One of the abiding irritations concerning the Portobello Pish was that the Guard had never been able to pinpoint the gang’s headquarters. It was likely that several premises were used, none for very long. The head-bangers had been communicating by mobile phones smuggled in from Glasgow for years, technicians they knew having adapted the signals so that they could be passed on by the Edinburgh system. The number of competent telecommunications experts the city had was smaller than the members of a football team, substitutes not included. But even when it seemed the Guard had a solid lead, the gangs slipped away before they got close. That was very much not a feather in Guardian Doris’s and her predecessors’ berets, but no one else could do any better.
‘Where to, exactly?’ Davie asked, as we took our place at the head of a line of 4×4s.
‘Grant Brown was an only child and his parents died when he was young, so let’s go and see his footballer friends’ families. Get your people to split up and keep their distance.’
‘Two hundred yards?’
‘That should do. But as always in the northern suburbs, they need to be ready to respond as rapidly as a meteor.’
Davie gave the orders and we moved off. I’d considered sending him to Lachlan Vass’s place and handling Allie Swanson myself, but decided we’d better stick together in the badlands. Besides, Davie had a bad feeling about Swanson so we were going there first.
We headed down London Road, past what was now the Meadowbank Rangers ground. Decades before independence it had been an athletics stadium, then the original Meadowbank Thistle played there – that emblem of Scotland wasn’t acceptable to the Council, of course. It had been a barracks rugby ground too. I remember seeing Davie take out an opposition guardsman with a shoulder charge that would have got him a straight red card before the rules were changed to make the game more spartan.
‘What was it about Allie Swanson?’ I asked. ‘Apart from the haircut.’
‘You’ll see. He’s hiding something.’ Davie turned on full beam. The only other vehicles in the suburbs were Guard patrols, street lights being few and far between. We passed a few citizens on bikes, but what their aged dynamos produced could hardly be classed as light.
We turned on to Portobello High Street. About a hundred yards further on, Davie pulled up.
‘It’s round the corner. Regent Street, number 14.’
We went on foot, Davie having checked the vicinity. The main road was safe enough, but as soon as you were off it … At least we knew there was backup a minute or so away.
I knocked on the door of the two-storey terraced house. It was opened by a bald middle-aged man, who was chewing with his mouth open.
‘Sorry to interrupt your meal,’ I said. ‘Call me Quint. Can I see Allie, please?’
‘Fuck off,’ my host said, spraying the last of his mouthful towards me.
Davie pushed past and grabbed the man by the throat.
‘What was that?’ he demanded.
The answer was unintelligible.
‘Let him go, Davie. Before he chokes.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘So, is Allie here?’
Davie suddenly pounded down the hall and up the stairs. ‘Backup to Bath Street and Regent Street!’ he shouted into his communications unit before disappearing.
I followed the swearie man into the sitting cum dining room. A thin woman with a short blonde perm and two teenagers were at the table, the remains of a chicken in front of them. The Supply Directorate doesn’t run to fowl unless you’re a tourist. I heard heavy boots in the hall.
‘I’m all right,’ I said to the hefty guardsman. ‘Just stay there.’ He loomed in the door, an effective bogeyman. I looked meaningfully at the chicken and then at the adults.
‘What’s up with your Allie, then?’
They exchanged worried glances.
‘Dinnae ken,’ the man said hoarsely.
I directed my gaze at his other half. She didn’t favour me with a reply, apparently trying to make their dinner disappear by telekinesis.
Time for the Hume 253 memorial threats.
‘He’s in the Pish, isn’t he?’
Silence.
‘Let me rephrase that. He’s in the Pish. You’re doubtless aware of what happens to gang members’ families, but let me spell it out. Children under eighteen are separated and put in Welfare Directorate care homes. Fathers are sent down the mines for a minimum of two years. Mothers work on the city farms for a minimum of two years. Grandparents are removed from care homes and—’
‘All right!’ Citizen Swanson shouted. ‘We dinnae ken what he does efter fitba training. He’s twenty-three.’
‘Shame he didn’t get his own flat. Why was that?’
‘Likes it doon here,’ said the mother.
‘He would, what with this being Porty Pish territory. And chicken for dinner.’
‘He’s no’ a bad laddie,’ the woman said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘He just disnae listen. He nivver did.’
‘Nora,’ her husband growled.
Davie called on my mobile. ‘The bastard got away. We’re combing the streets.’
Now I had to play even harder ball.
‘Guardsman, take the children.’
He and his colleagues did so, after a lot of screaming and struggling. The parents were shoved back on to their chairs, their shoulders in the grip of Davie’s toughest guardswomen. He claimed they were better than their male counterparts when it came to the crunch, as often happened.
‘This situation hasn’t quite reached terminal yet, Citizens Swanson. I don’t give a shit about the chicken, but it proves you’ve got contacts in the black market – and around here that’s run by the Pish, correct?’
The man nodded once. ‘We cannae clipe on them. They’ll kill us.’
‘Not if we put them behind bars like their leader.’
‘Disnae matter,’ said the man. ‘Skinny Ewan’s been running …’ He broke off, his cheeks reddening.
‘And where would we find Skinny Ewan?’ I asked.
‘Dinnae ken,’ they said in unison.
‘Take him,’ I said to the guardswoman. After the citizen had been manoeuvred out, which involved a heavy blow to his abdomen, I told the remaining guardswoman to leave.
‘It’s just you and me now, Nora,’ I said, sitting beside the sobbing woman. ‘Your man resisted arrest, so that’ll be another year down the mines. Or everything can be forgotten. It’s up to you.’
‘Ah cannae … Ah cannae …’
‘Yes, you can.’
She looked at me. ‘What’ll happen to Allie?’
‘I can’t make any promises about him, especially if he’s a gang member.’
She dropped her gaze.
‘But I can put in a good word if you cooperate.’
‘Ah dinnae believe ye.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not a member of the Guard, but I have direct contact with guardians.’
‘Aye, you’re their golden boy,’ she said scathingly.
‘That would be a stretch. Where are the Pish gathering tonight, Nora? Tell me and your family will be finishing that chicken in two minutes.’
She thought about that and then looked up. ‘They change their meeting places a’ the time, but I heard Allie mention that old church in Brighton Place taenight. St John’s, I think it was called.’
I stood up, got her family back inside and called Davie.
Twenty minutes later we were in position round the former place of worship, which was only a few hundred yards from Regent Street. Davie had Guard personnel on every side of the battered building. I remembered it from pre-independence times: the tower was strange, four shorter rounded turrets surmounted by a taller one with a tall metal cross. The whole thing had collapsed, probably during the drugs wars as there were shell and bullet holes all over the rest of the building.
‘How are we going to do this?’ I said to Davie, in the 4×4. ‘The Pish will have firearms.’
‘They will,’ he said, sounding sublimely unconcerned.
‘And your people don’t.’
‘Correct.’
‘Couldn’t you send someone over to the nearest city-line post to borrow some?’
‘Unnecessary.’
‘Is it Long Live Laconicism Day?’
‘No.’
I punched his arm and winced.
‘Fear not, citizen. We’ve been equipped with the perfect weapon for such situations.’
‘First I’ve heard of it.’
‘Guardian Doris is not just a pretty … Anyway, she got them from Glasgow, apparently.’
‘The suspense has already killed me.’
‘They’re called Hyper-Stuns.’ He reached over his seat and presented me with an oversized pistol with two tubes mounted over the barrel. ‘Ten shots, maximum range fifty yards, multiple settings ranging from mild to extreme electric shock – extreme equals death usually – night-vision sight and high-intensity light beam. All personnel get them when they’re on patrol in the outer suburbs.’
We got out quietly and pushed the doors to. Davie contacted his team leaders on his comms unit, changing the wavelengths to confuse potential listeners with scanners, and ascertained that everyone was in position. The nearest to the old church said there were eleven gang-bangers inside and that guns were visible.
‘Set to high shock,’ Davie ordered. ‘Up and at them!’
I followed him to the main door, where two guardsmen were standing by. One of them smashed a sledgehammer against the ornate but rusty lock. They were almost immediately met by fleeing members of the Pish. Davie dropped one of them with his Hyper-Stun, while the other was tripped and disarmed before he could fire his silver-plated semi-automatic pistol.
Multiple gunshots rang out from the interior, but soon they died away.
‘Report!’ Davie yelled into his comms unit.
The squads called in. One guardswoman had been shot dead and two guardsmen wounded, neither seriously. We moved inside, the space crisscrossed by beams from the Hyper-Stuns.
‘Well, well,’ Davie said. ‘There must be at least five pounds of cocaine here.’
‘And a large greenhouse’s production of grass,’ I added.
‘Commander,’ said a middle-aged guardswoman, ‘we think one of them might have got away.’
‘Not Allie Swanson?’ I asked.
‘No, he’s unconscious over there.’
I had a frightening thought. ‘They would have known we were chasing Allie. Get his family into protective custody, Davie.’
He sent two 4×4s round, but it was too late.
‘Fuck!’
We were in Davie’s office off the command centre in the castle.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Quint.’
‘Yes, it was. I should have thought of it from the start. It would have been obvious to the bastard who slipped past us that Allie’s people had talked.’
All four of them had been shot in the head by a large-calibre pistol.
‘At least we got Skinny Ewan and the rest of the Pish.’
‘They’re gang members, Davie. They’ll never talk.’
‘Oh, yes they will.’
I didn’t like his expression. It expressed homicidal determination.
The public order guardian appeared. ‘Congratulations, commander. And you, Quint.’
I scowled at her. ‘Unacceptable citizen casualties.’
‘One of my people was killed too, citizen,’ she said coldly.
‘In the line of duty, not while eating dinner.’
‘An illicitly obtained chicken, I gather.’
‘Who gives a fuck?’
Davie raised an eyebrow.
‘Sorry, guardian,’ I said. ‘Not your fault either.’
‘I suppose it was mine since we let the shit-sucker get away,’ Davie said, looking away.
‘These things happen,’ said the guardian. ‘Nobody’s to blame.’
I could have debated that at length, not least because the Council was responsible for letting the drugs gangs start up again in the city, but I let it go.
‘Where have you put the Pish?’ I asked her.
‘In a secure ward in the infirmary. They need to be monitored as they come round from high stuns. That can take up to twelve hours. And before you ask, there are two squads on guard.’
I failed to stifle a yawn.
‘You need to sleep,’ Guardian Doris said. ‘Both of you. Bed down here.’
‘After a late-night repast,’ Davie said.
I shook my head. ‘No food for me.’ I hadn’t seen the Swansons’ bodies, but my imagination was working triple time. ‘I don’t suppose Grant Brown’s head has turned up.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the guardian. ‘Oh, Yellow Jacko died while you were in the field. He and Muckle Tony are being cremated tomorrow. You might want to attend.’
‘They’re not scheduled in succession, are they?’ I asked. ‘There’ll be mayhem.’
‘No, there won’t,’ Davie said. ‘We caught all the Pish, remember?’
‘Bar one very savage scumbag. Anyway, their relatives will still have a go at each other.’
‘Robertson’s at eleven in the morning and Greig’s at three in the afternoon,’ said Guardian Doris. ‘Guard personnel will be there in force.’
‘What about Hume 481 and his parents?’ I said.
‘No reports.’
I went to the senior guardsmen’s bunk room and collapsed. I was exhausted, but sleep was a long time coming. The faces of Allie Swanson’s siblings kept coming towards me, screaming as their skulls exploded in blasts of scarlet.
‘Wakey, wakey.’
The smell of barracks coffee – better than what I got every morning – dragged me to the surface. I’d been in a deep hole, wrestling with ghosts recent and from further in the past – then my father appeared. That made me sit up.
‘Watch it!’ Davie exclaimed, getting the mug of steaming liquid out of the way in time.
‘I’ve got to check on the old man.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Five past six? What the hell?’
‘Sorry. Skinny Ewan’s conscious. I thought you’d want to squeeze his nuts as soon as possible.’
I groaned, then drank the coffee and ate the cheese roll he handed me.
‘Where is he?’ I asked as I came out of the bog.
‘The medical guardian’s waiting for you at the infirmary.’
I felt a mild twinge of erotic interest, then thought of the Swansons.
‘What’s her interest?’
‘Search me.’ He grinned. ‘Your nether regions?’
I treated that with hypocritical scorn.
The rain was doing its usual highly accurate impression of a waterfall. We ran to the esplanade, slipping and sliding like a pair of cack-footed skaters.
The infirmary looked like it had been doused in black paint, so sodden were its walls. I headed for Sophia’s office, but met her in the corridor leading to it. Her hair was tied back and she looked like she meant business.
‘Good morning, Quint,’ she said with a minimalist smile. ‘Commander. Follow me.’
We did as we were told, exchanging glances. What was she up to? We reached a door that had a key pad on the frame, a rare sight in Edinburgh. Once we were in, Sophia turned to us.
‘I’m going to experiment on Ewan Gow, a.k.a. Skinny Ewan.’
‘You’re going to experiment on the leader of one of the city’s most wanted gangs?’ I said, surprised.
‘I’ve obtained a recently developed drug from Inverness. It’s over ninety per cent guaranteed to break down resistance to questioning.’
‘A truth drug?’ I said.
‘In layman’s terms.’ Sophia gave me a dismissive look. ‘I’ve cleared this with the public order guardian.’
‘Why don’t you try it on Allie Swanson or one of the others first?’ Davie asked.
‘Because this citizen is awake, commander. This is a high-priority case. We need answers.’
She led us through another door. A medical auxiliary in a white coat was inserting a needle into the forearm of a man who had been gagged and bound to a chair like those used by dentists. I looked around for the pliers.
‘All ready, guardian.’
Sophia dismissed him with a haughty wave. ‘Look and learn,’ she said to us, depressing the plunger of the syringe that the needle was attached to.
She looked at her watch, counting the seconds silently, and then undid the gag. Skinny Ewan’s eyes were fluttering and his breathing was regular. Very regular.
‘He’s ready,’ Sophia said. ‘Start with some basic questions so we can establish that the compound is working.’ She handed me the citizen’s file.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Ewan Gow.’
‘Date of birth?’
‘Fifth of January, 1997.’
‘Address?’
‘25 Woodside Terrace, Joppa.’ That’s the suburb adjacent to Portobello on the east.
‘All right?’ Sophia asked.
I nodded.
‘Try some more obscure questions.’
I looked through the handwritten sheets.
‘Where were you working in 2024?’
‘Ah was aff sick all year. Glandular fever.’
I tried something more emotive. ‘How did your sister Kelly die?’
There was no pause or change in his tone. ‘Food poisoning – a bad batch of Supply Directorate beef.’
‘What age was she?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘In the Zig Zag Casino on George Street. Ahm a barman.’
That was interesting. Citizens with access to tourist businesses had to be cleared by the Public Order Directorate. He’d obviously kept himself clean, at least on the surface.
‘Everything as it should be, Quint?’ Sophia asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Go for it, then,’ she said, unusually excited.
I moved closer to Skinny Ewan. His face was pockmarked and his nose had been broken several times.
‘Are you the leader of the Portobello Pish?’
‘Yes,’ he said without hesitation.
I looked at Davie, who was watching intently. ‘Name your associates.’
He did so, Davie taking notes. There were plenty more than eleven gang members, including both Nora and Dirk Swanson. But Allie’s brother and sister hadn’t been involved.
‘What do you traffic?’
‘Cigarettes, drugs, jewellery and malt whisky.’
‘Who supplies you?’
‘The Dead Men from Glasgow give us the booze and fags. The drugs come from …’
I waited, but he didn’t speak any more.
‘Where do you get the drugs?’ I said after a minute.
Nothing.
Sophia stepped forward and pressed the syringe plunger further in.
I repeated the question.
Skinny Ewan’s eyes blinked rapidly, then he answered.
‘The Supply Directorate,’ he said.
Then he died.