The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 Read Free Page B

watching. He can no longer hide the fact that his hands are shaking.
    Mullen’s moving his head left and right. Trying to get a better view of his colleague digging. A sigh. Mullen’s getting out of the car. Walking round the other side, opening Richard’s door. ‘Come on – out,’ he’s saying. Still talking quietly.
    Richard’s doing as he’s told. Always doing what he’s told. That’s his life. Looking across to Russell. He’s hacking at the turf with his shovel, trying to roll up lines of it and place the turf on the tarpaulin beside him. Mullen’s glancing across at his colleague. There’s a roll of the eyes and a tsk of the tongue. He’s clearly not impressed; obviously feels he could do the job better himself. Must be why he’s the senior one.
    ‘What’s he . . .’ Richard begins to ask and then stops himself. If they want him to know, they’ll tell him. It’s not his place to ask questions. He’s not even sure he wants to know.
    He can feel Mullen reach out and touch his arm. A glance at Mullen’s hand. A moment of confusion. Mullen appears to have some sort of glove on. The sort of thin, clear glove the cleaners use when they’re working in his office. Must have put them on since he got out of the car. He’s pushing Richard gently forward. Leading him to the sheet of tarpaulin that Russell has placed in the middle of the clearing.
    They’re both standing in silence. Watching Russell dig away at the ground beneath him, putting all the dirt on the plastic sheet. Grunting as he digs. Not a man who’s used to this sort of labour. He’s sweating heavily; even in this strange light you can see that. Slowing down all the time. Every now and then Richard can hear a little sigh of exasperation escape from Mullen. Subtle, but the only other noise is coming from Russell. The exasperation comes every time Russell makes a mess, misses the tarpaulin with a little mud, that sort of thing. Tiring arms flinging the mud around. Richard’s turned to look at Mullen a couple of times. Saw him look at his watch once. Other than that, he’s just watching Russell. Watching carefully, waiting for something. Presumably waiting for him to finish digging. Richard doesn’t want to think about the digging. Not entirely sure what it’s all about. Might be digging something up. There’s a little voice in the back of his mind scoffing at him. Telling him it’s entirely obvious what Russell’s digging. It’s your grave, old man.
    Richard’s starting to cry. Can’t help it. Not able to kid himself any longer. This is it. This is the end. What a remarkably stupid way for his life to end. Can’t stop thinking how absurd it all is. He’s not the sort of person who should have an ending like this. It makes no sense. Part of him just wants to laugh at the whole thing. Can’t laugh when he’s crying this hard, though. Completely uncontrollable. Tears are streaming down his face, his shoulders are rocking, he’s grunting repeatedly. He can see through the blur of tears that Russell’s stopped. The cop leaning forward, hands on hips. Coughing, spitting. A sigh from Mullen. Just the sound of his own panic now. A gesture from Mullen – Richard can’t see what. Russell’s digging again, with more vigour this time. Louder, though, grunting with every movement. A touch on Richard’s back.
    ‘Sit down,’ Mullen’s saying, still so quiet. That calmness. God, that calmness is shocking now. Sickening.
    Mullen’s pressed him down. Richard’s sitting on the tarp, leaning forward. He doesn’t want to look at Russell any more. It’s cruel that they’ve made him. Callous. Making him watch a man dig his grave. Why should he try to be nice to them? Why do what he thinks they want him to do? From now on, he’ll do as he pleases. He’ll cry. He’ll lean forward. He’ll look away from what will be his final resting place. And for what? Because of Shug Francis, apparently. Such a nice young man. Always ready with a