The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (19 page)

‘Couple of fellows here to see you. Barry Fairly and Marty Jones.’

‘Send them in, thanks,’ Young’s saying. Making a point of adding the thanks. It would be nice to be as well liked as Jamieson. All the staff think Jamieson’s terrific. A charmer. Generous and likeable. They’re all good at showing that they don’t think of Young in the same way.

Fairly’s coming into the office. Looks uncertain. Coming over to Young with a hand outstretched. Shaking enthusiastically. Sweaty hand, but Young won’t mention that. Unimpressive-looking man. Won’t mention that, either. Marty’s behind him all the way. Shifty-looking bastard. Always too confident. A quick shake of his dry hand.

‘Take a couple of chairs across,’ Young’s saying, and sitting on the couch.

They’re doing as they’re told. Fairly seems nervous. You’d think a man of his reputation would be used to meetings like this, coming to see a man like Young. Fairly’s known in the business. Respected for his art. Done a lot of work for a lot of people. He’s brought the chair across and he’s sitting opposite the couch. Hands on his knees, looking straight ahead at Young. They all do this. Sit there staring at Young. Waiting for him to say something. They make an appointment because they have something to say, but they expect Young to start the conversation. Mostly afraid of saying anything without permission. Even people with Fairly’s experience fall prey to the fictional bullshit. Don’t speak unless spoken to. The big bad gangster might blow a fuse if you do. As though nut jobs who can’t stand other people talking to them are going to last in this business. No such issue with Marty. He’s sitting next to Fairly, and he’s talking already.

‘I think you’ll want to see this, John,’ he’s saying with confidence.

Young’s looking across at him. He doesn’t like Marty talking to him like they’re best friends. They’re not. Never have been, never will be. Even when Marty was in the good books, he was suffered rather than enjoyed. ‘Go on.’

‘See, I let Barry here use one of my offices for some of his work. People collecting stuff, that sort of thing,’ Marty’s saying. Not explaining what Fairly does, because Young will already know. Young already knows most things. ‘And I bump into this guy leaving the office this morning. I go in. I ask Barry about him. Barry tells me who he is. I ask to see the copy, get a look at the picture. I see it, and straight away I’m on the phone to you. Straight away, John. There was no answer. But I knew this was important, so I made the effort to get in touch with you through Kevin.’

Marty’s stopped. He’s looking at Young with a smile. Waiting to be told what a good job he’s done. Young’s grimacing. Leaning forward on the couch and looking down at the floor.

‘You still haven’t told me what the hell this is about. Barry, is it?’

‘Yes,’ Fairly’s saying. Still looking terrified of the whole thing.

‘Who came to you?’

‘Fellow called William MacLean. See, the garage business is changing, and I need to make sure I’m up to speed with that. So, well, this fellow has a garage. Came looking for documents. Didn’t seem like a big deal. He has a garage. Wouldn’t have let him across the threshold otherwise. It seemed, you know, legit.’

Marty spotted it. No look of recognition when Barry mentioned William’s name. ‘I’ve got a copy of the passport he had done,’ Marty’s saying, taking it triumphantly from his pocket.

Marty’s passed him rough copies of the passport and driver’s licence. What matters is the picture. Young’s looking at it. It’s Calum. Not Calum as he is now. Photo must be two or three years old. Definitely Calum, though. Or Donald Tompkin, as the passport says. Young isn’t saying anything. Sitting on the couch, holding onto the passport a little too tight. Thinking about it. There are reasons why men in the business pick up a fake ID. Sometimes you want it for a job. Not a passport, though. Driver’s licence maybe, not a passport. Maybe Calum just wants to go abroad. Go on holiday. Not unreasonable. Maybe he’s paranoid about being on the police radar, so he wants to go under the radar. Nah. There are people in the business who are stupid enough for that explanation. People who go to ridiculous lengths just for something as irrelevant as a holiday. Not Calum. Too smart. He’d just holiday at home.

Thinking, and thinking some more. But there’s nothing to think about. There’s only one explanation. It’s leaping up and smacking him in the face. Jamieson said it. He called it right. Calum isn’t happy with them. Hasn’t settled. He’s had a run of tough jobs. Too many in quick succession. He wants out. He’s running. No other conclusion. Their only gunman is running. Young’s suddenly remembering that Marty Jones and Barry Fairly are sitting opposite him, gawping.

‘Okay, that’s fine,’ Young’s saying. Standing up to lead them to the door. ‘Good of you to come, but I did already know about this. It’s for a job, so it’s hush-hush. But thanks for coming anyway, I won’t forget.’ And he won’t forget. Won’t forget that Fairly had this information for two days and had no intention of doing anything with it. ‘You’ve done well, Marty,’ Young’s saying, as he begins to close the door behind them. Pains him to say it, but it’s true. Marty’s fluked his way back into the good books. Now, Young needs to get in touch with Jamieson urgently.

28

It hasn’t been a long conversation. As short as the urgency demanded. Jamieson almost ran into the office to join Young.

‘We’re sure it’s Calum?’ he’s asking. Pointless question.

‘Here’s the copy.’

Jamieson’s looking at it. Frowning. He knew. That’s what’s pissing him off right now. He knew Calum wasn’t happy. Knew he wasn’t comfortable being part of an organization. His instincts told him they needed to do more to keep the boy happy. Persuade him that this is where he wants to be. Frank was comfortable; no interest in working alone. That made it easy for Jamieson. No persuasion necessary. Calum only knew the life of a freelancer when he came to work for them. There was always a chance it wouldn’t work. As long as Jamieson spotted the problem first, he could do something about it. And he did spot it. Knew it all along. And he did nothing.

‘How long’s he had these?’ Jamieson’s asking. The question that matters most.

‘His brother picked them up this morning. So, I don’t know – a few hours. Could be long gone by now.’

Jamieson’s nodding. Considering. Standing in Calum’s shoes, what would he do? Probably get out of the city today. Even if it’s not far. Maybe Edinburgh, leave the country from there. That would make sense. How fast could he go? Could be gone already. The brother’s the key. He’s obviously been helping Calum. He organized the ID. Calum wouldn’t use anyone else. His brother, and his brother alone. So Calum will be staying with him.

‘We need to go to the brother,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘Send someone to watch his house. Don’t go in. Not yet. Not until we know. If the brother has a garage, then he might be there. Worth checking that, too. Who do we have that can find out if a plane ticket was bought in this name?’ he’s asking. ‘This Donald Tompkin.’ Spitting out the name with contempt.

Young’s considering it all. ‘I’ll send someone to watch the house. I’ll go round to the garage myself, if the brother’s there. Might be worth me having a conversation with him. Make it friendly to start; see if I can’t persuade him to spill his guts. Maybe take someone with me.’

Jamieson’s sighing. This is Young wanting to go round and beat the shit out of William. This is anger getting in the way of judgement.

‘See if we can find out where Calum is first,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘There might be a chance for me to have a conversation with him. And the tickets – find out about the tickets.’

Young’s nodding. ‘Best bet will be a police contact. I’ll get in touch with the reliable one. I’ll see what he can find out. I’ll check Calum’s flat. I’ll get someone round to the brother’s house. That’s the main thing.’

‘Mm,’ Jamieson’s saying. Not the main thing for him. Main thing for him is that he might be about to lose another gunman. That just leaves Hutton. A man he knows nothing about professionally. His only experience of Hutton is as a man who’s proven very adept at avoiding his work.

Young’s out of the office, phone to his ear. The excitement of the moment. The anger of betrayal. All clouding his judgement a little. Get someone subtle to watch the brother’s house. Calling George. He can hear the crushing disappointment in George’s voice.

‘Watch William’s house? Why? What’s he done? Maybe you should speak to Calum first.’

‘It’s Calum I want you to look for. Don’t go in. Don’t let them know you’re there. Just keep your eyes open for any sign of him.’

‘Calum,’ George is saying. Not saying no. Can’t say no. Not an option. But obviously reluctant. Willing to let Young hear his reluctance. Let the boss know that he doesn’t believe in this job. That George trusts Calum. An empty gesture, but he’ll still do it.

Young’s opening a locked drawer in his own, little-used office downstairs. Finding the bunch of keys, and finding the one to Calum’s flat. A pair of gloves from a box in the storeroom. Out of the club and into the car. Driving round to the flat. Already knowing what he’ll find. Still worth looking, when it’s this easy. He can let himself in and look around. Parking, and going up the stairs to Calum’s front door. There’s nobody around. He’s knocking on the door, just to be on the safe side. No answer. Of course there’s no answer. Pulling on the gloves and slipping the key into the lock. Quickly inside and closing the door. Absolute care. One way or another, Calum’s disappearing. Either the disappearance he wants, or the one Jamieson will order for him. A neighbour might report him gone. The police start sniffing around. They find out that a neighbour spotted a man coming to the flat days after Calum disappeared. This man had a key. That would get the police excited. Young needs to be invisible.

Flat looks normal. No sign of trouble. No furniture overturned or drawers emptied. Looks like a flat that someone expects to return to. There’s a mobile phone on the table. A little green light flashing on it. Presumably to say that there are missed messages. How long ago did he run? He did the job. Young knows that. Jesus, it was that night! Must have been. He used the Hardy and Kenny killings as a cover for his escape. Cold son of a bitch. Led them out there, did the job and then came back to his brother’s. Knowing that Jamieson wouldn’t expect to hear from him for at least a week. Smart bastard. A wallet in the kitchen, on the counter. Okay, that’s convincing. Calum knew what he was doing when he went. Into the bedroom. Pulling open the wardrobe door. Looks full. Doesn’t mean anything. He could be using his brother’s clothes. His brother could have gone out and bought him new clothes. Back into the living room. Over to the writing desk. Pulling it open. There’s a passport in there. A cheque book. Back out into the kitchen, opening the wallet. Two bank cards. Some cash.

Standing in the middle of the room, looking at the letters on the floor inside the front door. If Calum’s run, then he’s done it well. Covered every track. If only he didn’t need new ID, he would have got away with it. But it is convincing. Convincing enough to make Young stop and wonder. Maybe he isn’t running. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he went and did the job and died in the process. Maybe it’s not Calum who’s up to something. Maybe it’s his brother. The brother finds out that Calum’s dead and comes up with some dumb plan to cash in. No. They’re not that sort. William wouldn’t do it. This is Calum running. Can’t be anything else. Out of the flat and down to the car. Calling George.

‘Any sign of life at the brother’s place?’

‘No, nothing,’ George is saying. ‘Only been here for about twenty minutes, though.’

Could be somewhere else. No, if Calum’s still in the city, then he’s at his brother’s house. Wouldn’t risk going anywhere else. That’s if he’s still here.

Driving to William’s garage. Doesn’t know what he’ll say to the brother. There’s no time for pleasantries. Jamieson says he wants to talk to Calum, if there’s a chance. Wishful thinking. Not going to happen. Young needs to find out what’s happening. If the brother won’t tell him willingly, then Young will make it happen. This is too much of a rush for the softly-softly approach. Pulling into the street where William’s garage is. Finding a parking space. Walking along the street and into the garage. A couple of guys working on one car. They seem quite befuddled by it. Neither fits the description of William MacLean. One too young, one too old. No sign of anyone in the office towards the back.

‘I’m looking for William MacLean. He about?’ Young’s asking. Keep it casual. Don’t give them a reason to panic.

‘Nah, you just missed him. He’s away,’ the older mechanic’s saying. ‘I help?’

Young’s looking at his watch. ‘Half-four. He always knock off at half-four?’

The older man’s shrugging. ‘No, he’s a grafter,’ he’s saying defensively. He likes his boss. ‘He nipped off early today.’

‘Been nipping off a lot this week,’ the younger one’s saying, and shutting up when he sees the look his elder colleague is giving him.

Young didn’t hang around. Just missed William. That could mean just about anything in mechanic-speak. Last time Young took his car in, they said the MOT wouldn’t cost much. Two days and six hundred quid in repairs. His phone’s ringing as he’s walking back to his car.

‘That’s William just turned up at his house,’ George is saying. Not sounding impressed at all. Here’s another one who isn’t happy in his work, Young’s thinking. Another one they might have to keep an eye on.

‘Keep watching the place,’ Young’s saying. ‘Let me know if anyone else turns up or leaves.’ Hanging up. Thinking. If Calum’s in the city, then he’s in that house with his brother. Leave George there for now. Young has one more avenue to run down.

29

They’re sitting in silence. Not awkward silences any more, just silence. Brothers with nothing left to say. There are nerves there. Nerves and guilt and a whole load of other things. Plenty they could say, but don’t want to. Going through the motions. Calum’s watching TV. He knows that, months from now, when he’s settled somewhere else and can’t speak to William, he’ll regret this. Regret that he didn’t say any of the things that are going through his mind. But that regret won’t prompt him to say it now. Say that he loves his brother. Tell William how grateful he is for this. For all the support he’s got from him over the years. Tell him not to feel guilty. Nah, he’d never say that one. He knows that a lot of William’s fear for Calum comes from the guilt. Maybe William doesn’t even know it himself. So Calum won’t say anything about it.