Cross Purpose: Episode 58

Though the children were ... undersized and underfed, they possessed the clear eyes and soft features of small children everywhere

Kyle pushed open the bathroom door. Wrinkled his nose. The laminate flooring was blistered and cracked, the bath piled high with dirty laundry. A rust-coloured ring made a statement round the bowl of the lavatory. No change there, then. It obviously hadn’t been cleaned since his last visit.

“Right, wee man,” he tugged Kyle’s trousers down to his ankles.

He eyed the wee boy’s Y-fronts, unsure whether to pull them down.

Undecided, he stood for a moment.

“Canna keep it in.” The wee lad’s high voice cut right through him.

Fatboy decided to go for it. He yanked Kyle’s underpants down to his knees.

He looked around for something the kid could stand on. Didn’t they have plastic stools or something these days?

Finding nothing, he grasped Kyle under his armpits, lifted him up and dangled him over the bowl. “Naw,” Kyle bawled, “no like that.”

“Like what, then?” He set the kid down again. “Ye hiv tae sit me on the lav but,” Kyle gnawed his lower lip, “see an no let me fa in.”

Fatboy grinned. “Would I do that?”

Detached interest

The boy balanced on the back rim of the lavatory, pudgy legs akimbo. He hung onto the plastic toilet seat with both hands, his forehead knitted in concentration.

Fatboy looked on with detached interest. “Finished?” Hands still gripping the sides of the toilet seat, the child nodded.

He lifted the boy off the lavatory. Set him down on the bathroom floor.

He flushed the toilet. Tugged up Kyle’s underpants and trousers.

“Gonna wash your hands?”

“Naw, Kym disna bother.”

“Oh, OK, then.” He eyed the basin. Ran his own hands under the tap. Shook them dry. There wasn’t any soap.

Fatboy made his way back down the hallway, tugging Kyle by the hand. Kym had gone off without a backward glance.

Fatboy knew the girl had managed to get herself banned, finally, from the corner shop.

The hike up to Spar and back, together with the time she would spend knocking back her booze, would guarantee him an hour’s playtime at the very least.

The television was belting out some jingle or other. Fatboy plonked Kyle back down with the others. He settled himself onto the settee.

“Fancy a game, you lot?”

Small heads turned, apathetic. “Naw.”

He smirked. “We’ll play one later, then.”

The kids were half out of it, gently sedated by whatever it was Kym slipped into their juice. And Willie wouldn’t be early. Not this week. The Social had been at his door again.

Willie’s ma had been drunk, the boy said, so they hadn’t got in, but it was only a matter of time before they managed to pin him down.

Fatboy sighed. He wished Willie hadn’t mentioned the Social. It would be ages yet before Mike Meston came out of jail, even if he did get remission for good behaviour. And Fatboy wouldn’t want to lay a bet on Mad Mike behaving himself in Peterhead, not with the amount of dope that got slung over that wall.

Benevolence

Now he came to think about it, he wondered if he shouldn’t let Mad Mike go. Young Willie was shaping up to be a good wee runner. Just so long as he didn’t get any grandiose ideas.

He cast a benevolent glance towards the kids gathered at his feet. There was something curiously appealing about them.

Though the children in Kym’s care were for the most part undersized and underfed, they possessed the clear eyes and soft features of small children everywhere and a spontaneity that was infectious.

Warmth suffused Fatboy’s chest. He’d come to rely on the kids for company. A smile played on his lips. They were his wee posse. A family, almost. His family.

Family

He scowled. Well, as near a family as he’d ever had. He took a quick dekko at his watch. Did a quick mental calculation.

If Willie wasn’t due at Esplanade Court for an hour yet, then by the time he’d done his trades and cashed up… Fatboy took another look at the kids. Maybe he’d roll a spliff first. Help him relax. Just then, Kyle turned. Gave Fatboy a look.

The kid had such an old face in his head, it was hard to tell what exactly it signified.

The wee boy yawned.

Forget the spliff, Fatboy decided.

“Fancy a nap?” he enquired.

Kyle scrambled to his feet. “If you like.”

Momentum

Maggie was installed in a quiet corner of The Wild Boar in Belmont Street. Now she’d run Bobby Brannigan to ground, she was desperate to build momentum.

Despite the man’s bluster, she was sure that, with Brian’s help, she could get Brannigan to open up.

Then there was the niggling question of Colin. Her son had been more withdrawn than ever this past few days and, in the lonely night hours, Maggie’s imaginings had taken on even more lurid forms.

An ally

If she could only dispel for good and all the feeling that her son was somehow caught up in Lucy Simmons’ death, she could focus on her mission to vindicate George.

Chary of establishing a pattern to her meetings with Brian Burnett, she’d proposed a change of scene.

The Art Gallery was near enough to the shops on Union Street that anyone might spot them.

And it wouldn’t do for Maggie’s name to be linked with Brian’s.

Not in that way. She grimaced. Not in any way. Still, it was critical to keep him onside. He might yet prove an indispensable ally in her quest for justice.

Hadn’t he already gone out on a limb on her behalf? And, besides, the police had resources she couldn’t match as a PI.

Questioning

Brian jumped at her suggestion. He’d backed off lately.

Maggie’s persistent questioning over the past weeks had seemed to engender a growing sense of unease in him, but his suspicions were outweighed by the strength of his feelings for her.

Unlike the bright Art Gallery café, the Wild Boar was dark and intimate.

The change of venue might afford the opportunity for a fresh start.

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