Tessa's Call of Cthulhu
Swirling the remainder of his pint, Alastair picked at the light lunch he was attempting to eat; at least the food was better in Deacon’s care than on the streets he thought.
Six months and Glasgow goes and fecking changes…
All thoughts of legging it and hiding away were well and truly screwed by a sleeper train and too much of a watchful eye. A threat of being deported wouldn’t be enough to deter me from getting out of that bawgbag’s care and disappear but walking around my old turf and things have changed too much. Contacts have gone or died judging by the word on the street, new gangs forming and my accent don’t fit like it used to. Anyone would have thought I had been kept out in the dreich highlands so I couldn’t go back. I allow the broker to screw me over by ten percent so he would take me for a mug that is desperate for the cash and head back to the club we are staying in. Ach that room, too high to escape out the window and the bed too bloody soft again; still at least the nook behind the door wasn’t bad for kipping in.
Looking at the empty glass he decided to have another, despite his background he wasn’t a drinker, oh you could tell a lot from what someone was drinking he knew that much but personally he could take it or leave it apart from the fact not drinking drew more attention and one thing he preferred to avoid was undue attention, as such he mainly kept quiet whilst up here in these wretched shite holes that he was being dragged though. Heavy Glaswegian accent was a rarity around these parts so he kept himself quiet and when he spoke tried to adopt a less distinctive twang to his speech softening it out slightly, bit like the accent the maid behind the bar had, of course this gubbed me chances of going back to my old life easily.
Honestly thought my old clothes being burnt and given those walking clothes was bad enough, fecking chaffed in the places you didn’t want to be chaffed when I first wore em. But then bloody Deacon arranged for a suit… seriously a suit, looked like some twat dressed in that wretched thing. Alastair briefly flicked his eyes to one of the paintings on the bar’s wall of a highlander in traditional dress, it could have been worse he thought darkly.
Still being fed so can’t complain yet and useful it was too meeting McNair again at the club, the little ginger tosser scrubbed up well and can’t blame him for getting out whilst he could. At least he could help me order something that at least got me close to the limit set for my meal without going over, not bad actually, mind you if someone could wreak seafood it would be a nob, so bloody grateful it was McNair sorting my meal and not Deacon. No complaints about my eating either, the old men talking crap in the club had worst manners and yes, it would surprise some that I do recognise the difference between a good whiskey and a shite one. Made all the difference when hocking the stuff nicked from the docks.
Settling back with his fresh drink, he grimaced slightly. Oh shite on a stick, he asked McNair to find out about Deacon… Minds you, told him not to risk himself so hopefully he would be dandy and fine provided working in that cushy number hadn’t dented his nouse.
Not sure what to think about our new companion, Deacon doesn’t know him that much was apparent by the gentle sparring going on in their conversation. Could hear most of it, don’t think I got caught listening but you can’t tell, especially what happened on the boat. Luckily Deacon was distracted by those two women so I was able to get away from him whilst they played some poncy game of cards with MacDiarmid. Boats have a definite disadvantage in a lack of running spaces but I didn’t do too badly at cards either, trebled my cash which is always nice but not too lucky that I would have to avoid folks. That’s where my luck ran out, Deacon, after the women left and MacDiarmid had gone out on deck for air, insisted I play cards with him. He’s not bad, I’ll give him that, cheating bastard. Then he handed me one of the folders I saw him pack that morning after a brief discussion wanting to see how good I was.
Every fecking thing about me, almost every crime, swindle, oh and my parent’s names, well that’s dead and gone. And given what they were in the file like no wonder Mary took us away. The loony old bird who took care of me when I was young and Mary worked, was in it too. If he thinks this makes a difference to me, he is wrong. I picked my name and after Mary died I haven’t needed anyone and still don’t. I was doing perfectly well getting out on my own.
Last page just cleared any thoughts I had on Deacon, fecking secrets act, which he patiently explained in language he thought I would understand; Sign it or die. And that’s me trapped into service with the fecking English government… honestly, serve my country bull shite, what the feck have they done for me? Why would any Scotsman work for the pissing English? And that lad who was in one of his dig pictures, bet he didn’t retire from Deacon’s service, wonder if he managed to leg it or more like it or not shot.
Alastair looked at the meal, he had barely touched it, the thought of what happened last night still turned his stomach slightly although the ale was helping to settle that slightly. Deacon and MacDiarmid wanted to speak to an old guy called Campbell, the lass behind the bar last night gave him some information on him and how he was more than likely going to turn up, have a couple and rant abit then bugger off home, not exactly interesting. Having said that he was at the time more keen in softening the lass up to let him curl up in one of the chairs by the fire as Deacon had made it way too clear that sleeping in their joint room wasn’t happening. He frowned, just what was Deacon’s problem, wants me to sleep elsewhere there tries to interfere. Half wondered if he fancied the lass, doubtful after his words on whether I was planning on it or not though. Do what is necessary? Again, wonder about that lad.
Wasn’t much going on until Campbell arrived, listened in on a couple of conversations, mainly about climbing and walking in the hills, bloody fascinating I’m sure to some boring moron. The lass gave us a heads up on the old man when he arrived, he didn’t look like a loony, a bit haggard, looked a tad haunted around the eyes and he settled himself in one of the nooks in the bar. I was comfortable and warm by the fire but Deacon shifted me over to join them with Campbell, telling me to be observant. Oh yes, observant, not that I could understand a fecking word said between the three of them as they garbled, all I could see was that the old man wasn’t happy about something, regretful in the conversation to MacDiarmid and a bit cagey with Deacon…not that I could blame him for that one.
Just a tad after 10pm the old man, got up and made his excuses and left, I was fully expecting what was happening next and true to form Deacon kicked me out of the bar and told me to follow and keep a watch on Campbell until morning. Bastard, utter bawgbag. The mists were cold and damp, there was freezing fog underlying it and snow on the ground so I caught Campbell up and explained what Deacon was making me do and could I sleep on his floor, it was roughly what Deacon asked me to do. He wasn’t keen, thought that it was those two that had unsettled him but he was always watching the mists and getting me to hurry up.
Once in the house, he bolted the door, pointed to the fire and locked himself in his room. Should have guessed that I wasn’t going to be trusted, as it wasn’t long before those two joined me and kicked me off the only comfortable chair in the place. Alastair shuddered slightly as he remembered the door being kicked in, closing his eyes he could still see the tattered rotting walkers, one of the jobs he had done which wasn’t in the file was grave robbing and these guys had definitely been dead for a while. Still unlike Deacon he didn’t go nuts and start screaming some shite or other, first job was to get into Campbell’s room whilst MacDiarmid and Deacon sorted those corpses. No Campbell though, with him gone, now knew what he was worried about. Alastair thought about the trapdoor and the scream he heard from below, no fecking way would he head into a dark hole when you heard that type of scream.
Alastair opened his eyes and looked out the window, Campbell’s dead body at the bottom of the stairs wasn’t a surprise although just how he had been killed escaped him, sealed door would be the only way out and no-one in the room. The box and book seemed to go down well with the other two, which reminded him, MacDiarmid had been busy writing this morning, wonder what he is doing, mebbe I’ll have a look later if there is a chance, plus another nose though Deacon’s stuff if he isn’t around. With the corpses dispatched Deacon decided to write last night too, something urgent which needed to go off to his wonderful Bob.
Of course Deacon wasn’t going to send me off with the letter; he sent MacDiarmid instead and very nearly got the both of us killed in the morning. Just got clear of the cottage before the plane bombed the place to hell and back, don’t think Deacon was quite expecting that either as he was swearing about it more than me. Nice as it was to see his composure rattled, rather not when I’m in blast range of a burning cottage. Alastair looked out of the bar’s window at the looming mountain range and watched the mists swirling along the ridges, just bloody hope Deacon isn’t going to decide to head up that thing.
Mind you, that toff MacDiarmid looks the type to consider walking up it amusing as well… great fecking joy to be stuck with two of them it is, let alone that.