34
A phone call. Not from Young, but Jamieson himself. That’s unusual. He doesn’t sound like himself. He always tries to be cheery. Always tries to seem like he’s your pal. Not this time.
‘Calum, it’s Peter. I want you to come round to the club. Come straight up to my office.’
‘Okay,’ Calum’s saying. Doesn’t need to say anything more than that. Sounds like another job. A late call usually is. Sounds like something unusual. For a job, Young would call. It’s organized to make sure that it’s always Young. Consistency is important.
‘Come round right away,’ Jamieson’s saying. The line’s dead. It’s been part of the Jamieson ploy to sound as chummy as possible towards Calum. Always light and breezy. Always complimentary. The tone this time was formal. Businesslike. It didn’t sound like him.
Calum’s put the phone down. He’s pacing around the flat, getting a coat from the wardrobe, making sure he has nothing identifying on him. This seems like something to be worried about. He might have to go straight to a job. Car keys, and out the door. Driving to the club. Pointless to speculate. Don’t even think about what this might be. You get there and you find out. Why bother yourself with speculation? He doesn’t like driving in the dark. Occupy yourself with the effort of the journey. Young’s not involved. Why not? Maybe he is. Maybe he’ll be there; he just didn’t make the call. Why did Jamieson sound so down? It has to be Frank. It can only be about Frank. Bad news about Frank means bad news for Calum. Stop speculating, for God’s sake. Just find somewhere to park. That’s work enough round here. Up and down the street twice, eventually finding somewhere that’ll serve. A short walk in the cold to the club.
It is cold, too. Not that you’d know it, looking at some of the people outside the club this evening. Young women – some too young – in short skirts, some too short. Summer wear, it seems to Calum. They’re laughing and chatting among themselves, waiting to go in. There’s something resembling a line outside the club. Young men and young women, trying to impress each other. Never used to be this way. Used to be struggling, this club. Jamieson turned it around. Made it fashionable, which in turn made it profitable.
It’s not a great place to have your office, Calum’s reflecting, as he walks past the twenty or so people on the pavement. Jamieson’s big enough to use somewhere quieter, somewhere innocuous. It’s sentiment, as much as anything else. The club was the first big legit business he got his hands on. It made sense to use it as his office then. He made a success of the club too, proved that he could be a legit businessman. That always means a lot to guys in the industry. They like to show that they can cut it in the legit world, too. Now he’s building an empire, and it’s surely past time to leave the club behind. But he doesn’t. It’s his comfort zone.
A few people are looking at Calum now. He has his head down, trying to be ignored. He’s walked past the crowd and turned towards the door. Some people think he’s cutting the line. The bouncers are looking at him, probably ready to turn him away. One of them recognizes him. Puts a hand out to stop his mate from saying anything. They step aside, let him through. No words spoken. They have their instructions. They know who’s here to party and who’s here to see the boss.
Inside. Into the thumping music and body heat. People call this fun, you know. Squeezing up against random strangers, half-deaf and mostly drunk. The club to his right, the stairs in front of him. Four people sitting on the stairs. A young woman crying, being comforted by a friend. A young couple a few steps further up, halfway down each other’s throats and slurping. Calum’s stepping past them. Careful not to bump into anyone. Careful not to draw attention. Careful not to trip up on these treacherous steps. None of the four on the stairs pay him any notice, and he’s pushing open the door to the snooker room now.
Quieter up here. Fewer people about. Three tables in use, half a dozen old sots propping up the bar. A few looking at him as he walks past them, none taking a long look. People up here know better. Jamieson’s never open about what he does; he never brags about it, but people aren’t stupid. They know people going back along the corridor to the owner’s office might be people it’s safer not to stare at.
He’s knocking on the office door. You stand out in the corridor and you wait for Jamieson to call you in. Not a question of good manners, more a question of not walking in on anything you shouldn’t see. Unlikely with Jamieson, he’s much more careful than that. Still, you never know. There’s a muffled call from within. Calum’s opening the door, stepping inside, closing the door quickly behind him. Jamieson’s alone, sitting behind his desk as usual. The couch to the right is empty. No Young. It’s a little unsettling. Calum’s trying to remember if he’s been alone with Jamieson before.
‘Come in, sit down,’ Jamieson’s saying, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
Calum’s sitting in front of him, trying to read his expression. He looks tired, for one thing. Looks annoyed, too. Calum’s not saying anything, not going to. It’s up to Jamieson to lead this conversation. Whatever the issue is, it belongs to him.
‘We need to have a talk,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘Maybe not an easy one.’
It’s never the first thing you want to hear. Calum’s sitting, expressionless. Determinedly expressionless. Don’t let Jamieson see that you’re concerned. Don’t let him think that you’re easily spooked. Looking calm, listening to what the boss has to say.
‘We need to talk about Frank,’ Jamieson’s saying. His tone says he doesn’t want to. It says he’d rather talk about anything else. ‘You saw what happened,’ he’s saying, throwing up a despairing hand. ‘He botched it. Badly. I’m going to be honest with you here, Calum – I shouldn’t have sent you. You didn’t deserve to be risked that way. A guy like Frank, he knows the risks. He knows if he gets stuck, then he gets left behind. I sent you in there, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for that. You handled it brilliantly, but still, I’m sorry.’ Showing weakness, letting Calum see that he can admit his mistakes. In this business, most people think that’s weakness. Very few apologies offered. Almost none from the boss. It’s a moment to raise an eyebrow.
Calum’s nodding. Accepting the apology, trying to make it seem like no big concern. He’s worried, though. He doesn’t want to hear this contrition. He knows what it’s leading to.
‘The whole thing with Frank,’ Jamieson’s saying now. ‘That whole job was a mistake. I should have seen that he wasn’t fit for it. His hip, and all that. I wanted to believe that he could just come back and be himself again. Like nothing had changed. It made my life easier if he could. I need two gunmen. You and him. Even if the roles changed, I wanted it to be you two. Maybe you became the lead and him the reserve, but still you two. People with talent that I can trust. Those are hard to come by. You have no idea,’ he’s saying with a grim smile.
All this honesty is creating a heavy atmosphere. Jamieson can sense it. Time to get to the point.
‘Frank’s been retired. I’m trying to keep him on the books. Trying to get him to take an advisory role, but I doubt he’ll go for it. Not in the long run. He’s not the advisory sort. He might still be around now and again, but you have to think of him as retired.’
There’s a warning in there. From now on, you tell Frank nothing. You don’t go to him for help or advice. You don’t tell him about any job that’s being done within the organization. Frank’s become an outsider.
‘That’s . . .’ Calum’s pausing as he looks for the right word. ‘Sad.’ Seems like the right word to go with. True, but noncommittal.
‘It is,’ Jamieson’s saying, and nodding his head like he means it. Calum’s never seen him sad before. Jamieson has a style that he uses all the time. Doesn’t matter what his underlying feeling is, he can hide behind the bluff. This is a rare moment when he’s not even trying. He’s deliberately letting Calum see how much this means to him. It’s an offer of trust. It’s not an offer Calum is eager to receive. ‘Sad, but it has to be,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘He made a mistake that we can’t allow a repeat of. Shit, he should be dead already. If I had done the right thing that night, he would be.’ There’s an unspoken message there. Frank should have been left to die. Keeping him alive has only created problems. It’s obviously not an easy thing for Jamieson to say about a friend, but he’s right. Death, in retrospect, would have been better for the organization.
This is a promotion. This miserable, excruciating exchange is what constitutes career progress round here. There’s only one thing Jamieson can say next.
‘You understand what this means for you. Frank’s basically gone. As a gunman, he’s finished. You will become our senior gunman.’ There’s a pause. ‘I don’t want you to think that you’re getting that position by default. You would probably be getting it anyway, even if Frank was still going. You’re shit-hot; the last couple of jobs have proven that. It’s your time.’
Calum’s nodding along. Polite acceptance. This isn’t the time for enthusiasm. Calum isn’t the person for it. Not now, and not even at the best of times.
‘This isn’t some sort of bullshit ceremony,’ Jamieson’s saying with a smile. He’s sounding like his usual self now. Full of bluster and swear words. ‘Some kind of handing-over of the torch. All that fucking rubbish is . . . well, fucking rubbish. Usually I wouldn’t even mention it, you know. I figure you’d work it out for yourself anyway. It’s just that these ain’t the usual circumstances. Not after what happened.’ He’s back to sounding quieter again. Morose.
There doesn’t seem to be anything left to say. Calum clears his throat. Trying to come up with something polite. A throwaway line. Something that doesn’t sound like an outright lie. Thank you would be conventional, but a lie. He’s not thankful.
‘Well, it’s good of you to let me know,’ he’s saying. ‘About Frank, I mean. I wouldn’t have known how to handle him if I’d bumped into him.’ That’s not true, he’d have known. He’d have played it cautious, as always.
Jamieson’s smiling. ‘You’d have worked it out on your own. Listen, Calum, I know you haven’t been with us long. And I know we’re the first organization you’ve worked for. Properly worked for anyway, not freelance. This might not feel like a big deal to you. Maybe you don’t even like it. I get that you’re probably not comfortable with us yet. I do, I get it. You’re used to having more freedom than you get in an organization. I want you to know that I get that. You’re not going to be the only gunman we use. I’m not going to overuse you. I’ll keep your schedule as close to what’s comfortable for you as possible. Obviously, sometimes, it can be out of my hands. But I’ll try. I’ll also make sure you enjoy the best protection and backup that anyone in this city could ever get.’
These are the professional promises. Reasonable, generous and predictable. Some of them are promises that will be kept, some are less certain. Jamieson can’t guarantee the best protection and backup, he can only strive for it. It feels like it’s time to go. They’ve said everything that needs to be said. Well, Jamieson has. Calum’s remained mostly silent.
‘I appreciate that,’ Calum’s saying now. Form the right sentences to round off the conversation. ‘I think I’m starting to get used to it. Just that the injuries slowed things down,’ he’s saying, raising his hands. Still scarred. Still ugly. Jamieson’s nodding in response. Hopefully the kind of nod that ends this. Calum’s no conversationalist, but Jamieson knows that already.
‘There is one more thing,’ Jamieson’s saying. Looking down at the table, back to miserable face. The atmosphere suddenly heavy again. It seems this is the real reason Calum’s here. ‘With Frank being retired now,’ Jamieson’s saying, and pausing. ‘With him not being part of the inner circle, I don’t know how he’ll react. It’s a big change for him. First time in forty-odd years he hasn’t been doing this job. Well, I guess he had breaks, but, anyway . . .’ He’s trailing off. He’s going to ask Calum to do something unpleasant. It almost doesn’t need to be said. ‘Thing is, I trust Frank. Normally, I trust him with my life. I don’t think he would do anything he shouldn’t. I don’t think. I can’t be one hundred per cent sure. I don’t want you to do any harm to him; I just want you to watch him. Carefully, of course. You don’t want to piss off Frank MacLeod, retired or not. Just watch and see what happens. I’m sure nothing will, but still. I’d like to know.’
Calum’s nodding along again. Silently, again. This is not a job he wants to do. Not on any level. But he has to nod along. And he knows he’s going to end up doing the job. Of course Jamieson would have Frank followed. It’s just a surprise that he would have him followed by a gunman.
‘Okay.’
‘I know you don’t like it,’ Jamieson’s saying, holding up a hand and smiling knowingly. ‘You’re a gunman. This is probably a bit beneath you. I agree. Thing is, this has to be done by someone I trust. Someone I know is good at the job. Right now, you’re damn good at your job. I also think,’ he’s sounding a little more thoughtful, ‘it would benefit from having your eye. You know what Frank should be doing at this point. You can spot things other people wouldn’t. Things will stand out to you. You think like him,’ he’s saying with a smile. ‘You might not realize it, but you do.’