Free Ghost in the Machine by Ed James

little dole bastard."
    Bain snorted with laughter.
    "He's a bit of a ned," said Miller. "Been in bother a few times."
    "What sort of bother?" said Bain.
    "Nothing too bad. Never in trouble with us lot."
    "I thought your old boy was on decent money?" said Bain.
    "Aye, he is," said Miller, "but we never seen him much when we were growing up. He was always busy with work."
    Cullen reappraised Miller, having previously taken him for just another Leith ned. He now saw him fit another profile entirely. At his school, some of the kids with the wealthiest parents - rich from the Aberdeen oil - tried the least hard and ended up mucking about and joining gangs in Arbroath or Dundee, generally up to no good. Spoilt kid syndrome.
    "Derek had trials with Hibs and Rangers a couple of years ago," said Miller. "Stupid bastard got pissed the night before both of them. He was good enough to make it as a professional. He's a casual now."
    Bain shook his head. "Fuckin' Hibs casuals. By the way, I'm not exactly happy with him getting you free tickets for games. That'll no doubt blow up in my face."
    "I'll watch my step," said Miller.
    Bain took a long drink of his pint. "So you're an Aberdeen fan then, Sundance?"
    "Aye," said Cullen, cautiously.
    "I hate Aberdeen."
    Cullen tried to smile. "I take it you're a Rangers fan?"
    Bain grunted.
    The rivalry between Aberdeen and Rangers stemmed back to before Cullen was even born. In the eighties, Aberdeen were one of the best teams in Europe - let alone Scotland - under Alex Ferguson but their fortunes had declined greatly since.
    Cullen tried to engage Bain. "You go to Ibrox much?"
    "Every game when I lived through there," said Bain. "Chance would be a fine thing these days."
    "You fancy coming along to the Barca game then, Gaffer?" said Miller.
    Bain glared at him. "I'd rather lose a bollock than stand in a stadium full of smack-head Hibs fans with a fuckin' ticket your brother's nicked off somebody."
    "Suit yourself."
    They sat in silence for a bit, drinking. Cullen caught McNeill's eye over Bain's shoulder.
    Bain looked at Cullen. "I was on the phone to some boy in Bathgate earlier. You came over from F Troop, didn't you?"
    "Aye." Cullen knew F Troop meant F Division - West Lothian. He only recently found out it was a reference to an old American TV series about a bunch of idiot soldiers in the American civil war. "I was in uniform there for six years. Livingston, Broxburn and Bathgate. Then I was an Acting DC at St Leonards."
    Bain sat back, his arms folded. "St Leonards, eh?"
    "I was in DI Ally Davenport's team," said Cullen.
    Bain nodded. "Never heard of him." He put his glass back down. "How do you think you're getting on?"
    Cullen had been in Bain's team for just over three months and had yet to have anything resembling a formal one-to-one, despite Bain's continual references to it.
    "Well, it's early days." Cullen took a sip of his pint trying to buy time. "I've had a lot of autonomy and we got a result with the last case. It's why I wanted to join CID."
    Bain sneered. "You're an idealist, then?"
    "As opposed to what?"
    "A realist," said Bain. "There are generally two types of detective. There's your idealist, and then there's your realist. The idealist feels like they're born to be this great detective, the realist just gets there by being one."
    "So which type are you, then?"
    Bain's eyes flickered with menace. "I'll let you decide that."
    Cullen kept his mouth shut.
    Bain smirked. "Definitely an idealist." He picked up his glass and finished it, then slammed it on the table. "Whose round is it?"
    Cullen glanced at his pint, at least half full. "I'll get them in. Tennent's again?"
    They both nodded.
    "All right boys?"  
    Cullen swung round. DI Paul Wilkinson, his shirt untucked, his trousers stained, looking a total mess.
    "All right, Wilko." Bain raised his glass. "Did you win?"
    Wilkinson was the other DI who reported to DCI Turnbull. "Too right I did," he said in his Yorkshire accent, his