just so I feel extra safe.”
“Good idea. Try and get some rest. It’ll do you good.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said in a way that indicated it was hopeless.
Starving hungry, Brodie returned to his hotel. Cass had been fibbing when she’d said she’d booked him into a luxurious establishment. The bed was small and lumpy with a duvet cover that looked to have been there since the first world war. The faded red carpet was worn and spotted with dubious stains and the furniture chipped and sagging. Just to add to the depression the sink sprayed the front of his jeans with water, making him swear.
On the bright side the shower was a belter and he stood beneath its hot spray for a full twenty minutes. As he lathered up his body he felt the scar beneath his fingertips running down his left side, originating from the larger scar on his back, a parting gift from the Judas bastard John Lyons. The man he’d thought was his best friend had used their new business - which was supposed to help people - to make a drug deal with the McVay’s, the most powerful criminal family in Glasgow, a bunch of vicious psychopaths with absolutely no moral compass. Brodie had found out but before he could confront his ‘friend’ the bastard had ambushed him with two McVay heavies, stabbed him and left him for dead. That betrayal still stuck in his throat and made him furious, his empty stomach churning with bile. Brodie released a growl and slammed his fist against the tiles. One day he’d find that bastard.
He had to drag himself out of the shower to dress and was downstairs for breakfast with ten minutes to spare. The staff, who had been looking forward to getting tidied up early, threw him nasty looks. He smiled back at them cheerfully as he sat and sipped his coffee.
Just as he was polishing off his one sausage, single slice of bacon, overcooked egg and tiny puddle of beans his phone rang, breaking the overbearing silence in the dated dining room.
“Cass, what have you got?” he said, mopping up the beans with a limp slice of bread.
“Are you eating?” she replied.
“If this crap can be called food. There’s not enough to fill a wee white mouse.” He glanced up at the waiter and waitress, who both pouted at him.
“I’ve been looking into Seth Creegan. He’s an interesting character,” said Cass.
“Okay, give me a sec.” He downed the remnants of his bitter coffee then stood, banging his knee on the underside of the table, annoyed by the amused smiles of the staff, and headed back upstairs to his room. “Go on.”
“He’s been in and out of trouble since he was ten. Started off vandalising bus shelters, nicking sweeties from shops, petty stuff. Got a slap on the wrists a couple of times but nothing serious. When he was fourteen he graduated to assault, beat up a boy five years his senior who was known for being a bit of a hard nut himself. The boy dropped the charges so he was never prosecuted but that sealed his reputation as top dog in the neighbourhood. He ran around with a gang for a while who didn’t seem to do anything more than hang around street corners getting pissed and making noise. When he turned eighteen he decided to mug someone, almost killed them for forty quid. Got a reduced sentence because his solicitor pled he was under substantial strain - Mark was just about to go on trial for his father’s murder. Not only was his custodial sentence deferred until after the trial so he could be there to support his murdering brother but he only served nine months and was out by the time he was twenty.”
Brodie gritted his teeth. That was why he’d left the force, the justice system had more sympathy for the offender than the victim. Fucking typical. “Any more trouble after that?”
“Some, not much. His mum and sister were already in Manchester by then so he followed them north after his release. A couple of speeding tickets, one drunk and disorderly. He was suspected of attacking a man after
“Good idea. Try and get some rest. It’ll do you good.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said in a way that indicated it was hopeless.
Starving hungry, Brodie returned to his hotel. Cass had been fibbing when she’d said she’d booked him into a luxurious establishment. The bed was small and lumpy with a duvet cover that looked to have been there since the first world war. The faded red carpet was worn and spotted with dubious stains and the furniture chipped and sagging. Just to add to the depression the sink sprayed the front of his jeans with water, making him swear.
On the bright side the shower was a belter and he stood beneath its hot spray for a full twenty minutes. As he lathered up his body he felt the scar beneath his fingertips running down his left side, originating from the larger scar on his back, a parting gift from the Judas bastard John Lyons. The man he’d thought was his best friend had used their new business - which was supposed to help people - to make a drug deal with the McVay’s, the most powerful criminal family in Glasgow, a bunch of vicious psychopaths with absolutely no moral compass. Brodie had found out but before he could confront his ‘friend’ the bastard had ambushed him with two McVay heavies, stabbed him and left him for dead. That betrayal still stuck in his throat and made him furious, his empty stomach churning with bile. Brodie released a growl and slammed his fist against the tiles. One day he’d find that bastard.
He had to drag himself out of the shower to dress and was downstairs for breakfast with ten minutes to spare. The staff, who had been looking forward to getting tidied up early, threw him nasty looks. He smiled back at them cheerfully as he sat and sipped his coffee.
Just as he was polishing off his one sausage, single slice of bacon, overcooked egg and tiny puddle of beans his phone rang, breaking the overbearing silence in the dated dining room.
“Cass, what have you got?” he said, mopping up the beans with a limp slice of bread.
“Are you eating?” she replied.
“If this crap can be called food. There’s not enough to fill a wee white mouse.” He glanced up at the waiter and waitress, who both pouted at him.
“I’ve been looking into Seth Creegan. He’s an interesting character,” said Cass.
“Okay, give me a sec.” He downed the remnants of his bitter coffee then stood, banging his knee on the underside of the table, annoyed by the amused smiles of the staff, and headed back upstairs to his room. “Go on.”
“He’s been in and out of trouble since he was ten. Started off vandalising bus shelters, nicking sweeties from shops, petty stuff. Got a slap on the wrists a couple of times but nothing serious. When he was fourteen he graduated to assault, beat up a boy five years his senior who was known for being a bit of a hard nut himself. The boy dropped the charges so he was never prosecuted but that sealed his reputation as top dog in the neighbourhood. He ran around with a gang for a while who didn’t seem to do anything more than hang around street corners getting pissed and making noise. When he turned eighteen he decided to mug someone, almost killed them for forty quid. Got a reduced sentence because his solicitor pled he was under substantial strain - Mark was just about to go on trial for his father’s murder. Not only was his custodial sentence deferred until after the trial so he could be there to support his murdering brother but he only served nine months and was out by the time he was twenty.”
Brodie gritted his teeth. That was why he’d left the force, the justice system had more sympathy for the offender than the victim. Fucking typical. “Any more trouble after that?”
“Some, not much. His mum and sister were already in Manchester by then so he followed them north after his release. A couple of speeding tickets, one drunk and disorderly. He was suspected of attacking a man after
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