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.