, ‘Queen Elizabeth –she and Lord Granville are cousins – is coming to Vallay next month, and it seems she’s not going to allow Philip to come with her. “How the good folk of Uist have deteriorated!” she told Lord Granville on the phone the night before last. The affair has got really serious.’
‘It must have done,’ Margaret said, ‘if the royal family says so. They’ve got a lot of experience of really serious stuff.’
‘I’m not joking,’ MacAskill said.
‘Save us, of course you’re not,’ Margaret said.
‘We’ve got to get rid of the girls,’ MacAskill said.
‘That can be done,’ Margaret said.
‘What about this Tiny fellow?’ MacAskill said. ‘He’s the worst of the lot in my opinion.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Margaret said. ‘Compared to Duncan MacCormack, Rob Roy MacGregor was just a barefoot boy. Think about it, he conned poor old Kirsty. But we’ll not confront him just yet. Wait’ll we get shot of the girls. It’ll make him easier. But, sure, we’ll do it.’
‘How are you going to tackle them?’ MacAskill said.
‘Maybe I’ll have to give a bell to Stornoway,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll phone my good friend, the Elder.’
‘Lord Granville doesn’t want a war to break out on account of this,’ MacAskill said.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ Margaret said. ‘Mr MacAskill, you go and talk to Lord Granville. Tell him we’ve got to chase the Russians – and the ostriches – out of North Uist. He’ll agree with you.’
‘So, we leave the lads alone just now?’ MacAskill said.
‘Let’s just think about the girls for now,’ Margaret said. ‘The Elder will sort them out. He’s been at this game a long time. He’s one of the best.’
‘But, you’re able to do all this, though?’ MacAskill said.
‘For the right price,’ Margaret said, ‘anyone can do almost anything.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Oh, that reminds me of something.’
‘What?’ MacAskill said.
‘I’ll need to get a loan from you,’ Margaret said.
‘What do you need?’ MacAskill said.
‘Listen,’ Margaret said, ‘you and me are getting well acquainted here, right?’
‘Yes,’ MacAskill said, a broad grin on his face.
‘Give me the Land-Rover for two or three days,’ Margaret said.
The man from Harris frowned. ‘But . . . but . . .’
‘Out you get,’ Margaret said.
MacAskill opened his mouth as if to speak but no sound emerged. He opened the door and got out. He started to walk in the direction of Lochmaddy. Rain poured down heavily in a stormy wind.
10
The deed you do in the back will come to the front door
‘How much sugar do you take, Calum?’ Davy said. On a cold morning, Davy was busy in the kitchen, which was situated next to the door of his caravan. Morag Macdonald murmured softly from a radio on the worktop next to the sink. Calum was singing in the shower-stall at the far end of the living space.
‘Two and a half,’ Calum said, his voice muffled by the sound of water.
The shower was turned off. The shower curtain parted.
‘Your breakfast is on the table,’ Davy said. ‘I think I’ll tidy up these cases of yours.’ He went over to the centre of the room where a pile of suitcases and bags lay in disarray and began to put them in order. One bag that had not been closed properly fell to the floor with a thud.
‘Oh, God have mercy!’ Davy gasped. ‘Where did all these packages come from?’ He quickly lifted scores of packets, all wrapped in brown paper and weighing half an ounce, and crammed them into the bag.
Calum rushed towards Davy and roared at the top of his voice. ‘From J.D. Williams, you fuckin’ half-wit!’ He crashed into Davy and the pair of them started to wrestle on the floor. When he got Davy on his back and subdued the lad, he hissed with anger. ‘Things . . . that don’t belong to you . . . keep your hands off them.’
‘I was just trying to help you, man,’ Davy said.
‘I’ve a good mind to give you a punch,’ Calum said, ‘that’d floor you for good.’ He got up, took hold of the boy’s arm and dragged him to his feet.
‘Why are you so angry?’ Davy said. ‘I know fine what’s in them. I’ve no time for that stuff . . . hey, Calum?’
‘What?’ Calum said.
‘Aren’t you goin’ to put some clothes on, man?’ Davy said.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ Calum said, smiling at the old joke. He quickly put on a pair of trousers. ‘Umh, who told you about my secret stash?’
‘Nobody!’ Davy said. ‘You guys were in Amsterdam!’
‘You’re lying!’ Calum said. He smiled the universal minimal smile, lips parted showing only part of his teeth. ‘You’ve been talking to Tommy. What did he say?’
‘He never said a word to me,’ Davy said. ‘I don’t even know the boy. A prick like that from North Uist. I don’t trust these people. They’re two-faced and they’re so holy, by their way of it.’
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‘Maybe you’re not telling lies,’ Calum said. ‘I don’t know. I’m absolutely knackered after that journey.’
‘How did the pair of you get on?’ Davy said.
‘Went like a good Gaelic song,’ Calum said. ‘We left on the first ferry Tuesday morning, took turns driving down to Newcastle. We slept aboard Tuesday night and we arrived in Holland late Wednesday.’
‘That kind of driving’ll take it out of you,’ Davy said.
‘Och,’ Calum said, ‘it wasn’t the driving that wore me out, but Tommy’s non-stop gibbering about computers and gigabytes. And the smell.’
‘Tommy smells?’ Davy said.
‘He might have been as pure as a mountain stream when we left,’ Calum said, ‘but I’m telling you there was a stink off him that’d fell a pig before we got to Hamburg. You ever been locked up in a Morris Minor van with half a ton of meat that’s fast goin’ off in the back?’
‘No,’ Davy said, ‘but I’ve been in the public bar in Creagorry before going to the dance in Balivanich on games day.’
‘You’re only a soft potato,’ Calum said. He took a sip of coffee. ‘Round about Bremen we’re in a rainstorm. I thought I saw rain in Uist, but, Christ, this was a downpour and a half. We couldn’t leave the windows down in case we drowned and when they were up we nearly suffocated. It was hellish.’
‘But you met up with the Germans eventually?’ Davy said.
‘We did indeed,’ Calum said. ‘Sold the venison for a good price and . . .’
‘What did you get for it?’ Davy said.
‘Mind your own business,’ Calum said. ‘I got plenty. And in our own currency too.’
‘What difference did that make?’ Davy said.
‘Davy, Davy,’ Calum said, ‘what am I going to do with you? Don’t you know anything about the exchange rate? How clued up are you about the metric system?’
‘Tell you the truth,’ Davy said, ‘I wouldn’t know a kilo from the leg of a cow.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Calum said. ‘Look, the value of our currency goes up and down. When the pound is high, we say that it’s up. When it’s low compared to the Deutschmark or the Euro, we say it’s down. Up and down, strong or weak . . . it’s just physics.’
‘Physics?’ Davy said. ‘When did you study physics? A guy who was kept back so often in school that you couldn’t go to Primary Four without having a shave in the morning?’
‘I’ll bet you too,’ Calum said, ‘you don’t know the difference between a metric ounce and an ounce in this country.’
‘I don’t, and I’m not really bothered,’ Davy said, ‘but I’ve a feeling you’re goin’ to tell me anyway.’
‘Say you’re in Amsterdam,’ Calum said, ‘and you’re goin’ to buy . . . umh, stuff. These Dutch guys come up to you and they’ve got a kind of menu. Nepalese at five pounds a gramme; Afghan Black three pounds a gramme; Moroccan two pounds fifty . . . and so on. Seven metric grammes, that’s a quarter ounce by our Imperial measure. That means there’s twenty-eight grammes to the ounce by our measurements, but according to the metric system – and that’s the system the Dutch use – there’s only twenty-five grammes to the ounce. So, when you buy a nine-ounce bar – a ‘Nine-Bar’ they call it – you’ve got to be careful that you’re not an ounce short. Get it?’
‘You’ve got my head leaking, Calum,’ Davy said. ‘By the way, how many Nine-Bars did you buy?’
‘Eight,’ Calum said. ‘Nepalese. For two thousand pounds.’
‘And what’ll you get for them?’ Davy said.
‘If I sell them as half quarters,’ Calum said, ‘I’ll get twenty pounds for each bit. Count it all up yourself.’
‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Davy said.
‘It’s easy,’ Calum said. ‘Forty pounds for every quarter ounce. A hundred and sixty for an ounce. One thousand, four hundred and forty pounds for every Nine-Bar.’
‘And you’ve got eight of those,’ Davy said. He inhaled. ‘Do you know what? I hate drugs with a vengeance, Calum. I don’t want to hear any more about them. It’s early, but I need a dram.’ He walked over to a cabinet and took out a bottle. ‘What do you think of this? Glenfarclas, eh? Have I come up in the world or what?’
‘Physics, boy,’ Calum said.
‘What do you mean, physics?’ Davy said. ‘Don’t start your lecturing again.’
Calum lowered his voice. ‘The first law in physics: what goes up must come down.’
‘What?’ Davy said.
Calum said, ‘You think we did terribly well out of that marriage ceremony, don’t you?’
‘Yeah. Tiny set it up for us and we got a result.’
‘Always do what Tiny says,’ Calum said in sarcastic tones, ‘and you’ll never go far wrong.’ He chewed on a piece of bacon and took a mouthful of coffee. He belched. ‘To the hospital, perhaps, but never far wrong.’
Davy swallowed a piece of white pudding and said, ‘It worked out beautiful.’ ‘That what you think?’ Calum said. ‘Of course, they’re now after us, but it worked out beautiful. Me and you, boy, we’ve got different ideas of beautiful.’
‘What the fuck do you mean?’ Davy said.
‘You, me and Tiny,’ Calum said. ‘They know all about us and somebody’s goin’ to pay us a visit soon. And he’s goin’ to have a shinty stick with him. I hang around here too long – which I’m not goin’ to do – they’ll break my kneecaps for me and I’m goin’ to be as busted up as you guys are. I’m making for Germany. I know people over there and we’ll get something going together.’
‘Why do you have to run?’
‘Cut your gibbering, Davy,’ Calum said. Two seconds passed. ‘For Dearest Dacha. The fuck’s the matter with you?’
‘What the fuck’s the matter with you? Where did this crazy story come from, anyway. You been testing the Nepalese?’
‘Davy,’ Calum said quietly, ‘the Elder is coming.’
‘The Elder?’ Davy said, a quiver in his voice. ‘God preserve us! Who told you this?’
‘Tommy.’
‘Calum, this is Tommy Matheson we’re talking about, right?’
‘Right, Tommy was telling me.’ Calum sighed. ‘We’re talking, there’s a stink in the van and it’s raining and the journey’s taking so long and everything, and he tells me that his aunt, the daughter of the Factor in North Uist, has sent word to Stornoway to bring this monster person down.’
‘How did he know this?’ Davy said.
‘He was the one who sent the e-mail. He can navigate that internet as well as his old man can make his way to the pub in Carnish. He said that this Margaret woman asked him to send the letter, that two Russian girls were dispensing hospitality to men . . . and rearing ostriches . . . in Strumore and that the Elder would have to teach them a lesson.’
Davy gazed at Calum with eyes that were fearful and sad. ‘I heard the ostriches died.’
‘I heard an old fellow from Kyles Flodda died over there too,’ Calum said. ‘Heart failure or something.’
Davy began to move his head around, first to the left, then to the right. ‘Never mind that. And what did you say, in case the Elder doesn’t know where we all live when he comes visiting?’
‘I never opened my mouth,’ Calum said. There was a brief pause. ‘Well, maybe I mentioned the wedding down in Glasgow. It was hilarious when you fainted and Tamara had to lift you up.’ He stopped talking for an instant. ‘And we spoke for a while about Tiny. Tommy was the one who put all the circuits into the house in Strumore, and he hasn’t had his wages yet from Duncan. Never mind, young man, I never mentioned you. I didn’t say anything else. All I could think about was getting home to sell the stuff and getting out of here.’
‘Thanks, Calum,’ Davy said. ‘I’ve got to give you credit, boy. You don’t bullshit a man. With you, it’s the truth that matters. Your friends are in danger and you don’t say, “Jesus, Davy, the Elder is goin’ to bust our kneecaps. We’ll stick together and get him first.” Yo
u say you’re goin’ to get out and to me you say “fuck you”. With you, a man knows he’s got to stand alone. Until the kneecaps go, anyway.’
‘I better go,’ said Calum. ‘I’ve got a lot to do before I get that plane.’
‘Duncan’ll be raging mad when he finds out about this,’ Davy said.
‘He’s allowed,’ Calum said. ‘What if Tiny gets raging mad? I couldn’t care less. What can he do to me? Oh, he’ll maybe not let me see Postman Pat on telly. Fuck him.’
11
Fear is worse than war
Davy MacIsaac drove the Suzuki into the courtyard of the Polochar Inn, South Uist. He stopped, shut off the ignition and dismounted. He put the motorbike in an upright position. He walked towards the door with his hands clasped tightly to his chest to prevent them shaking. This was his posture when he sat down at a table where Duncan sat with a glass of whisky in front of him.
‘Is this you saying your prayers, Davy?’ Duncan said to the lad.
‘A lot of good that would do me,’ Davy said. ‘Calum’s betrayed us.’
‘How?’ Duncan said.
‘He’s spilled his guts about Dearest Dacha, the carry-on Tanya and Tamara have been having and . . . the ostriches. The Factor’s daughter in North Uist has sent word to Stornoway to a guy called the Elder. He’ll be coming here soon and he’s going to get rid of the Russians and he’s goin’ to break my kneecaps. He’ll do the same to Calum if he gets hold of him.’
‘You sure, Davy?’
Davy spoke earnestly. ‘As sure as I’m alive . . . however long that’ll be.’
‘Well, you’re the one who wanted him along with you,’ Duncan said. ‘You said he’d be all right. Remember that?’
‘You’re a right bastard,’ Davy said.
‘I doubt it,’ Duncan said. ‘I’ve seen my old man, and he looks a lot like me.’
‘I made a mistake,’ Davy said. ‘How the fuck’d I know Calum was goin’ to be like this? I didn’t know he was goin’ to make his confession to a black Protestant – a guy who’s related to the Factor in North Uist.’