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‘ Why ?’
    ‘Just, y’know . . .’
    ‘Just what? . . . Think it’ll turn me back to the drink? Get a taste for one drug, it’ll whet my appetite for another?’
    ‘Gus, cool the beans, eh . . . I’m just saying, watch yourself.’
    I gave him a nod – his concern was genuine.
    ‘Mac, I need a clear head. I also need to get moving, that’s all this is about.’
    I bagged up the wraps of speed and started to comb my damp hair. Needed a shave but wanted to maintain the roughneck vibe for Davie’s visit. I put down the comb, turned to face him. ‘Someone plugged Michael for a reason.’
    Mac looked deep in concentration, probably on a number of fronts. He had tried to get me on the straight and narrow many times, preaching to me about his own rehabilitation after a stint in Barlinnie’s Nutcracker Suite. He and Debs had been in cahoots to get me to see a headshrinker but that plan was turfed when I showed them I could handle the sauce on my own. I didn’t want to let them turn my brother’s death into another cause for concern but I saw Mac was wondering, were we wading into choppy waters?
    ‘Gus, y’know, the filth aren’t going to be best pleased with you poking about in this . . . after the last time.’
    I volleyed that one back at him: ‘Well, don’t think for a second I’m going to leave the investigation of my own brother’s murder to plod. Don’t even contemplate that.’
    Mac took the hint. He knew he was onto a loser, he’d tried that lark before. ‘Okay, count me in.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He squared his shoulders. ‘I’m on the team, on the case.’
    ‘Not minding . . . I don’t need minding on this, Mac.’
    ‘No way. I want to help.’
    ‘I’m serious, man, I don’t need looking after.’
    ‘I know that, Gus.’ He zipped up his black leather jacket. He looked like a door lump; I had to admit it was the kind of help I could do with.
    ‘Okay, then. Let’s go pay fat Davie a visit.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘My brother’s former business partner . . . See what he has to say for himself. Though I warn you, I never liked the cunt.’
    ‘Can we expect trouble?’
    ‘Expect it? . . . We’re taking it to him.’
    Mac the Knife smiled, lifted his jacket and exposed his heavy gut, a claw hammer tucked in his waistband. ‘Good job I got tooled up, then.’
    As soon as the front door opened the dog bolted off down the stairs. Mac scowled. ‘Smells of pish in here.’
    ‘Is there a stair in Edinburgh that doesn’t?’
    ‘You want to catch them at it . . . It’ll be the same bastard, y’know.’
    I put on my ‘shut the fuck up’ look.
    ‘Serious,’ said Mac.
    ‘How many jakeys are there in this city, not to mention assorted pish-heads?’
    He ferreted in his jeans, produced a Jimmy Denner. ‘Ten-spot says I’m right.’
    I took his money – was way too easy.
    Outside the snow was falling heavily again. Usual raised his nose to it, sneezed a bit, then wagged his tail as he shovelled his snout along the pavement. The road had been turned to slush; a bus on the way to Ocean Terminal chucked up a black spray as it went. Never ceased to amaze me how quickly the whiteness turned to blackness.
    We got in the Punto. ‘So, this Davie character, what’s the SP?’ said Mac.
    ‘Wide as a gate, real man on the make. You’ll suss the type.’
    I turned over the engine. Katy Perry was still going on about kissing a girl and liking it. Mac jumped for the dial: ‘Jesus on a fucking rubber cross, Dury! What are you listening to?’ He was about to throw the disc on the back seat next to the dog but I snatched it.
    ‘It’s hers.’
    ‘Debs . . . she’s not sleeping head to toe now, is she? Sounds like lesbo music to me.’
    I gave him a wry grin, closest I’d got to a smile in the last twenty-four hours; I was grateful for it. I put on the radio – it seemed to suit him.
    ‘So you were saying, Davie . . . what’s his full handle?’
    ‘Davie