Sentence The Fiftieth
Dixie O'Hooligan, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set her pint glass back on the table; sitting in the Jeanie Deans Tryste on St Leonards, just a stone's throw from the Commonwealth Pool – where as a schoolgirl she had briefly held the Scottish Junior Record for the 400 metres Breaststroke – Ha! that was a laugh, she'd not had her breasts stroked for more than a year – but now she was back, and this clandestine meeting with Jeannie Deans (she must ask why the chameleon-like woman had chosen to put a second 'n' in the middle of her first name, maybe it was simply that she had never read Scott's novel The Heart of Midlothian – certainly, Dixie couldn't recall it being on the curriculum at their school – and only encountered the name spoken, not read, or just a preference for that spelling) was the first stage in regaining her foot-hold in Auld Reekie – such a shame it doesn't smell the same, “nae mair reekin' Auld Reekie,” she said quietly, and then laughed at herself, talking to herself, and an old man at the bar turned to see what was so funny but, seeing only a slip of a girl, he turned back to his Black-and-Tan; now, two years had passed since Dixie left Edinburgh for good and yet here she was, back for good – well, maybe not – for the good of her health – well, maybe a yes to that, for this had been her home for longer than any other city – for the good of someone else – probably for Bunty, but definitely NOT for Elginbrod, that slimy, weaselly, self-aggrandising mala fide of an Advocate (or Advocaat as Angus always called him to his face (wankvocaat behind his back) owed her a lot, and she knew a lot; and as she started to sip her second pint of Caledonian 80/- Dixie, always a dedicated follower of fashion in her own ways, reflected on the quirks of personality which had made Bunty (Jeannie Deans' real name) such a trendite, always anticipating and taking advantage of changes in fashion of every kind – dress, music, art, business, recreational drugs, sexual proclivities; she could poise herself ready to exploit new and increasingly sophisticated demands, while she (Dixie) always seemed a heartbeat behind; today was a prime example – she had seen Angus Og outside the bar, looking in and had also spotted Bunty's swift head movement which had warned him off, she had then gone out of the door at the other end of the bar, along the passage to the toilets, she had whistled 'In The Hall of The Mountain King' to let Angus know of her presence and had then heard a thud, well, more a crack, then a grunt – she had looked in the gents, empty, and coming out had been shoved aside by someone in dark clothes coming out of the disabled toilet and so, on regaining her balance and looking in, she had seen Angus with a shoe impaled on his head; it was SHE who had screamed, a cry which drew Bunty and had given Dixie just enough time to slip her a note, before leaving by the emergency exit through which Angus must have entered; she knew from Bunty that her monitoring of the police radio networks was keeping her abreast of the investigation and that Angus was (hopefully) recovering in hospital after an emergency operation to remove the heel embedded in his brain, she prayed that he would recover (and though not a believer, it was a prayer from the heart) and she also vowed to find the person who had tried to kill him and, if she was first, her retribution would be the worst!
Dixie O'Hooligan, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set her pint glass back on the table; sitting in the Jeanie Deans Tryste on St Leonards, just a stone's throw from the Commonwealth Pool – where as a schoolgirl she had briefly held the Scottish Junior Record for the 400 metres Breaststroke – Ha! that was a laugh, she'd not had her breasts stroked for more than a year – but now she was back, and this clandestine meeting with Jeannie Deans (she must ask why the chameleon-like woman had chosen to put a second 'n' in the middle of her first name, maybe it was simply that she had never read Scott's novel The Heart of Midlothian – certainly, Dixie couldn't recall it being on the curriculum at their school – and only encountered the name spoken, not read, or just a preference for that spelling) was the first stage in regaining her foot-hold in Auld Reekie – such a shame it doesn't smell the same, “nae mair reekin' Auld Reekie,” she said quietly, and then laughed at herself, talking to herself, and an old man at the bar turned to see what was so funny but, seeing only a slip of a girl, he turned back to his Black-and-Tan; now, two years had passed since Dixie left Edinburgh for good and yet here she was, back for good – well, maybe not – for the good of her health – well, maybe a yes to that, for this had been her home for longer than any other city – for the good of someone else – probably for Bunty, but definitely NOT for Elginbrod, that slimy, weaselly, self-aggrandising mala fide of an Advocate (or Advocaat as Angus always called him to his face (wankvocaat behind his back) owed her a lot, and she knew a lot; and as she started to sip her second pint of Caledonian 80/- Dixie, always a dedicated follower of fashion in her own ways, reflected on the quirks of personality which had made Bunty (Jeannie Deans' real name) such a trendite, always anticipating and taking advantage of changes in fashion of every kind – dress, music, art, business, recreational drugs, sexual proclivities; she could poise herself ready to exploit new and increasingly sophisticated demands, while she (Dixie) always seemed a heartbeat behind; today was a prime example – she had seen Angus Og outside the bar, looking in and had also spotted Bunty's swift head movement which had warned him off, she had then gone out of the door at the other end of the bar, along the passage to the toilets, she had whistled 'In The Hall of The Mountain King' to let Angus know of her presence and had then heard a thud, well, more a crack, then a grunt – she had looked in the gents, empty, and coming out had been shoved aside by someone in dark clothes coming out of the disabled toilet and so, on regaining her balance and looking in, she had seen Angus with a shoe impaled on his head; it was SHE who had screamed, a cry which drew Bunty and had given Dixie just enough time to slip her a note, before leaving by the emergency exit through which Angus must have entered; she knew from Bunty that her monitoring of the police radio networks was keeping her abreast of the investigation and that Angus was (hopefully) recovering in hospital after an emergency operation to remove the heel embedded in his brain, she prayed that he would recover (and though not a believer, it was a prayer from the heart) and she also vowed to find the person who had tried to kill him and, if she was first, her retribution would be the worst!
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