Ch. 21: Motor oil, sweat, and burnt metal

The next day, Wyland set about walking around Lanark, asking a few people what they knew about the quarry, and Edinburgh. People were mostly friendly, and proud of their little town, at least from what Wyland could gather through the thick accents and strange slang they all seemed to throw at him. He was careful not to ask too much about the Cunninghills, but found a small welding company owned by Eustis Cunninghill on one of the side streets. He strolled past it, glancing sideways at it. It seemed like a normal enough place, with a greasy, burly man in old denim slowly welding some metal structure together in one of the open garage bays. 

He got his courage up, sniffed a big breath of air, walked up to the man, and said "Excuse me? I'm looking for Crom or Ollie Cunninghill?"

The man stopped his welding. A bright spot remained in Wyland's vision where the flux bar had been touching the metal and arcing at thousands of degrees. The metal was glowing red. He threw up his protective visor, and a man with a dark, dirty beard and tired, angry eyes looked Wyland over. "They ain't here. They'll be at the quarry. Who're you, any'who?"

Wyland shook his head. "Nobody important. I'd just like to talk to them, is all." 

The man slowly got up and stepped closer to Wyland. He smelled like motor oil, sweat, and burnt metal. He was a very large man. An angry look was in his eyes, and they darted back and forth, trying to scan each of Wyland's eyes, perhaps looking for weakness, perhaps looking for the lies they held. 

In perhaps the most cliched response Wyland had ever seen, the welder took a big sniff of snot, scrunching half his face to get it out, looked down and to his right, and then spat a giant loogie onto the ground. It was green with black flecks. Wyland instinctively grimaced. The man gruffly said "Nobody important, eh? If'n your'e asking fer the Cunninghills, it best be important. What're ya heah ta talk to 'em 'bout?"

Wyland was suddenly regretting talking to this man. His mind raced as he tried to maintain a calm demeanor. He was talking to the right man, but now had to convince him that the Cunninghills needed him. There was only one way, now, but it meant selling out the cops. But he could stall it, at least for a while.

Wyland opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then, all in a burst: "I have important information they need to hear. They have information I need. It is extremely important I talk to them immediately."

The welder regarded Wyland with a skeptical look. But the gears in his mind were visibly cranking. He would find himself in deep shit if this Yank was telling the truth. He would take shit for calling them at the quarry, and their father, his employer, would certainly hear about it. The boss would need to hear it first, yes, that was the answer his brain had been looking for.

Finally, he said to Wyland "Eustis clears all info 'tween you'n deh boys. That's teh way 'tis."

Wyland steeled up and tried to puff out his chest, though his balls had shriveled into his belly. "No. This information could save their lives, and they need to hear it, today, from me, from my mouth." He gestured at his mouth as he said the last part, to ensure that this northland hick fully understood. "I came all the way from America to talk to them. It's important, and I think Eustis would want you to help me." He spoke the truth, but it was only truth under the assumption that Eustis actually gave a crap about his sons. 

Silence ensued, and Wyland could tell the welder, thuggish though he was, was carefully weighing his options. He wanted to crack the neck of this pitiful looking Yank. Nobody had told him "No" for a long time. He didn't accept it from his women, or his friends, or his enemies. But from up on high, he did, and if Eustis' boys were in trouble, as they often were, he had a responsibility to help. This responsibility was just to his own well being, to his fully intact skull, and the continued existence of himself and his friends and family. 

He grunted illegibly, but pointed towards the old work truck in the drive. 

Ch. 20: Bunk shiny's n' weegies

Wyland arrived at the Edinburgh train station as night was closing in. The book hadn't finished downloading yet, but he had no choice but to disembark. He'd get it later.  

He hated sleeping while traveling, because he never woke up feeling like he was rested. But this time, he felt good. He could still taste Connie's kiss on his lips. 

He left the station and hailed a cab. He had a hotel in Lanark, and would go to the quarry tomorrow morning. The cabby laughed at him when he asked to go to Lanark, and in a thick Scot accent told him to "get deh feck outta deh cab", and that he wasn't about to drive 50 kilometers for some "Yankee cunt". Wyland offered him a 50 pound tip, and after inspecting it to ensure that it was, in fact, real pound sterling, he called Wyland "seh" and opened the door for him, smiling the whole time.

As they were driving, Wyland asked some sideways questions about Lanark, about Edinburgh and about the quarry, and got some sideways answers, mostly history and bad jokes and things any fool could look up online. Finally, Wyland just asked the cabby about the Cunninghill brothers, directly.

The driver got real quiet at the mention of the Cunninghill name, so Wyland pulled out another 50 and waved in the rear view mirror. He responded "your'e a coco?"

Wyland, confused, asked "What's a coco?" 

"Christ, mun! Cocos! Polis! Teh cops!" He barked back at Wyland.

"No, no, nothing like that." Wyland thought for a moment. "A journalist. Researching Eustis Cunninghill's investment group."

The cabbie pondered this for a moment. "'n ya gotta protect your'e sources, right? I can stay anonymu'rs?"

"Anonymous? Yes, of course. No names or references to you. Promise. I won't even ask your name." Wyland smiled. The cabbie slowly smiled back.

"Alrite, den, boyo, it's your'e funeral" the cabby responded as he shook his head. "They'ra bad bunch'a blokes, the Cunninghills. Eustis, 'es a heavy up her'e, owns a couple'a biznesses, ya cross 'im, ya lose tings. Like'n your'e hoose goes up'n flames 'n such. His boyos, Crom 'n Ollie, 'dey run 'round like chickens what took o'ver deh farmhoose. Dey as close to a mob fam'ly as Scotland's got deese days. Ya best stay far away from 'em. I dunno nothin' 'bout any 'vestments."

Wyland pondered this for a moment. Then he said "your concern has been noted. But I need to talk to them. Why, if their father's so powerful, do they work for the quarry?"

The cabby laughed and rubbed his fingers together. "I'mma need mor'e, uh... incentives." So Wyland pulled out a hundred pound note and shook it for the cabby, saying "you'll get this at the end of the trip, if I'm satisfied with your answers, I promise."

The cabby smiled and continued "Well, y'see, Crommy got 'is poppy into some trouble wit dees feckin' Israeli weegies over some bunk shiny's a bit back, almost got deh lot a' 'em killed 'r locked up but good, so poppy put 'em where dey can't cause no more trouble."

"Bunk Shiny's? Weegies?" Wyland asked, confused.

"Bunk Shiny's! Yeh know, fake diamonds an' such. Weegies is just some cunts from Glasgow. Diamonds been der fam'ly bizness fer years now, 'long wit deh oil and mining stuff. Not always on deh up 'n up, yeh know? Lately deh been up teh sumthin' new, don' know what, but den, I don' ask, neither." He smiled again, looking Wyland in the eye through the rear view mirror. "Ya shouldn'ta either."

Wyland squinted at him, shaking the hundred pound note. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"I suppose, since your'e payin' me rent n' all. deh boys'es been goin' ta Edinburgh a lot lately. Seen 'em wit an ol' bloke, 'e wears robes like'n a fuggin' monk. Nice ol' fecker, though. Dunno 'is name, but dey call 'im Professa'. I hadn't seen Eustis up'n here in ages, saw 'im wit deh professa' 'bout a month ago, in Edinburgh. S'all I know."

"Thanks." He threw the rat cabbie the money through the little window separating them, and sunk into thought. The cabbie said nothing more, but eagerly scooped up the money and stuffed it in his pocket.