booksnew/source/Full Proof/C07.txt

     I told you I can always tell. You've got mischief and mayhem written all over you."</p>
     <p>Uncle Sandy's eyes challenged him from across the table. Against one wall of the kitchen, crates of  home brew beer stood one atop the other, almost to the ceiling. Sandy had been cleaning out his pigeon hut when Jack came round, head encased in an old biker's balaclava that covered his nose, and eyes protected from the feather dust by an ancient pair of bikers goggles that made him look like an old air ace. He stripped them off and put the kettle on. </p>
     <p>"Like what?"</p>
     <p>"If I knew I wouldn't ask."</p>
     <p>"You didn't ask. You made a statement."</p>
     <p>"Don't get smart with me."</p>
     <p>"I'm already <em>too</em> smart for you. Check."  Jack's queen was dangerously close. "I hear you got the whole pigeon club rat-arsed. What strength is that beer?"</p>
     <p>Sandy sacrificed a knight, trying to con Jack into taking it with the queen. No sale. </p>
     <p>"About ten percent, higher if you put more sugar in. They're all developing a taste for it."</p>
     <p>"It takes dedication. Your liver must be like portland cement. Some of the club, they're about seventy. You could kill them."</p>
     <p>"It's probably keeping them alive. Anyway, I'm over sixty and I'm fitter than you." Jack looked at him and grinned. They were about the same size and build, despite the difference in years. He hoped he looked as fit when he was that age.</p>
     <p> "Yeah, right. How about Tim Farmer? Any sign of the money?"</p>
     <p>"Not a hide nor hair. And nobody's seen him either, daft old bugger. I heard he's in Majorca. He'll come back with a bad sunburn and a sore dick."</p>
     <p>"What will you do, call the cops?"</p>
     <p>"What's the point in that? <em>Check</em>. Concentrate on the game, will you? No, that would just be too much hassle. What we did, we got a bunch of us round to his place and took all of his birds. We'll have an auction next week and raise about a grand, maybe more. He's a daft thieving bastard, but a good bird man."</p>
     <p>"And then what, will he get expelled?"</p>
     <p>"Are you kidding?  If he's had a month in Majorca with Meg McLaren, he's not getting away that easy. No, he can start at the bottom and buy back his own birds, and then he's going to have to tell us the whole story, every pant and grunt and heave. That should keep us going till Christmas, and me and Willie McIver should have enough stock here to keep us and the bowling club <em>and</em> the boat men going right through the new year. We never had it so good."</p>
     <p>"And you think <em>I'm</em> up to something."</p>
     <p>"I don't think, son. I <em>know.</em> You never were good at hiding it."</p>
     <p><em>I bloody better be,</em> Jack thought. </p>
     <p>It had been a couple of days since Hammond Hall had come to the door, taking Jack by surprise. He hadn't known the kid in the water had been diving off the big Moody yacht in the  inlet, and it hadn't mattered at the time. After it he had just walked away barefoot, dripping water, and Kate holding tight to his hand.</p>
     <p>"I got your name from Miss Delaney," the man had. The driver had gone back to the car and Sandy had cleared a space at the table, shifting some of the machine parts. Hall's shirt and slacks looked like a month's wages with overtime thrown in, but he never seemed to notice the oil. He took a glance down at the board, gave a tight smile.</p>
     <p>"Mate in three." Jack wondered vaguely how the man had got Kate's name in the first place.</p>
     <p>"You like a beer?" Sandy broke the ice. Jack felt a little uncomfortable. What did you say on these occasions. <em>Don't mention it</em>? <em></em></p>
     <p>Hall took the beer, drinking from the bottle and smacked his lips. "I don't often get the chance. My wife, Jason's mother, she's got me on a killer diet."</p>
     <p>The man had smacked his lips and then he'd thanked Jack very much and then he'd just let it all pour out, how close he'd been to losing his boy.</p>
     <p>"You never told me, Jake," Sandy chided.</p>
     <p>He shrugged. He hadn't told anybody. It wasn't the done thing.</p>
     <p>Hammond took another beer and Sandy told him about the home brew and then they all had another and Hammond Hall seemed to relax. He rolled his sleeves up and started playing with the pieces of carburettor. Sandy hauled out the big demi-jon of liqueur and they started in on that and by midnight the pair of them were swapping army and navy stories and Sandy was telling them about some mischief he'd got up to with some NATO buddies in Italy when they were running trucks of red wine to Dusseldorf.</p>
     <p>It was close to one in the morning when Hall insisted that he could only have one more liqueur and no more beer.</p>
     <p>"You make this yourself?" He was more than half drunk, but still clear.</p>
     <p>"Sure. It's the best in the whole street," Sandy said. "This side of it anyway."</p>
     <p>"Good enough for me," Hall said, just slightly slurred. "She'll kill me when I get home."</p>
     <p>He turned to Jack and formally shook his hand.</p>
     <p>"From Mrs Hall and myself, we just want to say thank you for what you did for Jason. And if you ever want to come aboard the Valkyrie, you will be more than welcome."</p>
     <p>Jack smiled. The difference between the two <em>Valkyries</em> could not be greater.</p>
     <p>"And if there's any way we can repay you."</p>
     <p>Jack took in the expensive slacks and the designer shirt. The man wore a Rolex oyster.</p>
     <p>"There is one thing," he said.</p>
     <p>"Name it, young man."</p>
     <p>"I lost one of my shoes in the water. A good Nike trainer."</p>
     <p>"You want a new pair?"</p>
     <p>"No, but if your Jason goes diving up at Creggan again, see if he can pick it up for me. I had them just broken in just right."</p>
     <p>______</p>
     <p>Michael came stumbling through the front door, face caked with dirt and blood streaming from both nostrils. One eye was hidden under a big soft bruise.</p>
     <p>"Holy mother of God, what's happened to you?"</p>
     <p>Alice Lorne was out of her seat, overturning a teacup and scalding Jack's bare arm. Michael had tears running down his face. </p>
     <p>They had grabbed him on his way home, taking a shortcut through the allotments just after he finished stacking in Safeway. He was walking the centre path, hands in his pockets, sun on his back when Seggs Cullen came up behind him and clamped a beefy arm round his neck. </p>
     <p>Michael struggled, unable to shout, but Cullen outweighed him two to one. Foley was leaning against the van. Cullen let go and shoved Michael forward to stumble against the other man. </p>
     <p>Foley brought him up sharp, two hands twisting his shirt tight, forcing his chin upwards. </p>
     <p>"Leave me alone," Michael managed to gasp. The knuckles under his throat made it almost impossible to draw a breath. </p>
     <p>"This the brainy one?"</p>
     <p>Cullen nodded, keeping the pressure on. </p>
     <p>"You go to college, arsehole?" Foley loosened the grip just a little. </p>
     <p>"What's it got to do with you?" Michael knew who they were and he was scared. </p>
     <p>"Don't give me any shite." He shoved Michael backwards. Cullen caught him and put him in a full nelson, bending his head right down towards the ground. Michael grunted with the pain. </p>
     <p>"You go to college?" Foley asked again. </p>
     <p>"What if I do? What's it to you?"</p>
     <p>"So you've got brains, right?"</p>
     <p>Michael tried to straighten up. </p>
     <p>"If you've got brains, then you can take a message to that brother of yours."</p>
     <p>Cullen loosened his grip and let Michael get vertical, while still  keeping the lock on, forcing his arms above his head. </p>
     <p>"What message?"</p>
     <p>"This."</p>
     <p>Foley leaned in and drove a short, fast punch, putting his weight behind it. It took Michael just below the eye with a watery crunch. Little sparks fizzled and danced and for a second his knees began to buckle. Cullen let go the grip and Michael sank towards the ground. He could smell blood somewhere and couldn't tell if it was from his eye or nose. He landed on his knees, hands up, protecting his eyes. Cullen kicked him hard on the back of his thigh and the force of it threw Michael forward onto his face. The dirt and dust clogged his throat when he hauled for air. </p>
     <p>"Make sure he gets it," Cullen said. "He'll know who it's from."</p>
     <p>His eye was closed by the time he got home, drizzling tears through the dust on his cheek. he bruise was purpling fast and  blood was running freely from his nose and dripping from his chin. </p>
     <p>"I fell," Michael said. </p>
     <p>"Like hell you did," Jack said. His arm would be up in a blister later, but he was totally unaware of the scald. He had seen many a scrap before, been in many a scrap before. Alice Lorne was getting ice from the fridge and wrapping the chunks in a cloth. Sheena was fussing around, gushing a litany of Holy Mothers and Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph's. </p>
     <p>Jack pulled him up. </p>
     <p>"Who did that to you?" he could feel his hands bunch into fists. "Come on Mike, spit it."</p>
     <p>"You leave the boy alone Jack Lorne," Sheena scolded. "Can't you see he's hurt?"</p>
     <p>"I'm okay," Mike protested. He wasn't crying, but near to it. The tears were from the sting in his eyes. He knew if he said, Jack would be out there and it was two of them to one. </p>
     <p>"I fell."</p>
     <p>Alice looked at Jack.</p>
     <p>"Is this something to do with you?" She pulled Michael in and dabbed at his eye, making him draw sharp breath, then forcing the cold cloth down onto the plummy bruise. Michael grunted and squirmed, trying to get away. </p>
     <p>"Fell? My arse!"</p>
     <p>"Jack, you watch your language!"</p>
     <p>"Somebody took a poke at him. Right Mike? You been scrapping?"</p>
     <p>He shook his head, trying to pull out of his mother's grip, but Alice was no stripling. </p>
     <p>"Hold still and hold your wheesht." It came out sharp, an order, but she was smoothing his hair with her other hand.</p>
     <p>"You bullshit me and I'll do the other eye," Jack said. </p>
     <p>"Don't you dare, you big bully." Sheena turned on him. "What a terrible thing to say."</p>
     <p>"Somebody gave him a doing and he's too scared to say." Jack pulled away and snatched his jacket from the hook. Real anger was clenching at his belly. </p>
     <p>"Get back here. . . . " The door slammed on his mother's words.</p>
     <p>They were waiting for him on the other side of the common. Jack could figure out what had happened, for if Mike was too scared to say it was only because he knew Jack would go and do something about it, so it couldn't have been a scrap with somebody his own size and weight. It was time to get this sorted out once and for all, get it over with. </p>
     <p>The white van's engine was still running and he recognised it in the haze of exhaust, down by the boat yard. Jack just followed Michael's route home. It was not difficult to figure it out. The van reversed in through the big wooden slat-gate. </p>
     <p>Foley kicked it shut as soon as he walked in. </p>
     <p>"Tough nut, Lorne." Cullen's scabs were healing and peeling. "Your poofy brother must have brains after all."</p>
     <p>Jack was in for it, in for a doing, but there was nothing for it if they were going to pick on his brother. This had to finish. Anger and apprehension wrestled inside his belly. Anger won the first round and adrenaline took over. </p>
     <p>He swung in fast and punched Cullen on the eye. No pause, no hesitation, and it took Seggs completely by surprise. </p>
     <p>"Bastard!" Cullen swung at him. Jack jinked back, still angry and wary, but taking great satisfaction in the feel of knuckles against cheek, then something slammed into his pelvis with such force the pain seemed to sing in a high clear note. He went down sideways. Foley raised the spar again and put all his weight into it, brought it down across his shoulders. Jack felt the leather of his bomber jacket rip as he twisted, vaguely aware that it gave him some protection. </p>
     <p>Cullen swung a boot and he turned away, grabbing at it, kicking out with both feet to keep Foley away while he tried to roll out of range. He got to a knee,  twisting Cullen's foot back, then levered up, throwing the other man off balance. Foley came  in again and swung hard, just as Jack pivoted in his foot, twisting Cullen round. Seggs took the two-by-two across his shoulder and bawled. Jack pulled back and Foley swung again. This time he connected  and Jack was down in the oil and the dust and the pair of them came in with the boot, kicking and stamping, forcing him into a corner. Jack swivelled right and left, arms up to protect his face, taking most of it in his belly and his back,  rolling with it as much as he could, lashing out all the time to keep the punishment to a minimum. </p>
     <p>"Kill the cunt," Foley snarled. "Kick his fucking head in."</p>
     <p>Jack was squeezed up between two old oil drums, and the rust dust was in his eyes. Blood streamed down from a cut in his scalp and he tried to wipe it away. Foley peeled off while Cullen kept up the kicks, missing more than he connected, but connecting enough to make it matter, and then Foley swiped down at him from the low sun side and Jack just caught the movement in time to jerk away. </p>
     <p>The metal bar hit the drum with such force it left a straight dented valley two inches deep. </p>
     <p>Jack realised he was in big trouble. </p>
     <p><em>"Hit him</em>," Cullen bawled. </p>
     <p>Jack rolled scrabbling half blind, trying to find anything to lift and use. </p>
     <p>"Do it," Cullen grated. Jack saw Foley lift and swing. </p>
     <p>The sudden gunshot blasted everything to frozen silence.</p>
     <p>Cullen visibly jerked back. Foley was half way through the swing and the noise broke his aim. The heavy bar slammed into the ground, missing Jack by a scant inch. </p>
     <p>For a second Jack was blinded by the rolling dust. He scrabbled backwards, heels in the dirt, until he fetched up against the drums. </p>
     <p>"What the fu. . . . . ?"</p>
     <p>The big gun bucked again, a fast crack of noise that spanged and echoed off the high corrugated iron fence. </p>
     <p>"Drop it."</p>
     <p>The barrel was up against Foley's head. Jack was struggling to his feet. </p>
     <p>"Drop it or the next one's in your fucking skull."</p>
     <p>"Jesus man don't. . . " Foley's voice was high and tight and all the roughness gone. </p>
     <p>Cullen was frozen in the act of kicking. His eyes were fixed on the man with the gun. Foley tried to turn up to face him, but the barrel poked him down.</p>
     <p>"Go on, <em>amigo, </em>make my day."</p>
     <p>Foley still held the bar. </p>
     <p>"Who the fuck are you?"</p>
     <p>"I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare, fat boy."</p>
     <p>"Fuck."</p>
     <p>Jack felt a bubble hysteria try to force its way up and out over the sharp pain in his sides. His uncle's voice sounded rough and ragged, and he had put on a crazy Clint Eastwood accent. The balaclava almost completely hid his face, and the old goggles did the rest. The overalls were stained with oil and pigeon shit and the whole get-up made him look like a crazy Monte Carlo racing driver from the thirties. </p>
     <p>The old Italian Beretta was jammed up against the back of Foley's head, forcing the woolly hat, and the coarse nylon wig to slip over one eye. </p>
     <p>"Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"</p>
     <p>"Don't shoot man."</p>
     <p>Sandy grabbed his collar and jammed the barrel in under his ear. </p>
     <p>"You fuck with us, you make a big mistake."</p>
     <p>Jack almost laughed out loud. The accent had changed to something from Goodfellas. He peeled away, hustling between the two of them. Sandy jerked his head towards the gate and then slammed Foley forward, fast and unexpected. The man lurched, fell against Cullen, and they both went tumbling into the drums which scattered underneath them. Sandy grabbed Jack and pulled him away through the gate and slammed it shut again. </p>
     <p>"Daft bugger. Don't you ever do <em>that</em> again."</p>
     <p>The old Honda engine was running and they were on and gone before Cullen and Foley could get to their feet again. </p>
     <p>"Who the fuck was that?"</p>
     <p>"He scared the shite out of me," Foley said. He was searching about amongst the scattered drums for his hat and his wig, all the blood sapped from his face. </p>
     <p>"Don't you ever do that again," Sandy repeated. "You could get yourself killed."</p>
     <p>"They beat Michael up."</p>
     <p>"No. They hit him a punch so they could get you out, and you fell for it."</p>
     <p>"I never fell for it. I  wanted to finish it. I don't need the hassle right now."</p>
     <p>"But you need your head caved in?" Sandy was angry with him, and scared for him. </p>
     <p>"So now they'll come back again."</p>
     <p>"And if they do, you wait and pick your chance. You don't go walking in somewhere with two loonies on your tail. Not when they can shut the door behind them and do it all out of sight. You go get your friends. Or your family."</p>
     <p>"I never wanted you in it."</p>
     <p>"We <em>are </em>in it. Listen Jake, I've been in more scraps than you've had your nookie. I saw Michael going up the road with one eye shut and his nose dripping red snotters. It wasn't hard to work it out, and you should have done the same."</p>
     <p>"I did. I thought I'd take a couple and call it quits."</p>
     <p>"You could have ended in the hospital, or worse. You take on somebody like Ferguson, you have to use your brains, if you have any. You never walk in and let them close a door on you. You never go in anywhere without a way out. Jesus boy, I should get you signed for the Paras and teach you some sense."</p>
     <p>Jack had to concede the point. The pain under his ribs was nagging like an angry wife and a dull ache moaned in his thighs where he had taken some damage on the big muscles, not enough to cripple, but he knew it would be worse by the morning. </p>
     <p>"Right okay, okay. I just got pissed when they came for Mike."</p>
     <p>Sandy was stripping off the balaclava and his white hair was sticking up in unruly corkscrews. It just made him look like an old tough nut. Jack recalled the sudden crack of the gun. </p>
     <p>"I thought you were going to pull the trigger."</p>
     <p>"Then we'd both have been in the shit," Sandy said, and his face suddenly creased into a big grin that made his two-day beard stand on end. He could have doubled for the old gold prospector in the Treasure of  Sierra Madre. He cracked a bottle and poured one for each of them, letting the home brew froth up to the rim. Jack drank it, surprised at how quickly it took the dust from his throat. It tasted great. </p>
     <p>"How do you mean?"</p>
     <p>Sandy jammed a hand into the bib pocket of his overalls and drew out the mean-looking big gun. He raised it and pointed it straight at Jack's chest, pulled the trigger and Jack jerked back on reflex at the sudden explosion. It made the window pane shudder and rattle. </p>
     <p>"What. . . ?" His ears were ringing. </p>
     <p>"Caps," Sandy said. "You wanted a gun like my old Italian job after you went rummaging up the loft. Christ, boy, your mother nearly ate my face off when that happened, for you could have put a hole through the wall, or through yourself. So I got you a replica. Cost me a fortune, by the way, but she said it looked too real. I was going to give it for your birthday when you were nine, but she kyboshed that idea. You don't fight with our Alice, not twice."</p>
     <p>He grinned again and pulled the trigger five times in succession and now that he knew, Jack could hear the difference between explosive caps and real gunfire. Down in the scrapyard it had sounded all too real. </p>
     <p>"You old bloody con-man," he said. </p>
     <p>"Takes one to know one." Sandy raised his glass and Jack began to laugh. "But as Al Capone said, you can get more with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone, and I wasn't in the mood for kind words."</p>
     <p>He jabbed a finger at Jack's chest. "Now are you going to tell me what you're up to?"</p>
     <p><hr />_</p>
     <p>The geese turned out to be a major problem. They were noisy and they were ill-tempered and they had little beady eyes that missed nothing at all. </p>
     <p>     Neil stared at them through the chain link and they stared back, with that half-sneer-half-snarl that big geese seem to be able to express while still only wearing beaks. They craned up, necks at full tilt, hissing like rattlers. </p>
     <p>"They're worse than dobermen," Neil said, with some conviction. He pulled back from the fence and one of the geese stood up straight and flapped its wings so hard the air sang a set of low whoops. It honked its irritation, eloquently conveying the need to see these intruders off. </p>
     <p>"And they've got dogs as well," Jed said. "Once the picket went up, they hired a team of security guards."</p>
     <p>"That's all we need." Jack took out a small notebook and wrote something down in it, before tucking it into his inside pocket. He had a big bruise just north of his knuckles, an angry looking cleat mark that disappeared up his sleeve. Under his chin, another one was fading quickly and his swollen nose was less inflated than it had been yesterday. He walked stiffly, favouring the bruise-seized muscles in his thighs, but he'd managed to keep his face from getting broken. </p>
     <p>"What will we do about these?"</p>
     <p>"You'll have to make friends with them," Jack said. "Just pretend they're chicks at Mac's."</p>
     <p>"He always gets a knock-back from the chicks," Jed said. "He's the last man standing at the end of the dancing."</p>
     <p>"But he tries hard. These birds have got as much brains as the ones he goes for anyway, and with a bit of luck he'll get a gobble."</p>
     <p>"That's turkeys, smartarse. Geese honk."</p>
     <p>"And so do you, pal. Anyway, get down to Ryan's pet shop and get a load of pigeon feed."</p>
     <p>"What's that like?"</p>
     <p>"It's like sweetcorn, only hard as rock. But that's what birds eat. Stick it in a pan with some butter and you get loads of the stuff."</p>
     <p>"Okay. And then what?"</p>
     <p>The geese were still giving them the hostile beady eye. Hereabouts they were famous, like the big white King Geese at Ballantines distillery, and Alistair Sproat had pinched the idea from them. They were mean and hard and missed nothing. Bunched together in a gang they'd have a go at anything on two feet or four, and apart from the crazy noise they set up that could be heard halfway across town, they never came off second best.</p>
     <p>"Then you start feeding them. Every night, same time, same place. You'll have to work on them, but as long as they get used to getting their dinner right round the corner, we have a chance. But you have to make a career out of it. Ever heard of Pavlov's dogs?"</p>
     <p>"What, is he a breeder?" </p>
     <p>Jack shook his head in disbelief. Jed just looked blank. </p>
     <p>The dogs were another problem. Jack wrote another note in his book as Neil was asking for some money from the kitty for the bird feed. The security men were new, not from around here. They had two big black and tan panting dogs that hauled them around on short leads, patrolling back and forth behind the gates. </p>
     <p>"Sproat's worried they'll torch the place."</p>
     <p>"Just as long as they wait until after we're done," Jack said, "Then they can do what they like. In fact, that might not be a bad idea at the end of the day. I'll have to think."</p>
     <p>Neil looked at him in shock.</p>
     <p>"Only kidding."</p>
     <p>He had come from the dairy with his last wages tucked in his hip and a P45 in his inside pocket and despite it all, he felt more sorry for Andy Kerr who had done his level best. </p>
     <hr />
     <p>It had been a glorious morning, the best Jack could remember for years, up at four, washed and out, with the sun hidden behind the rise of Longcrag Hill, lancing its beams upwards to touch the high haze a sweet rose pink. The robin had been bursting its guts from its stance on the garden fork and the blackbirds gave it everything they had. The air had that July scent that told you the sun would stay high and the air stay dry. Far-off in the sky, three wild ducks whirred down from Loch Humphrey up in the hills to feed on the estuary. Early pigeons purred from the big weeping ash in his mother's back garden that his grandfather had planted before Jack was born. </p>
     <p>Michael had been snoring, curled up on himself, with that bruise like a blue hammock under his eye. The odd punch never did a youngster any harm, but Jack still felt the clench at the thought of Cullen and his sidekick having a go at a boy half their size. Mike was the baby of the family, the one with brains. He'd no part in any of this. </p>
     <p>Jack wrapped his sandwiches, slung them in the haversack, and closed the door quietly on the way out. It took ten minutes to get down to the dairy, walking in the pre-day light, smelling the scent of hawthorn and the river. Jed Coogan was slowly backing the big tanker up against the loading bay. </p>
     <p>Andy Kerr rolled up the shutters and gave Jack a slow wave that said a lot. It had been a while since he'd been up with the deliverymen and the dawn, but it was Friday and Jack knew he was there to make it personal. Poor bugger, he'd tried hard and done his best. </p>
     <p>It was the usual run, Drymains, Overburn, out to the east of the town and back along by the castle and finished by six, aware of the sun rising over the crags, lancing through the pines on the crest of  Drumbuie Hill and turning the Clyde into a molten silver snake on its way up to the city. </p>
     <p>"I never meant for this to happen," Andy said. He had a bit of colour back in his face, from the exertions of the morning, but his hair looked even greyer. Jack had been helping hose down the big tanker, shielding his eyes from the reflected light from the stainless steel bulkhead when Andy came out onto the step and whistled through the hiss of the hose. He beckoned a come-on and Jack turned the water off. </p>
     <p>"I know that," Jack said. "It's been hard going."</p>
     <p>"Believe that, it's been a ballbreaker." Andy fished in his desk drawer and drew out an envelope. "Holiday pay, two weeks money, and redundo. I've done my best on that, Jack, so you're not on the minimum. You've done me good and I appreciate that. For what it's worth, if things had worked out, you were to be off the run in a couple of months and in here with me. If we'd been able to expand I'd have made you up. I know you're halfway through your course and I can use somebody with a bit of savvy. It would have been good for us both."</p>
     <p>"I appreciate that," Jack said, feeling awkward, but knowing Andy wasn't just saying that to hear his own voice. He took the envelope and stuck it in his pocket, sight unseen. </p>
     <p>"You'll be glad to get a long lie."</p>
     <p>"I'd rather this place wasn't going down."</p>
     <p>"You and me both," Andy said, forcing a smile. "My great grandfather started this place. I never thought I'd be the one to see it shut, but everything came at once."</p>
     <p>"What about Billy?"</p>
     <p>"Billy is just part of it. You know the score anyway, so I might as well tell you. He pocketed the national insurance and the tax and he had a couple of deals going with the hotels. A big discount. A big backhander to you and me. It was all going into his back pocket and the bastard looked me straight in the eye day after day. The bank bailed me out, but that was just robbing Peter to pay Paul."</p>
     <p>"So what next?"</p>
     <p>"I pull in my belt until my eyes pop. Sproat's given me two months and then he wants vacant possession. There's nothing I can do unless I come up with the money, which is as likely as the Pope turning protestant. Sproat's got me by the shorts and he knows it."</p>
     <p>"He's a prick," Jack said, feeling the clench of anger again, anger at Sproat's arrogance.</p>
     <p>"That's business Jack, never forget that's what happens. You should never be in business if you can't stand with the big boys. I could take on Scot-Milk and make a living, and I could maybe take on Sproat, but both of them and Bastard Billy all at the same time? Six in the morning and I feel punch drunk already."</p>
     <p>He looked over at Jack. "I feel the way you look."</p>
     <p>"Just a couple of slaps. Boy stuff." Jack looked back. "I was talking to the Dunvegan lads. They're really screwed up on Skye. The whole plant is closing."</p>
     <p>"Yeah, I heard."</p>
     <p>"There's a cheese plant up there that's hit the skids. ScotMilk pulled out and left them high and dry. They've got a dairy farm with a big surplus. Maybe it's something you should think about."</p>
     <p>Andy rubbed his chin. </p>
     <p>"Skye? That's a bit of a distance. No, it's a hell of a distance. The milk would be butter by the time I got down here."</p>
     <p>"It's a herd of jerseys, real prime, so I'm told. Five hundred head and averaging five gallons a beast every day. You're talking top quality cream content. And it would be a good source."</p>
     <p>"I'd have to find a market, Jack, and I'm up to my eyes looking for second hand tankers. These big Freuhaufs have to go back."</p>
     <p>Andy looked as if his eyes were going to fill up. The tankers had come at almost a hundred grand a piece, state of the art twelve wheelers that had been an extravagance maybe. No, <em>definitely</em>, but that had been before Billy had done a runner and before ScotMilk's muscle had come in undercutting every contract. </p>
     <p>"When to they go?"</p>
     <p>"I'm clear to the first day of the month, then they're gone."</p>
     <p>
Chapter 7: Full Proof                                                                                                                                   Joe Donnelly




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