Read Hit and Run for Free Online Page A

medication. He rifled through the drawer until he spotted a brand name he knew was methamphetamine – Anadrex. They’d laughed about it in a club once because it was one letter away from toilet roll. He popped two pills out and swallowed them, then stuck the rest of the packet in his pocket and left.
    In the hall he picked up his bag, pulled the strap over his head and let himself out of the front door, making sure to pull it closed softly so that it made no sound.

9
     
     
    He kidded himself that he was just out for some air, but he knew where he was going.
    His feet took him to the end of Rankeillor Street and he turned left into the bus fumes and noise of South Clerk Street. Kebab houses, corner shops, pubs and greasy spoons, the pavement in the early evening teeming with people heading home from work or out to the pub. He walked until South Clerk Street became Newington Road, past cafes and wine shops, smarter flats towering above, cleaner stonework and larger windows.
    He turned left on Salisbury Road. Bigger buildings, Victorian built, darker stone, walled gardens, a hotel and a medical centre. He felt a familiar chemical rush, the same flood of energy he’d had the night before, a comforting aliveness, a welcome loss of control.
    At the end of Salisbury Road he stopped. The Commie Pool was across the road, shrouded in scaffolding and infested with cranes. Behind that Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat glimmering in the early evening sun, the volcanic rock brought to life by the low, angular rays.
    To his right was The Crags pub, a large Georgian sprawl, part of a chain aimed at students. He’d avoided it as a student, thinking himself above the sports clubs and booze cruise brigades. Anyway, he’d gone to Napier across town, mostly populated by locals, while Edinburgh Uni down the road seemed a magnet for a certain kind of braying English loudmouth. Zoe had done English literature there, then Napier’s magazine journalism postgrad, where Billy had somehow hooked up with her, despite feeling she was out of his league. He still had a lingering niggle that she was slumming it with him.
    Charlie had run with the arrogant medical student gangs for a while, but even he’d got tired of the constant one-upmanship and lager-fuelled bravado. Not that he didn’t still come out with his fair share of bullshit. But maybe he was right about Mum, about last night. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Didn’t make it any easier.
    Billy realised he was grinding his teeth and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He could feel the tiny particles of enamel and skin in his mouth. It was incredibly dry, his tongue too big and swollen.
    He skittered into The Crags car park. Stopped at the door. Over to his left was a beer garden, a spread of sticky picnic benches sitting on concrete slabs. Just beyond that was a five-foot wall, topped by a latticed wooden fence, barbed wire snagged along its top edge. He knew exactly where he was and why he was here. Over that wall was the Whitehouses’ garden.
    He stared at the barbed wire for a moment then shuffled into the pub.
    It was quiet, a few punters scattered around on the sofas. A young barman in regulation pub T-shirt flicked through the Evening Standard . Must’ve hit the streets not long ago. He closed the paper as Billy approached.
    ‘Pint of Stella,’ Billy said.
    The man started pouring.
    ‘Mind if I take a quick look at your paper?’
    ‘Knock yourself out.’
    Billy turned the paper to face him on the bar. edinburgh crime lord dead . Rose had the headline she wanted. The standfirst named Frank and suggested suspicious circumstances. He scanned the familiar story, looking to see if there had been any edits before going to print. The picture was a dramatic shot of Salisbury Crags, police tape and forensics in white overalls in the foreground.
    ‘Quite something, eh?’ the barman said as he clunked the pint down.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Right on our doorstep.’
    Billy felt a