Bad Men by Allan Guthrie

led the way into the sitting room. The Baxters carried the smell of fish with them as they followed. And Pearce realised why he'd been thinking about Rocky. You see, Rocky had claimed that a skate was the perfect sexual substitute for a woman. He swore by it. Just like the real thing, apparently. Advised Pearce to go to Deep Sea World at North Queensferry just to see if he wasn't telling the truth. "It's cool there," Rocky said. "Scores of flat fish swimming over your head in these glass-ceilinged tunnels. Honest, pal, they have remarkably fanny-looking fannies. And if you want to touch and not just look, I know a good fishmonger in Slateford."
    Pearce couldn't help but wonder if the Baxters had been diddling a skate.
    "What's funny?" Jacob Baxter said, arms folded, standing in front of Pearce.
    Pearce shook his head. "Take a seat," he said. Then, to distract him, "How's the wife?"
    Baxter glared at him. "She's dead," he said.
    "Oh," Pearce said. "I'm sorry to hear that."
    "Happened a while ago," Baxter told him. "I'm over the worst of it."
    Pearce folded his arms. "And Rodge?"
    Baxter shrugged. "Won't be walking again any time soon." He breathed out heavily. "But he's alive. Mind if I smoke?"
    "As long as you don't mind me coming over to your house and pissing all over your carpet," Pearce told him.
    "I forgot," Baxter said. "What did you want to speak to us about?"
    "I know what happened," Pearce said. "I read the newspapers. What I'd like you to do is tell me why."
    Baxter stood for a while longer, then finally decided to plonk his arse down on Pearce's mum's settee. He wiped the cushion first, as if there were crumbs or dog hairs on it. There weren't dog hairs on it, cause Pearce didn't let Hilda up on the settee. They had an understanding. The wee bastard had his own basket over by the window and Pearce never tried to get into it.
    Although Flash might. He was walking over there now. Bending over, muttering to Hilda. Hilda opened his mouth, let his tongue loll out. Flash stared at him, fascinated by the missing leg. Hilda's tail was off again. When the dog wasn't a coward, it was a whore.
    Pearce focused on Baxter again. Baxter sniffed, stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, withdrew it, empty. He ran the palm of his hand across his brow.
    "Nobody going to say anything?" Pearce said.
    Flash straightened, shifted his weight, what little there was of it, from one foot to the other, but didn't look like opening his mouth anytime soon.
    "Does it matter?" Baxter said.
    "Tell me. Then I'll decide."
    "Christ's sake, Pearce, you saw what he did to the dog."
    Pearce, huh? What happened to the ‘mister'? "I did," Pearce said. "But I wasn't asking about the dog."
    Baxter's lips were pursed, deep wrinkles running down his jaw. "And Rodge? What was that? A forgivable fit of temper?"
    "How do you know Wallace was responsible?"
    "You serious?"
    "Perfectly."
    Baxter leaned back in the settee, stretched. Then he sat forward suddenly. "This goes no further than us," he said.
    After Pearce nodded, Baxter proceeded to tell him about Rodge trying to kill Wallace. About Rodge failing. About Wallace getting hold of the gun. About Wallace threatening to shoot Rodge in the kneecaps.
    Pearce said, "So, let me get this straight. Rodge intended killing Wallace?"
    Flash approached Pearce, hands thrust in his pockets. "Too fucking right."
    "And he fucked up?"
    Flash nodded.
    "And Wallace taught him a lesson by pumping a couple of slugs in him?"
    "Well, that's not how I'd look at it, Mr Pearce."
    "But that's how Wallace would look at it."
    Silence for a while. Then Baxter said, "The important question is, how do you look at it?"
    Pearce smacked his lips, then said, "Rodge was asking for it."

Ten o'clock , Pearce took Hilda out for a bedtime stroll. Walked down to the end of the street, passed a tiny old lady all dolled up, hair in a high coiffure, teetering from one side of the pavement to the other. Whether the poor balance was a result of her high