‘Aye. Collins.’
The Uber driver sucked in a breath. ‘Tough one. I have to say, I liked Fish the best in Marillion. I was shagging a married woman from Inverkeithing when “Garden Party” came out. Marillion, 1983.’
‘Good song,’ Art said. ‘From the albumScript for a Jester’s Tear. “Market Square Heroes”, another good one. I have to say, I wouldn’t shed a tear if I was listening to the radio and Marillion came on.’
‘Me neither,’ the driver said. They both looked at Cameron.
‘Aye, I think I would have to agree. Fish is great.’
They got out of the cab. The air was warm, and the summer was getting into full swing.
‘I’m sweating like a pig.’
‘You’re probably all wired up because you were going to see Morag. You did go?’
Cameron nodded, dredging up thoughts of his soon-to-be ex-wife and their argument in front of the kids. ‘She doesn’t want to reconcile, she said. She’s having too much fun, she said. And do you know who her new boyfriend is?’
Art shook his head, admitting that he wouldn’t have come across that information anywhere. ‘No, but I have the feeling you’re going to tell me.’ He paused before pushing the club door open.
‘Magic Willie. I fuck with you not. That’s what she said his name was. I didn’t dare ask her why he had this nickname.’
Art was looking funny at Cameron. ‘Magic Willie?’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘Don’t worry, son, it’s not what you think. He’s a magician.’
Cameron blew air out of his cheeks. ‘Thank God for that. I had visions of him having a big?—’
Art held up a hand. ‘Let me stop you right there. I do not, and I repeat, I do not want fucking images in my mind, thank you very much.’
‘I was going to say wallet, but whatever,’ Cameron said. ‘How do you know he’s a magician?’
‘Let’s just get inside and get a few pints.’
‘Tuesday night drinking beats Tuesday night sorting out my underwear drawer,’ Cameron said.
‘That’s easy; you throw them all in the dryer on high heat, and whatever shrinks, you throw away, and then you go along to Marks and Spencer to buy more.’
‘That might work on my shirts too,’ Cameron said, but he was already talking to Art’s back.
The Windygates Bowling Club was precisely the kind of place Art felt comfortable – wood panelling from the 1960s, carpet that had character, having witnessed many fights and quite a few pukings, and the sort of bar where everyone knew everyone else’s business but pretended not to. As a member for the past eight years, Art could navigate the place blindfolded, though he’d only actually bowled twice in all that time, once when he was pished and came back in and puked over the carpet.
‘Evening, Art,’ called out Jimmy from behind the bar. ‘Your usual?’
‘Two pints of Tennent’s, Jimmy. Is Rose here yet?’
‘Aye, she’s in the corner booth, waiting for you.’
‘Hold on,’ Cameron said, grabbing Art’s arm. ‘How do you know Magic Willie anyway?’ he asked again.
Art’s expression darkened. ‘Because Magic Willie is a con man, Cameron. Has been for years. I arrested him twice in the early 2000s for fraud – insurance scams, mostly. He’d stage accidents and then claim compensation.’
‘You’re taking the piss.’
‘Sorry, son. William Tanner, also known as Willie the Magic Man, also known by several other aliases I can’t remember.’ Art shook his head. ‘He went legit about ten years ago and started doing the magic act for real. Called himself Magic Willie. But a leopard doesn’t change its spots.’
‘So my wife is dating a criminal?’
