Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [9]
Shweerski frowned. He was tapping his chin with a couple of fingertips now. "Set up?"
Tommy was tempted to ask him to pull over, cause he wasn't in the mood for this shit. What did he mean by 'set up'? Was he warning Tommy? How could he know it was a set-up? Did he know about the money Tommy had just deposited in the locker? Did he know Smith? Was he a plant, idling outside the bus station in his taxi waiting for Tommy to appear? Was he telling Tommy it was a set-up because he was part of Smith's operation and wanted to rub it in?
"The fuck're you on about?" Tommy's stomach rumbled. He adjusted his coat to smother the sound.
Shweerski said, "Got your bits and bobs?" And winked.
Tommy stared at him in the mirror.
"All your gear?"
Ah, gear. That was why he was being so pushy. Tommy leaned back, let his shoulders drop. "I don't do drugs," he said.
"Yeah?" Shweerski was quiet while he changed lanes. Didn't take long. He was back again, saying, "Why not, buddy?"
Jesus Christ. This guy had a lot in common with Smith. Maybe he was Smith. Nah, Shweerski was twice the width of Smith and his accent was too weird to be put on. "What's it to you?" Tommy said.
"Hey, chill the fuck out. Making conversation here, aye, yo? Fuck's sake. No need to be a motherfucker. Offering to help you out, 's all. You don't want my help, no need to get all nasty and like shit."
The arse-faced bastard had called Tommy a motherfucker. In days gone by Tommy would have walloped him for that. In fact, he wouldn't have, much as he might have liked to. He didn't do violence. Phil would have, though, if he'd overheard. Bided his time, paid Shweerski a visit at home, armed with a length of pipe. But even in the old days, Tommy tried to behave like a civilised human being. Just because he was involved in the occasional illegal activity didn't mean he had no morals.
"Can't tempt you with a wee rock?" Shweerski said. "Got it right under the seat here." He bent down to fetch it, one hand on the wheel.
The car swerved.
"Watch the road," Tommy said.
"No problemo. I can drive round Edinburgh like totally blindfolded, ken." He sat upright, bag in hand, held it out to the side for Tommy to see.
Maybe the accent was phoney. If he wasn't such a prick, Tommy might have suspected he was an undercover cop. Come to think of it, the one didn't necessarily preclude the other. Tommy said, "Please just drive."
"Going," Shweerski said, "going," he said again. "Last chance." He shook the bag.
"What makes you think I won't report you to the police?" Tommy said.
"You're a decent guy."
Had he just forgotten he'd called Tommy a motherfucker?
"And I'm not doing any harm," Shweerski continued. "Why would you report me?"
"Cause you're annoying the tits off me."
"Sorry about that. Just providing a community service."
"And what if I'm not 'a decent guy'? What if you've got me all wrong? Could be I think you're a scumbag for selling drugs. "
Shweerski looked at him in the rearview. "Like you're some law-abiding do-gooder? Salvation Army in disguise? Hiding a tambourine under your jacket?"
"Maybe I'm an undercover cop."
"You ain't that, dude." He laughed.
"How can you be sure?"
"If you were a cop you'd be one of my best customers."
Tommy guessed the guy was blagging. Maybe the odd cop scored some coke occasionally. Maybe. Anyway, perhaps now Shweerski would shut up.
He did. For a couple of minutes. Then: "Hey, I've got some BetaBlockers. You ever tried them? Help you chill, dude. Get rid of some of that anger."
***
"PULL OVER," TOMMY said. For the last five minutes his driver had been quiet, thankfully. Tommy had finally got through to him that he wasn't going to buy any of his vast array of drugs, no matter how much quality gear he was missing or what kind of give-away prices were being offered.
Shweerski eased to a stop, kept the engine running. "That's eight pounds—"
"I'm not getting out."
"You're not?"
"Nope."
Maybe Tommy had spoken too soon and the fucker'd be back with the hard sell again.
But, no. Shweerski said, "So, we're just going