Jez had decided to stay behind at the pub after Billy had left. It had been such a long time since he’d drunk in the dreary local, but there was something nostalgic about it. A feeling that took him back to his teens. He’d ended his time in Scotland on a bad note. He’d owed money to a local drug dealer and he’d been careful not to tell any of his mates before they’d jetted off to Majorca on their boys’ holiday. It was one of the reasons he’d decided not to return home. Out of sight, out of mind. It was Billy who’d told Jez about the body that had been found up at the Dunmuir reservoir a few months later. An unsettled feeling had set in Jez’s stomach. What if the police knew who did it? What if there were witnesses? Of course, Jez knew there weren’t. He’d arranged to meet his dealer at the bottom of the road which led up to the reservoir. The guy was scum, a bit of a druggie himself. Now when Jez thought about it, he actually felt sorry for him. He was only out to make a bit of money. But that didn’t excuse the fact that the guy had pulled a knife on him. It had been midnight, a time they’d both agreed on. Less people around, less chance of the police catching them. The road gates had been left open and the guy’s old Vauxhall Nova, which looked like it was ready for the scrappy, was sitting in the small car park at the edge of the track road. He probably didn’t even have a licence, or own the car. That was what it was like around the scheme where Jez and Billy had grown up.
Jez had walked along the back road to meet him. Diggo, his name was. Jez didn’t know him as anything else until the news had identified him as Allan Diggins. A local down-and-out who was known for dealing class A drugs as well as motor theft. No one would miss him, which was just as well for Jez.
Jez had approached him and he remembered the distinct smell of sweat and cigarette smoke coming from Diggo’s over-sized hoodie.
‘Got my money, Jez?’ Diggo had said. His breath had a bitter, disgusting odour and Jez wasn’t even standing that close to him.
‘Aye,’ Jez had said. ‘Well, not all of it.’
‘What the fuck do you mean, not all of it? You owe me a hundred quid, Jez. I gave you a fucking extension the last time and I warned you it would be the last.’
Jez had noticed how Diggo’s words had slurred. He’d been drinking. A good thing for Jez. It would mean that if need be, he could outrun him.
‘Aye, well, I’m short. So, you’ll have to take this now or wait for the full amount and I won’t have that until next week.’
That was when Jez had noticed the blade slide out from Diggo’s right sleeve.
‘Ah, come on, Diggo. There’s no need for that,’ he’d said, taking a step back.
‘And there’s no need for you to tell me that I can’t have what you owe. So, pay me in full right now or I’ll fucking plug you. Got it?’
Jez had a few seconds to think. It was a fight or flight situation. One he could never have imagined he’d have to face, especially not against someone like Diggo, the junkie dealer, as he was known. It was a wonder he wasn’t dead already. Rumour had it that he’d got high on some of the stash he was dealing out for someone higher than him and that he owed a shit ton of money himself. That was likely the reason he was pulling a blade on Jez, to make sure he paid up so that he could pay off his own debts.
Jez picked the option to fight. He wasn’t going to go down against someone like Diggo. No chance. Jez was used to violence and aggression, having grown up in the scheme. Getting into fights was a way of surviving. Jez and the boys didn’t class themselves as a gang, but society did. Getting into scraps for territory, drugs, booze and girls was just a way of life. From time to time, there was an all-out scheme war. He wasn’t scared to get into this with Diggo. So, Jez had balled his fists and jerked his body towards Diggo so quickly that he dropped the blade in fright. Jez launched himself at him with a swift uppercut, knocking him to the ground. He kicked the knife and it skittered far enough away that Diggo would have to fight with his bare hands.
‘Get up, you fucking prick. You think you can pull a blade on me and get away with it?’
Diggo looked up at Jez through watery eyes as blood poured from his mouth. He said nothing but got to his feet, his body in a defensive stance before taking a swing at Jez who stood back and watched as Diggo stumbled forward and fell at his feet.
Jez saw an opportunity to finish the debacle and lifted his foot and brought it crashing down on the back of Diggo’s head. He raised it again, and again. He stopped, watching for signs of movement, signs of life from Diggo as he lay face down on the track road. The back of his head was a bloodied mess and when Jez looked at his shoes, they too were covered in Diggo’s brain matter, crimson red in colour. The metallic stench of blood mixed with Diggo’s own rancid body odour made Jez gag.
He stood for a moment, wondering what to do. He couldn’t walk away and leave Diggo lying there to be found. That could lead the police straight to him. Jez knew how forensics worked; he could be traced by a single footprint. Especially if the boot that matched the print was covered in blood. He’d have to get rid of them. But first, he had to get rid of Diggo.
Eyeing Diggo’s shitty Nova, he bent down and searched his pockets for the car key. Locating it, he opened the boot of the car and wondered if he’d have the strength to drag Diggo’s dead weight the few feet down the track, let alone lift it into the car. Would his body even fit? It would just have to. Jez wasn’t going to let Diggo ruin his life, dead or alive.
Jez turned Diggo over and slid his hands under his arms. He pulled the body towards the car, the sound of the gravel underfoot deafening. There were no cars in sight; not a sound could be heard. Jez was safe to do this but he had to be quick.
He managed to haul Diggo into the boot and closed it before climbing into the driver seat. Starting the engine, he kept the headlights off and drove up the track road towards the reservoir. It took around ten minutes in second gear but he finally got to the top. The view was outstanding and Jez got out to admire it. He’d never been up there at that time of night and he had to admit, even the scheme looked amazing from up there.
Jez lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the tip to calm the adrenaline rushing through him, as he replayed the sound of his boot smashing into Diggo’s skull over and over. The sound had surprised him. He would have thought it would be harder, like rock hitting rock, where in fact what popped into his head was the memory of his granny tearing celery for her pan of soup on a Sunday.
Jez finished his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. He stomped on it and picked it up to check that it was fully extinguished before placing it in his back pocket. He wasn’t going to leave that behind. Again, forensics. They could find the most miniscule thing and it could be their breakthrough. Climbing back into the driver seat, Jez drove the car to the edge of the grass bank and put the handbrake on before getting back out again and moving around to the back. He had to get rid of the car and the body.
Jez found that getting Diggo into the boot wasn’t as difficult as getting him out and into the driving seat. His body was stiff, heavy. He held his breath as he leaned over and put the seatbelt on the corpse. The smell was beginning to intensify and Jez didn’t want to leave a pile of his own vomit anywhere near Diggo or the car.
Swallowing hard, Jez stood back and sucked in clean, fresh night air. He turned away from the corpse, needing a moment to think, to process what he’d done. This was never the plan. This was never something Jez had thought himself capable of. It seemed he was. It seemed that instead of feeling fear of being caught, the thrill of what he was doing was overwhelming. It shocked him but he accepted it. Jez’s life had never been plain sailing so why should this be any different? Now he knew he had the stomach and the balls to take on the criminal world as a player, as a hunter, rather than the prey. His body would never have to end up at the bottom of a reservoir.
Turning back, Jez leaned in and released the handbrake. He rolled down the driver window too. He didn’t look at Diggo’s face – or what was left of it – before closing the door. He moved around to the back of the car and laid his hands on the hatch, before taking a breath and using all his weight to push the car forward. It took less effort than Jez had thought it would, but the Nova shunted forward and rolled down the bank before plunging into the water.
Jez stood back and lit another cigarette. He counted, one, two, three… It took seventy-eight seconds for the car to become fully submerged in the reservoir. Less time than it took for Jez to smoke the cigarette down to the tip again.
He sat on the edge of the bank and washed his boots in the water, rinsing away the blood and brain matter from Diggo’s head, before getting up and wiping his boots on the dry grass.
‘That’ll teach you to pull a blade on me,’ he said, before turning and heading along the track towards the top of Dunmuir Hill.
He’d enjoyed the walk home that evening. Enjoyed looking up at the stars and down at the view. The Erskine Bridge, Old Kilpatrick. The scheme which he came from. He could even see all the way to the west end of Glasgow, a place he and the boys would often go for a few bevvies, before realising it was full of snooty arseholes and heading into Partick where the real boozers were.
That night made Jez realise that he was capable of much more than he had given himself credit for. He would go on the boys’ holiday and when he was there he would think about what he wanted to do with his life. There were a million Diggos in the world. Jez didn’t want to end up like him and staying in the scheme would push him closer to becoming one of them.
Jez finished his pint and sat back, looking around his old local, taking in the familiar faces and the memories that came to him. Stevo and Marty had been a laugh back then but it was clear to Jez that they’d gone nowhere and done nothing with their lives. It had taken Diggo’s murder to make Jez realise that the scheme was a place that would hold him back. That kill was a turning point in his life, even if he hadn’t realised it back then. He’d stopped himself from becoming one of those petty drug criminals at the bottom of the barrel. He’d moved on, climbed the ladder in a world where you didn’t need qualifications to get to the top. Jez was proud of how far he’d come. He was successful and wealthy – and there was much more where that came from. He’d come far enough to have people do his killing for him if it was ever necessary.
Coming back here to find Cole was a pain in the arse, but it reminded him of how ruthless he could be. Billy was a mate, but business came first.
He’d make a Diggo out of anyone who stood in his way.