A man appeared at her elbow: thickset, shavenheaded, heavily tattooed

They’ll be putting you in the ring next,” said Maggie. “Not on your bloody life,” said Wilma. “You should see the young lads go at it, though. Knock hell out of one another. I’ll stick to my punchbag, thank you.” Maggie eyed the things. “They look terrifying.” “Challenging, the coach calls em. He’s a challenge an aw’. Seriously, though, they’re heavy going, them things. Good practice, mind you. Might even come in handy,” Wilma gave a stage wink, “in our line of work.”

Maggie recoiled. “I sincerely hope not.”

“Talk of the devil.” A man appeared at her elbow: thickset, shaven-headed, heavily tattooed. He was dressed in vest top, tracksuit bottoms and boxer’s boots.

“Who’s yer pal?” he enquired.

Wilma grinned. “My neighbour, Joe – Maggie Laird.” “Pleased to meet you.” He offered a wide smile, the handshake so firm Maggie could hear her knuckles crack.

“And you.” Covertly, she inspected the damage. “Have ye come tae join up?”

“No. I mean, Wilma’s obviously thriving on it, but…”

Punch bag

“Come on, hen,” Joe clamped Maggie’s arm in an enthusiastic grip and positioned her in front of a punch bag. “Show us what yer made of.”

She eyed the thing. Threw a feeble punch. “Use both hands,” he encouraged. “Like so.” She caught a whiff of sweat, as Joe’s fists flew. “Come on. Right, left. Right, left.”

Maggie tried to pretend it was Brannigan. She threw her weight into it.

“That’s better. Can ah sign ye up, then?”

She turned. “Another time, maybe.”

Over Joe’s muscled shoulder, Wilma heaved with laughter. She caught Maggie’s look and composed herself hastily. “I’ll away and get changed.”

Evil grin

“I got the idea in here, as a matter of fact.”

The pair were sitting in the pub where Wilma worked, just around the corner from the boxing gym, two glasses of wine on the table in front of them. “How so?”

“There’s these lads come in, regular, like. They go to the gym two or three times a week.”

“So that’s what you call work? Cosying up to fit young boxers?”

“Dinna fancy them. Most o’ them, anyhow. There’s this one fella, mind,” Wilma threw Maggie an evil grin. “I’d chap the paint aff his door any day.”

Signed up

Maggie giggled. “Don’t want to know. But you were about to tell me…”

“Never paid much attention to them, only a few months back they were chaffin awa, having a laugh over some new class that had started up. For quines, apparently. My nose was botherin me, so I asked them what it was all about.”

“And?”

“I ended up signing on.”

“You make it sound like joining the army.” “S’not funny.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, well, until tonight I couldn’t quite see you…”

“Neither could I.” Wilma adjusted her top. “I tried Weight Watchers, way back. Couldna hack it. All that queuing up to get weighed. Havin’ to fess up to eating a Crunchie bar, for Chrissake. I mean,” Wilma cast her eyes to the heavens, “get a life.”

Maggie suppressed a giggle.

“Plus them classes cost a bomb. Fiver a throw. You could buy yourself a bottle o’ wine for that. Cheers!” She raised her glass, took a mouthful. “And it’s worked, hasn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

Proactive

“Now you’ve seen the place, d’you fancy coming along sometime? Not that you need to lose weight or anything. But,” she hesitated, “it fair gets stuff out your system.”

“You think I need to?”

“Mebbe. You have to admit, Maggie, you can be a bit…”

“What?”

“Oh,” Wilma puzzled, “Canna mind the word. But you fair take a running jump at things.”

“Well, if I’m going to get justice for George – not that I’m getting anywhere fast on that front – I have to be proactive.”

“I know. And I’m not criticising.” She laid a consoling hand on Maggie’s arm. “Call it friendly concern.” Maggie brightened. “Thanks, Wilma.” “Anyhow, back to the gym. Once I’d been going a few weeks, I wasn’t so hungry, like, in the evenings. Cut back on the chocolate bars and the fizzy drinks. Mind you,” she rolled her eyes, “I’d kill for a poke of chips and curry sauce right this minute.”

“Well it’s certainly done the business.”

“Ta. And talking about business, don’t look now,” she whispered, ‘but see those two fellas over there?” Maggie strained forward. “Where?”

“Ssssh! Over there, at the bar.”

She followed Wilma’s eyes.

“Pair o’ honeys, are they no? Makes thon two that came round to you look like pin-ups.”

Rabbiting on

Maggie pulled a face. “I’d almost forgotten about them.”

“Well, seems one o’ that pair just got discharged.

Been in here since having a bevvy.”

“So?”

“Blootered they are. Rabbiting on about Peterhead. Said the fella been sent down for doing drugs.” “I’m not following you.”

“They’re just the sort might be able to find yer man.” “Brannigan, d’you mean?”

Wilma beamed. “On the nail.”

“Oh, Wilma. I’d almost given up hope. So why didn’t you…?”

“Maggie,’ the smile vanished from Wilma’s face, “I work here. Remember?”

“Oh. I get it. You can’t go snooping on the clientele.” “Clientele? I’ve never seen them before in my life. All the same, I’d better not chance it. But there’s nothing to stop you.”

“Me?” Maggie shrank back. It was one thing bearding James Gilruth, but this was in a different category altogether.

“Go on,” Wilma elbowed her in the ribs.

Oh, the hell with it! Maggie squared her shoulders, rose to her feet. “I’ll get us a couple of bags of crisps,” she said in a voice that was far too loud.

Winning smile

“Hiya,” Maggie sidled up to the two men propping up the bar. “How ye doin?” She adopted what she hoped was a local accent.

The shorter of the two ran bloodshot eyes down Maggie’s body and up again. “Wha’s askin?”

She scrambled for a name. Any name. “Elaine,” she flashed a winning smile.

“Jockie.” He slithered off his bar stool. Drew himself up to his full five feet six. “Buy ye a drink?”

“No…really…thanks all the same. I only came up for a packet of crisps.”

Jockie draped a sweaty arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Elaine, let that bonny hair doon. Ah’m celebratin the day wi ma mate Wullie here.”

More tomorrow.

Cross Purpose (£8.99) is the first in Claire MacLeary’s Harcus & Laird crime trilogy, featuring an unlikely pair of middle aged female private investigators. The second, Burn Out, and the third, Runaway, are available now. All published by Saraband Publishing https:// saraband.net