Night Comes Falling: A Nail-biting Scottish Detective Mystery Thriller (DCI Bone Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 6) by TG Reid

Author:TG Reid [Reid, TG]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Glass Work Press Ltd.
Published: 2023-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Mullens rushed into his dad’s care home and ran up to the front desk.

“Hi, Julie. I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“No bother. Your dad’s been quite happily playing Scrabble with his mates in the lounge while he waits for you. I think he’s in his coat, ready to go.”

“Ta.”

Mullens dashed through and spotted his da at a long table with his usual cronies.

“No, no, no, that’s not how you spell wanker, Jimmy,” his da roared.

Mullens went over.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, Da. Are we ready to go?”

“Tell him, Mark. It’s W-A-N-K…” He stopped. “Hold on.”

Mullens glanced down at the board. His da had spelled out a whole range of expletives, some accurately and others less so, but all totally offensive.

“I think you might be the only one playing this game, Da,” Mullens said.

The residents gathered around George, and stared vacantly at the board or the walls beyond.

“Aye, they’re at it. Game play. Poker-faced wankers. E-R. That’s it. I told you, Jimmy, not A-R. It’s wanker, E-R. Ya wanker.” He laughed so loud it made him cough.

“Let’s go, Da, before you start a fight.”

“Oh, that would be good. Better than sitting here waiting to bloody keel over.”

Back in reception, Mullens waved to the duty manager.

“See you Friday,” the manager called over.

“Saturday, you mean,” Mullens said.

“No, we’ve moved it because the weather is absolutely atrocious on Saturday. I sent you an email last week.”

“Friday? This week Friday?”

“You haven’t read it, have you?”

“So sorry.”

“What’s he done noo?” George piped up from his chair.

“Is it the same time?”

“Aye, four until six p.m. If it’s too much hassle now, don’t worry. We’ve got plenty going on.”

“No, no, I’ll muster the troops. Just leave it with me.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“It’s my stupid fault. I’ll sort it.”

“That’ll be great. I’m sure they’ll all really appreciate it.”

“You reckon?” Mullens pulled a face.

“Troops? Are we off to Arnhem?” George interrupted again.

“Chippie, Da. Don’t tell the manager.” He glanced over and winked.

She waved a disapproving finger at him and smiled.

Mullens pushed his dad around the side of the building, down a ramp, and through the back gate.

“Good God, son, are you trying to shake ma bowels oot ma arse?” George complained, bobbing about in his chair.

They carried on to the Burngreen and headed towards the bandstand. Some flowers were still in bloom, lining the pathways on either side and in circular beds in the centre of the well-groomed lawns.

“The council's excelled themselves this year, eh, Da?”

George grunted.

Mullens squinted down at him. “All right? You’re worryingly quiet.”

“We’re not all empty barrels, you know,” George said, feigning a Newton Mearns accent.

Two teenage boys appeared ahead, one with rampant eczema consuming almost every centimetre of his face.

“Jesus,” George muttered as they approached.

“Da. Behave,” Mullens ordered.

“Think you’ve overdone the pepperoni there, son,” George called out.

Mullens winced. “Da!”

“Whit was that?” the ned asked.

“Don’t bother with him, lads.” Mullens smiled. He rolled his eyes.

“I didnae know Pizza Express wiz deliverin’ by foot noo,” George continued.

“Listen, Jabba the Hut. Ye want tae try me?” the boy retorted and stepped forward.

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