The Sirens - 02 Page 4

  "Best just to have a few more beers here, sir," he said, "You'll have a better time all round." He moved off, obviously grateful that one of the young lads needed serving down the other end of the bar.

  I took my new beer off to the corner again.

  Jim Morton was still working the fishermen, but from the stony expressions of their faces I didn't think he was getting anywhere. I had a feeling that my hopes of an early resolution to the case were fading fast and it looked increasingly like I had a long night ahead of me.

  I finished the beer too quickly...I knew the signs. If I had any more I'd be unlikely to stop before I passed out, or someone hit me. I needed food...something to soak up the beer. Luckily most towns in Scotland have the perfect answer for that...a fish and chip shop.

  Portree was no different. Just off the main square it was easy to find, I just had to head for the crowd of kids milling around outside. Once inside I had to queue behind a group of the kids who were intent on outdoing each other on fat levels.

  "I'll have a burger and chips," one said.

  "Battered haggis and chips for me...with curry sauce," another said, and I felt the beer turn over in my stomach. Suddenly I wasn't feeling quite so hungry.

  When I heard an order for 'deep-fried' pizza and chips I thanked God such delights weren't available when I was a lad...I'd be thirty stone by now.

  "I suppose you still sell fish suppers?" I asked the girl behind the counter. She moved her gum slowly to the other side of her mouth before she replied.

  "Aye. But you'll have to wait for the fish. We make it fresh."

  "Straight out of the harbor eh?" I said. "Did you catch it yourself?"

  She looked straight through me. She served thousands of tourists a day and they all said the same things, told the same jokes and she went home stinking of fish and grease. There was nothing I could say that would improve the life she saw stretched out ahead of her. In thirty years time she would be the weepy woman in the pub...and the worst thing about it was, she could see it coming. She went back to moving her gum and staring past me while a squat, fat, hairy man coated a fish in batter and dropped it with a hiss into the fryer.

  While I waited I studied the flyers and posters that studded the wall of the take-away. There was the usual advertisements for local craft fairs, school concerts and farmer's markets...but there also seemed to be lot of lost pets...with people offering large rewards. I was half tempted to give up the case and move on the 'pet-search' duties. Only half tempted though.

  When the fish supper was finally ready to go, and the young lass had shown her contempt for me one-last time, I took the wrapped package out to the harbor, and had one of those ten-minute periods that stays with you for a lifetime. The fish was cooked to perfection, the sea was calm, the sky was blue and all was quiet except for the gulls overhead and the soft chugging of a fishing boat as it came in to dock. I finished the fish and chips and licked the greasy salt layer off my fingers with relish.

  The place was working its magic on me. As always, when I visited places like this, I flirted with ideas and schemes that would let me pull up sticks and move here. But even as I made them, I knew that the office in Byres Road would always drag me back, back to the bustle of the city, to the streets where I understood how to get by, where I knew how things worked. Out here life was different. Oh, it was seductive, especially on a day like this, but there weren't enough people...not enough variation. I could also imagine winter nights where I would be screaming in boredom.

  Plus, I liked my pubs to be lively and cosmopolitan. The reception I got when I walked down the jetty and into the 'Auld Kelpie' soon told me that this wasn't one of those pubs.

  There were only four people in the bar...and that included the barmaid. They had obviously been in conversation just before I walked in, but now they all stopped and looked at me as I walked across the wooden floor. The place was so quiet it seemed almost sacrilegious to talk.

  "A pint of heavy," I said.

  "Sorry. We don't do 'heavy' as such," the barmaid said. "But we've got some locally brewed beer if you're interested?"

  "Let me guess...Auld Kelpie Ale?" I said. "Or is it Portree Porter?"

  At least she showed she was capable of smiling. The three men in the corner were staring at me in undisguised contempt. I was about to ask her about John Mason, when I caught a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  I raised an eyebrow in response, and got the slight shake of the head again. I stood in silence as she poured the beer. She had to work hard at a hand pump, and the beer came through thick and dark. It looked like I had some chewing to do.

  She took my money, and rang it up at the till. When she turned back she handed me my beer, and passed me a small folded piece of paper between her fingers and the glass.

  "I think you'll find this more interesting than anything you got in the Portree Hotel," she said, which told me that I wasn't the only one playing detective.

  I took the beer and palmed the note. As I turned away I nodded towards the three men, but all I got was glares in return.

  I made my way to the far corner of the bar and, while lighting a cigarette, slipped the note into the Marlboro packet. Then I waited a reasonable time before heading for the men's room.

  The note was short, and to the point.

  JM will meet you in the morning at 7:30.

  The Hebridean Flyer, on the north jetty. Get on board.

  He'll tell you what to do.When you leave, come to the bar and palm me the Land Rover keys

  Irene

  I crumpled the note and flushed it away, then took the time to wash my hands, just in case anybody was checking the plumbing activities...you can never be too paranoid in this business. Conversation stopped again when I walked back into the bar. The trio still tried to stare me out, but I sat back with my beer, blew smoke rings and watched them watching me.

  "Quiet tonight," I said into the silence. There was no reply from the three men. The barmaid, Irene, I presumed, looked like she was about to speak, but one of the men banged an empty glass on the table in front of him, and she moved to pour a round of drinks.

  We sat like that for nearly fifteen minutes, while I watched the barmaid, and the men watched me. I think I had the best of the deal.

  She was in her thirties, a tall, willowy woman who moved around the bar like a seasoned professional who knew where everything was kept. She wore a white shirt and jeans, both crisp and clean, and her long brown hair shone in the lights above the bar. She moved as if she was dancing to an internal rhythm, and when she stretched to put some glasses away in the high gantry, the view improved considerably.

  But finally I couldn't spin the beer out any longer. I drained my glass and, rising, walked over to her.

  "Another?" she said.

  "No thanks. The excitement might be too much for me."

  That earned me a smile, and one so generous that I was almost tempted into having another beer. But a voice from behind me put paid to that.

  "Aye. It would be for the best if you were going," it said.

  Keeping my back to him, I just had enough time to pass the car keys to the barmaid. She made them disappear with the dexterity of a stage magician, just as I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  "I was talking to you."

  I turned to face the man who had banged his glass on the table earlier. He was even bigger than I'd taken him for. Nearly six foot, and almost as wide, he was a bull of a man, with a neck like a tree trunk and hands like spades.

  "Ah...traditional island hospitality," I said.

  He spat at my feet.

  "You'd find us hospitable enough if you didnae spy on us," he said. "You'll find nothing here for you, or your wee pal fae the papers."

  "I'm here on holiday..." I started, but the lie fell flat between us.

  "Sure thing," the big man said. "But I think you'll find the Skye air disagreeable if you stay too long."

  "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking about hangin
g around."

  He put a huge hand on my arm. I tried to move it, but it was locked solid, like a slab of rock.

  "You're not welcome here, son," he said. "Do you understand?"

  "Oh, aye, I understand fine enough," I said.

  He let go of my arm. At that point I should just have kept walking, but my mouth always has worked faster than my brain.

  "You couldn't tell me where the nearest lodge is, could you? You see, I'm a Mason, and I always like to hunt out brothers."

  He growled at me, just as if he was a dog.

  "Nae mair warnings, son. You have until morning to get off the island...or you'll be leaving in a hearse."

  I'd been threatened before, it goes with the job, but I'd rarely seem such animal ferocity on a man's face. It had me tongue-tied, capable only of pushing past him and heading for the door. I turned back once, just in time to see Irene put the car keys in her handbag. The three men hadn't noticed...they were too busy giving me the x-ray stare treatment, which was enough to force me out onto the pavement,

  In these situations, I usually went one of two ways...either I went straight back in, shouting the odds, starting a fight, or I left it for an hour, then went back in. Either way, it would end in a fight. I didn't fancy my chances against all three of them, but that rarely stopped me. Fortunately I hadn't had enough beer yet...the red mist stayed away. And I was a long way from home and potential allies. This time I chose discretion. Who needed valor anyway?

  I wandered along the full length of the harbor as I smoked a cigarette, but there was no sign of any Hebridean Flyer.

  There was only one boat with anybody on board. An old fisherman was sitting on top of the cabin of a battered sloop, patching a net that sat like a spider's web on the deck around him.

  "I hope the boys in the Kelpie made you welcome," he said as I passed.

  "Aye...they let me drink a whole pint of beer before they threatened to kill me."

  The fisherman laughed.

  "You lasted longer than some...I've seen some folk come back out the door before they had time to even reach the bar."

  "I'm surprised the place gets enough custom to stay in business."

  "Oh, it gets busy at times...mainly when the brothers are away," he said, and laughed again. "Come back when they're out fishing and you'll find a different place entirely."

  "As long as Irene is still there," I said.

  The old man's face darkened.

  "It would be best not to mess around with that one...she's spoken for...has been for many a year."

  He went back to mending his net, but before I turned away, he spoke again.

  "I'll be seeing you around," he said. "I'll keep an eye on you."

  And as I walked away, he cackled to himself at some private joke.

  When I passed the 'Auld Kelpie' again the lights were out and the door was locked. Obviously my custom had been enough for one night.

  Back in the Portree Hotel the barman at least had the grace to look embarrassed when I caught him on the phone. I knew who had called him, and he knew that I knew.

  "See me a free pint and we'll call it quits," I said. He'd been more embarrassed than I thought...he didn't argue.

  Jim Morton was in conference with the youths that had been filling the fruit machine earlier, and the businessmen had moved on from beer to spirits. The noise level had risen, but otherwise nothing had changed in my absence.

  It was going to be a very long time till 7:30 in the morning. I had a choice to make. Did I stay in the bar here and look for information, or did I lie low. That was an easy one...lying low was never a strong point. My only other worry was where to sleep.

  "Do you have any rooms?" I asked the barman.

  Once again he looked paralyzed in fear.

  "I...I cannae give you a room, sir...I mean, we're full up."

  "Just for one night," I said, "I'll be away in the morning. I'd go tonight, but I've had too much to drink to drive."

  He visibly relaxed. No doubt he'd be on the phone first chance he got to reassure the men in the 'Kelpie' that the scare tactics had worked. I couldn't resist a taunt.

  "Aye. You were right about the Kelpie. They didn't give me much of a welcome. Not like this fine place."

  "Listen, sir," he said to me. "You got to leave in the morning. I have to live here all year. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

  "Aye. The boys in the Kelpie would put the fear of god into anybody."

  "You're right there. The Mason boys are the top dogs around here."

  That shook me into silence. I was thinking about little old ladies, maiden names, and son's names, so I let him charge my credit card an extortionate amount for a room. My head was still buzzing with the implications as I took a fresh beer over to a corner table.

  It might be coincidence, but in my experience they were rare.

  So what was the connection? Why didn't the old lady tell me about the Masons in the Kelpie? And why was John Mason so secretive?

  My guess was that the answer lay with 'the Mason Boys'. My simple 'find and return' case was growing legs in all directions, and I had a sinking feeling that getting John Mason back to his mother was going to see me earning the money the hard way.

  If I was going up against the men from the Kelpie, I was going to need more information. Of course, I could wait till the morning and ask Mason himself, but I needed some leverage in the conversation. I waited till Jim Morton was finished with the kids, then waved him over to my table. I saw the barman do a double take as Jim sat beside me. No doubt he'd be on the phone again, but I let it be. Maybe it would stir the situation up to my benefit.

  Jim sat down wearily. He cradled a large whisky from which he took a large gulp.

  "Shit. I thought I'd heard some tall stories down the docks in Glasgow," he said. "But the folks around here are something else."

  "So, did you find your werewolf?" I asked.

  "Fucking werewolf? No. So far I've got dismembered dogs, naked men found on the beach with their dicks bitten off, and the fucking Creature from the Black Lagoon. Nae werewolves though, but I bet if I ask around long enough one will turn up. Fucking hicks."

  He took one of my cigarettes without asking and sucked up a quarter of it before talking again.

  "I told that fuckwit of an editor this was a wild goose chase. I told him, but he widnae listen. Seemingly the great unwashed are interested in this 'X files' crap. Would you believe wan of the boys over the corner told me that the Mason's were involved with the body on the beach. Some kind of ritual magic. Fucking Mason's indeed. Down in Glesga the Masonic lodges are too busy organizing fucking Rangers Football Club, but seemingly up here it's a different kind of balls they're interested in. Fucking Masons...I ask you? If it's no' them it's the fucking Vatican hit squad...Did I tell you there's some of them around as well? Fucking unbelievable..."

  He was still off in the rant, but I'd switched him off. Things were beginning to coalesce around an idea in my head, and I didn't like where it was leading me. And Doug would like it even less if he ever got to hear about it. It looked like 'weird shit' was back on the casebook.

  "What about you?" Jim asked, bring me out of my reverie. "Did you find your lost boy?"

  I pondered how much to tell him. He might have a foul mouth, but he had a reporter's instincts, and would ferret out a potential story if he sensed an opening.

  "I haven't seen him yet, but I've got a meet in the morning."

  "Good," Jim said. "I needed a drinking partner. Let's see how Johnny Brown likes the sight of a big expense bill. That should shut his fucking mouth quick enough."

  He went to the bar and returned with two beers and two whiskies. I let him get halfway through both of his before I tried to get some information out of him.

  "So what's this about dickless bodies on the beach? Sounds like you might get a story out of that one," I said.

  "If there was any truth in it, maybe," he said. "But the boy who told me says his pal knew somebody that knew
somebody that saw the Masons carry a badly wounded holiday maker off the beach about nine months ago. Hardly a hot lead, even if it did cost me a fucking tenner."

  As if by providence, the bar door opened and the three men from the Auld Kelpie walked in. I decided on the spur of the moment to throw wee Jim into my case, just to see what got stirred up.

  "I think you've missed the point Jim," I said. "See those three men that just came in? Their name's Mason...and I don't think they go in for funny handshakes and rolled up trousers."

  Jim slapped his forehead.

  "I've been working in Govan far too long. Say the word Mason and, like Pavlov's dogs, I'm off in the wrong fucking direction. Excuse me," he said.

  The three men were standing at the bar and Jim went to join them.

  "Gentlemen," I heard him say. "Can I buy you a drink?"

  "We don't drink wi' the likes of you," the big man replied. "Away and crawl back into the gutter where you belong."

  "But surely..." Jim started, but was stopped short when the big man poked him in the ribs.

  "Just get away back to your filthy wee paper in your filthy wee city, and leave us in peace." The prod was so hard that Jim stepped backwards.

  "Okay," he said. "I was just trying to be friendly."

  "When we need a friendly sewer-rat, we'll let you know," the big man said. The three men turned their back on Jim and forgot about him. That was a mistake. I saw Jim's eyes take on a hard look...he was now on a story.

  For the next hour Jim worked the room...harder now that he had the sniff of a lead. More money changed hands, and the reporter's notebook was filling rapidly. The Mason brothers were not paying him any attention... seemingly they'd come over especially to give me more of the x-ray stare.

  I raised my glass and smiled sweetly at them. I had nothing to worry about. Wee Jim was doing my job for me.

  After half an hour or so I went to the bar for a refill.

  "You can tell the Mason boys I'll be leaving in the morning," I said to the barman. "I can take a hint."

  He smiled at me

  "I'm sure that'll be for the best sir."

  I was sure of it too, but my nose was telling me that this case had a long way to run yet. I just didn't realize how long, or how far, it would take me.