Blind Eye Read Online Free Page B

away to themselves: a race meeting in Perthshire, with the sound turned off. The door to the back office was open.
Maybe Simon McLeod had dragged the inspector back there and put her out of everyone's misery?
The linoleum floor stuck to Logan's feet as he hurried round behind the counter and - WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?
He froze.
A deep bass growl rumbled up from somewhere to his left. The kind of growl that came with lots of teeth and ripping and tearing and running for your life. Logan turned around slowly, until he was facing an ancient-looking Alsatian, lying in a tartan dog bed. 'Nice doggy...' Logan frowned. 'Wait a minute, is that...?'
Simon's voice blared out from the back office, 'Winchester: fuck's sake, shut up!'
Winchester - Jesus, surely the thing was dead by now? It'd been ancient when Desperate Doug MacDuff had owned it. The dog looked in the vague direction of his new master's voice, eyes white and rheumy. Then Winchester yawned - showing off a lot of big brown teeth - and rested his grey muzzle back down on his paws.
It wasn't quite the scene of carnage in the back office that Logan had been expecting. A large desk sat opposite the door, beneath the mounted head of a two-tonne Rottweiler called Killer, the last known resting place of Simon McLeod's missing half ear. A collection of girly calendars dotted the walls, some going back as far as 1987. DI Steel was flicking through them while Simon McLeod made two mugs of tea.
'Bloody hell,' she said, peering at Miss March 1996, 'this one's got nipples like champagne corks. Could hang your coat on those.'
Simon handed her a mug. 'Milk, two sugars.'
'Ooh, ta.' She took an experimental sip. 'So, Simon ... why are a bunch of drug dealers having a barney outside your shop?'
'No idea what you're talking about.'
'No?' Steel scratched her head. 'What a strange coincidence. You see, a little birdie told me there was a gang of Eastern Europeans trying to muscle in on your territory.'
'I don't have a "territory", I'm a legitimate businessman.'
'Aye, aye, and Miss Stiff Nipples here is a brain surgeon. I'm no' having a turf war in my city, Simon.'
'You're not listening, Inspector. I don't know anything about it.'
Steel nodded. 'Well, hypothetically speaking, if you or your brother did know anything about it - say you were both into protection, loan sharking, prostitution, supplying class A drugs ... hypothetically speaking, would you tell your Auntie Roberta who these Eastern Europeans were?'
There was a pause.
'Like I said, Inspector , I'm a legitimate businessman. Now if you've finished your tea, you can fuck off. I've got work to do.'

4
'That went well,' said Steel, sauntering back out into the sunshine. 'No biscuits though... You'd think a "legitimate businessman" could rustle up a chocolate digestive, wouldn't you?'
Logan looked back in through the Turf 'n Track's front door at the dark interior. 'How the hell did you manage that? I thought he hated the police?'
'The McLeod brothers like to think they're old-school gangsters... Well, Simon does, Colin's just a bloody thug. You ever met their mum? She'd tan their arses if she found out they'd hit a woman.'
'You remembering what happened to Gabrielle Christie? Broken jaw, cracked ribs, fractured leg--'
'Aye, but she wasn't a woman, was she? She was a hoor.' Out came the inspector's cigarettes, the smoke spiralling up into the bright blue sky. 'It's no' the same to these people. Prostitutes aren't women, they're property. And before you say anything, I know, OK? It's just the way they think.'
Outside the bookmakers, the pre-pubescent mob had dispersed. Now there was just a single grubby child, watching as Mr Meat Paste for a Nose was loaded into Alpha One Four.
Another two patrol cars had arrived, their white paintwork sparkling in the sunshine. Spotty the Baboon was in the back of one, looking woozy and bruised from all that resisting arrest.
The other officer from Alpha One Four was limping back up the road, his black