Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone

get things straight,’ said Joe. ‘What were you doing on the Oa anyway?’
    ‘Looking at the old Stremnishmore distillery,’ said Adam.
    ‘What for?’
    ‘I want to start it up again.’
    Joe laughed. ‘Did you hear that, Grant?’
    Grant smiled to reveal a snaggle of browning teeth.
    ‘He wants to start up an old distillery, and now here he is standing in the middle of an illegal bootlegging operation,’ said Joe. ‘A bit suspicious, isn’t it?’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Molly. ‘We got here just before you did.’
    Roddy spoke to Joe. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
    Joe looked at him, then at Grant.
    ‘Are you here to shut this place down?’ said Adam.
    Joe laughed and Grant joined in, a sharp bark of a sound.
    ‘Not exactly,’ said Joe, stepping further inside with Grant and closing the door behind him.
    He lifted the shotgun and pointed it at them.
    ‘We run this operation.’
    The thrum of distillery equipment filled the silence between them for a few moments.
    ‘Oh fuck,’ said Roddy.
    Molly looked at the shotgun and laughed nervously. ‘Come on, Joe, don’t be ridiculous.’
    Joe levelled the gun at her as Grant took a pistol from the back of his trousers and pointed it at the rest of them.

    ‘Get over with them,’ Joe said to her.
    ‘This is stupid,’ said Molly. ‘What are you doing?’
    Joe walked up to her. ‘I’m giving you an order, and I expect you to fucking obey it.’
    ‘Why? Because you’re the police, or because you’re my dickhead ex-husband?’
    He jabbed the shotgun butt into her stomach, winding her. She doubled over. He backhanded her across the face as she struggled for breath. She fell to her knees gasping.
    ‘Now get your saggy fucking arse over with the rest of them where I can keep an eye on you.’
    Molly struggled to her feet holding her face and shuffled over. They were standing in front of the larger of the two stills. Adam could feel the heat coming from it and smell the raw spirit in the air. He was starting to feel his feet again in his frozen shoes. His heart was bursting in his chest. He instinctively went for his watch then remembered it was broken.
    Grant stood a few feet away, pointing the pistol. He had an ugly smile on his face, his eyes shifting between the four of them.
    This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Serenity fucking now.
    Molly had recovered and was glaring at Joe. ‘Look …’
    ‘Shut up,’ said Joe. He walked over to a beaten-up wooden table and chairs in the corner and slumped in a seat. The table was covered in junk – oily bits of machinery, plastic and glass bottles, petrol canisters, sheets of paper and strips of cloth. Joe lifted one of the canisters, unscrewed the lid and took a swig. He put the lid back on.
    ‘Heads up, Grantie.’

    He flung the canister in Grant’s direction. Grant fumbled as he tried to catch it with one hand while also keeping an eye on the captives. He picked the canister up, dusted it off and took a big hit. His eyes widened and he puffed out his cheeks, then he screwed the lid back on and dropped it.
    ‘Joe …’ said Molly.
    Grant stepped close to Molly and punched her in the belly.
    ‘He said shut up,’ he said, edging backwards and raising the gun. ‘How about you be a good girl and do what you’re told?’
    Molly was hunched over, struggling to get air in her lungs. She eventually straightened and looked at Grant. ‘You’re a moron, you know that?’
    ‘That’s an interesting point of view considering who’s got the gun here,’ said Grant.
    ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to get a life of your own?’ said Molly. ‘Instead of being Joe’s pathetic lapdog?’
    ‘Would you like me to punch your face next time?’ said Grant.
    ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Joe screamed, jerking out of his seat and knocking the chair over. ‘Jesus.’
    He put his hand to the back of his head and walked around for a while, then turned to Grant.
    ‘Watch them, I’ll be back