Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) by Emma Salisbury Page A

his dreads are too tight. He seems to
make up his mind. ‘Mi cyan get y’a name,’ he offers, ‘What we do affer dat,
well, is down to you.’ His grin makes the Cheshire Cat look morose, and I know
in that moment I’ve sold my soul, my granny and my first born to the devil,
that I no longer have to make a decision about whether I’ll do Marcus’s job,
the deal is in the subtext, loud and clear.
    ‘We’re
on.’ I say to him.

8
    Marcus drops me at
the VA. I figure a swift one’ll do no harm, the way the day’s been shaping up.
Before I step inside I try Candy’s mobile but her father answers, informing me
that his daughter is asleep. Exactly like that. My daughter is asleep. His
voice is pained, as though it hurts even talking to me. I figure it’s pointless
texting her if he’s guarding her phone so I decide to leave it for now, I’ll
give it another try in a couple of hours. Two smokers step outside to stand in
the pub’s doorway, hands shielding their eyes as they emerge into the daylight
like rescued Chilean miners. I resist the urge to stand with them, they’re well
known faces, harmless enough but hard to shake off once back inside, experts on
everything with the drink inside them.
    ‘Usual,
Davy?’ Kirsty greets me as I enter the bar and I’m jolted back to earlier this
afternoon and her brother’s meeting with MacIntyre. I look around at the
punters; no sign of Daz.
    ‘Hear
about the robbery?’ She asks as she sets my pint in front of me. I mumble a yes
into the neck of the glass as I drink it down greedily. I’m guessing she
doesn’t know about Daz’s run in with MacIntyre, then remind myself that if this
happens frequently he’d be a dab hand at hiding tell-tale bruises. I should
know.
    ‘Got
away wi’ twenty grand.’ The know-alls are back at their regular space at the
bar, eager to embellish on the scarce facts already circulating. By the end of
the night the amount stolen will be closer to eighty so I don’t bother
correcting them.
    Kirsty
settles herself opposite me, turning her back to the gob-shites so they can’t overhear:
    ‘Cops
came in earlier, spoke to Uncle Doug, told him to be on the lookout for anyone
splashing cash around.’ We laugh at the stupidity of it.
    ‘The
canny old bastard would take their money without a second glance, right
enough.’ She grins. The VA is well known for not asking questions; Marcus and
his fifty pound notes get the red carpet treatment whenever he comes in. After
here the police would visit the pawnbrokers up and down Leith Walk, asking them
to report anyone buying back expensive items they’d deposited in recent months:
watches, wedding rings, kids’ X-boxes. Ten grand wasn’t a fortune, split two
ways it wasn’t going to change anyone’s lives, but it would buy a bit of peace
from a loan shark.
    ‘Daz
been in?’ I try to keep my tone light.
    ‘Why’dy’a
ask?’ suspicious now.
    ‘Just
wonderin’. I shrug. ‘I know you were worried about him.’
    ‘Och,
‘s’a way o’ life with him as a brother.’ Kirsty picks up a filthy cloth and
wipes it half-heartedly across the counter between us. ‘I must admit…when I
first heard about the robbery…’
    ‘No
way!’ I say confidently. At least he was someone I didn’t have to suspect,
unless he’d mastered time travel. The robbery occurred at the very same time he
was being mauled, for want of a better word, by MacIntyre. ‘Why would
he?’ I ask her.
    ‘No,
you’re right.’ Then, ‘You know, sometimes I feel guilty misjudging him like
    that,
I mean, if I don’t give him the benefit of the doubt, who will?’
    I
grunt in sympathy. ‘He gets on alright with the polis though?’
    Suspicious
again. ‘Why’d’ya ask, like?’
    I
shrug. ‘Sometimes when you get a name for yourself it’s like you’ve got a big
target stuck on the back o’ ye every time ye go out.’
    Kirsty
relaxes, ‘Och, I know, but with Daz it’s no’ really like that’. I mean, he’s
gets a