Read Let It Bleed for Free Online Page B

these days, feeding an assembly plant on Clydeside and another in Gyle Park West.
    ‘Yé dancing?’
    Rebus half turned to see a woman grinning toothlessly athim. He thought her name was Morag. She was married to the man with the tartan shoelaces.
    ‘Not tonight,’ he said, trying to look flattered. You could never tell with the man with the tartan shoelaces: dance with his wife and you were flirting; turn her down and you were, by implication, snubbing
him
. Rebus rested his foot on the polished brass bar-rail and drank his drinks.
    By eight o’clock, both Doc and Salty had left, and an old guy in a shapeless bunnet was standing next to Rebus. The man had forgotten his false teeth, and his cheeks were sunken. He was telling Rebus about American history.
    ‘I like it, ken. Just American, not any other kind.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Why just American?’
    The man licked his lips. He wasn’t focusing on Rebus, or on anything in the bar. You couldn’t be sure he was even focusing on the present day.
    ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I suppose it’s because of the Westerns. I love Westerns. Hopalong Cassidy, John Wayne … I used to like Hopalong Cassidy.’
    ‘
Could It Be Forever
,’ said Rebus, ‘that was one of his.’
    Then he finished his drink and went home.
    The telephone was ringing. Rebus considered not answering; resistance lasted all of ten seconds.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Hello, Dad.’
    He flopped into his chair. ‘Hello, Sammy. Where are you?’ She paused too long. ‘Still at Patience’s, eh? How are you?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘How’s work?’
    ‘You really want to know?’
    ‘Just being polite.’ Fatherly, he thought suddenly: Ishould have said fatherly, not polite. Sometimes he wished life had a rewind function.
    ‘Well, I won’t bore you with the details then.’
    ‘I take it Patience is out?’ It stood to reason: Sammy never called when she was home.
    ‘Yes, she’s out with … I mean
at
something. She’s out at something.’
    Rebus smiled. ‘What you really mean is that she’s out
with
someone.’
    ‘I’m not very good at this.’
    ‘Don’t blame yourself, blame your genes. Do you want to meet?’
    ‘Not tonight, I’m dog-tired. Patience asked … she wondered if you’d like to come to tea some day. She thinks we should see more of one another.’
    As usual, thought Rebus, Patience was right. ‘I’d like that. When?’
    ‘I’ll ask Patience and get back to you. Deal?’
    ‘Deal.’
    ‘Well, I’m off for an early night. What about you?’
    Rebus looked down at his chair. ‘I’m already there. Sleep tight.’
    ‘You too, Dad. Love you.’
    ‘You too, pet,’ Rebus said quietly, but only after he’d put down the phone.
    He went over to the hi-fi. After a drink, he liked to listen to the Stones. Women, relationships, and colleagues had come and gone, but the Stones had always been there. He put the album on and poured himself a last drink. The guitar riff, one of easily half a dozen in Keith’s tireless repertoire, kicked the album off. I don’t have much, Rebus thought, but I have this. He thought of Lauderdale in his hospital bed; Patience out enjoying herself; Kirstie Kennedy in a Charing Cross cardboard-box. Then he saw cheap trainers, a final embrace, and Willie Coyle’s face.
    Rebus just couldn’t seem to drink him off his mind.
    He remembered the report he’d found hidden in Willie’s bedroom. It was on the kitchen worktop, and he went to fetch it. It was a business plan, something to do with a computer software company called LABarum. The text explained that the dictionary definition of ‘labarum’ was ‘moral standard or guide’, and the reason the company would use upper case for the first three letters was to emphasise
L
othian
A
nd
B
orders. The business plan discussed future development, costings, projected balance sheet, employment range. It was dry, and it was couched in the conditional. Rebus got out the phone book but found no listing