4
There’s no escaping the fact that Clueless is a moron. A complete clot of a human being, truth be known. Tommy Scott’s always known it, but he’s a loyal friend and he tries his best. Sometimes, though, sometimes Clueless shows signs that he’s learning. Like right now, for instance. He’s coming in the front door of the flat. Scott sent him across the hall with a bag of gear. They stash a lot of stuff under the floorboards in the empty flat opposite. Less chance of it being found there. Scott doesn’t keep big amounts near him for long – he’s smarter than that. He picks it up from Shug’s supplier, then moves it on to his peddlers in quick time. Common sense says you can’t hold it for long. Anyway, that’s just the routine they go through. Clueless has gone across the hall to hide the stuff. Taking longer than usual to come back. Now he’s coming in the front door, and there’s a strange look on his face. He usually specializes in a fine line of vacant expressions. This look is more baffled.
Clueless has come in the front door and closed it behind him. ‘I just saw some guy in the corridor,’ he’s saying.
‘Yeah?’ Scott says. He could feign interest, but it’s usually better not to encourage him.
‘Yeah. I looked through the peephole before I came out, like you said to. There was this guy. Old guy, he was. Looked old, anyway. Had a big jacket on. Had the hood up. He was against the wall like that,’ he’s saying, mimicking Frank’s stance. ‘Looking at your door.’
Okay, now he’s interested. ‘Yeah? Did he just leave?’
‘Aye. I waited for him to get in the lift, and then I came in here.’
The only light in the flat comes from the TV in the corner. The sound’s down low. Scott’s over at the window, peeking out through the gap in the curtain, looking down at the car park. ‘Switch that TV off,’ he’s saying to Clueless. Waiting a few seconds for complete darkness, and watching as a figure moves across the car park. Down towards the road and into a car.
He left, which is a good thing. Means he’s probably not going to try anything tonight. Silly old bastard. Oh, this is a chance. This is a big chance.
‘Who was that guy anyway?’ Clueless is asking him. ‘Should I have done something?’
‘No, you did the right thing.’ Pausing. How much does he tell his friend? He’ll need him, so he has to tell it all. ‘I think that guy works for Peter Jamieson.’
‘Jamieson? Shit, you think that old guy was after us?’
‘I reckon he was. And I reckon he’ll be back. See, if I’m right, that old fart was here to try and kill us. Only, when he does come back, we’re going to be waiting for him.’
‘Are we?’ Clueless is pausing, thinking about this. Takes a while. ‘Isn’t this the sort of thing we should be telling Shug about? Let him deal with it?’
‘No,’ Scott’s saying. It would be the easy thing to do, but not right. Initiative. That’s what they want. Use your initiative. Deal with it yourself and really impress them.
There’s no prospect of sleep tonight anyway. Not with the worry in the back of his mind that Frank MacLeod might come right back. Might not have been him, but who else? Fizzy, that’s Shug’s right-hand man, warned him. Said that Jamieson was a tough bastard, that he has gunmen on his staff. The most dangerous one is Frank MacLeod. Old guy that’s killed loads and always got away with it. Bit of a legend, it seems. Would be a big blow to Jamieson if he ended up dead. Big boost for Shug, if one of his men did it. What an opportunity! Shit, something like this only comes along once in a lifetime. They have to grab the chance. Kill him. Kill a man. Shit, never done that before. Never even thought about it. Scott’s thinking about that as they get ready to go out. Killing a man is something else. It’s crossing some sort of line. But he has to. Doesn’t have a choice. Kill or be killed. And it’s such a great chance for him.
Out into the rain and the cold, looking for a gun. Any sort of gun. Anything that’s capable of doing the job. There are places you can go, professional gunrunners. They sell any time, but only to the right people. They have to know you, know that they can trust you. They won’t sell to the likes of Scott, and he knows it. One day they’ll be desperate for his business, queuing up, but not tonight. They’re bloody expensive too, and he doesn’t have much cash on him. So they’re going for the cheap option. They won’t get such a good gun, but who cares? As long as it goes bang and Frank MacLeod falls down and doesn’t get back up, then it’s good enough. Might not be clean, either. Scott knows all the parlance. Clean is when a gun hasn’t been used in any other crime that can then be linked to you, if you’re caught with it. They won’t get a weapon that can guarantee them that. Cheap and available – that’s what matters.
His name’s Donall Tokely. Everyone calls him Spikey, for reasons most people have forgotten. Seems to have had something to do with a childhood hairstyle. When Scott and Clueless ran with a gang in this area, Spikey was in there with them. A year or so younger, but a tough little bastard. He and a few of the other gang members ended up in jail. Got three years for robbery. The day he got out, he stole a charity collection tin from a newsagent’s. In the last year he’s got closer to people at the serious end of the business. Made connections through his mother, of all people. She sells counterfeit clothes from her house. Spikey got pally with some of her suppliers, and he’s gone up in the world since. The rumours said he was handling weapons. People were bringing old stuff across from Northern Ireland, and Spikey was selling it for them. He showed a handgun to Scott a couple of months ago. Told him if he was serious about setting up a network, then he should buy one. Scott said no thanks. Not now, anyway. Well, this is the new now, and now he wants to buy that gun.
They’re banging on his door, waiting impatiently. So what if he’s fast asleep? They need this done quickly. This is life, death and business. Scott wants all the preparation time he can get. He doesn’t actually know what he needs to do, but it seems obvious that he will need time. They have to be careful with this one. Frank MacLeod is, amongst other things, a very dangerous man. Banging on the door again. Scott’s trying to remember if Spikey still lives with his mother. He’s far more afraid of that beefy old witch than he is of Spikey. Heard a few stories about her that made him sick in his mouth. The sound of a latch being pulled back; now the door’s opening.
‘Tommy. Shit! Tommy. Do you know what time it is? Are you off your face or something?’ Spikey’s staring at him through half-closed eyes. Scott always liked Spikey. They seemed to have similar ambitions. He always thought of Spikey as a cut above most of their other friends. Now, something’s changed. Scott understands that. His ambitions have far outgrown Spikey’s. Scott’s moving on to a different level, and leaving mediocrity like Spikey behind.
‘Listen, mate,’ he’s saying, making sure to get the ‘mate’ in there. ‘I need a gun. Like, right now. Nothing fancy, just something that works. I don’t have much cash on me, but I’ll pay what I’ve got and owe you the rest. You know I’m good for it. I can pay you either in cash or gear – your choice. We can probably make a good deal on gear, as it happens.’
Spikey’s looking at him with a frown. Too many words to process at this hour. ‘You want a gun. I thought you didn’t want one.’
‘I do now.’
‘Uh-huh. But I don’t have any. Not just now. I can get you one, if you want, but it’ll take a few days. You should have said. When I had them, I mean.’
‘How can you not have guns?’ Scott’s asking. There’s a bit of anger in his voice that Clueless and Spikey have both noticed. ‘You sell the fucking things for a living.’
‘Yeah, okay, back off a wee bit, huh? I do sell them. I sold a shitload of them a few weeks ago. Made a good pile out of it. Sold the lot to the one buyer. Same people I got them off, actually. They wanted them back. Paid up to get them, too. Nice profit for nothing. I’ve got more coming, though, if you’ll wait.’
That was the go-to option. Where the hell do they go to now? The only other people with guns that Scott knows are people who probably won’t sell to him. Spikey’s such an idiot. Scott knew it as soon as Spikey told them about selling the guns back to the previous owners. He doesn’t seem to get it. They sell the guns to him, and then buy them back at a higher price. Only one reason why you throw money away like that. They have someone willing to pay a much higher price now. If Spikey had anything resembling a brain in his head, he’d have turned down their offer and gone looking for the better offer himself. Nope, he took the quick profit. No ambition. No initiative. That’s why he’ll never get anywhere.
‘Do we have to use a gun?’ Clueless is asking.
‘If he has a gun and we don’t, we’re fucked. Even two to one. This guy’s a professional, and we’re not. We have to do this right. So that we can show Shug that we know how.’
Mark Garvey. Nasty piece of work. Sells guns, though, everyone knows it. Sells to some of the worst people. Seems to be able to keep himself off the police radar, God alone knows how. Must be one lucky bastard, because he’s in it up to his armpits. Robbers, gunmen, dealers, pimps – the whole nine yards. Some people say he shut up a couple of his own suppliers before they had the chance to drop him in it. Might be bullshit. There’s a lot of it about. Scott knows where he lives, or at least where he used to live. If he’s moved, then they’re about to wake up the wrong guy.
Knocking on another door. A nicer area this time. The door’s opening. Attractive woman in her thirties, short nightdress.
‘Erm, we’re looking for Mark Garvey,’ Scott’s saying. A light’s gone on behind her. Hmm, maybe not quite so attractive now. Bottle-blonde, crow’s feet, not the best skin. Would still look good with a bit of make-up on.
The woman’s gone. Garvey’s standing in the doorway now, frowning. Early fifties, bottle-brown hair, trying to look young for the wife, no doubt. Hard to keep up with a second marriage.
‘What do you want?’ Garvey’s asking. Looking at Scott, paying Clueless no attention. At a glance, he knows who matters here.
‘We need a weapon,’ Scott’s saying quietly. Maybe Garvey doesn’t tell the little wife everything. ‘Anything usable will do us.’
‘Will it now? Good for you. I think you got the wrong address.’ He’s moving to close the door.
‘I think we got the right address,’ Scott’s saying, sticking his foot in the jamb. ‘I know you don’t sell to strangers. Fair enough. I have an organization behind me. I can either pay you cash or set up a good deal on gear. Your choice. This could become a standing arrangement.’
‘No, it couldn’t,’ Garvey’s saying. ‘Now get your foot out of my door before I lose my rag.’
‘We’re in a hurry here. Helping us out won’t be forgotten.’
‘You listen to me,’ Garvey’s saying, leaning forward aggressively. He’s not a big man, but the movement does the trick. Scott’s pulled his foot away. ‘If you’re in a hurry for a piece and you got an organization behind you, then you go to the organization. That’s what it’s there for. You don’t go waking me up in the middle of the fucking night, understood?’ He’s closed the door. Not with a slam – that might be heard by the neighbours, and a guy like Garvey doesn’t want the neighbours knowing he’s had visitors.
Plodding the streets again. They’ve tried two more dealers. Ignored by one, door shut on them by the other. Scott doesn’t know any others. The old gang probably have something, but he’s not so close that they’d give it to him. They protect their valuables jealously. He could go to Shug. Would probably get a gun from him. But that would render the whole thing pointless. Shug would almost certainly send someone else round to do the job. Then they’d only get credit for reporting it. Credit doesn’t go far.
Plodding back to the flat, Clueless complaining. He’s been no bloody use. They’re back where they started, and Scott’s thinking hard. Trying to work out how you bring down a killer like Frank MacLeod. How two men stop one man and his gun. This is the initiative that matters.