Open Wounds by Douglas Skelton sampler
Davie McCall is tired. Tired of violence, tired of the Life. He's always managed to stay detached from the brutal nature of his line of work, but recently he has caught himself enjoying it. In the final instalment in the Davie McCall series old friends clash and long buried secrets are unearthed as McCall investigates a brutal five-year-old crime. Davie wants out, but the underbelly of Glasgow is all he has ever known. Will what he learns about his old ally Big Rab McClymont be enough to get him out of the Life? And could the mysterious woman who just moved in upstairs be just what he needs?
Davie McCall is tired. Tired of violence, tired of the Life. He's always managed to stay detached from the brutal nature of his line of work, but recently he has caught himself enjoying it.
In the final instalment in the Davie McCall series old friends clash and long buried secrets are unearthed as McCall investigates a brutal five-year-old crime.
Davie wants out, but the underbelly of Glasgow is all he has ever known. Will what he learns about his old ally Big Rab McClymont be enough to get him out of the Life? And could the mysterious woman who just moved in upstairs be just what he needs?
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5<br />
December 2002<br />
funerals in the sun didn’t feel right to him – even a bloodless<br />
winter sun that hung low over the trees and glinted off the hard,<br />
frosted ground. There should be clouds, he thought, and rain.<br />
People should be hiding under umbrellas, not squinting against the<br />
light as they waited to file into the crematorium.<br />
There weren’t many of them. Some wouldn’t dare show up –<br />
not after what happened. Those who had were the ones who really<br />
cared, who mourned.<br />
There would be no religious element to the proceedings. There<br />
would be a memorial stone placed after the brief ceremony, but it<br />
carried merely a name and dates. Simple. To the point. No other<br />
inscription, because what could you say? Gone too soon? Sleeping<br />
with angels? To hell with that.<br />
He’d say a few words, for he was his closest friend. Who else<br />
would do it – Rab McClymont? No way. Big Rab wasn’t even there,<br />
which was telling. He didn’t like funerals anyway. He always said<br />
he’d been to enough to last a lifetime. Caused a few, too.<br />
Some of the faces were familiar, others weren’t, which was no<br />
surprise. They had been close mates, but for ten years they had<br />
moved in different worlds. To an extent, anyway. He smiled<br />
slightly, but it was a rueful smile. They had been pals but were so<br />
very different. One was quiet – shy, even – the other talkative,<br />
outgoing. One was dark, the other blond. But they both had bad<br />
memories. The Life left scars that never healed, lesions that continually<br />
seeped poisons to taint the blood, to shadow the mind, to<br />
murder sleep.<br />
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned. First there was<br />
pleasure, then shock.<br />
Vari.<br />
He hadn’t seen her in years. She was still beautiful, even with<br />
her eyes brimming with tears as she greeted him <strong>by</strong> name. They<br />
hugged, held each other for a long time, then broke. He looked for
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