Tranent was one of the few places that, to Carlo, looked better in the fog.
Outside the chip-shop, he turned on his torch, set the chair at full speed and pulled up the fur collar on his coat.
Took less than five minutes to get to the Cross Keys. He ordered a double dram and retired to the table next to the imitation log-fire. He hadn't meant to order alcohol. The words came out without him having to think. It would mean the end of the longest spell Carlo had been sober since he was thirteen.
Didn't think he should drink pints – couldn't face manoeuvring his chair in the toilet every ten minutes and pissing into his plastic bottle wasn't an option in public.
The whisky would get him where he wanted without him needing a trip to the bathroom.
"How's it going Carlo?" Billy brought the drink over. He wore the same gear he always did when he was working, a black, brewery tee-shirt with Belhaven Best written across his chest in gold. He was clean shaven and reeked of Old Spice. He adjusted the position of the beer-mat on his table and put the drink on top of it.
Billy could get hold of pretty much anything in exchange for a small percentage. He was a human Yellow Pages. "You manage to see OK?"
"Could get here with me eyes closed. It's getting home that's the problem."
"Same here and I only live up the stairs." Billy dropped a newspaper down next to the whisky. "Steve says he's going to be late. On account of the weather. Reckons it'll be half past by the time he gets here."
Didn't matter much when he arrived, just so long as he had the gun with him when he did.
Carlo knocked the drink back in one. His first real drink since the Ramsays ruined his life. Burned his throat and his insides and made him shiver. Wondered what he'd ever seen in the stuff. Decided he should try another to find out. "Again," he said and took a look at the headline. 'MAN SHOT AND STABBED IN BAR.' Whoever did that must have been really pissed.
Billy filled the glass and a second customer entered the lounge, a young woman who swayed over to the bar, her hips round and rolling, her steps barely managing a straight line. Her blond hair was long and clean, her complexion without blemish.
Billy and the woman spoke for a moment. She lit up a fag and puffed out as if she needed it to live. Billy made a token effort of pointing to the No Smoking sign on the wall just under No Drugs and No Drunks. Not that it mattered. Nobody was going to be slapping Billy's knuckles — he paid the coppers too much to have to worry about that. He turned his back and pulled her a pint. Cider as far as Carlo could tell. Looked good the way the glass misted and the bubbles fizzed to the top.
"I'll take one of those," he called over. The Whisky was giving him heartburn already and he wanted something to cool him down. "And put the lady's on my tab."
The woman turned to him and scrunched her eyes as if trying to focus. Her mascara had smudged, but it didn't stop her blue eyes from shining bright. A smile appeared on her face and she walked over to Carlo's table, spilling a good few slurps worth onto the carpet as she moved.
"True gentleman," she said. "A rare breed, that."
She offered her hand. Carlo picked it up and kissed it.
"Guys I came out with pissed off home. Left me wandering the streets all alone. A night like this. What do you think of that?"
"Wankers," he said. "You should be more careful when you choose your friends."
"Colleagues. From the High School. Celebrating my promotion."
"Congratulations."
"Kate Turner, Head of Guidance. Pleased to meet you."
Carlo's drink arrived at the table. He picked up the pint. They touched glasses.
"Cheers," they both said.
"Carlo Salvino, one armed and one legged proprietor of the local fish and chips establishment, at your service."
They laughed. Drank. Talked.
Carlo liked the way her lips curled when she smiled. Her skin was pale and smooth the way it could only be on a younger woman. Wouldn't last long if she kept at the drink and the fags like she was, though she swore she spent most of her evenings at home marking books.
Poured out her life story punctuated by sips and drags. Nothing interesting.
"That's enough about me," she announced. They always said that in the end, like it was important to share the time or something. Carlo preferred listening. Made him seem sympathetic. Didn't feel quite so easy when it was his turn to talk. "How'd you lose your leg?" That was a question he'd have no problems answering.
The door opened and in walked a young man dressed in a sparkling-white shell suit and baseball cap. Didn't look old enough to be drinking in a pub. Probably hadn't started shaving.
Billy gave him the nod and Carlo excused himself to go over and do the business.
"When they told me you were after arms, I thought they meant weapons." Steve's voice was high, like a girl's. Made Carlo feel confident he'd get the upper hand.
"Got what I need?"
"You tell me." He un-wrapped a bundle of cloth under the table and revealed a pistol.
"Looks like a gun."
"Nothing wrong with your sight then." Steve tapped his heels on the ground, making his knees bob up and down. Created ripples on top of the pints on the table.
"No."
"Shame. Lose and eye and you'd be a ringer for Nelson."
The boy was making jokes. Didn't seem bothered about the business they were conducting. "What can it do?"
"Hold it in someone's face and they'll do anything you want."
"That all."
"Load it, you can kill as many people as you can hit."
"Two's plenty."
"Makes a bang when it pops, know what I mean?" Carlo looked puzzled. "Expect attention when she blows."
Kate Turner stood at the jukebox flicking through the tunes and wiggling as if the music was already playing. Carlo wanted to get back to her sharpish.
"It's a Marakov PM," the kid said. "Straight blowback. Fixed barrel. Semi-automatic. 8 rounds per mag. Fires as quickly as you can pull the trigger. Old, basic and reliable. Just don't drop the fucker."
"How much?"
"Cos it's not in vogue, a grand. Shells thrown in."
Carlo reached over and took it in his hand.
It was heavier than he'd expected. Made him think of old-fashioned engineering. Had to be good.
"I'll take it." He took the bag from the back of his chair and removed one of the envelopes he'd stuffed with a hundred tenners. "Keep the change."
He wrapped up the gun and box and put them in his bag next to his pissing bottle.
'It's Raining Men' blasted through the speakers. Made Carlo feel good. The whisky and the rhythm blended as if they were pumping through his veins as one.
Kate danced with her back to the men at the table then, after a not-so-delicate spin, face to face with them. All she needed was a pole.
Steve looked her up and down and took his time about it.
"She's with me," Carlo told him. Pushed a button on his chair and performed moves that could have got him into the Para-Olympics.
***
He could hardly believe his luck. He'd got pissed and shagged a woman on the same night. Not just any old shag either.
Kate had really gone for his stumps. Took ages licking the scar tissue, talking to it as if she could make it better.
There were other advantages to missing limbs, too. She had to do pretty much all the work. Put her body and soul into it. The way she rode him it was like he was a wild pony needing to be broken. Gentle thrusts, hard jabs and lots of moaning. Just the way he liked it.
He pictured the nurses in the hospital as she writhed. Imagined they were right on top of him. He thought of Lily, her cleavage and a bed bath. Drove him crazy.
When Kate came, it was like she was singing opera at the Albert Hall and making sure that those at the back could hear every note. Brought him to a climax, no problem.
She slept across his chest, pinning him down to the mattress. He lay awake and thought about the Ramsays. Imagined blowing holes in them. Watching them burst.
He looked down at the way Kate's breast spilled out over him. Made him realise he'd rather not get caught after all.