Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

mean by “ pick up where you left off …?”’
    ‘I
don’t mean fixing bent cars,’ I say hurriedly, ‘I mean carry on as I was before
I allowed myself to get into trouble.’
    ‘What
about your friend, his dad?’
    ‘Oh,
long gone. They went to Spain on an extended holiday, they’ll not be back for a
while, I guess.’
    ‘So
all that’s behind you then? For sure?’
    She
smiles, but I can see she’s not satisfied. ‘Candy, prison changes your life
forever. Ye don’t just lose your privacy; ye lose the options that were open to
ye. The choices ye thought ye had, the ones the careers teachers talk about at
school are all gone, and for most of us there’s no way to put it right. I
always hoped I’d get a decent job, learn a trade or something, but who’s gonnae
give me that chance now?’
    The
job at Swanson’s factory had offered me a way out, a chance to earn a wage and
get in to a routine that didn’t include getting up at lunchtime and watching
Jeremy Kyle. But MacIntyre had shattered that chance, and along with it any
hope I had of finding something similar. What was the point of trying to find a
proper job if the cops were going to trail me round like I was a terrorist or
something? The thought of a lifetime resigned to working off the books or on
the dole makes my heart sink.
    Candy
says nothing but I can tell she isn’t convinced. ‘There’s no way I’m going back
there,’ I insist, ‘Second time inside and your choices fall away even more, I
saw grown men spend ten minutes debating whether to have chips or mash for
their lunch - the only choices left to them were the options on the canteen
menu.’
    I
look up at the sound of a door slam to see the girl who’d been flicking crumbs
around earlier storm out of the kitchen followed by my future boss. ‘I can’t
pay two of you!’ He shouts after her, and as she passes our table she hawks a
big ball of phlegm into my coffee.
    ‘That
one’s on me.’ She barks as she stumbles out through the exit.
    Mickey
Plastic lives in an ex-council flat on the sixth floor of Hermitage Tower.
Rumour has it he’d bought it for his mum but moved into it himself after she
passed away, renting out his four bed detached in Crammond as the other
residents in the up market cul-de-sac refused to accept their chavvy neighbour
and his low rent mates. Now, back among his own kind he was cock of the walk
once more.
    Not
bothering to check if the lift is working I take the stairs two at a time, not
because I’m in any hurry to see Mickey, more the fact there were pools of piss
and other foul smelling liquids on most of the steps. The estate has a
reputation as home to problem families. As its reputation got worse it became a
magnet for the lawless, empty flats taken over by local dealers, under the
Right to Buy scheme owners rented out rooms to pimps who filled them with
Eastern European girls who couldn’t speak the lingo but gave as good a blow job
as the local girls with a lot less hassle.
    The
majority of the entrances have closed grille gates in front of each door, as
though it’s essential to have further protection from the outside world. Two of
Mickey’s foot soldiers keep watch from each end of the balcony landing,
surveying the car park and tower block entrance for any unwelcome visitors. As
I emerge from the stairwell the nearest minder steps forward to block my path.
‘I’ve an appointment with Mickey.’ I inform him quickly. He nods to the other
guy as if to say he’s got it covered and pulls out a mobile phone from his
tracksuit pocket. ‘Name.’ he barks, a statement, rather than a question, and
once I’ve told him he takes a step back to speak to his boss on speed dial.
    From
my vantage point on the walkway I check out Platinum Point, the private apartment
block opposite. I’m still not sure how a flat stops being a flat and becomes an
apartment; could it be anything to do with one being council owned and the
other having a price tag for a