Rab’s voice was careful. ‘I’ll take a flyer and say an old friend we thought we’d never see again.’
Luca knew his smile dropped and he couldn’t prevent the frown from slicing his brow. He turned away so Danny could not see. ‘How the hell did you know?’
‘Met a chum of his tonight. We had words. You heard from Davie?’
‘He’s with the cops, I hear.’
‘Need to talk to him, he’s gonnae want to hear this. Can you keep our old pal there? I’d really like to see him again.’
‘Sure, I…’ said Luca, turning back to face into the café again. His voice caught in his throat when he saw that Danny McCall was gone. ‘Goddamn ghost,’ he said, softly.
* * *
Rab hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. So Danny McCall was with Luca. Interesting. He hadn’t forgotten what Knight had told him about Luca being in the frame for Joe’s death. Now he was getting cosy over coffee and crumpet with Davie’s dad. Something would need to be done about the wee Tally. And soon.
The Kilmarnock street was deserted as he stepped from the call box. He could’ve called from Girvan, but he was always cautious. He was certain Luca’s line was clean, but it didn’t do any harm to be careful. He didn’t want any record of a call being placed from Girvan. Kilmarnock was still too close for comfort, but he didn’t want to delay contacting Luca any longer. Whatever alibi he arranged for tonight would have to factor in the town. Shouldn’t be a problem. His Range Rover was parked on the opposite side of the street, Stringer drove Mulvey’s vehicle with Mulvey bleeding in the back seat. Stringer’s wounded mate was in the passenger seat, the dead one folded up into the rear.
Rab leaned into the open passenger window and said to Stringer, ‘You know how to get me when you get back to Glasgow?’ Stringer nodded. He was as taciturn as Davie McCall. Rab liked that. Knight had said he was a good man to have around and so far he was right. Rab turned his attention to Mulvey, whose flesh was bleached white through blood loss. ‘Make sure he’s no found.’
Mulvey perked up then, his eyes widening. ‘You gave me your word. You said you wouldnae do me in!’
Rab smiled. ‘I’m no doin you in, mate,’ he said, then jerked his head towards Stringer. ‘He is.’
Mulvey’s mouth opened to say more, but Rab gave him a cold, dead look that told him the die was cast. Rab felt nothing as he saw Mulvey’s face ripple with conflicting emotions: first anger, then outrage, then fear and finally submission as he came to the realisation that protesting wouldn’t do him any good at all and his wound prevented any kind of physical action. At the end, Rab was telling him that he had gambled and lost. Rab stepped away from the vehicle as Stringer fired up the engine and pulled away. Through the rear window Rab saw Mulvey’s white face still watching him. He felt no guilt, he felt nothing as he crossed the street to his own vehicle. He’d need to arrange a cast-iron alibi but also find a way to implicate Stringer in the killings should the need arise. He might be a good man to have around but Rab believed in insurance.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and looked into the rear, where Bobby was lying face down across the back seats, his back soaked with blood. ‘You okay there?’ Rab asked.
‘Considering I’ve been shot in the arse, I’m fine,’ Bobby said, his voice weak.
‘Hang in there, we’ll get you fixed up, mate,’ said Rab, turning the key. He’d been relieved when he returned to the clearing with Mulvey in tow and saw Bobby wave to him. There had been a lot of blood and Bobby had passed out from the shock, but as far as Rab could see, the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. Even so, Mulvey had to pay. Big boy’s rules. Just as he pulled away from the kerb, Rab began to laugh.
Bobby asked, ‘What’s so funny?’ Rab was still laughing. ‘Glad this strikes you as funny, ya bastard,’ said Bobby, although a tremble cracked his words. They both knew that the situation was not humorous, but they had come through it. One man had died, another would be dead shortly, but they had survived. Rab felt no pangs of conscience over what had occurred that night but he knew Bobby would, once the pain of his wound eased. Rab understood his old friend and knew why he wanted out of The Life. Bobby had never told him, but Rab knew Mouthy’s death weighed heavily upon his shoulders. For Rab, though, it had simply been something that had to be done to protect himself.
He was still chuckling when he said, ‘Fucker coulda blown your brains out.’
‘Aye, aye, glad I could brighten your day, big guy,’ but Bobby was beginning to laugh quietly too. But then he cried out in pain. ‘Ah, fuck!’
‘What?’ Rab said, concerned now, his eyes shooting to the rear view.
‘It hurts when I laugh…’
28
DANNY MCCALL HAD
known by the way Luca turned away from him that things hadn’t gone to plan. He didn’t need to hear Rab McClymont’s voice tell him that Liam Mulvey had screwed up. He walked swiftly along Duke Street to where he’d parked his car, silently cursing the shaven-headed little shit. He had no idea how it had played out, but he was certain the bastard had put a foot wrong somewhere. It had all been so simple – get McClymont out there with the promise of money and a way of making more, then just put him down. McCall had waited for years before he found Mulvey, thinking he was a perfect fit. He wanted back to the city, he was greedy and he wasn’t stupid. It should have worked.
He unlocked the car and sat in the driver’s seat for a few moments. He had to get away from the city again, for a while at least. He’d been too quick in revealing himself to Luca, he knew that now. He’d grown over confident. What was it Joe used to say?
Never show your hand until it’s time to take the pot.
He should’ve waited until he’d heard the outcome of the Girvan situation. He should’ve been patient, for God’s sake.
He was driving now, the unconscious part of his mind paying attention to the road. He’d leave the city right away, he decided. Head down to the cottage he’d been using as a base for the past year or two, pick up his things and clear out. Regroup, reassess. Sometime down the line he could come back, have another go. As he thought about it, he realised he wasn’t angry or even disappointed. It had been fun while it lasted and he could have more fun in the future.
He realised that he had turned into Sword Street, some secret part of him guiding him to his son’s close. He stopped the car and stared up at the window. There was no light, but he sensed the boy was in there.
McCall took a deep breath. He couldn’t leave, not yet. His plan to push his way into Luca’s operation had failed but he still had other work to do. He had tipped his hand to young Davie and he knew the lad wouldn’t stop until he found him. The Law he could handle, even Joe Klein’s attempts to track him down he could predict and avoid. But young Davie was different. He was a part of him and he did not relish spending the next few years looking over his shoulder, expecting to see him at every turn.
He had to finish this game with his son before he went travelling again. He thought about going up to the flat now, ending it right away, but he rejected that immediately. That was Davie’s territory and Danny McCall knew better than to tackle someone on their own turf. No, he had to draw the boy out somehow, face him on his own terms, do something to keep him on edge, give him an advantage. That was what all this had been about, after all – that tart in Springburn, the phone calls, the photographs, that slut in Alexandra Parade, even that junkie and the screw. All moves designed to keep young Davie off kilter until he swooped in to finish it. It had worked, too – Danny had seen the look on his son’s face the other night as he walked home. He looked haunted and he had put that look there.
No, he couldn’t leave just yet. But he had to get Davie out of the flat, preferably away from the city, away from what he knew.
And he’d just thought of one final piece to move.
* * *
Davie flicked at the curtain and stared down into the street below. He was in his bedroom, in the dark, because he needed a few minutes to himself. Donovan was in the living room, talking on the phone to his old boss. He needed his help in keeping the brass off his neck while he tried to make sense of what Danny McCall was up to. Davie understood now that Donovan’s heart was in the right place, even if he was a cop. Davie was in the frame for the assault on Vari, but Donovan knew he had nothing to do with it. Even so, he needed some heavyweight backing to explain why he had taken a suspect out of another station without a single charge being lodged.
Davie did not recognise the car pulling away from the closemouth, nor could he see who was at the wheel. He watched it move down Sword Street and then turn out of sight. For a few seconds after it vanished he still watched, something fluttering at the edge of his consciousness.
A knock at his bedroom door made him turn. Donovan pushed the door open and nodded at him. ‘It’s all sorted, Jack Bannatyne will clear everything. But he says we’d better bring something concrete pretty quick, Davie. This is all highly irregular, you being involved. As far as anyone at London Road or Pitt Street are concerned, you’re assisting me with my inquiries and I’ve got you in protective custody.’
Davie understood. He didn’t want to be working with a cop either, the fear of being labelled a grass deeply ingrained. Davie knew he would have to speak to Rab as soon as possible, make sure he knew the score. He didn’t need to be watching his back for that as well as remaining alert for his father’s next move.
* * *
Les Fraser was known as a bright lad, ambitious but scrupulously honest, which did not endear him to the Black Knight, who viewed the scrupulously honest with deep suspicion. Life was what you took from it and any cop who didn’t take a little here and there was not to be trusted. Knight felt more comfortable in the company of men like Rab McClymont, who tended to take with both hands and when that wasn’t enough brought in a bloody huge digger. Nevertheless, he had nothing in particular against the young cop, now a
DC
at Stewart Street. He was just going to ruin his night.
Knight walked into the sixties-style station and flashed his warrant card, saying he was popping through to
CID
to see a mate. The officer at the uniformed bar barely lifted his face from the paperwork in front of him and let him through. Knight saw Les Fraser leaning back in his chair, sharing a joke with an older colleague, and realised it must be a slow night. The young cop saw him moving purposefully towards him and frowned. ‘
DS
Knight, isn’t it?’
‘Good memory, son,’ said Knight, giving the older colleague a look that told him to back off. The detective turned to his desk and made himself busy. ‘Need a word.’
Les’s brow crinkled further but he led Knight to a deserted corner of the room. ‘What’s up?’
Knight made a show of hesitating before he spoke. ‘This isn’t easy for me, son, but I feel you should know…’ He stopped again, all part of the act. The truth was, he was relishing what he was about to do.
‘Know what?’ The younger man’s voice grew slightly strained as his concern heightened.
‘Don’t know how to put this, so I’ll just come right out and say it, one cop to the other – one man to the other.’ He paused again for dramatic effect. ‘Did you know your wife was seeing an old boyfriend?’
Les Fraser’s face remained blank as he soaked in the meaning of the words. ‘What do you mean, seeing an old boyfriend?’
‘Fella by the name of Davie McCall. Heard of him?’ Fraser shook his head. ‘Wee scroat, hard man, likes to be anyway. Him and Audrey were quite a hot number a few years back. She never tell you?’ Fraser didn’t reply, but Knight saw his jaw beginning to work. ‘He’s out the jail now and she’s been seen with him more’n once.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Fraser, his voice ragged.
‘Sorry, son, but I saw them myself, in his flat over in Sword Street. Now, I don’t want to see a promising young cop like you having his future in doubt cos his wife’s shagging an evil wee scroat.’
Fraser spun abruptly and took a few steps away. Then he halted and Knight saw his shoulder slump.
Christ, I hope he’s not going to lose it,
he thought.
Can’t handle a man crying.
But when the young man turned back his face was set in hard lines. ‘You done, Detective Sergeant?’
‘Listen, mate, I’m sorry to be the one that –’
‘Cos I’ve got work to do, you know?’ He sounded tough, but Knight heard a catch in his voice. He nodded and Fraser walked back to his desk, his shoulders sagging. Knight struggled with the small smile that was determined to tickle his lips. He wanted to pay back that reporter bitch for pissing him off the other day – and McCall, for that matter. He walked out of the
CID
room, confident his work here was done.
29
RAB’S FACE
STUNG
from the slap Connie delivered when he took Bobby home. He’d been patched up by their pet
GP
. The doctor had been unwilling to treat the wound, but Rab had been insistent, a trip to the hospital not being on the cards. A gunshot wound raised a number of questions that Rab was unwilling to answer. After all, there were two bodies somewhere between Glasgow and Girvan that may surface at some point in the future. It had cost a little extra, but the doctor finally agreed. Luckily, the wound was a through and through, into the fleshy part of one butt cheek and out the other, leaving no serious damage. A lot of blood and a heap of pain, but no permanent harm.