Free California by Ray Banks

1
     
    When he thought about it, like, Shuggie Boyle reckoned he’d been through some names in his time.
    First there was Kevin Munroe who’d been this close to an aggravated assault pinch before he managed to rabbit; George Cooper, who’d been nabbed fare dodging on the Edinburgh-Glasgow line; Jimmy Fogarty shoplifted a pair of Adidas Kicks back when they were still worth a fence; and Brian Cole punted knock-off Lamberts and litre bottles of Bacardi to half the shipyards. All the names were nice and forgettable. All of them suited his face, which was also nice and forgettable. So he had imagination. He could’ve made up another name for the pensioner sat next to him, but he didn’t. Didn’t even use his court name, either – it was all informal, all “tell you what, just call us Shugs if it makes you feel better, eh?”
    Truth be told, he didn’t know why he said it. The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. It was a fucking mug’s game using his real name and he should’ve known better, but there was something about the old bloke that reminded him of his Granda. Not that the pensioner looked anything like his Granda, but there was a poppy in his buttonhole, a strength despite the shakes, a bit of bolsh in there. Also, there was the smell of booze on him.
    Didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it got Shug’s yap going.
    “I know this isn’t ideal for you,” he said, “and I know you’re sitting there, probably think you’re being punished for something, eh?” Shug tapped his head, kept his eyes on the road. “Brain’s ticking over, you’re thinking about alternative universes. Like if you hadn’t stopped at that red light that we both know was a smidge off of green, you would’ve got away. Thing is, mind, you didn’t. I got in, and here we are and all that, and it’s ancient history. What’s done is done. No point dwelling on the past, because it won’t change the present, will it?”
    Shug glanced at the old man. According to his driving licence, his name was Charlie Brown. Shug thought it was funny. The old man didn’t. Kept that same thin face on him the whole time, staring straight ahead.
    “D’you understand what I’m talking about, Charlie?”
    Nothing.
    Shug nodded to himself. “Okay, alright, fine. I understand, you’re having a hard time ... assimilating what’s happening. That’s understandable. Your brain’s all closed up. But you’ll come round. You’ll open up.” He slapped Charlie’s knee. “Don’t you worry, everything’ll be fine. All I’m saying is there’s no point in blaming yourself for what happened. It’s not your fault. You weren’t to know. It all happened too quickly for you to react. And you know what, you’re better off not reacting, you get me? Because I’m a man with a goal, and I will reach that goal no matter what. So you should thank yourself, y’know, pat yourself on the back for not doing anything stupid like fight back. Because if you had, I might’ve had to hurt you, and we don’t want it to get to that, do we?”
    Charlie looked at him. Milky blue eyes. His mouth moved like he was grinding his dentures.
    Shug sniffed. Wiped his nose. “Anyway, I’m sorry for nicking your car, Charlie. I’m not daft: this is probably your last shot at independence, this motor. People telling you you can’t drive because you’ve got too many miles on the clock yourself. Bastards to a man, Charlie. Don’t let them get to you. You’re a better man than they know. And because you are, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to do you a favour.”
    Shug waited for a reaction. He didn’t get one.
    “Okay,” he said. “This car. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but she’s not long for this world. So what I’m going to do for you – when I drop you off, the first thing you should do is call it in stolen. Then, what I’m going to do is take this off somewhere and put her out of her misery, what d’you say? It’s win-win. I get