04-Mothers of the Disappeared

04-Mothers of the Disappeared Read Free

Book: 04-Mothers of the Disappeared Read Free
Author: Russel D McLean
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    I sat at the table with my sunglasses on and thought about what he might want to discuss.
    Sandy had been a DI back in the day. Young, possibly ambitious, but occasionally scuppered by that anger. Hence his decision to change direction and work with the SCDEA. I’d been in uniform, then. Remembered his departure as abrupt, the change in direction no doubt something to do with the shitstorms he allowed himself to get into following a friendship with another private eye. I’d met the eye – his name was Bryson – only twice, but knew that he was the kind of man who got his friends into trouble whether he meant to do it or not. Bad news followed him around like a sulky Rottweiler.
    No wonder Sandy was acting like he knew me. I had more than a few things in common with his old friend.
    When Sandy came back, he placed my coffee in front of me and kept a hold of his own mug as he sat down. ‘Sorry to drag you away from your busy day.’
    ‘Not a problem.’
    We both sipped at our drinks. Keeping eye contact. Giving away as little as possible. Daring: call my bluff.
    Around us, ordinary people indulged in ordinary conversations about kids, work, last night’s TV.
    Sandy didn’t want to talk about any of that. Neither did I.
    So he said, no pre-amble, ‘That night, did you have another gun on your person?’
    I started to get up. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. ‘That’s not why I’m asking.’
    ‘All due respect, I think it is.’
    Sandy let go of me. I sat down. Waited for an explanation. Ready to leave if I didn’t like it.
    ‘The reason I ask is that I want you to say you did. Even if it’s not true.’
    ‘You want my business to tank?’
    He hesitated. ‘You could say that,’ he said. And told me why.
    The man I killed – and I still can’t say whether it was an accident, or in cold blood – worked for London gangster Gordon Egg. Egg was old-school hard-arse, had been waging a war in Dundee against a man named David Burns. The dead man was one of Egg’s best muscle-men.
    I shouldn’t have got involved, but a client was mixed up in their turf war, and I’d managed to get noticed by both sides. Burns, claiming to recognize something of himself in me, manipulated me, made sure I wound up doing his dirty work. I didn’t agree to anything, but all the same found myself in the right place at the right time and with the proper motivation.
    Since that night, Burns and I had what you might call a complicated relationship. He manipulated me again, forcing me into a hunt for his missing god-daughter, before using the death of an old friend to once more trick me into doing his dirty work. Looking at it from the outside, you might start to think I was enjoying it.
    Which was precisely why Sandy Griggs wanted me to cosy up to the old man. To finally give in to everything he offered me. To quit being manipulated and willingly do exactly what the foosty old fuck wanted.
    ‘You’re a mental case,’ I said. ‘You know that, aye?’
    He smiled. No humour. No warmth.
    A couple took the table next to us. Oblivious to what was happening. Wrapped up in each other, laughing and sharing intimate little stories as they leaned in close across the table.
    Wonder how me and Griggs would have appeared to them if they noticed us.
    ‘Seriously. I can’t do it.’
    ‘Then what are you going to do?’ Griggs asked. ‘You’re fucked, McNee. You know it. From the minute you made the decision to kill that man, you’ve been in freefall. The pavement’s coming up fast. One way or another, it’s going to hurt when you land.’
    I massaged my forehead for a moment. Thinking about what he was asking me.
    He leaned back, sipped at his coffee.
    Sixteen months or so earlier, a good man had died because he lost track of what side of the law he was really on. Ernie Bright had been a good copper, and tried the trick of cosying up to the bad guys. It was a move that wound up killing him by inches until a shotgun blast to

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