Chapter 31
Leo stared at the pint he was nursing feeling as drab as the Scottish weather in January. After he’d left the house like a total arsehole and abandoned the very people he’d sworn to care about, Molly’s words echoing in his head, he’d walked.
His feet had carried him down random roads. The light of the day had faded, replaced by the cold wind and the misting of rain. He’d let the rain soak his head and his coat. If he shivered and fell ill, he deserved it.
What an absolute bastard. He was no better than Johnny. He had no right to pretend he had given Rose and Molly something Johnny never would be able to.
Hell, he had never envisioned Johnny pulling such a move that he’d rendered Leo useless. But his mother’s illness had also been something else he hadn’t envisioned, and look where that had led them.
Leo dropped his head on the bar, groaning.
There was some football game on, on the wee TV looming over the bar, but no one was watching it.
Most people huddled together, yapping. He’d caught several conversations, some gossip, some crazy talk, some anecdotes.
But everyone in here had someone to talk to, someone to talk about.
He’d just lost the privilege.
Here you go, son, a gruff voice said from behind the bar, just as the smell of malt evaporated, taken over by the whiff of coffee. Drink up.
Leo raised his head to stare at the white mug filled to the brim with black liquid that looked more like the water from the Clyde than coffee. I’m okay.
You’re drunk.
He shook his head, and the world swam. Hmm, not drunk. At least he didn’t think he was.
The man behind the counter was older, with a grey and brown beard hiding the lower half of his face. A very familiar face. Why did this random bartender look familiar?
His kind but all-seeing eyes had Leo shrivelling. You might not be, but you’ll certainly need it. See, it’s best to plan an apology before you do it. And to plan, you need a clear head.
How do you know I need to grovel?
The man grunt-chuckled, showing Leo yellowing teeth under the beard. I’m a bartender. It’s just a non-fancy version of being a therapist. And I have a feeling I know who you’re apologising to.
How?
The bartender stubbed a finger on the bar. Wasn’t it here you met that lady with the bairn?
Through his alcohol-addled brain, everything clicked into place. His feet hadn’t led him down random roads, they had led him to the place he’d first met Molly and Rose. Where they’d run away from Johnny.
This man had been behind the bar even then.
Leo stared at the coffee, then decided he could do with some shaking awake from the guy, so he took a sip. Its bitter taste on his tongue jolted him for sure. I fucked up and ran off when she needed me the most. I’ve broken the wee bairn’s heart too, whether she notices or not.
I dinnae ken about weans. But I do know there is nothing—short of abuse—that you can’t apologise about, if you actually work on changing yourself.
Leo raised a brow. That was sound advice coming from an unusual place.
As nonchalantly as he could, Leo looked around him.
The pub was packed tight. That might be because it was the weekend.
He knew that much. The windows on the back wall—or what was probably the front wall—didn’t let in much light, and were high enough that he could see houses, and not the actual road outside.
Besides, the window frames were covered in various posters Leo had no hopes of reading in the darkness.
Although he did spot a large poster about private investigators.
What an odd place to hang that.
I told you I was good, the man said. I’m Billy. Don’t remember your name. He raised a brow and waited for Leo’s answer.
Leo. Buchanan. He took another sip. The private investigator. Is he a regular?
Aye. Although he’s off gallivanting with his girlfriend to Inverness, I think. She’s an investigative journalist. It’s a neat business. He solves the crime, she writes about it. He fucked up really bad with her too. Let her get arrested for murder, even. I’m sure whatever you’ve done is not as bad.
Leo wanted to know how a man managed to do that, but his concern at the moment wasn’t a private investigator living his best life with a girlfriend who supported him. How did he apologise?
Billy made a face. A series of apologies. Started with food. Although she’s Indian, so the bar was high, and he failed at it. He didn’t say, but I suppose sex had a role to play. But the game-changer might’ve been that he broke his thumbs to fight by her side and overcame his demons.
Ah. Is this your way of telling me to get over myself?
Billy pushed the coffee mug closer to Leo.
Words can only get you so far. So can half-hearted apologies.
Sort yourself out, know that she’s right, and help her fight her battles.
You can’t fix the world for her, nor does she want you to.
Just stand by her. Running away and drinking your sorrows in a pub is the opposite of what you should be doing.
Leo laughed at that. So you drive customers away, is that the way you do business?
I have a gift, pal, of anticipating problems my patrons don’t.
So you finish that coffee and wake the fuck up.
Billy pulled the tea towel he’d draped over his shoulder, smacked it on the bar, mere inches from Leo’s face, then walked away to the other side where a patron was waving cash for another pint.
Lord. What a strange occurrence. But stranger things happened in Glasgow every day. He was just going to take this blessing for what it was. Thank you, Leo said, then chugged the coffee, scorching his tongue and waking himself up. He had work to do.
Or so he thought. When Leo picked up his phone and switched it on, messages, emails, and missed calls assaulted him, dinging so much his phone was practically a vibrator in his hand. For God’s sake!
The name that popped up the most was Neil. So Leo dialled him back. His half-brother answered, his voice high-pitched. Thank fuck. She’s crying, man. What the hell do I do? I tried dancing with the pig thing, and even twirled her around, but I’m sure my ear drums are fit to burst.
Leo had to take a moment to understand what the hell Neil was saying. You mean Rose? Where is Molly?
His heart began to thud, sending his brain all sorts of possible scenarios of what could have happened. Had Johnny seen the opportunity and taken Molly? But why leave Rose behind? Had Molly chased after him? Had she been in an accident and was in a hospital?
Where is Molly, Neil? Leo barked down the line, causing a few people lingering outside a barber’s shop to stare at him. Neil.
I don’t need you screaming at me when Rose is managing just fine. Neil muttered more curses. Molly told me she wanted to check something out and left. I don’t know where the hell she is. So just get here, calm Rose down. Where the hell are you?
Leo ran a hand through his hair. Saltmarket. I’ll get a taxi back.
As he waited for the cab to arrive, he phoned Molly. His call went straight to voicemail. She could have just blocked him. She had all the right to do that, given the way he’d run out. He texted her and emailed her, hoping she’d see one of his missives.
After he got into his cab, he called Alasdair.
Where the hell are you? Alasdair began without a preamble.
Never mind. You fucked up, man. Really bad.
And Molly’s gone off to the office on her own on some kind of warpath.
She asked me to look into some gossip about Newtar.
My contacts in Thailand, India, and Canada have heard of them.
Apparently, Newtar won a few security bids for some high-profile celebrities and the like.
And guess what, that coincides with Johnny’s visits to those countries in the last two years.
And well, of course none of the people Newtar allegedly represents is on our client list. Or I would’ve met them.
Leo massaged his head, sending Billy another silent thank-you for the coffee. Without that reviving sip, he would not have followed Alasdair at all. Hold on, man. Why are you looking into international markets?
Newtar! came the reply. All the funds Knox accused you of embezzling belong to Newtar. But this org doesn’t exist on paper. Not on our books or otherwise. But Molly’s right, we have to map it out. Like our company, there will be employees, finances, tech and tools, and records belonging to Newtar.
What does she plan to do with the info? Didn’t Molly realise that the more she dug into Newtar, the more she’d provoke them to act?
The fuck I know. All I know is Newtar is working internationally, using our old uniforms, potentially the employees you found on the CD.
It’s a big operation, and if none of us know about it, that is fucked.
And not like when you mistakenly shake a can of Irn Bru before popping it open.
It’s more like when you add a fizzy juice to your single malt.
Leo shook his head. Alasdair sucked at similes. I’m almost home. Head to my place. Apparently, Neil can’t babysit. We’ll regroup and try to figure out where Molly is. That’s our priority. If something happened to her, Leo didn’t know what he’d do. Or how he’d ever apologise to Rose.