she doth protest too much,’ said Addison as Cat left, the door closing behind her.
‘Sexy bitch and what an arse. Oh well, back to reality. Rebecca, you can start the tapes again.’ Maxwell rolled her eyes at Addison.
‘Addy, I’ve been thinking. If I’m going to sit through the rest of these tapes for you, there’s something I’d want in return.’
‘Guinness?’
‘No. Well, yes, but something else.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘You’re convinced there will be more killings by whoever topped Caldwell and Quinn, right?’
‘I’d bet on it.’
‘Well, if you speak to Alex Shirley about getting on the sniper case, then I want you to ask him if I can be designated to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’
‘Fuck’s sake, you don’t want much, do you?’
‘No, I just want to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. Okay, I’ll ask.’
‘Thanks, Addy.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ll try. Best I can do.’
‘Good enough.’
They both turned their attention back to the turgid task of viewing the tapes from the red-light district even though they both knew it was hopeless. If their man was in there then he was hidden from plain view. The area’s natural camouflage of shadows and alleyways came with the territory and meant it suited the hunter and the hunted a lot more than it did those viewing it through a lens. After another half-hour of fruitless observation, Addison called an end to it.
‘Enough’s enough,’ he muttered. ‘We’re out of here.’
‘Right, the Griffin it is then and not before time,’ said Winter enthusiastically.
‘Not quite yet, wee fella. I’m fed up with this game already and I’m going to do what you suggested. I’m going to see if Shirley is still in the building. You go ahead, I’ll see you in there.’
‘Good move,’ Winter replied, with more than half a mind on his own vested interest in the outcome. ‘And if he says yes . . .’
‘Christ, enough already. Will see what I can do. No promises, mind.’
‘None expected. Thanks, Addy.’
It was only a few hundred yards to the Griffin but the walk was far enough for Winter to get a proper thirst on. He wanted his favour from Addison but he also wanted a few pints of the black stuff. His tongue was aching for it. The old sgriob was working overtime. But his other sgriob , his real itch, was tingling more.
The thought of Shirley giving him the go-ahead to join the case, the only real case in town, was overpowering. Two pints of Guinness and he’d be dreaming about a hole in the middle of a drug lord’s head. And he’d like it.
CHAPTER 11
The Griffin was always more Winter’s kind of pub than it was Addison’s. For him it was a local in the city centre, the kind of everyman bar that Glasgow did best. Old man’s pub, student hangout and theatre crowd all thrown in together. For Addison there were never enough women in it to keep him happy but then again there was never a pub with enough women in it for him.
It had stood on the corner of Bath Street and Elmbank Street for over a hundred years, curving round the corner in splendid wood and leaded glass. Between the Griffin and the lounge bar, the Griffinette, the exterior looked massive with more than enough entrances to make it confusing but inside it was split into three rooms making it much more intimate than it appeared from the street. The leather speakeasy seats facing each other across wooden tables meant the place filled up without a lot of people actually being in it.
That night there were maybe twenty people in the main bar and it gave it the busy, cosy feel that Winter liked. He and Addison were propped up on stools at the bar and the DI was refusing to say how his meeting with Shirley had gone, simply saying that he was waiting for a phone call and didn’t want to jinx it. Instead he was moaning about the lack of talent and suggesting they move on elsewhere. Winter dragged the conversation back to the gangster
‘Sexy bitch and what an arse. Oh well, back to reality. Rebecca, you can start the tapes again.’ Maxwell rolled her eyes at Addison.
‘Addy, I’ve been thinking. If I’m going to sit through the rest of these tapes for you, there’s something I’d want in return.’
‘Guinness?’
‘No. Well, yes, but something else.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘You’re convinced there will be more killings by whoever topped Caldwell and Quinn, right?’
‘I’d bet on it.’
‘Well, if you speak to Alex Shirley about getting on the sniper case, then I want you to ask him if I can be designated to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’
‘Fuck’s sake, you don’t want much, do you?’
‘No, I just want to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. Okay, I’ll ask.’
‘Thanks, Addy.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ll try. Best I can do.’
‘Good enough.’
They both turned their attention back to the turgid task of viewing the tapes from the red-light district even though they both knew it was hopeless. If their man was in there then he was hidden from plain view. The area’s natural camouflage of shadows and alleyways came with the territory and meant it suited the hunter and the hunted a lot more than it did those viewing it through a lens. After another half-hour of fruitless observation, Addison called an end to it.
‘Enough’s enough,’ he muttered. ‘We’re out of here.’
‘Right, the Griffin it is then and not before time,’ said Winter enthusiastically.
‘Not quite yet, wee fella. I’m fed up with this game already and I’m going to do what you suggested. I’m going to see if Shirley is still in the building. You go ahead, I’ll see you in there.’
‘Good move,’ Winter replied, with more than half a mind on his own vested interest in the outcome. ‘And if he says yes . . .’
‘Christ, enough already. Will see what I can do. No promises, mind.’
‘None expected. Thanks, Addy.’
It was only a few hundred yards to the Griffin but the walk was far enough for Winter to get a proper thirst on. He wanted his favour from Addison but he also wanted a few pints of the black stuff. His tongue was aching for it. The old sgriob was working overtime. But his other sgriob , his real itch, was tingling more.
The thought of Shirley giving him the go-ahead to join the case, the only real case in town, was overpowering. Two pints of Guinness and he’d be dreaming about a hole in the middle of a drug lord’s head. And he’d like it.
CHAPTER 11
The Griffin was always more Winter’s kind of pub than it was Addison’s. For him it was a local in the city centre, the kind of everyman bar that Glasgow did best. Old man’s pub, student hangout and theatre crowd all thrown in together. For Addison there were never enough women in it to keep him happy but then again there was never a pub with enough women in it for him.
It had stood on the corner of Bath Street and Elmbank Street for over a hundred years, curving round the corner in splendid wood and leaded glass. Between the Griffin and the lounge bar, the Griffinette, the exterior looked massive with more than enough entrances to make it confusing but inside it was split into three rooms making it much more intimate than it appeared from the street. The leather speakeasy seats facing each other across wooden tables meant the place filled up without a lot of people actually being in it.
That night there were maybe twenty people in the main bar and it gave it the busy, cosy feel that Winter liked. He and Addison were propped up on stools at the bar and the DI was refusing to say how his meeting with Shirley had gone, simply saying that he was waiting for a phone call and didn’t want to jinx it. Instead he was moaning about the lack of talent and suggesting they move on elsewhere. Winter dragged the conversation back to the gangster
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