The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (30 page)

‘Did you think there was something weird with Jamieson and Young?’ Shug’s asking.

‘Weird?’

‘Like a bad atmosphere.’

Fizzy’s shrugging. ‘Weird atmosphere, maybe. They know what’s about to happen.’

And that kills the conversation between these two. They know what’s about to happen. The police are about to start making their moves.

45

It was Calum’s choice of location. Close to the river. Private, of course, but not so far from people that Fisher might get nervous. Fisher, bless his heart, still thinks he’s in control of this situation. Sitting in the driver’s seat, literally and figuratively. They’ve driven in silence, Calum telling the cop where to go. Fisher sneaking an occasional glance at the young man beside him. He’s noticed the clear gloves Calum’s wearing. A little concern at that, but let’s not overreact just yet. Seen his picture, been in his flat, tried to work out who he was and what he was up to. Didn’t learn much. Not enough. Now the chance to find out everything. Won’t let this one slip through his fingers. The car’s coming to a halt in a small car park. Surrounded by overgrown weeds, a large wooden fence and the back wall of a storage unit. There are a couple of people working round the side of the building, paying them no attention. They can see the river off to their left. Ahead of them weeds, to the right the fence. Fisher’s switching off the engine.

‘I’m going to tell you a lot,’ Calum’s saying, staring straight ahead, ‘so you might want to record this.’

Fisher’s taking his small recorder from his pocket. Switching it on and placing it on the centre console between the seats. ‘Can you introduce yourself, please?’ Fisher’s asking.

‘My name’s Calum MacLean. I’ve worked for Peter Jamieson for about six months.’ Why stop at the introduction? He knows what he wants to say. He’s not here to be questioned by Fisher – that’ll only lead to conflict. There are certain things Calum wants to say, certain things to avoid. Just get on with the story. ‘It was his right-hand man, John Young, that got in touch with me first. I went into the club and met Jamieson and Young in the office there. They told me they wanted Lewis Winter dead. That was my job. To kill him.’

A quick glance at Fisher, who’s glaring back at him. Opening his mouth to say something. Calum’s carrying on. Don’t let the questions begin, or the story will never be told. Going through the details of the Winter hit and the aftermath. Throwing a few names at Fisher, but never stopping to gauge the reaction. If he takes one glance sideways, that will serve as an invite for Fisher to start the questions. Give Fisher the story he needs to hear about Winter – that was Fisher’s case, and he got no one. He needs to know why. Names. They’re easy to throw around. Jamieson and Young. Shug and Fizzy. Winter and Davidson. Easy. Easy to hold back the ones he doesn’t want to share. George. He’ll keep George’s involvement a secret. Dates are harder to remember. You work as a gunman, it means you live an isolated life. You don’t have a memory of events by which to remember times. Long periods of nothing. So he can’t provide dates, but Fisher can piece them together himself. So he’s giving as much as he can.

Calum’s pausing. Not deliberately. It’s just that this is very uncomfortable. Not because he’s telling it to a cop, but because he’s telling it to anyone. You live your life with big secrets and they come to define you. Suddenly giving them away to anyone is unnerving. Carry on; you pause, and you might never get started again. Talking about the safe house, the new flat, the late-night call. No mention of Emma. If anyone deserves to be left out of this . . .

Calum can sense a little movement from Fisher when he mentions Frank. Rattle through it. Tommy Scott and Andy McClure. Two more names to throw into the conversation. Explaining the circumstances of that night. A lot to explain. Then Frank. That’s a lot to talk about. Hard to say, hard for Fisher to hear. A few pauses there, but Fisher never interrupts. He needs to hear this. Needs to hear the detail. And he can tell how hard it is for Calum to say. He hates what he’s hearing, but he respects the difficulty of the tale. Respects it because he can hear the honesty. And now Calum’s reached Kenny and Hardy.

‘Jamieson knew that Kenny was talking to you. Got it from one of his contacts in your station. I don’t know who. He wanted to get rid of Kenny, punish him. Wanted rid of Hardy too, knew it would harm Shug Francis. People were talking about Jamieson and Shug. Couldn’t understand why Jamieson was taking so long to deal with Shug. Jamieson also had Alex MacArthur on board for this. See, Shug’s operation was leaking like a sieve at this point. As soon as Shug tried to set up a meeting with MacArthur, Jamieson knew about it. So he called MacArthur and they did a deal. They were going to screw Shug over. But Jamieson had plans. As soon as he was done with Shug, he was going after old MacArthur. He was going to use the Shug connection to make MacArthur a target. MacArthur’s fake deal with Shug was supposed to justify it. So me and Kenny went and picked up Hardy. Killed him. Kenny was digging the grave when I killed Kenny, too.

‘I knew maybe two months ago that I was going to get out. Get out of the business. Get out of the city. I was giving up too much to be good at what I did. So I decided to use those killings as an escape route. Jamieson and Young wouldn’t expect to hear from me for a week, maybe more. That gave me time to get everything I needed and get out. I needed help from someone I could trust. So I turned to my brother, William. He was happy to help. He’d wanted me to get out of the business for ages. He went and picked up the fake ID I was going to use, from a man called Barry Fairly. Must have been Fairly who grassed us up to Jamieson. I wanted them to think that maybe I’d been killed that night. The night I killed Hardy and Kenny. I wanted them to be unsure. Fairly ruined that. So Jamieson sent a man called Shaun Hutton to attack my brother. Hutton killed him.’

Calum’s stopped, and now he’s looking Fisher square in the face. Fisher isn’t saying anything. Sitting there looking back at him. A little puzzled. A little shocked. Not sure how much of this he can trust. Usually he would trust nothing. A man turns up and starts telling stories about the people he thinks are responsible for his brother’s death and you can ignore most of it. People blurt out all sorts of bullshit in the quest for revenge. This is different. What Calum’s said about himself makes this much more credible. Nobody offers that much incriminating evidence as part of a yarn. And a lot of what he’s said fits in with Fisher’s suspicions. Someone dying in Calum’s flat, for one thing. Calum disappeared and the place was deep-cleaned. Fisher knew something had happened there that was worth a meticulous cover-up.

‘What about before Jamieson?’ Fisher’s asking. Surprising himself with that question. It shouldn’t be the first. Focus on what’s right in front of you. But he feels a need to know more about this young man.

‘Before Jamieson I worked,’ Calum’s saying with a shrug. ‘But I haven’t come here to talk about before Jamieson. I’ve come here to talk about Jamieson.’

‘I have evidence that says Shug ordered the hit on Kenneth McBride and Richard Hardy.’

‘Your evidence is planted,’ Calum’s telling him. ‘They can manipulate all sorts of stuff to point you the wrong way. Phone records. Suggestions to coppers from contacts. They’ve been doing it for a while. I think that’s what kept me off your radar. You didn’t know I was the man you were looking for. Didn’t even know that it was someone working for Jamieson you should be chasing. They’re careful. Always plotting. Always playing the game.’

Fisher’s rubbing his forehead. He knows he shouldn’t let the conversation halt, but there’s too much to think about. He needs more detail – that’s a start. ‘The murder weapons—’ he’s starting, before Calum interrupts him.

‘All gone. Long gone. I always got my guns from a man called Roy Bowles,’ he’s saying. Fairly grassed, so he was grassed in turn. Now it’s the old man’s turn. ‘He’s an old pro, been in the business for years. I don’t have any of the weapons I got from him. I don’t know where they are.’

Fisher’s nodding. That makes sense. About the only thing that does. Taking another look at Calum. He’s just lost his brother, sure, so that makes him unpredictable. But this? A long-term gunman, low on the radar and successful, confessing and throwing names around. This doesn’t quite make sense. Not even if the boy was emotional, which he’s not. Told the whole thing with a cold voice. Like it was no big deal.

46

Hutton’s arrived at the club. Been parked across the street from the entrance for about five minutes. Pretending to check messages on his phone. Doing no such thing. Gathering his nerves. Got the call from Young about half an hour ago. Shouldn’t be nervous. This will be the job against Calum. Punished the brother, now it’s finally time to move against the man who matters. This is what Hutton’s good at. There’s a part of him that’s looking forward to it – the part that wants to feel comfortable with his work again. So far, the crossover and a job he hasn’t liked. They must know that he hasn’t liked being muscle for them. He’s not being paranoid here, but he’s convinced they’re unhappy with the work he’s done. This will turn it around. They hired him as a gunman, and a good performance against a well-regarded target like Calum MacLean overshadows all past poor performances.

He’s across the street and heading to the entrance. Stopping as he sees John Young coming along the street. Young seems to be giving him a dirty look. That’s not good. Hutton’s nodding a hello.

‘Come on,’ Young’s saying, leading him into the club. They’re going up the stairs without saying a word. Young going faster than Hutton because he’s used to them.

‘Is this about Calum?’ Hutton’s asking. There’s nobody around. No reason not to ask that Hutton can see. Yet the question’s getting a dirty glance from Young.

‘You could say that.’ That’s all he’s saying, pushing open the doors to the snooker room. You don’t ask a business question anywhere other than the office. Certainly not on the stairs of the club, where anyone can come and go. But his annoyance runs deeper. Hutton made Young look bad. Hutton’s incompetence made Young’s judgement seem suspect. There are few worse mistakes for an employee to make.

They’re walking through the snooker room. Hutton knowing enough to know that he should walk behind. Along the corridor and knocking on the office. Inside, taking seats. They’re in their usual places. Young on the couch to the side, Jamieson behind the desk. Hutton’s sitting on the chair in front of Jamieson, stewing. The atmosphere is wrong. If this is a call for a job, then the mood should be different. There should be tension, of course, but it should be excited tension. There should be a sense of people being busy. People wanting to get you in and out quickly. Don’t ever be seen with the gunman.

Not this time. Languid and angry. A strange atmosphere, that doesn’t bode well. Jamieson’s sitting opposite, looking sulky. Not even glancing at Young. The atmosphere between those two is what worries Hutton. A bad feeling towards himself is scary, sure. Means they’re not happy with his performance and he has to step up his game. A bad feeling between Jamieson and Young could mean serious problems for the business. Could have consequences for everyone who works for them.

‘William MacLean’s dead,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. Looking at him accusingly. It’s taking Shaun Hutton a few seconds to remember the name.

‘Oh,’ he’s saying. Then saying nothing else, because what else do you say? Jamieson’s just told him that he botched a job. Worst kind of botch. Brought a murder investigation to their doorstep. Anything he says now will only antagonize.

‘Oh? Is that it? Oh? And that explains why you kicked the bugger to death, does it?’

Apparently saying nothing antagonizes as well. ‘I didn’t think I gave him that much of a kicking. I went, I isolated him, I did the job I was given. I didn’t mean for him to die. Look, that was muscle-work. I never said I knew muscle-work.’ Now he’s stopping, because his brain is catching up with his mouth. Brain isn’t happy with mouth’s performance. He’s just suggested that Young made the mistake by sending him to do the job. Just admitted that he can’t be trusted with muscle-work.

Jamieson’s glancing across at Young. He can see Young bristle, but Young won’t say anything. He’ll stick to protocol. Jamieson won’t. Not today. He has things he has to say. Dereliction of duty if he doesn’t. And he needs to vent.

‘So it’s someone else’s fault, because you don’t know how to kick the shit out of someone without killing them? Is that it?’

‘That’s not—’ Hutton’s starting, before being silenced by Jamieson’s growing rage.

‘It was a rhetorical question.’ He’s standing up now. ‘You fucked up. Badly. Worse than badly. You killed the wrong fucking brother. Now Calum’s out there somewhere, walking round with a grudge. How do you think that’s going to work out? That’s rhetorical, too,’ Jamieson’s shouting before anyone can open their mouth. ‘You had a very simple job to do. You failed, and failed badly. You’re finished with us.’

Hutton knows what that means. His name is about to become poison. He’s about to become unemployable in this city. Even as a freelancer, he’ll struggle for work. Might have to move away, but even that might not be all of it. He could become a target. The man who knows too much. He’s opening his mouth to say something, but Young’s beaten him to it.

‘Peter, come on.’ Looking across at Jamieson. Trying to talk him down, but knowing he may be wasting his breath. Jamieson’s anger isn’t out of control. On the contrary. He’s thought about this. He knows what he’s doing here. The cold anger. Seems like he’s lashing out, but he’s not. He’s plotted this, and is now delivering the message. It’s one that Young doesn’t think should be delivered to the guilty party. You don’t tell a man that he’s a potential target.

‘Get out,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. ‘Come on. Get up and get out. Don’t show your face here again. We’re done, you and me. Finished. Go on, piss off!’

Hutton’s getting slowly to his feet. Looking across at Young. Young’s giving him a little nod. A nod that tells him to do as he’s told. Leave, but Young will try to work on this. Might not be as bad as it looks. That’s what Hutton’s thinking. Hoping. Making his way to the door and out of the office. Praying that this is an elaborate warning. Good cop, bad cop. The boss fires you; his right-hand man calls you up a few hours later and tells you you’re back in the organization. Just keep your nose clean and standards high from now on. Makes sense to Hutton. The right-hand man’s the one you deal with most often. The one you need to like. Fear the boss, like his deputy. And Hutton can change things. There’s something he can do. First he needs a drink to kill his nerves. As he’s making his way down the stairs, he’s telling himself that this isn’t over. It just feels like it.