Free One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night by Christopher Brookmyre

It’s like
buildin’
an island.’
    ‘Be fuckin’ freezin’, but, will it no’? The Cromarty Firth’s no’ exactly the South Pacific. Cannae see many folk lyin’ oot in their bikinis in May. Have tae wipe the snaw aff the sunloungers first.’
    ‘Have you been listenin’ tae a word I’ve said? It’s no’
stayin’
in the Cromarty Firth. That’s just where they’ve been rebuildin’ it. Fittin’ it oot, an’ that. When that’s aw done, they’re towin’ the whole shebang aff tae somewhere it’s warm aw year roon. Coast of Africa, I think.’
    ‘Oh, I get you noo. Wee bit hotter than Rosstown, then. Still, whit’s the point o’ gaun aw that way, tae Africa like, an’ then coopin’ yoursel’ up in this wan wee place the whole time? Seems a bit ay a waste, to me.’
    ‘Well, Charlie, that’s how we’ve no’ made millions oot the tourist business and Gavin Hutchison has. I mean, personally, I think it’s the stupitest fuckin’ idea I’ve ever heard in my life, but that just proves I know fuck‐
all.’
    ‘It doesnae take an oil‐
platform holiday resort to prove you know fuck‐
all, Eddie.’
    ‘Aye, very good.’
    ‘But I take your point. I wouldnae be seen deid in the place if it wasnae aw bein’ laid on.’
    ‘You couldnae afford it if it wasnae aw bein’ laid on.’
    ‘Good shout, aye. But you know what I mean, Eddie. It sounds hellish.’
    ‘Some place for a party, mind you. I think this could be a rerr terr, the night. Nae neighbours tae tell you tae keep it doon, nae polis, free drink.’
    ‘Aye, but if it turns oot it’s shite, it’ll be a cunt tryin’ tae get a taxi hame. Be a good laugh phonin’ for wan, right enough. Givin’ them directions: “Aye, you just take a right at the lights, then first left, then hauf a mile across the water. It’s the second oil rig efter the kebab shop.”’
    ‘Aye. “Name on the door’s Hutchison.”’
    ‘I have to say, though, Eddie, I still don’t mind o’ the cunt at aw.’
    ‘Who, Gavin?’
    ‘Aye. Drawin’ a total blank here.’
    ‘Come on, Charlie, fuck’s sake. You must remember him. Mind, the guy that got a knock‐
back aff Hound Henderson in first year at the Christmas party when everybody was up dancin’ tae the fuckin’ “Hucklebuck” or some shite.’
    ‘I mind o’
her
. Fuckin’ horrible beast, so she was. Christ, I hope she’s no sittin’ two seats in front. Did I say that loud?’
    ‘Naw, you’re awright. But d’you mind him noo?’
    ‘Naw. ’Cause it wasnae him, it was Paddy Grieg that got knocked back aff Hound Henderson that time.’
    ‘Fuck, so it was. Right enough. An’
he
cannae be on this bus, ’cause we’d’ve smelled him by noo. Fuckin’ hell, man. Paddy Grieg. I mean, gettin’ knocked back affa Hound Henderson it doesnae get any lower than that, does it? Seriously, you’d have tae stick your heid in the oven efter that wan, wouldn’t ye?’
    ‘Aye, Eddie, says you that shagged Linda Clark thon time.’
    ‘That’s different. At least I got a result.’
    ‘Some result. She’d a face like a melted welly.’
    ‘Well, you don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re pokin’ the fire.’
    ‘Poor, Eddie, poor. And does your Margaret know you shagged Linda Clark?’
    ‘It was afore we were merried. I was eighteen.’
    ‘Aye, but does she know? ’Cause the two o’ them werenae exactly pals, like, were they?’
    ‘Fuck’s sake, keep your voice doon. Margaret’s got ears like fuckin’ radar, even if your Tina’s burnin’ them aff doon the front the noo.’
    ‘You leave ma Tina oot this. Answer the question: does she know?’
    ‘Am I still alive? Is Linda Clark still alive?’
    ‘I’ll take that as a No, then.’
    ‘You, me and Linda are the only folk that know. I’d everybody else that knew professionally murdered a few years back.’
    ‘So, is Linda Clark on the bus?’
    ‘You’re fuckin’ hopeless, Charlie. Linda Clark went tae Auchenlea High. She wasnae at