Will dumped the bag down on the bed and opened it gingerly. There was no sudden flash of electric green, or yellow and blue stripes, or any of the other fashion eye-burners that were all the rage on Sauchiehall Street. Not believing his luck he tipped the contents out onto the scratchy sheets and began to dress.
Outside the room, Jo shifted from foot to foot. Brian nudged her. ‘You needin’ a pee?’
‘Don’t be daft.’ She scowled and stopped fidgeting. Then started again. ‘Think he’ll like them?’
‘Ooh, I get it,’ Brian’s eyes sparkled as he started to sing: ‘Jo and Wi-ill, up a tree, H.U.M.P-’
Smart arse.
She smacked him one.
‘Ow! Better watch that DS Cameron-don’t think Will likes rough girls.’
Jo turned and leant against the wall. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘OK…’ Brian held up his hands, pulling back the cuffs of his jacket. A ragged line ran all the way around the left wrist. The arm looked normal enough, but the hand didn’t-it was smaller than the right, and the skin was a strange pink colour: as if he’d borrowed it from someone shorter who didn’t get a lot of sun. Up till now she hadn’t even noticed there was anything wrong with it. So much for impressing everyone with her Bluecoat powers of observation.
He held both hands side by side. It just emphasized the difference. ‘Eleven years ago we were workin’ in one of them Rapid Response Teams, doin’ our best to stop them riotin’ bamheids from killin’ each other. Thirteen Service personnel got grabbed at Dexter Heights: poor sods were only there to pick up the dead. So we go in after them.’ He leant against the wall next to her. ‘There’s me: out on a wire with the rest of the pickup team, shootin’ back at a bunch of wee radges with Shrikes and Whompers; no way in hell we’re gonnae rescue the hostages, the buggers have got way too much firepower. So we do a runner: hard D, me and the guys all danglin’ about underneath the Dragonfly when it jumps into the air. Only we don’t make it.’
The smile slid from his face. ‘Somethin’ big hits the ship and we do a nosedive right into Sherman Heights. Bang!’ He slammed his hand with the funny borrowed fingers against the plasticboard.
Jo tried not to flinch.
‘Everyone on a wire gets flattened against the wall, an’ this is like thirty-nine storeys off the deck, mind. Will’s the only one still movin’. Pilot and Copilot’s dead, so’s the rest of the pickup team: squashed like fuckin’ bugs on the side of a dirty big buildin’.’
He pursed his lips for a moment. Frowned. ‘I’m no’ a hunnerd percent sure what happens next cos I’m all busted up and out ma face on blockers, but somehow Will hauls me back into the drop bay. Then he carries me on his back for about two days, climbin’ down the stairs an’ lift shafts: tryin’ to stay away from the locals. You know, proper hero stuff.’ Brian dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘They wis goin’ tae make a big film out of it, but the Ministry called copyright on everything involving government personnel. Thievin’ bastards. Anyway…’
Brian straightened up and showed her his hand again. ‘At some point in the proceedin’s Will gets jumped by the natives, and while he’s fightin’ them off, some noseless wee turd carries my poor, unconscious body away intae the depths of the buildin’. I come round for like about five minutes, an’ it’s real hazy: I’m in this parkin’ lot on one of the sublevels, and some bugger’s chewin’ on a severed hand…Takes me a while to realize it’s mine.’
He stared at that strange, pink-skinned palm. ‘So I scream. Will appears, chaos ensues, an’ next thing I know we’re out-him runnin’ hell for leather, me slung over his shoulder like a sack of tatties. He’d never set eyes on me before the crash, could’a left me to die on the wire, or in the basement, or half a million other times, but he didn’t. Came back for me, even though I wis a total fuckin’ stranger. You want to know what he’s like? That’s what he’s like.’
Jo looked at the hand again. ‘Not a very good cloneplant, is it?’
Brian shrugged. ‘Had it done eleven years ago; they’ve got a wee bitty better at it since then. James keeps tellin’ me to get a new one grown, get this one replaced. But I’m buggered if I’m gonnae sit back and let anyone cut ma hand off again.’
Jo had to admit he had a point.
Will examined himself in the mirror above the sink in the tiny en-suite shower room. Brian had been right-he looked bloody awful. The left side of his face was swollen and tender, covered in dark-purple bruises. An off-colour patch sat on his temple-just above the eyebrow-where Jacket-and-Scarf had tried to cave his head in with that metal rod. The surgical team had filled the wound with skinpaint, but it would take a while to blend in.
The rest of him looked…almost stylish. Black trousers, grey T-shirt, and a collarless thing in stone-blue. The unders weren’t covered in little hearts or bunny rabbits. They’d even thrown in a jacket that must have cost someone a small fortune.
Will limped out into the corridor with a small, ‘Tada.’
‘You still look like shite,’ said Brian, head on one side, ‘but at least now you look like well-dressed shite.’
‘This lot can’t have been cheap.’
‘Aye, well remember that when you’re signin’ my expenses this month.’
DS Cameron still hadn’t said anything. Maybe he’d offended her by being an ungrateful bastard when she’d turned up with the clothes. Will cleared his throat. ‘Thank you…both of you. These are really great.’
She smiled, obviously pleased. ‘It’s OK.’
Brian tugged at the jacket’s lapels, lining them up. ‘I wanted to get you somethin’ a bit more vivid, but she wasn’t having any of it.’
Jo shrugged. ‘Just thought these would suit you better.’
She looked at the floor, twiddling with her hair while Will tried to think of something to say.
‘So…’ Brian grinned. ‘Are we goin’ or no’?’
They’d almost made it as far as the escalator when a reedy voice piped up behind them, ‘And where do you think you’re going, Mr Hunter?’
‘Home?’
A short woman with greying hair and glasses marched in front of them, blocking the lifts. Dr Euphemia Morrison-if you worked for the Network, and you went into combat, sooner or later you ended up in her care. ‘You are kidding, right? You nearly died this morning, remember?’
‘Er…Pressing business. Can’t be helped.’
‘You just had major surgery.’
‘Really pressing business.’
‘Apart from anything else, you’ve got a concussion, you need constant supervision.’ Dr Morrison pointed back towards the private room. ‘Get your arse back in that bed.’
No one moved.
She stared at him, but Will didn’t flinch.
‘Fine…’ She said at last. ‘But if you drop dead in the middle of the night, don’t come crying to me.’ She turned on Brian. ‘Keep an eye on him this time, for God’s sake. If I have to glue his ribs back together again there’ll be no bloody bone left.’
Dr Morrison poked Will gently in the stomach. ‘Your insides are one big gristly ball of scar tissue. Next time I’m cutting all that gubbins out and replacing it, whether you like it or not.’ She handed Will a packet of blockers, the finger-length plastic tubes fluorescing slightly under the UV lights. ‘No more than one an hour. And I want to see you back here at four thirty on Sunday for a follow-up.’ She poked him again. ‘Don’t make me come and get you. And try to stay off your bum for a while, keep those bruises moving or you’ll seize up.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ He planted a small kiss on her cheek.
‘Don’t you “yes mum” me, you cheeky wee bugger. Go on: out. I have sick people to attend to.’