Goatie 35

Another cop appeared juggling two steaming mugs of tea. He wore a short-sleeved shirt taut over a thick red neck and round ball face. He plonked a mug down on the table for Detective George. Gulped a draught of the mug in his hand and gawked at me. ‘That the ghostie fellow they aw been talking about?’ he finally muttered.

Detective George corrected him. ‘Goatie.’

‘Ghostie, Goatie,  it’s aw the same tae me. Don’t tell me about aw that shite. I was brought up Catholic.’

Detective George sipped his tea. ‘We know,’ he sighed and glanced at me.

A friendly warming not to engage in conversation.

‘I was brought up Catholic tae,’ I said. ‘My ma was a great wan for the Virgin Mary, which was ironic considering the number o kids she hud.’

Ball Face put his mug down and leaned across the desk. ‘Don’t be knocking the Virgin Mary, Ghostie!’

‘I’m no knocking anybody. My Ma had aw the trophies. That wan fae Lourdes where yeh could twist the heid aff. Fill it full of Holy Water for aw ailments—or I admit, Irn Bru tasted better to mimic her menstrual cycle, no that she hud wan—but it was a clear growth market for the Catholic Church. Plastic through and through. A clear profit. Nearly as much as they made selling black babies at oor school. But they never made Jesus oot of plastic. That wouldnae be decent. He was always chalk, metal or wood. Kerching!’

‘Yer comin the cunt,’ said Ball Face his neck face even redder than before. He lifted the hatch.

‘Simmer down, Boulding,’ Detective George told him. ‘He’s taking the piss and you’re falling for it.’

‘I know whit I’m fallin for,’ Boulding glared at me. ‘An it’s gonnae be him.’  

But I met his gaze. ‘I’ve been beaten up by bigger and better cops than you.’

‘Simmer down,’ Detective George addressed me, but turned his head to take in Boulding.

‘I was jist saying,’ said Boudling.

‘Oh, for God sake.’ Detective George replied. ‘Let’s get this o’er and done wae. I’d take both of you down the cells and lock both of you up. That way we might get a bit of peace.’

Boulding stayed on the other side of the hatch. Detective George tapped his pen against some papers. ‘Look,’ he spoke to me. ‘I just want an easy life. I’ll get you a blanket, a mug of tea and you can shut the fuck up. How does that suit you?’

‘I’ve no hud anything tae eat,’ I reminded him.

Detective George half-turned his head towards Boulding as if listening rather than talking to him. ‘We got anything in the fridge?’

Boudling chewed on the edge of his thumbnail before answering. ‘Roll in cheese. Maybe a roll in spam.’

‘That’ll do, said Detective George.

‘I’m no Ghosties fuckin servant.’

‘What did I just tell you?’ Detective George was pulling rank.

Boulding scrunched his face up, and rubbed the dry skin on his chin. ‘Alright.’   

‘I’ll get you an extra blanket, Boulding told me as he escorted me down the hall, keys jingling. Like many bullies he flipped and turned all nice as if  we were mates taking a stroll side by side. Taking me into the kitchen to get the rolls and a mug of tea before he took me to my cell.

The rolls were in the bottom of the fridge, he held them out. ‘Yeh want a can of Coke?’

‘Don’t mind,’ I’d already pulled off most of the cellophane on the cheese roll and stuffed it into my mouth.

He sparked the can for me and held it frothing under my chin as I chewed. His plump cheeks flushed. ‘The thing is,’ he said. ‘I used tae drink.’

‘Nae mair than me,’ I admitted. I didn’t want to encourage him. I got that lots. Strangers confessing to me their innermost secrets as if I was a priest. I think it was something to do with my reputation. A bit like married women showing Casanova a bit of thigh to see if he really was a sex maniac.

‘Aye, but I went a bit aff the rails,’ he admitted. ‘Well, wine, women and song.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘An a bit o fightin.’ The last part seemed to please him and he offered an apologetic gap-toothed smile.

I took a swig of Coke and wiped my mouth.

‘My car broke doon,’ he said. ‘But it was a good wee car. A Fiat. We’d been oot and about and I’d been drinkin. We were coming hame. Couple of lassies there that I knew. This other cunt there I didnae like, but he’s on the phone right away tae get us a tow or a lift. An I jist kinda smashed him. I didnae really mean it.’

His chest went up and down as he relived it.

‘That happens,’ I said. I’d already started on the second roll in spam. I didn’t like the margarine taste, but was still hungry so ate it like a dog without chewing much.

‘Obviously, the lassies sided wae him.’

‘Obviously,’ I agreed.  

‘So I was on my lonesome. I pushed the car into some woody place with no houses, just fields. I popped the bonnet, but couldn’t anything. Even if I could, I knew fuck aw about cars. Got back in the front seat and tried turning the engine o’er.’

‘Nae joy?’ I said out of the side of my mouth.

‘Aye, nae joy. That’s when I seen him mossying up tae the car. He’d a daft stilted walk as if he was apologising for coming any closer. His teeth were chittering. It was cold and wet and I hadn’t seen any other cars. I offered him a fag—I used to smoke in those days—and he took it. I couldnae help noticing how knotted and spotty his hands were, when I sparked a light for him. He was asthmatic and took a lungful o smoke in wae a wheeze.

“Huv yeh got a wee drink on yeh, Malky?” he nodded to a place in the back of the car or the boot.

‘Nah, nothin,’ I told him. Wondering how he knew my name.

‘He sighed. “Aye, yeh young folk are ay greedy. Yeh drink it aw up. Drinking up life. Up! Up! Up! An doon was a bang.’

‘“Aye,” I said to humour him.

“An yer friends huv left yeh? That’s right,” he muttered, chewing it over. “Up, Up, Up. Mo and Rona and poor, poor Kate. But I didnae suppose yeh ll be too worried about Mike wae the bloody nose?”

‘“ Nah,’ I said. “I’m no worried,” but it was a lie. He looked like my da. Not young and handsome as he had been in the photos taken before I was born. Before he killed himsel.

“Tell yer mother, I was askin for her.” He flicked the dout away and grinned, his black teeth, worn shells. “Its cauld as the grave oot here. Maybe I could get in beside yeh.” His knotted finger pointed at the passenger seat. “An we could go hame the gither and see her?”

‘I found it hard to speak, but I managed tae croak, “Sorry, the engine doesnae work.”

“It does,” he wheezed. “Try it!”

‘I turned the key and the engine started and headlights came on. Procul Harem on the tranny blaring oot Whiter Shade o Grey. I gunned the engine and drove straight through im.’

I burped as I finished my Coke. ‘Yeh killed im?’

He took the can out of my hand and it rung out as tossed it into the bin. ‘Don’t be so fuckin daft. Yeh cannae kill the deid…Nane of my pals made it hame. The car flipped… I should have been deid tae.’    

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

He took that as his due and I followed him out of the kitchen and along the corridor, which was strangely quiet. We picked up extra blankets. He stopped at a cell door and took out his keys, ushering me inside if it was a hotel room, but it didn’t smell as if it had been cleaned in months.

I put my blankets on the raised platform with the bit of foam backing. Turned to face him in the dim light. ‘Yeh ever here any mair fae yer da?’

‘No, never,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I turned my life right around.’ But when he grinned, his teeth were black shells and his face was that of a wheezy older man. He hissed, ‘Welcome tae hell.’