Free Bitter Water by Gordon Ferris

still in Turnbull Street and still a sergeant. We eyed each other up
speculatively across our pints. I wondered if he was viewing me as pityingly as I was him.
    His hair was still thick but grey as fag ash. It matched his complexion. Lines ran down the side of his nose and past his mouth. His eyes were lustreless and heavy. Nicotine stained the fingers
on both hands. Ambidextrous.
    ‘You’re lookin’ well, Brodie.’
    ‘So are you, Duncan.’
    ‘You’re a liar. But that’s OK. I see masel’ in the mirror each morning. Though I don’t need a reflection to tell me I’m knackered. I’m just hoping to
get oot wi’ ma pension before they find me collapsed in ma harness and have tae shoot me.’
    ‘It’s surely no’ that bad, Dunc.’ But I could see it was. ‘Though it’s a shame Sillitoe’s gone.’
    ‘You’re right there, Brodie. Chief Constable Sir Percy Sillitoe, blessed boss of these streets, was a fixer. We could dae with another like him. We’ve lost ground since he
left. It’s just a pity he didnae get rid of that shite Muncie before he went. You did us all a favour there.’
    Chief Superintendent George Muncie had been the prime malignancy behind the framing of my pal Hugh. Muncie was currently being held in solitary at Duke Street – for his own safety –
while awaiting a trial date. I hoped he was enjoying his new perspective on the application of the law.
    ‘Did I? I suppose so. He was rotten and he’d infected others on the force. But I wish . . .’
    ‘That he’d been better? That he’d had a finer set of morals than a rabid dug? Don’t we all. By the way, there was another wee bonus from your work.’
    ‘Promotions all round?’
    ‘Aye, but not for me. No, when you put the searchlight on the Slattery gang and they vanished, the drug trade in this fair metropolis halved overnight.’
    ‘Delighted to hear it, Dunc.’ I bit my tongue to avoid confessing how much of a hand I’d had in the Slatterys’ vanishing act. Or how permanent a disappearance it was.
Duncan might – if he was still as bloody-minded and scrupulous as always – have to arrest me.
    ‘But of course it’s starting up again. Somebody new.’
    ‘Like targets at a fun fair. Knock ’em down and they pop up again.’
    ‘Why don’t you come back, Brodie? We could do with you. You were a major in the Seaforths? Good going, pal. You’d come straight in as an inspector.’
    I’d thought of it. Especially as I’d nearly frittered away my demob gratuity. But I’d done my bit for king and country. No more uniforms. I wanted a quiet life. So what was I
doing here?
    ‘I was always out of step with the force. You know that. And do you really think they’d welcome me back with open arms after what I’ve put them through?’
    ‘I suppose not. Anyway, you’re here about possible vigilante attacks?’
    ‘I’ve got two letters and two attacks. That and pub gossip.’
    ‘Well, we’ve got a couple of possible cases that might fit. And if we add yours in, it could be something. Saying that, and far be it from me to condone it, but you have to admit
it’s quicker than due process.’
    ‘If you get the right man.’
    ‘There’s that. But it’s maybe better than no’ getting anybody at all.’
    ‘It’s that bad, Duncan?’
    ‘Maybe I’m jaundiced. Maybe it’s the war. Everybody’s tired. Nobody cares.’
    ‘That’s what these guys said in their letters. You’re not moonlighting, are you?’ I was only half joking.
    He sighed. ‘It’s the last scruple I’ve got, Brodie. It’s why I’ve never got past sergeant. That and being a dirty papist.’ He pulled himself upright.
‘Can I see them?’
    I handed over the warnings about Docherty and Gibson. He read them twice and whistled.
    ‘A bampot. A religious bampot. I wonder when we’ll get the first body?’
    I nodded. ‘That’s what I’m waiting for. It’s funny how moral certainty leads to intolerance.’
    ‘Then