STARN: Scots Teaching and Resource Network
Sair Heid City
Matthew Fitt
Introduction
'Sair Heid City' is an extract fae a sci-fi novel in Scots cried 'Cafe o the Twa Suns' (at April 1999 as yet unpublished). However, a selection of extracts from the novel will be published in pamphlet form in May 1999 by Kettilonia Press, 8 South Street, Kingskettle, Fife, KY15 7PL. The pamphlet will be entitled 'Sair Heid City'.
Matthew Fitt was born in Dundee, 1968. Educated Grove Academy, Dundee/Edinburgh University/Moray House
Teacher Training College. Brounsbank Writing Fellow 1995 -97.
Other work published in 'Pure Radge' (Akros, 1996), 'A Braw Brew' (Watergaw, 1997), 'A Tongue in yer Heid' (B+W, 1994), 'The New Makars' (Mercat Press, 1991).
Sair Heid City
Paolo Stevenson Broon’s genetic code wis a direct haun-me-doon fae his maternal granfaither, Stevenson Klog.
The Klog faimlie pool wis a bree o grippie east coast insurance men an born again presbyterian fishwifes, lowsed by the lord fae prozac, sex an involuntary hame shoppin. Granfaither Klog never bosied or beardied him when he wis wee but gart him staun in foostie cupboards in his sterile widower’s apartments whenever Paolo bairnishly havered Klog’s deid wife’s name.
Glowerin numbly throu the keek panel o Omega K624 up on Gallery 1083 on the fifth anniversary fae the day his life pairtner Nadia wis Kistit, Paolo had nae choice but tae acknowledge his thrawn pedigree. The langer he gowked at the recumbent figure ahint the reekit gless panel, the mair he felt the Klog cauldness tichten roon his hert. As he watched fae the view gate in the Rigo Imbeki Medical Center high up on Montrose Parish, the threid thin voice o his granfaither kittled in his mind, an Paolo yince mair, when confrontit by the weariest sicht imaginable tae him, foond himsel patently unable tae greet.
Nadia MacIntyre lay stane still inside her Omega Kist. Her body wis happed tae the chin in funereal white an smoored unner an inhuman wab o IV an colostemic tubes. Her visible skin wis as peeliewally as papyrus an her kenmerk taigled blonde hair kaimed oot in a trig manicure on the faem pillae ahint her heid. She appeared snod in her peacefu berth but her facial muscles, contortit by municipal beauticians intae an expression o glaikit serenity, couldna mask the untholeable agony in ben.
Paolo pit a nieve against the Omega Unit’s ooter waw an watched as his calloused haun slippit doon the bevelled surface. The Kist stood a guid twa fit abinn his ain six an raxit at least fowre tae his left an richt. Its exterior – a mass wrocht faux ivory shell – wis merked wi radiation tags an a mix mash o Sangue De Verdedecals. Aside the smoked gless keek panel, a quartet o info screens wis inbiggit tae the Omega Kist’s face. Three o them joogled data anent Nadia’s vital signs; the fourth wis the thocht pad, a screen which translated an Omega detainee’s thochts intae words an picturs as lang as they were able. Nadia’s thocht pad wis a clear unblenkin ee o blue that had no been puggled wi information fur three year echteen month.
Paolo’s ile-stoor resistant bitts squealed on the ceramic flair as he stepped back an glowered west alang Gallery 1083. It wis a summer Sunday forenoon the clatty end o January an the mile lang visitors’ corridor wis toom. A singil lawyer an her lycra leggit secretary intromittit the silence, shooglin past on a courtesy electric caur. An indie pouered germsooker jinked inconspicuously in an oot o Paolo’s personal space, dichtin up microscopic clart as it drapped aff his body.
A quarter mile doon, the wersh blinterin sun forced itsel in throu the uv filter gless at the corridor heid, illuminatin the faces an keek panels o the first fifty Omegas. An as he skellied intae the white bleeze, a troop o droid surveillance puggies advanced in heelstergowdie formation alang the corridor roof, skited by owre his heid an wi a clatter o metallic cleuks, skittered awa eastwards doon the shaddowy vennel. The toomness o the visitors’ corridor offered Paolo nae bield fae the buildin’s oorie atmosphere; Gallery 1083 wis an eerie airt wi or wioot passengers.
Fae a Jeremiah Menzies plastipoke, he extracted the peerie pink heid an widd broon stem o a bonsai rose. Gruppin the tottie flouer wi a big nieve, he awkwardly shawed it at the keek panel. The rose’s birkie complexion daunced on the tinted gless but ben the Omega Kist’s scoored white chaumer, Nadia’s een didna flicher. The doo coloured petals, tremmlin in Paolo’s haun, lowsed a soor, sweet guff that stang his memory. Nadia in a bloomarine dress on Himalaya 3. Nadia wi a gless o absinthe at Telfer’s Grill on Ayr. Nadia in her corporate lawyer’s goun on the steps ootside the Attorney-Fiscal’s Chambers. Paolo’s left ee stertit tae yeuk unnaturally but the inherent Klog crabbitness heezed itsel oot o his sowel in time tae smoor ony rogue aizles o sentiment.
Paolo touched a fingir tae his broo as he felt the first paik o the day gowp throu his heid. The flouer’s bonniness minded him o cantier times but the rose itsel wis mingin wi sweir connotations. His strang hauns absently nevelled the stem til the sap ran oot. Even fae ahint the Kist’s meter-thick waws, Nadia MacIntyre had tried tae mak a bauchle o him. His puir mind couldna reckon her. He wis unable even nou tae jalouse how a couthie passionate lowe like hers could emit sic cruel gleeds.
Nadia’s thocht screen had no ayewis been toom. The first fortnicht efter her Kistin, the pad had fizzed wi coherent words an unraivelled syntax. Nadia had nae will an she needit her solicitor tae scrieve yin til her. She chapped oot instructions via her thocht pad tae a hunner different agencies twinty-fowre oors a day. Her finances were in a guddle. They’d tae sell her hoose. Her sister wis tae hae her mither’s rings. She didna want her cousins on Hub tae hear owre the satellite; a lawyer wid hae tae fly there an tell them in person.
Altho Paolo admired her steely canniness in the face o Sangue de Verde, he kent aw Nadia wis daein wis jinkin the truth. When he spiered her directly fur the name, she replied ainlie wi fond but anodyne croodlin doos o affection. Efter fufteen days, wabbitness an delirium settled on her like twa hoodit craws. Nadia wis suddenly nae langer able tae form words. Her gleg gabbit commands on the owreloaded thocht screen dwyned tae a chitterin blue hiatus. Aw she could manage tae communicate by wis roch picturs, maist o them cryptic an unkennable. But Paolo weel unnerstood the import o the lest pictur Nadia gart kythe on her screen. It wis a fuff o spite that had stobbed Paolo sair an whase significance dirled in his sowel even yet.
A wheen weeks efter their mairriage, they had daunnered intae a multiplex museum an watched a movie thegither aboot Iva Ikuko Toguri, a Missouri-born Japanese quine the Americans miscawed a collaborator. The lass foon hersel fankled in yin o the big wars o the twintieth century – Paolo couldna exactly mind which ane – an she wis tried, efter the multinational stramash, fur treason. When they left the pictur hoose, the twa o them were haein a bit cairry-on. "You’ll no be ma Tokyo Rose, will ye, Mrs Broon?" Paolo had spiered. "You’ll no betray me, eh?"
Paolo could still hear Nadia’s words as she turned awa fae him an hopscotched doon the street. "Paolo, naw. I willna ever betray you."
He shut his een as the eerie memories filtered throu his heid. Nadia had burnt oot the lest o her brain cells steerin the pixels o her thocht pad intae the image o a bonsai rose. An on every ither visit he made tae her Kist, Nadia thrawnly projected this shilpit aff-reid 3D flouer ontae her thocht screen until month seeven when the pain finally extinguished her smeddum an she retreated intae hersel fur the dark soonless fecht wi Sangue de Verde.
Paolo let a lang braith gruzzle oot atween his teeth. Nadia MacIntyre wis in Omega Kist 624 because she had liggit wi anither man. She had had auld fashioned sex wi a stranger an alloued the Sangue de Verdesmit intae her bluid. The doctors at Rigo Imbeki had dated the fatal hoochmagandie tae sometime efter Paolo an Nadia’s waddin. It wis nou five year tae the day since the Kistin an Paolo still didna ken the cairrier’s name. A shairp twang worked its wey throu the frontal lobe o his brain. He moved awa fae the view windae an regairded the miniature flouer.
Tokyo Rose, - a peerie pink blossom, an the lass that begunked her country - sic a flouer had never passed fae his haun tae hers. He had never even seen ane afore she had gart ane bloom on her sterile thocht pad an altho the punchline o Nadia’s snell joke had stachered him, Paolo still thirled himsel tae its irony. He had brocht a bonsai rose wi him every week since her thocht pad licht went oot in the peeliewally hope it micht revive her. A fremmit, ill-hertit Nadia wis better than nae Nadia at aw. Forby, the flouer wis a ritual that chummed him throu the dark oors o a visit. He aften caucht himsel gowkin at the thocht screen, heezin it up tae skitter back online wi a rammy o pixels but it never did. Nadia’s screen on this drum anniversary registered ainlie a dour unbroken blue. Paolo aye cairried the rose tae her in a poke or happed inside his jaiket. He didna want the world tae ken he brocht a flouer. The joke maun remain in hidlins atween him an her alane. Wi his free haun, Paolo rugged open the hatch o the Omega’s incendicowp an flung the peerie bonsai rose intae the furnace’s fiery gub.
An icon on the Kist front pleeped, merkin the quarter oor. He had a coupon-tae-coupon conference wi Aga Dunblane, Nadia’s Bluid Lawyer, in the Medical Center’s elevator bar. It wis time tae pou himsel awa. He skelped some imaginary stoor aff the chist o his Clart Central janny’s tunic an boued doon tae tie an retie the lace on his left bitt. Then wi a final blank gowk at Nadia through the Kist panel, he smertly turned an linkit back alang the corridor, leain ony ootward face o emotion oxidisin amang the midden o esses in the Kist’s cowp furnace.
He didna want tae stey in Gallery 1083 lang. As he broostled toward the licht at the corridor heid, he tried no tae look at the Kists bolted tae the waw on baith sides o him. But, still an uncanny, the detainees’ peeliewally visages soomed up at him throu the gallery’s semi-gloaman, sklentin fae aw airts intae the neuks o his een. He smertened his step, worryin insteid aboot the meetin wi Nadia’s lawyer. The legal profession didna steer their bahookies fae their caller-conditioned office suites athoot there bein a heid tae nip, a scone tae steal or somethin sair tae be said. Paolo hoped he had misreckoned whit he thocht Aga Dunblane wis aboot tae tell him but, wi pessimism a channerin worm deep in the Klog faimlie psyche, he had awready redd himsel up tae hear the worst.
He won oot the corridor an gratefully chapped the button at the elevator yett. Efter a lang three minute wait, the button bizzed wi licht, a dour ethereal chime bummed the elevator’s arrival an the yett doors rowed open. Paolo stepped in.
The Rigo Imbeki Medical Center wisna alloued windaes. Peerie portholes covered the twa-thoosan-storey muckle structure, admittin peen stobs o licht juist, intae the tichtly-regimented galleries. Port couldna dree Sangue de Verdetae skail accidentally fae its purpose-biggit hame; Imbeki had tae be completely blooter-resistant tae the region’s rauchle hurricanes an typhoons. The ainlie natural licht at Imbeki wis in ane o the Center’s fowre elevator bars. Each bar wis a lang corridor o steel an gless that ran the length o the buildin’s fowre sides an took a hauf-oor tae sclimm tap tae bottom past the flairs stappit wi Kists. The bars were therapy bothies fur the Center’s ermy o day visitors. Citizens visibly needit alcohol on the wey in tae lown their nerves an mak dowf their senses. An efter the painful dook intae theirs an their loved yins’ sowels, they sat like divers in the decompression chaumer o the bar sookin scotch an tequila afore rejinin their lives on the ootside.
Paolo breenged across the parquet flair an took a seat at the windae. A young waitress dichtin glesses at the bar an a bus-boy getherin creeshie ashets fae a table nearby goavied owre at him but Paolo didna try tae catch their ee. He didna want a drink. He wid need a clear heid tae face Aga Dunblane. Insteid he glegly scanned the lang bar. The siller an bleck Rennie McIntosh-graithed elevator wis toom, the bleeze bricht sun sklentin aff the restaurant’s roond formica tables. The lawyer hadna arrived yet. Paolo felt the flair judder unner his fit an the elevator continued its ponderous soonless ascent. Imbeki wis the maist muckle buildin on Montrose an he dirled his fingirs restlessly on the table tap as the kenspeckle skyline o Port gradually unfaulded a thoosan-feet ablow.
Across the skinklin blue watter, Inverness Parish kythed throu the tropical haar like a golem. Its boardwalks, weather bastles an hunner meter high metal hull sheened alang its bow side as Saul blintered doon on the Parish fae the west; Inverness’ famous onyx an granite spires stood mirk in shadda. Owre the bay tae the east, Siller City’s muckle cloodkittlers on Glasgow Parish stood, a forest o silhouettes, against the white het sky. Then Paolo let his een flit west again tae Kelso Parish whase ootline wis guddled unner a heavy plype o rain, an then up aheid tae Falkirk Parish birlin itsel in the center o Port’s fufteen floatin cities. A jet liner, probably fae Ural 1 or mibbe Karakoram 6, wis skitterin tae a stap on the tarmac at Falkirk’s John MacLean Int’l Airport. Paolo glisked owre tae the bar tae check if Aga Dunblane had arrived – she hadnae - then returned his glower tae the brain-pugglin panorama o Parishes an ocean spreid oot afore him.
The sea, thocht Paolo, wis unusually canty the day. He shiddered as he keeked doon intae the azure hauchs an meedows that separated the Parishes. The Atlantic wis baith freend an ragabash tae the three million people o Port. It brocht them muckle wealth. Port biggit the walliest, maist socht-efter transport ships in the Western Hemisphere. The sea wis a trade brig tae Hub, New Appalachia an ither maritime settlements in the Dry East. But while Port bairns studied the weys tae maister the Atlantic, they were learned tae fear it, tae. Nane o Paolo’s generation had been alive tae thole God’s Flood.
Sixty year syne, when a sub-antartic volcano had biled owre an rived in twae the surface o Mt Erebus an the Ross Ice Shelf, the unjeeled watter had raired intil the Suddron Ocean. The volume Ross lowsed on the world’s seas whummled whit remained fae the American pampases an drooned the plains o Africa fae the Cape tae Senegal. Maist island cities at yon time were quarter-feenished hulks roostin on scaffoldin aside state capitals. The World Bank had gret loudly for their construction efter the Lomonosov Rig at the North Pole had cowped, inundatin Bangladesh, Holland an the lands o the Mississippi basin. But the island cities’ price tag flegged multi-national budgets in Frankfurt an New York an when the parliaments jaloused that Lomonosov wid dae nae mair herm than wipe-oot a puckle coastal nations, they stapped the siller.
Howanever, they were soon chantin a different tune when they witnessed on their boardroom tvs the watters fae an icefield the size o China come rattlin across the globe. As the radge seas sent shock tsunamis skitin throu cities an glens sookin millions o citizens doon unner the dark drumly watter, the unco guid an the unco lucky were scartin an scrammlin their wey ontae tae the hauf biggit island cities. When the gurlin oceans finally settled, the lave o the world population, flung thegither on shooglie tin cans, had nae option but tae rowe up their sleeves an commence the darg tae bigg up their ain individual island toon.
Port, the maist northerly settlement in a triangle o maritime cantons wi Europoort in the sooth an Berlinhaven in the east, had tholed God’s Flood (an the subsequent decade o wudd tropical storms as the world’s climate bubbled an fizzed) athoot muckle loss. Port’s cities, kent locally as Parishes, had jowed an swelled successfully on the roch North Atlantic sixty lang year, thirled firmly tae the sea-flair at the drookit burgh o Greenock by stieve fibre alloy cables. Paolo glowered absently at his hame city, the metal walkweys an gless skyscarters hotterin in the het sun. The sea soomed calm an still atween the muckle metallic Parish hulks, signallin its undauntit presence wi chitterin flashes o blue.
The clock on the Glennie Music Faculty bummed five efter the oor. Aga Dunblane wis late. She had redd the conference fur eleeven o’clock but Paolo widna greet if she didna shaw her face the day. By the end o their video blether twa oors syne that moarnan, he had awready jaloused her sweir agenda. The eeriness o Nadia’s anniversary wis compacted by mair practical maitters. Spike an Alaska were a globally kent law firm an Aga Dunblane wis their shairpest lawyer. Her ain husband had liggit fufteen year in an Omega Kist afore Aga id’d the cairrier an neutralised the sleekit virus that had thirled him there. Paolo had retained her tae warsle the hoodies on behalf o his undeid wife because Aga Dunblane pit her hert an cleuks intae every Sangue de Verdecase she took on.
Aga wis the best but her professional smeddum didna come cheap. Nadia had sliddered intae a coma athoot giein her Jock Doe a name. Aga needit the Jock Doe’s name afore she could tak Nadia’s case onywhere near a DNA trial judge. Spike an Alaska had initiated a search fur Nadia’s JD which had rummled throu seeventeen population centers on aw three continents wi a puckle aff-road expeditions, nane o which provin onythin ither than feckless. Thegither wi Aga’s ain undeemous legal fees, the cost o cawin doon Nadia’s Jock Doe had langsyne hirpled oot o control.
Paolo seched inwardly. Athoot the cairrier’s identity, Spike an Alaska couldna stert proceedins fur the vital swatch o DNA that wid lowse Nadia fae her pain. They couldna stumour the disease athoot it. Five year had slittered past. Aga’s team still had nae name an Nadia’s Aquabank Trust Fund wis nearhaun sookit dry. Paolo, a low-rankin cyberjanny at Clart Central, had nae siller himsel tae finance the ermy o smit polis, bluid symmelers an legal secretaries Spike an Alaska had contracts wi tae smoke oot the bam that had brocht doon on his sweethert Nadia the lang dark nicht o Sangue de Verde.
He wis aboot tae spier NEB fur Aga Dunblane’s location when his NEB tattoo crawed. The tattoo – a silicon communications screen organically dichted at birth ontae the skin o his richt airm – jibbled intae life wi text, audio an the gloomy hi-resolution gub o McCloud, his supervisor doon at Clart Central.
"Visitin yir stookie, Broon?" Heid bummer fur eleeven siller-heavy onParish cleaning contracts, McCloud’s desk wis ironically a midden o cappacino cartons an rooburger pokes. "How is she, son? Ony change?"
Paolo swallied. His clart maister’s mingin rhetoric didna sting him ony mair. He maintained an implacable glower as he spoke intae the body screen hotterin on his airm. "Whit’s up, McCloud?"
"It’s no hygenic, Broon. You’re never awa fae thae Cages. You need tae git oot mair. Catch some rays." McCloud’s albino coupon, which hadna seen sunlicht itsel fur twinty year, breenged up tae the NEB camera, exposin a rash o unpicked plooks. "Never you mind, greek boy. Your pal Lars Fergussen hasnae shown up fur his shift. Apparently, his heid’s no very weel the day. Oor screens tell us that he’s aboot tae dae a homicide owre on Lauder Boulevard. Ony ideas?"
Paolo ran his tongue owre a sneck in ane o his molars. He couldna be fashed wi McCloud the nou. Aga wid be here ony minute. He needit time tae redd up his mind. If he got the richt words oot in the richt wey, she micht no be sae professionally cauld. She had been throu it hersel. She wid unnerstaun. He wid spier her fur mair time. A week mibbe. A lot o stoor could be sifted in a week.
"Joab Description Reminder Time, greek boy." The voice fae the tattoo girned up at him. "McCloud – that’s me - sits in here an eats hissel tae death." McCloud snottily flung a yak wishbane across his clatty desk. "Cyberjannny Broon, third cless – that’s you – gits his fingir oot an cleans up somebody else’s midden. Mibbe a politician’s left this yin. Could be it belangs a commissar or five ster general, eh. Mibbe even it’s mines. But the day your midden’s name is Lars Fergussen. Sae tak the first funiculaire doon tae the Sangster Favela an dae some guid auld-fashioned honest jannyin."
"Haud on til Shift 4. He maist likely juist forgot," Paolo replied, wantin tae stem the burn o foostie patter piddlin oot the clart maister’s shamgabbit mooth. "Or whit aboot Jansen? Ah’ll oxter Fergussen in later. The daftie’s juist forgot whit day o the week it is. Git Jansen in insteid."
"Jansen’s chitterin the teeth oot o his heid in a detox poke on Falkirk. He couldna wipe his ain neb." McCloud’s yella molars slubbered across the bottom o the screen as he spoke. "No a bonnie attitude, greek boy. Ah’m juist no hearin the richt level o enthusiasm aff ye here. Mind you’re a skip an a lowp fae a trip tae Sub-marnock. A man wi your history has tae caw awfie canny. Even ten year efter it, Happy Day is a peel the Lord Presidents are still no able tae swallae."
Paolo had heard it aw afore. He sairly wanted tae burst McCloud’s creeshie coupon. Oot the corner o his ee, he sensed the elevator doors at the far end o the bar squatterin open. "Ah’ll deal wi Lars, McCloud. Juist git me some back up this time. An gie me some deep access tae VINE. Fergussen micht go ben."
"Ben. Greek boy wants tae go ‘ben’. A cyberpauchler like you. Wi your faimlie’s trackrecord. You’d disappear in twa ticks. We’d lose your sweet little erse furever. Dae you no mind? We dinna trust you. You’re no alloued deep access ever again. Surface contact, that’s aw you’re guid fur." McCloud gruppit a rooburger an orrily bit intae the sandwich o breid an broon meat. "An back-up? Nae joy, china. Aw polis is affParish. The Lug is haein their annual swallie the nicht on Greenock an guess whit? You’re no invitit. Looks like ye’re on yir ain again, greek boy. The wey you like it."
Paolo flexed the muscles on his foreairm an McCloud’s image flichered on the tattoo screen, then deed. A voice fae the bar made Paolo turn his heid. Aga Dunblane, reekin o corporate pouer in a flame-reid business suit, had juist ordered hersel a vodka cooler. She waggled an emerald-happit haun but Paolo didna wave back. His bluid had gane cauld an his hert had stertit tae shidder. They needit Aga.
The sole haven fur Nadia fae Senga could ainlie be raxed by a swatch o the unnamed cairrier’s DNA. Athoot a Bluid Lawyer, it wid be sair work trackin the DNA himsel. The thocht skelped throu his heid that he an Nadia were aboot tae be cowped intae a loch fou o sharks, an, alang wi the thocht, a stobbin pain dinnled a second at the centre o his broo. He automatically checked his jaiket fur his peels, wrappin his fingirs tichtly roon the aluminium canister in his pocket. The feel o cool metal smoored the panic in his hert. He wid tak ane efter Aga left. He heezed a smile ontae his face in welcome but didna lowse his grup on the tin. If his heid wis this sair at hauf twelve, he wid need mair than yin taiblet tae see him throu tae dusk.
Aga Dunblane wis third generation Libyan. She liked tae cleed her sonsie melano skin wi couture an dezaina claes. She owned a Dryland dacha on Carn Dearg an anither ane on Mount Keen. The koffie hoose claiks, somewey inevitably, cryed her a man nipper an the legal sweetiewifes had langsyne pit the word oot that she wis a peyd-up baw thrappler but Paolo had never let ony fashionable havers clart his judgement o her. The siller hadna deeved her hatred fur Sangue de Verdean he trusted implicitly Aga’s ory, carnaptious intellect. Paolo hoped Aga had brocht thae qualities wi her the day.
She lowped aff the caur afore it had richt stapped an stood in front o Paolo, a meter echty in Gumani heels. She looked at him cannily throu her dark Saharan een. "Mr Broon," she said, clearin a dry hoast fae her thrapple. "Mr Broon, we, at Spike an Alaska, are hert sair that your life pairtner lies here in Rigo Imbeki."
As he listened, Paolo’s heid drapped a wee thing tae yin side. Aga, wha normally cryed him by his first name an blethered aboot the case naturally an honestly, had retreatit intae noncouthie corporate patter. This wis a different craitur fae the Aga he kent an Paolo didna hae tae read cabbal tae jalouse whit wis comin next.
"Mr Broon, Spike an Alaska hae arraigned echteen citizens on your behalf an fae these, fufteen hae been dismissed. Three names fae oor original maister leet remain. Baith Cameron J. Pennycook, resident, 915b Kilimanjaro Street, Thistleton, on Kilmarnock Parish an Desmond Broon, interned Inverdisney Penitentiary, Kasuko Island 12B, continue tae bauchle attempts tae obtain a conclusive DNA swatch. Their lawyers’ wranglesome defence, nou intae its thirtieth month, has sae raivelled the plaintiff’s claim that a verdict is unlikely this fiscal century. Joseph Nickelson, formerly o Zepplin Street, Airdrie Parish, has no been located. Oor agents, at nine am this moarnan, received orders tae discontinue their search."
The pain howled throu Paolo’s heid like a bear wi its paw snecked in a trap. Aga’s mooth moved an her jewellery jiggled on her airms an lugs as she spoke but Paolo could haurdly mak oot her words. She had paper in her haun an a pen. She wanted him tae pit his merk tae it.
"Efter a meetin wi your creditors, Mr Broon, we hae decided tae resign this case. Spike an Alaska will gledly resume this accoont if an when sufficient siller is deposited at Aquabank Central on Glesga Parish. We wid like tae formally thank you fur your business."
Paolo turned an keeked blankly throu the restaurant windae, willin the lawyer tae hoddle quickly awa. Nadia’s unflittin corp flichered across his mind liggin oblivious tae Aga’s words in the sterile creel o her Kist. Forby a miracle, she wid stey there furever nou, the sweir-drawn guest o Sangue de Verde. Paolo pit his stoundin heid intae his hauns. He had failed an mogered everythin.
Aga buttoned up her reid jaiket. "I need anither drink. Ye wantin yin yirsel," she spiered, ettlin tae mak her voice come across casual. Paolo boued his een fae hers. When she raxed oot an airm as if tae shak his haun she stapped hersel, picked up her toom vodka gless insteid an hirpled in her high heels up tae the bar athoot lookin back.
Three dreels remained unhowked. If Nadia wis tae rax ony kind o decent nirvana, he wid hae tae plou them aw his lane. He still had the relevant ra data on disk fae Aga but his intellect wid hae tae be glegger than usual tae jalouse which ane o the three tae gang efter.
Joseph Nickelson wis Nadia’s bairnhood sweethert. The records shawed they were thegither twa summers at the hin end o Nadia’s teens. Altho Aga hadna managed tae unhap ony real evidence tae suggest Nadia an Nickelson had ever rowed in the gress, it wis a fair possibility the Sangue de Verdesmit micht hae been innocently passed in the youngsters’ first bairnish attempts at sex. Until Nickelson wis foond an his DNA tested, naebody could be sure. Aga’s team had nebbit it oot that in his mid-twinties Nickelson had gotten taigled up in the pitmirk world o adventure real estate. The lest confirmed sichtin o him wis seeven year syne at a JFK depairtures terminal on New Appalachia. It had fashed Aga’s dreams at nicht that Nickelson micht turn oot tae be the first Jock Doe her office werena able tae find.
The locations o the final twa on Aga’s leet wisnae as shoogily determined. Cameron Pennycook wis a famous skin surgeon wi a guid-gaun practice on Kilmarnock, Kilbride an Linlithgow Parishes. Nadia had been his lawyer an their business relationship had lested lang enough fur whit the Spike an Alaska company haunbook cryed ‘contact’ tae tak place. Aga had gethered testimonies fae her freelance database o professional clypes an backstair cloot clippers an she firmly believed that Pennycook had giein Nadia the Senga bug. But athoot a DNA swatch, she couldna prove a docken. Pennycook lived alane, coontin his bawbees in his million-merk bachelor’s apairtment. His immaculate reputation wid be guddled by ony scandal conneckit wi Sangue de Verdean the flow o clart conscious citizens tae his skin surgeon’s practice wid promptly stap. His lawyers, Metro, whase fees were even mair muckle than SAI’s, had managed tae stumour Aga’s team in their claim fur a swatch o his DNA. Pennycook’s glaikit coupon aye brocht the boak close tae Paolo’s gub but he didna lippen tae Aga’s theory that he had infectit Nadia.
It wis the third name still untrauchled by Spike an Alaska’s brawest legal minds that gart Paolo’s granite Klog hert tremmle wi dreid. Desmond, a.k.a. Diamond Broon wis even mair kenspeckle than Pennycook an had the siller tae no ainlie vex Spike an Alaska’s claim fur a swatch o his DNA but tae smoor the petition awthegither sae that ony case against him didna even mak it tae coort. The Diamond wis a transglobal chancer o the auld order, a legendary cybercowboy wha had won his siller dobbyin data vaults. Lugdrugs were the century’s narcotic o choice an the rumour still hirpled aboot that he had inventit them. He had circumpauchled the world makkin freens an enemies on a thoosan island states in a forty year career o flytin, fechtin an unsneckable meglomania. Aga’s team had had nae problem findin Broon. His lawyers, also fae Metro, freely gied oot his address at Inverdisney Timeshare Penitentiary, a maximum security Dryland prison five hunner klicks north o Port across the Irish Skagerrak.
A dreich smile spreid across Paolo’s face. Cybercleaner Broon, third cless, had a job tae dae. A Dane cryed Lars wis needin a help oot his bed wi either o Paolo’s size ten bitts. He thochts jinked back tae Nadia liggin lown an still in her Kist. His Tokyo Rose micht hae begunked him an sned his hert in twae but Paolo loed her. Aw he needit wis five minutes alane wi the Diamond. Athoot ony greetin faced lawyers wi their sleekit statutes an glaikit precendents, Paolo wid soon chauvie the truth oot o the auld man. A jag o bluid taen rochly oot his peeliwally veins, if testit positive, wid tak Nadia fae the airms o Senga. But brekkin intae a Dryland prison wis a feat he couldna manage, even in a thoosan years. A whummlin sense o weeness slaistered throu him as he realised the haunlessness o his situation. He wid gie his life fur a coupon tae coupon wi the Diamond, even altho, he admitted sweirly, it wis the Diamond that had gien life tae him.
The lang flittin bar arrived at the Foyer. As he prepared tae rug himsel oot the Rennie MacIntosh chair, a sair thocht impelled his haun til his heid an gart him hoast up a soor lauch fae deep doon his sowel. Diamond Broon wis Paolo’s faither.
It wis time fur a peel.