The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (20 page)

Must be more than eleven years ago now. William had been working at the garage for about a year. Just a mechanic, learning his way. No ownership then. But he knew enough to know that his boss was a crook. A lot of shifty types hanging around. William didn’t make anything of it. No skin off his nose. He fixed cars. Occasionally sprayed them. Once in a blue moon he’d be given a car that needed a complete overhaul. Change every identifying feature. It’s a job. It pays. He asked no questions, so knew nothing incriminating. Now and again Calum would come down to the garage, pick William up from work. He’d hang around, chat to the people there. Didn’t bother William. So Calum talked to a bunch of scumbags. So what? He could do that anywhere. Not like he was all that close to his little brother at the time anyway.

It was a guy called Greg Lacock. Middle-aged guy. Chubby, but thought he was God’s gift. Anyway, he was hanging around the garage a lot back then. He and the owner, Alasdair Marston, were chummy. Used to go to a lot of the same parties. They liked the good life. So one time, driving home, Calum announces that Lacock’s offered him a job.

‘Crappy stuff, but it might lead to more,’ Calum said. William didn’t argue. Lacock was a dealer, everyone knew it. The jobs would be shitty stuff. Driving him around, that sort of thing. If Lacock was willing to pay Calum for it, so be it. If William had said something then. If he had objected. Well, you can’t see the future. You can’t know where these things will lead.

It started out menial. Driving. Picking things up. Then it started to get more serious. Gradually. Lacock was growing. A lot of people didn’t take him seriously, which was a mistake. A party boy with a big mouth. A guy in his forties who’d never amounted to anything. There was nothing to take seriously. But there was more to him than mouth. He was working away, keeping his movements quiet. And he grew. And he became serious. Calum saw it all close up. Mentioned it to William a couple of times. William took almost no notice. Then there was a guy called Stan Austin. William had known him since school. Austin did some work for Lacock. Hard to remember now what it was he did that pissed Lacock off. Didn’t steal from him. Just did some work for someone else to make a little extra cash. Something trivial like that. Lacock wasn’t having it. Seemed to think it was a matter of respect. He sent someone round to beat Austin up. They did a thorough job.

A couple of days after he got out of hospital, Austin went round to the garage to see William. Seemed like a social visit. It wasn’t. It was a warning. Get your little brother under control. He was the one who had beat up Austin. William didn’t believe it at first. Calum was never tough. Never a fighter.

‘He’s a cold bastard is what he is,’ Austin told him. ‘Get him sorted, or he’s gonna end up six feet under. Lacock’s nuts. Someone will put a stop to him real soon. He’ll drag everyone down with him.’

So William, having just moved out, went back to the family home to have a word with Calum. A warning. Calum was quiet. He denied it, but not with nearly enough vigour. William knew. His little brother was muscle. What a laugh! Calum wasn’t tough enough for muscle. William told him so. Told him he was biting off more than he could chew.

Then it was David Kirkpatrick. Calum remembers the night. Lacock calling him up, telling him to come round to his house. Telling him that Kirkpatrick was going to wipe them out. Put them all behind bars. Kirkpatrick was a dealer. Another scumbag.

‘He’s got us all in the shit. We have to stop him talking. You have to stop him, Calum. You’ll go down with me. You don’t want that. We have to get him.’

Calum sat there calmly. ‘Okay’ was all he said. He knew what Lacock was asking him to do. It didn’t seem like a particularly big step.

‘Good boy,’ Lacock grinned. He was relieved – you could see it written all over him. He was scared of Kirkpatrick. He was probably lying about the reason why, but he was honestly scared. He provided Calum with a knife. Told him where Kirkpatrick was. He was getting pissed in some shitty pub. Follow him. Do the job. Get it done that night. No messing around. Best way to do it, so Lacock said.

The area around the pub was quiet. Calum couldn’t go in. Couldn’t be seen close to Kirkpatrick on the night. So he stood outside. Across a little car park and behind a wall. Crouching down every time a car went past. It was pissing with rain, all night. Easy to remember those details. The wetness. Watching people come and go from the pub. Never Kirkpatrick. It was twenty past twelve when he came out. Calum always remembers that. Twenty past twelve. Kirkpatrick and two other guys. One of them said goodbye to the other two. Staggered off across the road and weaved his way along the pavement and out of sight. Kirkpatrick and the other fellow were making their way in the other direction. Calum watched them go. Waited. Nobody else on the street. Only the occasional car. Pick your moment. Follow Kirkpatrick until he’s alone. What if he’s not alone? Calum didn’t even know if Kirkpatrick was married. Where he lived. Who he lived with. He was starting to realize how dangerous his ignorance was. You should not be learning on the job.

He stepped out from behind the wall. Let them get just out of sight, then caught them up. They were talking loudly. He can still remember that. Couldn’t hear what they were saying. Just the voices. Two drunk men, talking merrily in the night. A taxi came along the street. The other guy waved it down. It stopped. Calum could see the other guy trying to persuade Kirkpatrick to get in with him. Kirkpatrick refusing. His mate got in, the taxi pulled away. Calum had to keep walking. Getting dangerously close to Kirkpatrick now. The taxi driver must have seen him as he pulled away and moved down the street. The mate was too pissed, but the driver must have seen. Kept it to himself, if he did. It was just Kirkpatrick and Calum on the street now. Hard to remember what buildings were around them. Closed shops. Brick walls. Dark and silent. No houses, he remembers that. Kirkpatrick slowing down. Making a sort of growling noise. Looking left and right. Seeing a wide alleyway between two buildings. Lurching sideways towards it. Kirkpatrick going too slow. Calum with no choice but to walk right past him.

Slowing and looking back over his shoulder. Kirkpatrick disappearing into the alleyway. Shit, what’s he up to? Calum wasn’t in control of the situation. Not at all. He reached into his pocket, felt the handle of the knife. Turning back. Nobody else on the street. No cars. Maybe Kirkpatrick isn’t that drunk after all. Maybe he’s lying in wait, a gun in his hand. Nope. Standing facing the wall. Fumbling with his trousers. Didn’t hear Calum approach behind him. Stood there, pissing happily against the wall. Calum walked silently up behind him. No hesitation. Get it done. Knife out of pocket. Almost slapping it into Kirkpatrick. A second time, into the back. Kirkpatrick slumped forward. Hit the wall. Fell forward. Ungainly. A mess of sodden limbs, crumpled against the wall. He has to be dead. Calum raising the knife. Into the side of the neck. If that’s not enough, too bad. A need to leave. A desire to run. But he didn’t. Knife back into the pocket. Walking out of the alleyway and along the street. Back to Lacock’s house, then home.

There was so much wrong with it. With the hit. With the situation. So many mistakes. It was luck alone that kept Calum safe. Luck and a little bit of judgement. That night he saw Lacock’s desperation. Saw him out of control. Never did another job for him. Went off the radar. A month later, Lacock was in jail. Charged with supplying class-A drugs. They figured him for the Kirkpatrick hit, but they couldn’t prove it. Lacock never spoke about it. He went away for six years anyway. William crossed his fingers and hoped that was the end of it. Because he knew. He knew Calum had murdered Kirkpatrick. It had to be him. Lacock had nobody else to do it for him. It was Calum. Time passed, and it seemed like Calum was out of the business. Then a few rumours. Calum was doing work for people. Freelance. Good at what he does. And William went back to worrying.

But the guilt was there. Calum met Lacock at the garage. William had multiple chances to warn Calum off. To force him to back out. Ignored all of them because he didn’t care enough. Didn’t see the trouble coming. Misjudged his brother. Thought he was too good a human being to be caught up in that sort of thing. And he still feels the guilt, because he never did anything about it. Let it go on for years. Now there’s a chance to help, and there’s nothing he won’t do for Calum. Nothing he won’t do to help him get away. William will never come straight out and say it. He’s sitting down opposite Calum with a cup of tea. Saying nothing at all. You don’t speak about these things. You keep it all to yourself. You hope that the other person is smart enough to work it out for themselves. And Calum is. He knows. It doesn’t need to be said. Should he say something to William? Tell him there’s nothing to be guilty about. They were all Calum’s choices. Nah. William’s smart enough to know that, too.

30

Sending a text:
Come to flat NOW.
Hoping that his contact will see it and turn up in good time. Hoping he has his phone with him, wherever he is. Young’s going straight to the flat. Parking along the street and going up. He’ll be there first, waiting as usual. Thinking he ought to call Jamieson. And tell him what? No progress. No sign of Calum. He doesn’t need to know that. Call him when you have something to say. Young’s sitting with his head in his hands. He’ll go back to the club after this meeting, because there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing else he can do. You spend so long trying to pull strings, and one little thing screws it all up. Spent so long setting up this thing with Shug and MacArthur. It was perfect. Fisher doing all the hard work for them. Taking Shug out of the picture. Setting up a run at MacArthur. It was delayed by Frank. Now it could be ruined by Calum.

It’s less than twenty minutes later when there’s a knock on the door. Young’s up and walking to the door. Looking through the peephole. PC Joseph Higgins. He looks nervous. He should. Young can’t remember ever making an emergency call to the young cop. That’ll unsettle the boy. If he works out what’s happening, then he’ll be much more unsettled. Calum running could spark any kind of trouble. A running gunman gets talkative, and that’s dangerous for anyone with even the lightest connection to the organization. Young’s opening the door, nodding for Higgins to come in. The cop’s moving quickly. Trying not to look intimidated by this call, and failing. Going and taking his usual seat in the living room. Young’s walking in behind him. Trying not to look exhausted by the whole bloody mess, and failing. Higgins can see it in him, and that makes the nerves worse.

‘I came as soon as I got your message,’ Higgins is saying. Trying to start on a positive.

‘Good,’ Young is nodding. ‘Now, this might not be much of a big deal,’ he’s saying, aiming for casual and missing, ‘but it is time-sensitive. That’s what the hurry’s about. I hate to have to drag you into this, but you’re the only person I can trust to do this properly. It’s not a complicated job. And there shouldn’t be much risk for you, I don’t think. But I can assure you, I won’t forget this help from you.’ Young thinking about the latest bullshit business venture he’s sucked Higgins senior into. Get the father into debt, bail him out, keep the son grateful. Knowing that Higgins junior is thinking of the same thing.

‘Okay’ is all Higgins is saying in response.

‘I just need you to find out if someone’s left the country or not. See if they’ve booked an air ticket or train ticket. We’re trying to get in touch with someone, and we can’t find them. Running out of time, to be honest with you.’

Higgins is nodding. He knows he can check. Easy enough. All he needs is a reason why.

‘Who’s the person?’

‘Donald Tompkin,’ Young’s saying. ‘May have left the city in the last couple of hours, or may be leaving in the next twenty-four.’

Higgins is frowning slightly. Never heard of this Tompkin guy. Thought he’d recognize the name. A known criminal. Then he could pretend at the station that he’s heard rumours about this guy being a target. Say that he’s looking for him. If the guy then turns up dead, he can say he thought the fellow was in trouble. Didn’t think it was anything as bad as that. Might look a little iffy that he was investigating the name alone, but explainable. Harder to explain when it’s a name unknown to the police.

‘Donald Tompkin. Don’t know him,’ Higgins is saying. Won’t push it further than that. If Young doesn’t want to say who he is, then Higgins won’t ask. ‘I can check for him, though.’

Higgins is getting up to leave. Young wants this done in a hurry, so you look like you’re in a hurry. He’s reached the front door, and he’s stopping. Well, damn it all, doesn’t he at least have the right to ask? This is his career. His safety. He’s entitled to one question. One reasonable question. He’s going back into the living room.

‘Is there any danger that this Tompkin guy is going to turn up dead?’ he’s asking.

Young’s looking at him. Couple of months ago, the boy wouldn’t have dared. Would have just taken his instruction and carried it out. He’s changing. Maturing maybe. Or getting harder. Bound to happen eventually. He’s becoming used to being a contact. Starting to think he’s entitled to ask questions. How long does it take them to become as hard as Paul Greig?

‘There is absolutely no prospect of Donald Tompkin turning up dead,’ Young’s saying. ‘It’s not like that at all. You don’t have to worry.’

Higgins has gone. Said he’d call in the next couple of hours. Young told him the truth about Tompkin. A man who doesn’t exist can’t turn up dead. A man who doesn’t exist can still ruin your career. Can ruin everything, if he wants to. Young’s giving Higgins a head start. Trying to think of something else he can do. Calling George.

‘Anything?’

‘Nothing. Nobody’s come out since William went in.’ A pause. ‘Would it not be better for someone to go in there and find out what’s going on?’

Stupid question, born of impatience. Born of loyalty to Calum. Young’s getting frustrated. ‘Just sit where you are and keep your eyes open. Anyone goes in or out, you tell me. No pissing about here.’ Hanging up. Getting out of the flat and driving to the club. Relief to be in the car, focusing on the drive. Focus on anything that isn’t this colossal fuck-up.