Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'You're
a
good
guesser.
I've
got
mates
out
there
on
surveillance.
You
were
clocked
coming
in.
If
I
don't
leave
here
in
one
piece,
you're
in
a
lot
of
trouble,
friend
.
'
His
tone
was
low
and
reasonable.
There
was
no
threat
in
it,
but
rather
an
undertone
of
amusement.
In
the
face
of
his
certainty,
the
man
began
to
move
away
from
the
door
and
then
changed
his
mind
and
swung
round
to
check
the
street.
He's
a
mug,
Murray
thought,
but
not
enough
of
a
mug
to believe
me.
He
knew
his
best
chance
would
be
to
make
a
rush
while
the
man's
back
was
to
him,
but
he
could
not
decide
to
move.
It
would
only
take
a
moment
to
check
the
windows
opposite,
look
for
a
parked
vehicle
– some
sign
of
a
police
presence.
Guardian
angels.
The
man
turned
abruptly
and
as
Murray
braced
himself
came close.
But
he
was
grinning.
'Aye,'
he
said
with
contempt,
'you
weren't
kidding.
You've
got
a
right
mate
out
there,'
and
with
a
nudge
of
the
shoulder
he
walked
past.
In
a
moment,
the
alteration
was
complete.
Two
men
stood
drinking
quietly,
the
barman
behind
his
counter
reached
to
fix
a
bottle
on
the
gantry.
A
woman
slouched
at
a
table
staring
disappointed
into
an
empty
glass.
As
Murray
went
out,
he
pushed
awkwardly
at
the
swing
doors
and
the
left
one
came
back
striking
him
on
the
arm.
A
big
man
with
a
full
head
of
hair
and
a
great
jutting
beard
flecked
with
white
was
crossing
the
pavement
to
the
entrance.
As
staring
he
broke
step,
Murray
recognised
him.
The
guy
who
talked
so
well,
Billy
Shanks'
friend
...
Tommy
Beltane.
The
Prophet.
'I've
just
promoted
you,'
Murray
said,
'to
guardian
angel.'
Prostitution
SATURDAY,
SEPTEMBER
15
TH
1988
'The
Romans
did
their
whoring
differently,'
Tommy
Beltane
said.
'Like
everything
they
touched
they
made
it
sinister
and
grotesque.
The
whores
of
Rome,
the
bustuariae
,
believed,
were
persuaded
to
believe,
they
were
the
servants
of
the
Gods
of
the
Dead.
They
practised
their
trade
in
the
great
cemeteries
of
Rome
and
received
their
lovers
lying
in
the
graves
which
had
not
yet
been
filled
in.'
‘
I
met
one
like
that
back
there,'
Murray
said.
'She
looked
as
if she
might
have
been
buried
and
dug
up.'
Wondering
how
he
would
take
that,
Murray
glanced
at
the
man
by
his
side.
A
big
man
with
the
appearance
of
a
painted
patriarch
on
the
ceiling
of
an
Italian
cathedral.
People
probably
turned
in
the
street
trying
to
guess
who
he
was.
Nobody.
A
clerk
who
worked
for
the
Region, Tommy
Beltane,
who
after
the
briefest
of
hesitations
had
attached
himself
to
Murray
outside
the
Crusader
by
some
attraction
of
opposites.
'Billy
Shanks
is,'
Beltane
pronounced
on
the
full
organ
note
of
an
actor
of
the
old
school,
'a
good
man
but
not
a
brave
one.'
They
hovered
on
the
edge
of
the
pavement
and
crossed
quickly
as
a
break
carne
in
the
traffic
.
'Do
you
know
he
hasn't
printed
a
tip
from
me
in
weeks?
Months?
Never
libel
the
rich
in
this
country.
As
if
that
bastard
Heathers
had
any
reputation
among
decent
men
outside
the
fictions
of
a
courtroom.
Even
the
costs
were
phenomenal,
apparently
–
and
the
paper
was
ordered
to
pay
both
sides.
God
knows
why
they
didn't
settle
out
of
court
as
usual –
an
expensive
rush
of
principles
to
the
head.
You
do
know
about
the
case?'
Murray
nodded.
'I
just
remembered
that
you'd
not
have
been
here
when
it
happened.
You
were
abroad,
weren't
you?'
Automatically,
Murray
accounted
to
himself
for
Beltane's embarrassment,
it
was
not
at
showing
he
had
discussed
Murray
with
Billy
Shanks;
or
because
he
imagined
that
Murray
had
anything
to
hide
about
those
years
away;
but
simply
that
for
him
the
idea
of
choosing
to
be
away
from
the
city
at
all
was
a
shade
disgraceful.
For
Beltane,
Murray
suspected,
nothing
outside
this
city
was
quite
real.
'Despite
all
that,
you
still
give
him
the
odd
tip,'
Murray
said, strolling
forward
at
the
big
man's
side
in
the
warm
sun,
'even
if
he
hasn't
the
guts
to
use
it?'
Beltane
shook
his
head
.
'I'm
not
criticising
him
–
well,
of course,
I
am.
People
like
Billy
should
have
virtue
in
the
Roman
sense.
They
should
have
a
care
for
the
state.'
He
stopped
abruptly
to
declaim,
'
"One
on
God's
side
is
a
majority!"
'
ignoring
the
passersby,
who
in
the
way
of
the
city
made
it
a
point
of
pride
to
try
to
return
the
compliment.
'Marvellous,
eh?
But
it
wasn't
a
journalist
who
said
that.'
'No,'
Murray
said,
glancing
at
him
from
the
corner
of
his
eye, 'they
wouldn't
be
brave
enough.
I
can
see
that.'
'Oh-oh!'
Beltane
responded
and
started
forward
once
more,
without
adding
to
his
double
note
of
disquiet.
'Were
you
expecting
to
meet
anyone
in
particular
in
the
Crusader?'
Murray
wondered.
'Not
necessarily.'
'You
were
dropping
in
on
the
chance
of
getting
a
bit
of
good
conversation
.
Someone
interested
in
Roman
history,
or
politics,
or
something
like
that.'
'It's
not
quite
the
same
class
of
people
as
come
into
the
Shot,'
Beltane
said
calmly.
'Although
I
might
have
met
you.
What
took
you
there?'
'I
was
looking
for
a
woman
called
Mary
O'Bannion.' An
unevenness
of
the
pavement
made
Beltane
miss
his
step.
Recovering,
he
asked,
'A
professional
secret?
I
don't
suppose
you
would
tell
me
why.'
'Not
because
I'm
a
man
with
a
weapon,'
Murray
said.
'That's
how
the
whore
back
there
called
it –
he
hits
her,
she
hits
him.'
But
although
Beltane
made
a
grimace
of
disgust,
he
said
nothing.
'I
had
a
spell
in
hospital,'
Murray
went
on.
'It
gave
me
time
to
think.
Putting
one
or
two
things
together,
I
decided
that
Blair
Heathers
might
occasionally
use
a
frightener
.
A
man
with
a
foreign
accent
who
frightened
people
in
the
worst
possible
way.
And
something
else
I'd
been
told
made
me
wonder
if
he
might
be
running
a
stable
of
girls.
Then
I
looked
for
a
name
to
fit.'