Eye for an Eye by T F Muir

in front of the fireplace. The hearth was clean, the grate filled with ashes. He removed a pen from his pocket and poked at the ash.
    ‘What are you looking for?’
    ‘Nothing in particular.’
    ‘I’m not sure I like what you’re doing.’
    ‘Want me to stop?’
    She stood by his shoulder for several seconds before saying, ‘Yes. I think so. I think I’d like you to stop.’
    He stood up and smiled at her. ‘It’s what we do best,’ he said. ‘Poking and prodding.’
    She frowned at the fireplace. ‘Find anything?’
    ‘Should I have?’
    ‘I suppose it’s too late to ask if you have a warrant?’
    ‘It’s never too late to ask,’ he said. ‘But anyway, I’ve no more questions.’
    At the front door, he stopped. ‘Oh, just the one,’ he said. ‘Lex. That’s an unusual name.’
    ‘For a woman, you mean?’
    Gilchrist waited.
    ‘It’s short for Alexandra,’ she explained.
    He pulled the door open. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your help.’
    She did not return his smile.

CHAPTER 10
     
    ‘Pint of Eighty Shilling.’
    ‘Rough day, Andy?’ Fast Eddy nodded to the back corner. ‘Old Willie’s in. And by the look of him, he’s thirsty.’
    ‘Don’t know if I’m up for him today.’
    ‘Been asking for you.’ Fast Eddy slid forward a pint mug filled with a creamy liquid that darkened from the bottom like a mulatto Guinness. ‘There you go. One for Willie?’
    ‘Why not?’
    Fast Eddy turned to the optics on the wall and pressed a whisky glass to The Famous Grouse. ‘Double?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘He tells me it’s worth at least a couple of doubles.’
    ‘We’ll see about that.’
    Gilchrist slapped a fiver onto the bar then carried the drinks into the back area. He pulled a chair up to a table scratched from decades of heavy drinking. Tyke, Old Willie’s Highland terrier, lay curled on the floor and blinked tired-eyed at him.
    Seated opposite, Old Willie barely glanced up. An empty glass and the dregs of a half-pint of Guinness circled with white rings reminded Gilchrist that Old Willie liked to take his time. He slid the half across the table.
    ‘Eddy said you wanted to see me.’
    Old Willie’s rheumy eyes studied the whisky, his mouth open like a panting bird. A shaking hand moved toward the glass, and fingers as fine as a bird’s claws gripped it. Lips slid over gums too old for false teeth.
    ‘You’ll have to dae better than this, son.’
    ‘There’s more, Willie.’
    ‘There would have to be.’
    ‘How about a half-pint?’
    ‘That would do nicely. For starters.’
    The glass shivered its way to a black hole of a mouth, and white lips wrapped the rim as if seeking support. A thimbleful tipped in, and Old Willie’s eyes widened as if stunned that the whisky was real. Then the glass was returned to the table.
    ‘So, what do you want to tell me?’ Gilchrist tried.
    Brown eyes, too large for the head, it seemed, sparkled to life. ‘And here was me thinking you only wanted to ask how I was keeping.’ A laugh rattled somewhere in his throat.
    Gilchrist waited while the old man dabbed spittle from his chin. ‘And how are you keeping, Willie?’
    ‘How dae I look, son?’
    ‘You look fine.’
    ‘You’re a bugger of a liar.’ A claw lifted the glass to thin lips, and Gilchrist noted the shaking had all but gone. Another sip, larger this time. ‘By God, son, you know how to reach a man’s heart.’
    ‘And his tongue?’
    Willie’s face creased into a smile. ‘The doctor tells me I’ll no see the end of the year. I asked him which one.’ This time the rattle turned into a fit of coughing that brought a hint of colour to the grey cheeks.
    Gilchrist leaned closer. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘I’m fine, son. Just get me that half-pint. And another one of these.’
    ‘In a minute.’
    Old Willie’s eyes glistened, wide as an eagle’s. A tuft of grey hair that sprouted from the top of a tiny crown added to the avian image. ‘You used to be a