The Sirens - 02 Read online

  "We're here," Mason said. I looked up. We were approaching a dock on the edge of a small town, I could just make out my Land Rover sitting on the jetty. There was a single figure standing and waving. It was the barmaid, Irene, and there was no sign of Jim Morton.

  "Don't bother tying her up," she shouted as we approached. "I'll take her straight back."

  I climbed up out of the boat, my legs suddenly weak and wobbly, and I stood beside her as John Mason came up.

  "You got out of Portree all right, then?" I asked.

  "Oh, aye," she said, smiling sweetly. "Your wee reporter pal tried to come with me, but a swift kick in his nuts put paid to that idea."

  "I'll bet he swore."

  "Oh, aye, I thought Donald was bad, but I heard words I'd never heard used in that order before." She laughed again.

  I was busy re-appraising the Mason brothers. Anybody sensible enough to marry a woman like this couldn't be all bad...

  I toyed with the idea of sharing that thought with her, but she was already into the boat.

  "The keys are in the ignition," she said. "And somebody owes me forty quid for the ferry."

  "It'll come out of my expenses. I'll send you a check," I shouted as she turned the wheel and expertly steered the boat away.

  "Just get him to the funeral. That'll be enough for me. The source can wait...for a wee while longer."

  If she'd been standing next to me I'd have followed that up with a question, but she had already moved beyond shouting range. The boat moved away, and I realized, checking the position of the sun, that it was already late afternoon.

  "Christ. How long was I asleep?"

  "Three hours and more. It's after two o'clock."

  "Then we'd better get going. It'll be getting dark by the time we get back."

  There was barely a quarter of a tank of petrol in the car. Once I'd eventually found the way out of the dock onto the road, the first priority was a petrol station...and more cigarettes.

  I found one on the edge of town...charging only ten-pence a litre more than I would have paid in the city, which was a bit of a bargain this far north. I filled the tank...I figured old lady Malcolm would be good for the expenses. I left Mason in the car and went inside to pay. I bought three packs of Marlboro...I also figured Mason would smoke at least one of them, given the family propensity for my smokes.

  When I got back to the car, the Mason brothers were in the process of dragging John from the passenger seat.

  "Hey. Leave him be!" I called. As expected, they ignored me, right until I was on top of them. I pulled the one nearest to me away from the car. He swung a haymaker punch that I was able to step inside. He was no boxer, and a right uppercut dropped him. I was too late to stop the other two pulling John out of the car.

  "You're coming back with us," the big man said, and put out a hand onto John's chest. I saw John reach out, and take the man's hand. It looked like no more than a simple grip to move the hand from its position, but the big man's face creased in pain.

  "I'm going to my father's funeral," John said, and pushed the man away. There was a look of astonishment on the man's face as he flew through the air, hitting a petrol pump with such force that the fuel hose fell to the ground, the big man's body falling beside it.

  John turned to the third man.

  "I'm going to the funeral, Kenneth," he said.

  The man, Kenneth, didn't reply. He turned to me instead.

  "It's too dangerous. We can't control it, not so far from the island. Don't take him."

  "It's his choice. He's a grown man."

  "Oh no," Kenneth said, "You're wrong there...you're very wrong there."

  Over by the petrol pump the big man was starting to stir, and the one I'd put down was showing signs of movement.

  "Time to go," I said.

  John held Kenneth easily as he climbed back into the car.

  "I'll be back tomorrow night," he told the man. "I'll leave straight after the funeral."

  "Then pray," Kenneth said as I got into the driver's seat. He was in John's side of the car, but he was talking to me. "Pray that there is enough time."

  As we drove out of the forecourt, Kenneth was busy helping his brothers to their feet. They didn't seem in a hurry to follow us, just standing and staring. I watched them in the rear view mirror for so long that I nearly ran into a bus stopped in the road. I just caught the white, shocked, flash of the driver's face as I passed him with an inch to spare.

  My hands were a bit shaky on the wheel, so I got Mason to light me a cigarette.

  "What was Irene talking about back there? What is the 'Source'? And what happens if you're too far from the island?"

  "Buggered if I know," Mason said. "I've heard Irene mention it a couple of times...and it's said reverentially, as if she's talking about something religious...but that's as far as it goes. And as for being off the island...the brothers always said it was a bad idea...like the night I ran away. I don't want to lie to you...I'm worried, about losing control again. But my mother needs me."

  "Don't worry," I said. "If you start growing canines, I'll stop at a butcher's shop and buy you a bone."

  I was kept busy with avoiding parked traffic and kamikaze pedestrians in the narrow streets of the town, so it wasn't until we got out onto the open road that I was able to put some thoughts in order.

  "Okay. I think I'm getting it now. They think you're some kind of 'Chosen One'...that there's a seal woman you have made pregnant, and that you have somehow become, or are becoming, a shape-shifting defender of the unborn child...stop me if anything sounds weird with this story."

  He laughed, but he looked as miserable as anyone I've ever seen.

  "That's about it, apart from the 'don't get too far from the island' bit...and the fact that it's now nine months since my 'encounter' on the beach."

  He puffed hard on the cigarette, sucking on it as if it was his last.

  "You seem quite calm about it all," he said. "It must be a bit out of the normal range of duties for you."

  "Oh, you would think so," I replied, "but just around ten miles from where we are now, I was involved in a case that opened my eyes. These days I'll believe just about anything...if the money is right."

  "Well, tell me," he said. "I've been talking about myself all day. Tell me a story...it'll be a change."

  So I drove, and I talked. I told him about Fiona Dunlop, and the Johnson Amulet, and the old Arab who controlled it...the Arab who had claimed to be over four thousand years old. I left out the more gruesome bits...he didn't need to know Tommy MacIntyre, the purveyor of sex toys who'd been left with too many holes in him, or Newman and Hardy, who'd been gored to death inside a locked police car. I did tell him of the ceremony at Arkham House, and of the thing beyond the veil.

  "That's some imagination you've got there," Mason said when I'd finished.

  "Not any better than yours," I replied.

  "Touche. My mother did the right thing picking you," he said.

  "Aye. I've got a feeling your mother chose me for a reason. Maybe we'll find out when I get you home. Always provided that she recognizes you, of course."

  "Oh, I don't think there'll be a problem there. I'm still her 'wee boy'."

  We drove in silence for a while, and when I next turned my head from the road to speak to him, I realized he was asleep. I drove on as the sun started its slow descent to my right. As I drove up through Glencoe once more the Land Rover's shadow leapt ahead of the car, and as we reached Rannoch Moor it had got dim enough for me to need to switch on the lights.

  They didn't make the moor any more palatable...dark shadows seemed to lurk just beyond the range of sight, and wisps of fog and mist made random grabs at us out of the gloom. Once more I pushed up the speed, and kept my eyes on the white lines of the road.

  I'd been planning to drive straight through, but my bladder had other ideas. I had to stop and pull into a lay-by.

  As I stood there, steam rising from the growing puddle at my fe
et, a movement from within the Land Rover caused me to turn. John Mason was still asleep, but his skin rippled, as if small animals were burrowing in his flesh. His mouth was open, and his tongue flicked in and out, like a snake tasting the air. Then, just as quickly, he went quiet and still once more.

  But I stood there, in the cold and damp, smoking a cigarette, and watching. It was long minutes before I could bring myself to get back in the car, and when I did, I pushed the speed up as far as I dared. A sign told me I was forty miles from Glasgow. Once I got going I did it in just over half an hour. I wasn't stopped by any speed police, but I think if I had I might have been grateful.

  Mason woke up just as we were approaching Anniesland Cross.

  "So, what's the plan?" he said after bumming yet another cigarette from me. I'd been just about to ask him the same question.

  "I thought I'd deliver you to your mother," I said.

  "Oh. And I thought I'd leave that till the morning," he said, but he suddenly looked lost and afraid. His eyes had that wide-eyed look I'd seen many times...usually just before their owner took flight.

  "I could stay with you?" he said, "I won't be any bother."

  Somehow I doubted that.

  "I've already got a house-guest," I said, "and he's seen enough weird shit to last him a lifetime. Besides...your mammy is the one paying my bills."

  His eyes went even wider. I took the precaution of surreptitiously locking all the car doors.

  "Don't worry. We'll be there in ten minutes."

  I was a bit premature. Traffic was on a go-slow under the river, and the Clyde Tunnel was just one big car park. While we crawled along John Mason started making excuses.

  "I haven't got a black tie," was the lamest one.

  "Your mother will have one. Mothers always have, especially older ones. Trust me...I used to work the obituaries column in the Star...once you get to seventy you get asked to a lot more funerals than you do weddings."

  Even then he made a move to open the car door, but the locks held, although the door squealed as he put his weight into it.

  The car was momentarily at a halt, so I reached over and pulled him round to face me. Heavy tears ran down his cheeks.

  "Listen," I said, "you made the decision when you met me on the boat. You may as well go through with it now. Besides...I promised your mammy...you wouldn't want me to disappoint her, would you?"

  Grudgingly he agreed, but it seemed I was no longer his friend. He stared stonily ahead as the traffic finally sped up and moved into Govan. I had to get him to direct me once we got off the main road...south of the river was outside my normal patch. He directed us past bonded warehouses and derelict ground, to a block of flats on the edge of the old docklands. Urban regeneration hadn't reached this far out, and the flats, dilapidated relics of fifties urban planning, looked like they would fall down long before anybody ever got round to demolishing them,

  "You can leave me here," he said as we pulled into the car park. "I'll go up myself."

  But I was too old to fall for that one...I'd been too old for that one when I was twelve.

  "No, your mammy owes me for all those fags you're been smoking."

  The flats were protected by an entry phone, which to my surprise still functioned. I heard old lady Malcolm tell us to 'Come away up', and we walked into a surprisingly well- maintained hall. I'd been in many blocks of flats in Glasgow, most of which smelled of stale piss, and none of which, until now, contained vases of freshly cut flowers. The lift worked, there were bulbs shining in all the lights, and there was no graffiti. It looked like I'd have to reappraise my rating system...this place was like the Hilton compared to anywhere on the North Side.

  "Shoes," Mason said, as we approached a door to a flat. At first I thought he was going mad, then I saw him bend to slip off his trainers.

  "She's obsessive about the carpets," he said.

  I had bent to undo my laces when the flat door opened and Old Lady Malcolm peeked out at us. She looked Mason up and down and pursed her lips.

  "Oh. It's you," she said. She didn't look particularly pleased to see us.

  "If you're here, I suppose you'd better come in," she said. Mason went past me into the flat. I would have followed, but the old woman stopped me before I got my shoes off.

  "Not you, son. Family only tonight. But thanks anyway. Wait here."

  I stood in the doorway, wondering whether to go into the hall beyond or not. Inside the flat a soap opera character was moaning...they do that a lot. He bemoaned the fact that another man, his worst enemy, had fathered his child. I tried to ignore it...I knew from experience how seductive the soaps could be...I'd got hooked on one for two years, and it took large doses of beer to keep me away from it.

  "You can have your old room," I heard the old lady say, and it was a voice that would brook no argument.

  "Mother," John Mason said, and there was a hitch in his voice.

  "Not in front of strangers," she said sharply, and the door opened again in front of me. She handed me a check and, before I had time to reply, she'd shut the door in my face.

  At least she hadn't tried to bum any more cigarettes.

  * * *

  There was a group of kids trying to get into the Land Rover when I got back to the car park, but they weren't trying too hard, and they weren't the vicious kind...they ran away instead of trying to cave my head in with a brick. And there was another plus point...they didn't try to bum any cigarettes either. I had a check for a thousand pounds in my pocket, a couple of packs of cigarettes, the night was young, and I didn't have to think about Norse Gods, seal women and disemboweled dogs. I didn't have to think about them.

  All the way back to the office I thought of little else.

  It was just after eight o'clock when I parked the car. Old Joe was shutting up shop.

  "Early night?" I asked. He didn't usually shut till ten.

  "Aye," he said. "Although I wish it wasn't. I've got the mother-in-law coming round. Can I put it off for a bit and get you some fags?"

  "Naw...I picked some up earlier."

  He looked shocked. "Going elsewhere? Traitor."

  He knew and I knew it was a ploy to start a conversation...I was too tired, and I wasn't biting.

  "Away you go home to your lovely mother-in-law. What age is she now?"

  "Ninety-fucking-four," he said. "I wish she'd hurry up and die so I can retire in peace."

  "Retire? Aye, that'll be the day."

  He smiled. He was about to reply, but I realized he'd suckered me in...the conversation had already started. I turned away from him quickly and waved.

  "I'll see you in the morning," I shouted over my shoulder. He stood at the shop door, waiting to see if another customer would come and give him an excuse to get back into the shop...but the street was quiet for once. As Joe walked away along the road he suddenly looked his age.

  I felt my own age as I slowly climbed the stairs. The main light was still on, but when I tried the door it was locked. I rattled the doorknob, and there was a small squeal from inside. Something was knocked over, and Doug swore loudly.

  "Go away. I've called the police!" he shouted.

  "It's me. Let me in, you idiot."

  He at least had the sense to look sheepish as he opened the door. With one glance I took in the half-empty coffee cups, the take-away cartons and the sleeping bag rolled up in the corner.

  I laid the Old Lady Malcolm's check beside its near twin still lying on my desk.

  "Please tell me you're been outside this office in the last thirty-six hours."

  He stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. He'd been doing that since he was a boy...and he'd never succeeded in looking anything less than guilty.

  "I was waiting for you to call and..."

  "Oh no you don't," I said. "You can't blame me for this one. Get your coat...we're going out. We've got some celebrating to do."

  "You got him?"

  "Got him and took him back to his mammy. And we got p
aid."

  "And there was no 'out there' stuff?"

  "No," I said, and I managed to lie with a straight face. I've been doing that since I was a boy.

  "So come on. Give me a chance of a shower then I'll buy you a beer and something to eat. And I'll tell you all about your 'Auld Kelpie'."

  * * *

  I spent a long time letting the shower play over me, clearing my head, washing the case away with the grime it had left on my body. By the time I'd changed into clean clothes I felt refreshed and ready for a beer.

  Doug had his coat on already, and was waiting by his desk.

  "Oh," he said. "Jim Morton has been calling for you all day. The air has been getting steadily bluer."

  "I can imagine. That's part of the story I'll got to tell you...once we get a beer inside us."

  Doug got the edited version of the story in the Aragon over a few pints of strong, hand-pumped ale.

  "I don't understand," he said once I finished. "Why did the old lady think he wasn't her son?"

  "How should I know?" I lied. "Stress at the death of her man? Dementia? Too much whisky? I don't know and I don't care. We got paid, and you're now an employee in a successful Detective Agency. Life is good. Let's get pissed."

  We had a few more beers and reminisced about how the Aragon hadn't really changed since we'd first visited it as students. At that time the pub had a reputation as a place to pick up loose women...nurses in particular. Not that Doug and I had ever had any luck...we always got too drunk. Much like now, in fact.

  When the reminiscing got too maudlin, we moved on to the Ashoka for a curry.

  And that's where Jim Morton finally caught up with me. I heard him before I saw him.

  "Where is the bastard? I know he's in here. Get out of my fucking way."

  There was a clatter, and I turned to see him step round a pile of plates. He saw me at the same moment.

  "Adams, you wanker. Where is he? Where's my story?"

  "Hi, Jim," I said. "How are the nuts?"