LITMIR.BIZ

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had decided on him and McCoy’s life had never been the same. Nobody hit him, he was safe. Mess with him and you had Cooper to answer to. And nobody wanted that. Protection came with a price, though. Cooper cared about one thing and one thing only: loyalty. Jump over the gap between the roofs of two buildings, shoplift from Woolworths, wait outside Peter O’Hara’s house for four hours keeping Cooper company so he could batter him when he came out. Anything Cooper wanted you to do, you did.

      He walked over reluctantly, knew what was going to happen, thought he may as well get it over with. Soon as he got near enough Cooper grabbed him, got him in a stranglehold.

      ‘Submit? Submit?’ said Cooper, rubbing his knuckles hard on the top of McCoy’s head.

      McCoy tried to nod, head trapped under Cooper’s arm, throat being crushed.

      Cooper pulled him round again, squeezed his arm tighter into his neck. ‘What? I cannae hear ye!’

      ‘I submit!’ McCoy managed to get out in a strangulated whisper. Cooper laughed, let him go and he stumbled, lost his balance, fell down hard on the lino floor.

      The girls giggled. From down here on the floor he could see the bruises on their thighs, dirty feet squashed into stilettos. ‘Beat it!’ Cooper barked at them and they made for the door, tits wobbling. McCoy stayed down on the floor, rubbed at his neck.

      ‘You’re like a big bloody wean, Cooper. Give us a hand up.’

      ‘Fuck off.’ He yawned, stretched, scratched at the hair on his chest.

      ‘Long night, was it?’ asked McCoy, dusting himself off.

      ‘Could say that.’ Cooper seemed to have broken his nose again since the last time McCoy had seen him. Looked a right mess. ‘I hear you’re running with the big boys now.’

      McCoy nodded. ‘Detective Harry McCoy of the Glasgow Police Force.’

      ‘Aye well, don’t forget who put you there.’

      Cooper eased off the table, re-tucked the towel round his waist and padded over to where his clothes were hanging from a peg on the wall. He fished out his fags; shook the packet and a little wrap fell into his hand. He opened it up and carefully raised it to his nose, making sure it stayed level. He inhaled deeply, grimaced, then held it out to McCoy.

      He shook his head. ‘Wee bit early for me. I’ve no even had my breakfast yet. So, what’s up?’

      Cooper wiped the powder from his nostrils, rubbed it on his gums. ‘Need you to do me a favour.’

      ‘Me?’ asked McCoy.

      ‘Aye, you. Why the fuck not? You’re a polis, aren’t you? Solve crimes, that no the sketch? You know the Ben Duncan?’

      McCoy nodded. Was one of Cooper’s pubs up in Lambhill. Funny-looking place. More like a big suburban bungalow plonked down by the road than a normal pub.

      ‘Got turned over last night. Clowns broke open the filing cabinet, took a couple of hundred quid in an envelope.’

      ‘No exactly crime of the century.’

      ‘That’s no what’s bothering me. They took something else as well.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘My book.’

      McCoy whistled. Losing a tally book wasn’t good. Had the record of who owed what, who was behind on their payments. For a loan shark like Cooper it was the equivalent of the Bible.

      ‘It’ll be amateurs, daft boys. No pro would do over one of my pubs, wouldnae be that stupid.’ He dipped into the Agnew’s bag sitting in the corner and pulled out a can of McEwan’s. ‘No questions asked. I just want the book back.’

      ‘Why me? You’ve got loads of people—’

      ‘Because I say so. That a problem?’ Normally Cooper looked sleepy, even a wee bit dopey. Not now. His faced had changed instantly. McCoy knew not to argue when he was like that. Didn’t take much figuring out. Cooper was chucking his weight about. Even though you think you’re a big boy now, you’re still no as big as me. He didn’t mind really, seemed simple enough to ask around, and Cooper had helped him out a good few times.

      ‘Okay, just asking, that’s all.’

      Cooper grinned at him, happy again. ‘That’s the boy.’ He sat back up on the table and took a long slug of his lager.

      McCoy turned to go.

      ‘Heard you were in the shebeen the other night. Cashing in your chips, eh?’

      ‘I’m owed, aren’t I?’

      Cooper took another slug of beer, swilled it round in his mouth. ‘Christ, that speed’s fucking strong.’ He wiped at his mouth. ‘You watch that wee Janey. She’s mad for the drugs. Dope, acid, any shite she can get.’

      ‘What does that mean?’

      ‘Means she’s no your girlfriend, McCoy. She sucks men off for a living. She’s a whoor, a druggy wee whoor. I’d steer clear if I was you.’

      ‘This friendly advice or an order?’

      Cooper held his hands out. ‘Up to you, pal, up to you.’

      McCoy was just about to ask him what the fuck he meant when they heard banging and shouts coming from outside. The door swung open, blonde girl standing there, breathing heavy, looking panicked.

      ‘The polis are here. They’ve stoved in the door!’

      Cooper looked at him and McCoy shook his head. ‘No way. Nothing to do with me.’

      Couple of seconds later Raeburn appeared in the doorway, two other plainers behind him looking over his shoulder. Bernie Raeburn was a detective at Eastern, had been for years. First time they met, McCoy thought he was a prick and Raeburn thought he was a smart arse. Nothing much had changed since. Raeburn wandered into the room, looked the two of them up and down, Cooper in his towel, McCoy in his suit, and smirked.

      ‘Hand job for your boss, is it, McCoy? Always thought you two were queer for each other.’

      McCoy didn’t say anything, seemed easier just to let Raeburn have his fun, and there was nothing a cunt like him could say would wind Cooper up. He was too fly for that, he’d just store it all up, bide his time. The two plainers were chuckling away like good yes-men should.

      ‘So, if you’ve finished wanking him off, you can beat it before I call Murray. Some of us have got work to do.’

      McCoy looked at Cooper and raised his eyebrows. Cooper nodded towards the door.

      ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Raeburn. ‘You got to ask his permission before you can wipe your arse? Go! Vanish! Vamonos! Fuck off!’

      McCoy pushed past the plainers, one of them blowing him a kiss, and left them to it. Didn’t know why Raeburn bothered. Cooper’s lawyer would have him out in a couple of hours. And Raeburn was even stupider than he thought if he thought he’d find anything that connected Cooper to the sauna. He’d be just another customer enjoying a medicinal massage for a slipped disc, doctor’s note enclosed, once his lawyer was finished.

      The corridor was full of girls in flimsy dressing gowns swearing at the uniforms, calling them everything under the sun. Two naked Indian men were standing in a cabin doorway looking terrified, hands cupped over their privates as a uniform tried to spell their names in his notebook. A uniform went to grab him and he held up his badge. A muttered, ‘Sorry, sir’, and the uniform backed away, looking sheepish. Usual shitshow from Eastern Division. If McCoy knew Cooper, the place would be open for business again by eight o’clock tonight.

      Out in the street the receptionist and a couple of the girls were being hustled into the police van while a queue of old biddies waiting at the bus stop enjoyed the show. It wasn’t that far from Tollcross into town and the rain was still off, so McCoy thought he’d walk. The driver and his

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