How a Gunman Says Goodbye (22 page)

He’s followed Frank to this random house. It’s a little odd. Frank drove past once, then parked a street away and walked back. It would be nice if he was visiting a friend or family. Maybe even a love interest. Calum’s not aware of any love interest that Frank’s ever had. It would be nice, but who goes to these lengths to visit a girlfriend? Chances are it’s someone from another organization. The thing Jamieson feared. This isn’t what Calum wants to report. He’s parked at the top of the street, car facing away from the house. When Frank leaves, he’s likely to go the other way back to his car. When Frank leaves, Calum already knows he won’t be following him. Frank had disappeared into one of the houses on the street before Calum parked. He’s not actually sure which house, but it’ll be easy to spot Frank leave.

It’s taking a while. There is surely nothing more tedious than tailing a guy. You sit and watch someone else lead their boring life. It’s reality TV with consequences. He’s checking his phone. Two missed calls from Emma. Missed calls from William and George as well. They can always wait. He missed a couple from Emma yesterday as well. It’s not like her to be this clingy. He wants to call her, but he can’t. As soon as he dials, Frank will come out that door and he’ll have to hang up. Sod’s Law. However pissed off Emma is at him for not answering will be nothing compared to her wrath if he hangs up on her. Keep missing those calls. Keep watching Frank. As soon as Frank bothers to do something noteworthy, Calum can report it to Jamieson. With any luck, that’ll be the end of it. Do your job. But, oh boy, is it a boring job. The drizzle’s coming down on the windscreen. Nobody will get a good look at him now. He’s watching his mirror, waiting. And waiting.

A door’s opened and Frank has stepped out. He hasn’t even bothered to look up the street. He’s come out the door, pulled his hood up and walked back the way he came. You can see his limp clearly. Not even checking for a tail. Calum’s shaking his head. He’s getting sloppy. Easy to see now why Scott was able to jump him. Stop thinking like that. That’s Frank MacLeod. For all you know, he’s going down the street to his car to get a weapon. Might be coming back for you. Watch. Pay attention. Watch front and back. If Frank’s spotted him, then he could be a sitting duck. Five minutes have passed. Ten minutes. Nothing. Frank must have gone home. Staying to wait and see if anyone else comes out of the house is a risk. Might be the other person lives there. Won’t come out. Might be there is no other person. Frank might have been storing something, or picking something up. It’s a risk he’ll take, though. Better to find out.

Someone coming out of the house. Stomping to a car parked on the street. Looking aggressive as he drops into the driver’s seat. Didn’t recognize him in the mirror. Too much rain, too far away. Looked middle-aged. Dressed in a dark coat and trousers. Doesn’t tell anything. Shit, his car’s facing the other way. He’ll leave by the other end of the street. Time to break a couple of rules. Calum’s starting his car before the target car is out of sight. That’s rule-break number one. Now he’s trying to execute a three-point turn in a narrow street. Drawing attention to himself, if there’s anyone around to see. That’s rule-break number two. He has the car round. Off down the street, trying to play catch-up. He’s lucky. He spots the back end of the target car turning up another street. He moves a little closer, has it in sight. From here it’s easy enough. You tail carefully. You tail in a way that does nothing to draw attention. When you’re used to looking out for tails of your own, this becomes easy.

He’s an aggressive little driver, this fellow. Quick off his mark, pulling in front of people. He’s drawing plenty of attention to himself. Something Calum can’t copy. It’s causing him to fall back. Don’t push it. Don’t be tempted. Trust the traffic to slow the bastard down and bring him back towards you. The traffic never lets you down. If you know how to use it, you can escape a tail easily, or catch a tail easily. You just have to trust it. His tail is a red car. Probably smells a lot better than the crappy little banger William’s loaned him. Doesn’t look in much better condition, though. He’s as close now as he has been at any point. He’ll drop back a little, but first he wants a better look. Not at the driver, but the car. Get the number, then he can ID the driver any time. Provided the driver owns the car. In this business, they often don’t. Still, you take the number. They’ve been going fifteen minutes now. It’s getting irritating. His phone’s starting to rumble in his pocket. He has it on silent. Probably another call from Emma. Another one blanked.

He’s slowing down. Got his indicator on. He’s pulling in off the street. Into a little private car park, surrounded on three sides by high walls, one of them the back of an adjacent building. Calum’s carried on round the block. He can see the sign on the front of the building as he drives past, but he doesn’t need to. He knows it’s a police station. Never been in it, but he has a good idea where most of them are in the city. Round to the back again, looking for the driver. Gone. Must have gone straight in through the back door. The tradesmen’s entrance. This isn’t the place a man like Calum should be seen loitering, so he’s driving on. Frank, you dumb bastard. You met a cop. Did he even know he was meeting one when he went? He’s in such shit now. Or he will be, if Calum makes the report. Maybe he should give it more time. Give the old boy a chance to prove that he’s not in the process of pissing away forty years’ good service.

He’s gone back to Frank’s house. Driven past. The car’s there. He was half-hoping it wouldn’t be. Half-hoping it would be at the club, and Frank would be talking to Jamieson. Telling him that he has a cop in his pocket now. No such luck. He’s gone straight home, putting his feet up, out of the rain. Calum’s going to do the same. Nothing else he can do for now. Trying to think of an excuse not to report to Jamieson tonight. He should make the report. He knows it. That’s his job. You find something interesting, you report. He’s found something. Found Frank MacLeod spending twenty minutes in the company of a detective. Private meeting, just the two of them. All very hush-hush. But for whose benefit? Frank going to the cops. Jesus, it doesn’t bear thinking about. If he crossed that bridge, shit – they’re all finished. Calum will be wrecked. Jamieson and Young, and everyone else who ever worked for them. Frank knows so much. Too much.

He’s back at the flat. He’s not panicked. Calum doesn’t really do panic. A little sad about Frank; mostly annoyed at the prospect of having to move home again. If Frank’s blown his cover, then they’ll all be on the move. Looking for an angle. A way in which he could turn this to his advantage. A chance to get out of the organization. Hell, if Jamieson’s organization falls apart, then Calum’s free. All he has to do is stay out of jail. That would be just about impossible if he stays in the city. Stays in the country. If this was their first meeting, Frank might not have spilled many beans. This might have been them agreeing on a deal. In which case there’s still time to shut him up. If Calum reports tonight.

He’s walking up the stairs, more slowly than usual. Thinking things through. Now he’s seen her. Sitting at the top of the stairs, her phone in her hand.