Loss by Tony Black

I?’
    I looked up at him. ‘You tell me.’
    ‘Are you after something?’ He wasn’t used to front-of-house duties, checked himself. ‘I mean, is there something I can help you with?’
    The place seemed strangely quiet without the shouting and roaring. Even the air seemed stilled, calmer. I played a long ball: ‘You’ve got a lot of Czechs working here . . .’
    ‘Yes.’ He was abrupt, brusque even.
    ‘That causing trouble with the locals?’
    Now he bit, nostrils flared: ‘No. Look, I don’t think this is a discussion I should be having with you, Mr . . .’
    ‘Dury. The name’s Gus Dury. My brother used to be a partner here.’
    The girl got up, patted down her skirt front, seemed to mumble breathlessly in Czech, then ran off down the hallway.
    Dustcoat calmed, watched the girl stumble a bit on the carpet tiles, then, ‘We, eh, all heard. I mean there was an announcement, before the police came . . . I’m sorry for your loss.’
    I breathed deep. Looked away.
    ‘He was a good man, always very . . . fair, with everyone.’
    I drew back my gaze. I still had the speed firing and my thoughts ran from one end of my mind to the other. I knew this wasn’t the place for a beat-down; hadn’t worked with fat Davie. I said, ‘If you think of anything that might be worth my looking into, maybe you could give me a bell.’ I picked a Post-it note off the desk, scribbled down my number.
    Dustcoat snatched the piece of paper from me, buried it in his pocket. ‘Yes, of course.’ He quickly turned, went off in the same direction as the girl.
    I hollered after him, ‘Wait a minute. What’s your name?’
    He stopped still, cricked his thin neck to face me, said, ‘Andy.’ It was almost said too quietly for me to hear.
    ‘Andy what?’
    ‘. . . Just Andy.’
    He’d disappeared round the corner before I had a chance to weigh up what I’d just seen.
    ‘What you make of that?’ I said to Mac.
    He shrugged, thinned his eyes. As we went for the door, he said, ‘That Anna, though . . . Think I’m in there?’
    ‘Mac, I don’t think she’d give the likes of you a date on a calendar.’
    He clutched at his heart. ‘So cruel.’
    I gave him a wee reminder: ‘You’re married.’
    ‘What she doesn’t know can’t harm her.’ He actually smiled as he said it.
    I gave him another dose of reality: ‘You’re deluded too.’
    ‘Well, there is that. But still, I can dream.’
    He had me there. ‘We can all dream, mate. Though I’d say our Anna’s dreams are turning into nightmares.’
    Mac trudged through the slush of the car park to the car. The dog jumped about on sight of us. ‘How do you mean, nightmares?’ he said.
    ‘Couldn’t you tell?’
    ‘What, being dug out by . . .’ He produced the wage slip belonging to the mentaller. ‘. . . Ian Kerr of, where’s that? . . . Pilton.’
    ‘Yeah, but there was more than that. I got the impression that was a regular occurrence. See the way yer man Andy fired through those doors with a couple of lumps? He had a routine. That was all a little too practised for my liking.’
    I turned the key in the car door; the central locking was slow in the cold but got there in the end. Usual was sitting in my seat. As I got in he jumped first into the passenger’s side then over to the back again.
    Mac got in and frowned at me. ‘Those boys were hardy, deffo. I think they’re just off the shop floor, though. Andy probably just grabbed the biggest going.’
    I reached for the seatbelt. The inertia-reel stuck a bit, gave it a good tug, said, ‘Well, maybe our man Ian fae Pilton will fill us in.’
    Mac grunted, ‘If he can still speak after he’s been filled in!’
    I punched the engine, spun tyres. Gave a last glance to the factory: thought I might rumble Davie at a window but he was nowhere to be seen. The place looked so ordinary it unnerved me.
    On Newhaven Road I sparked up a Marlboro, chucked the pack in Mac’s lap. He still looked