The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (17 page)

The man’s been inside all of five minutes when the front door’s opening again. Fisher’s sliding down a little in the seat, looking in his mirror. Still can’t get a good view of the man as he comes out. Make the judgement. Someone inside for that long is not going to be important. He could lead to someone important. Could be that Shug’s given him something to deliver. But not likely. Probably just some pathetic little shit that runs errands for the boss. Pick up his shopping, that sort of thing. Let him go. Watch the house; follow Shug when he comes out. If he comes out. He used to be very active. Used to spend a lot of time at the garages. Used to go to races every weekend. Even bought his own track-day race car. Was going to spend a lot of time with that. Word is he’s stopped all that. Fisher heard from another cop that in the last two months Shug’s hardly visited any of his own garages and never goes racing. The lifestyle change of a man with a lot to worry about.

The little man’s across the front lawn and down to the road. Getting into his car and coming this way. Fisher’s sliding all the way down now, out of sight. The car’s going past. Just as Fisher begins to straighten back up, he has a flash of recognition. Not much. He’s only seen the back and some of the side of the driver’s face. Enough to change his judgement. You see something in a split second that gives you an opening. He could be wrong. He could be making another blunder. Wouldn’t be the first recently. But if he’s right, this could pull everything together. He’s starting the car, but staying where he is. Letting the driver get out of view. He’s likely to be paranoid, looking for a tail. Fisher’s going to have to be careful. A glance in his rear-view mirror to see if there’s anything behind him that might grab his interest. No sign of movement from Shug’s house. Good. Concentrate on the driver.

Staying in the Goldilocks zone. Some police drivers are good at it. Fisher’s been in a car with a police driver tailing a robbery suspect. Suspect didn’t know he was being followed. Fisher knew he was moving the weapons they’d used on the job the day before. The driver had to keep a perfect distance, without ever losing the target. He played it flawlessly. Never got too close. Never fell too far back. Worked the traffic like you wouldn’t believe. Amazing how a good driver can manipulate the traffic around him. Fisher’s not that good, and he knows it. So he’s playing cautious. Hanging a little further back than he should. Risking losing the target rather than getting too close and giving the game away. Trying to make sure he only catches glimpses of a car going through the morning traffic. So easy to lose him. Couple of times he did lose him. Got bogged down in traffic or stopped at lights while the target pulled away ahead. Got back in touch by luck rather than design.

Now it’s all swinging in Fisher’s favour. All because he’s worked out where the target is going. Armed with that info, there’s no need to keep him in view. Let him get ahead if he wants. Fisher’s even taking a slightly different route, so that he’ll arrive at the destination from a different direction. Make sure the target doesn’t know Fisher was following him. Now he’s in a comfort zone, and actually enjoying the drive. Who cares about the morning traffic when you know there’s good news waiting at the end of the journey? Nearly there now. Coming round the corner and onto what should be the last street. Seeing the target car coming the other way along the street and turning off. Turning into the car park, as expected. Fisher isn’t rushing to get there. No need. He’s turning off the street and pulling into the car park. Slowing down and pulling into his usual spot.

He can see the door of the target car opening. Fisher isn’t out of his car yet. He can see the driver getting out. Short man, thin, approaching middle age. It’s so obvious now. Couldn’t see it from a distance, but here it’s easy. The dark hair, the scar on one cheek. PC Paul Greig. Just finished visiting one of his scumbag criminal mates and now on his way to work. About to head into the changing rooms and put on his uniform. The uniform in which he’s supposed to protect the public from people like Shug Francis. The uniform he so routinely disgraces. Fisher’s getting out of the car. Greig’s walking across the car park. As Fisher’s pressing the button on his keys to lock the car, he’s raising his eyes. Eye contact with Greig. The temptation is to smile and say hello. Now that he has the bastard by the balls, he doesn’t feel the hatred so much any more. He only hates the fact that Greig gets away with it. That will soon change. But no. No smile, no hello. Just looking back down at the keys, stony-faced. Don’t let Greig know that anything has changed between them.

He’s been sitting at his desk for the best part of an hour. The plods have brought a few things to him – nothing that matters right now. The financial boffins have put together a list of discrepancies in Hardy’s books. All relating to Shug, to begin with. Interesting stuff. List as long as your arm. Took some effort to pick it all apart. It’ll all go on the charge sheet. It would be a failure if it were all that went on the sheet. He wants more. The disappearances of Hardy and Kenny. The meeting with Greig. There’s so much that he could throw at a man like Shug Francis. The more he throws, the more he might get back. Fisher’s willing to do deals. Cut some of the charges for information that matters. But he needs more charges. How long now before Jamieson moves? Can’t be long. Jamieson will try to hit hard, Fisher thinks. Unaware that he is the mechanism Jamieson is using to strike. Rushing to beat himself to the punch. He’s smiling, though. For the first time in months it feels as though an investigation is coming towards him rather than getting away.

25

God, it’s early. Way too early. George is staring at the ceiling. Contemplating the day ahead. Contemplating all that can go wrong. That’s a lot to think about. Going to need a coffee first. Twenty minutes later: showered, dressed and downing as much caffeine as one cup can hold. Got to meet Hutton at nine. Not much to clear up, but there’s no such thing as too much preparation. One of the things he picked up from Calum. It’s preparation that decides whether you succeed or fail. So meet Hutton, run through everything Jamieson said. Make sure Hutton knows what he’s doing. Make sure he knows not to do the job on Fizzy. That was a surprise. George thought they’d be delighted to see Shug make such a stupid mistake, but instead they came up with a better idea. A more profitable one. It was Jamieson who told George about it last night, but it sounds a lot like a John Young idea.

John Young. It’s funny, but George hates the man now. No good reason to. All the things George doesn’t like about his life are his own fault. He knows it. It’s just that Young epitomizes all the mistakes George has made. Probably because Young’s the one that gives the orders. Young told him to ruin Calum’s relationship with that girl Emma. So George did it. His own fault. He keeps doing these jobs and doing them well. No matter how often he tells Young that he doesn’t want any more responsibility, he keeps getting more responsibility. And here we are again. A job with responsibility. George will be meeting someone who matters, having a discussion that matters. Something he can’t believe he’ll be any good at. It’s not killing someone. That’s something. He’s drawn a line in the sand there, and so far has never crossed it. But this will be another step towards becoming the one thing George doesn’t want to be. Important.

There aren’t many people like George Daly in the business. Smart muscle. He goes round and beats people up, intimidates them. He’s the warning Peter Jamieson sends to people who owe him money. Usually pathetic souls that anyone with the ability to stay upright could batter. It’s easy, mindless work. It’s mostly carried out by mindless people. Halfwit thugs that Jamieson can hire and fire without consideration. But George is different. He’s smart, tough and a likeable guy. That draws attention. Means he gets all the challenging muscle-jobs. Means that Young and Jamieson want him to start doing more serious work. Take on more responsibility. Back up a gunman like Calum. Go and do a job like today’s. George doesn’t want that. He’s not just smart. He’s smart enough to know that ambition is poison. That responsibility is a curse. In this business, the best thing you can be is irrelevant.

Out of the flat and heading for his car. Looking up and down the street. A simple precaution. George doesn’t live in fear of death. If you stay away from the killing, it tends to stay away from you. But he has beaten up a lot of people in his working life. Some who are just stupid enough to think revenge might be a good idea. He’s had a couple of people come after him over the years. Looking to get even. Looking to show the people around them that they’re still tough. It’s a certain type of person you have to worry about. The pathetic junkies are no threat. They’re living day to day. They have no concept of revenge for historical acts. It’s small-time dealers, the wannabes. They borrow money from Jamieson, or take stock from him with the promise of a cut of the profits. When Jamieson doesn’t get the money he’s due, he sends George round to serve a warning. You beat up some little bastard who thinks he’s a big tough gangster. He’s humiliated, so he looks for revenge. Happened twice. Both times they tried to deliver the beating themselves. Forgetting that George is a professional. Beating is what he does. A second humiliation taught them to give up. There’s nobody here today, so he’s into the car.

The first meeting is with Hutton at the same flat as yesterday. No trouble getting there. Hutton’s waiting. Looks nervous. Strange, George didn’t expect him to be like this. Thought he would be the same as Calum, all cold and relaxed. Guess they must all behave differently. No shame in nerves.

‘Job’s off,’ George is saying, and watching the nerves settle. ‘Jamieson’s going to try and play this a different way. Wants to try and set something up with Fizzy. No hit, though. Word from Jamieson’s own mouth is that you should ignore Shug from now on. If he calls, blank it. Sit tight until you hear from me or John Young. I don’t think you’ll be doing anything else for Shug now.’

Hutton’s trying to hide his relief, but not quite managing. Not from someone as skilled at spotting it as George. ‘That’s fine,’ Hutton’s saying, playing it cool. ‘I’ll wait for one of you to get in touch. Ignore anyone else.’

‘One last thing,’ George is saying as Hutton’s getting up. ‘I’m on my way round to meet with Fizzy Waters. Can you give me some directions?’

George knows the city well. Not obsessive about learning the back streets and new-build areas like some. Gunmen, for example. For them it could be a matter of life or death. Capture or escape. For George, knowing the city is a matter of convenience. Only rarely does he have to do a job in a hurry. The kind of people he intimidates aren’t going anywhere. He’s going to Fizzy’s house now. Knows the area, and Hutton gave him directions to the house. Some people are good at giving directions. Hutton isn’t one of them. Said all the wrong landmarks to look out for. George thinks he knows where the street is; he thinks wrong. He doesn’t want to switch on his satnav to find out where to go. Another lesson learned from Calum. When you’re doing a job, be paranoid about technology. It can tell tales on you. It takes him twenty minutes of driving up and down random streets in the area to find the right one.

Out of the car and up to the front door. Hoping that nobody saw him driving around like an idiot. You see someone driving that way and you remember them. George doesn’t want to be remembered. Ringing the doorbell and waiting. Fizzy might not be at home. If he has any sense, then he won’t even be in the city. Run a mile, you fool. But Shug told Hutton he’d be there. Seemed sure Fizzy would stay. So that’s the most reliable info George has to work with. Someone coming to the door. Opening it. Don’t be a woman. Apparently his girlfriend isn’t in the city, so that should help. It’s a man. Fizzy. Staring down at the young man he doesn’t recognize. George, all curly hair and easy smiles.

‘Hi, Mr Waters, my name’s George. Listen, I know this is difficult, but we need to talk. Better not to do it out on the doorstep. I work for Peter Jamieson.’

The tone was the key. Easy for those words to sound like a threat. Easy for any mention of Peter Jamieson to be taken the wrong way. But George aimed for sympathetic and friendly in his tone, and he nailed it. Fizzy’s nodding. Opening the door all the way. Too trusting, George is thinking. That’s what comes from only working in the car business all these years. George could be anyone. Could be working for Shug. Could have been sent round to test Fizzy’s loyalty. Fizzy’s lucky that he’s not going to learn the hard way.

George is inside. The first hurdle over. He’s not carrying, so if this turns nasty, it’s going to be tough for him. He has to assume that Fizzy’s armed. Assume it, even though it’s unlikely. Fizzy is in his own home, which has to comfort him as well. No reason why this should turn nasty, but you never know. Don’t assume you know what goes through the head of another person. Fizzy’s smart, but inexperienced. If he realizes he’s on the outside, he should be desperate for help. This should be an easy conversation. Should be.

Fizzy’s led him through to the family room at the back of the house. Houses round here are bigger than they look from the front. George is impressed, a little jealous. Shows how well Fizzy was doing from the car-ring. Enough to buy a place like this. There was good money in what they were doing. Shows how stupid they were to want more. There’s a lot of people like that. Made stupid by greed and ambition.

‘I shouldn’t need to tell you what the situation is here,’ George is saying as he sits down. ‘You know that Shug’s throwing away everything. He’s tied himself to MacArthur, but MacArthur’s setting him up. MacArthur’s been feeding info to Peter for weeks now. Looking to get rid of Shug and take his business, so he’s hoping Peter will take Shug out. He actually called Peter the night you had your big meeting with MacArthur. I’m guessing you’re not surprised by that,’ he’s saying, watching Fizzy’s expression.

‘No. Not really. Sounds about right.’

‘You should also know,’ George is saying, and looking at the floor. Pick the right words. Don’t make it sound melodramatic. Sometimes the truth can be made to sound like a lie. Tread carefully. ‘Shug called up Shaun Hutton last night. Told him he wanted rid of you. Said you were a danger to him – a threat. I don’t know what went on between you and Shug, but he seems to want rid of you.’