Bastard Verdict by James McCrone

Author:James McCrone [McCrone, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

21

Inside the pub, along Old Hawkhill in Dundee, Ewan Johnston took a seat toward the back at one of the long, communal tables. He sipped at his pint and pored over that day’s Tele, occasionally glancing toward the door. It was six o’clock and the crowd was shifting, a kind of changing of the guard, as those who had to hurry home to their tea drained their glasses and headed for the door, while others arrived to take their places. The pub was dark and snug.

Alan Wilson stepped inside, looking around as he took off his cap. Johnston looked up. Their eyes met, and he was about to wave when something in Wilson’s eyes told him not to. He shook his head ever so slightly and went to the bar. Alarmed, Johnston steeled himself and pretended to go back to his newspaper. After waiting a few moments, he looked up. There was an open space at the bar next to Wilson. Johnston drained his glass and walked over to order another pint. He nodded casually at the man to his left and ordered. As he turned to the right, Wilson nodded though didn’t look at him.

“Go tae the Gents in a moment,” he said quietly, not looking at Johnston.

Johnston took his pint, placed it back on the table and went to the toilet. The Gents was empty, but he felt odd standing there with no business in hand but to wait for someone else. Wilson walked in a few moments later.

“Fuck’s sake,” he said as he came into the toilet, “ye cuid at least pretend ye were takin a pee.” He unbuttoned and headed over to the side-by-side urinals. Johnston followed suit.

“Yer hotter than ye ken!” Wilson said over the urinal divider. “As a precaution, like, Ah tailed ye frae the office tae here. You were followed. There’s one fuck sittin at the far end ae the bar. He’s watching you, and waiting tae see if anyone meets ye, Ah’d guess. And there’s another ane outside, leaning against a car. Ah’m thinkin he’s around tae follow whoever you meet up with.”

“Christ,” Johnston whispered.

“What’s it yer intae?”

“It’s governmental. Shady. Corrupt. I’ve done nothing wrong, but—”

“Ah dinnae need tae know the details,” he said. “Ah’m happy tae help, after all ye done for me and mine. But ye did also mention somethin aboot a bit a dosh, Ah think?”

Johnston reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed Wilson 300 pounds.

“Another thing,” he said. He handed Johnston an old flip phone. “Ah’m thinkin that mebbe the people who done yer office are the same people followin ye. The fact there wasnae a peep on the network tells me that mebbe Ah’m right.”

Johnston swallowed hard.

“They might’ve seen that one old phone in your desk drawer. Take this one just in case. If it’s who ye say it is that’s following you round—and Ah think yer right—this might buy ye some time.”

“I’ve already called Imogen using the other one,” said Johnston.

“Right. Ah’d say, tell yer bird tae get a new one as well.

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