The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (5 page)

Now the car. This is easier. This is the old routine. Driving east to his brother’s garage. His older brother William has a majority share in a garage from which Calum borrows cars for jobs. People bring a car in to be fixed; William lets Calum borrow it for a few hours. Rarely more than that. William asks no questions. He knows enough to realize that knowing more would be dangerous. Calum’s own car is parked on the street outside the garage. There’s a parking space three cars down from it. Calum’s driving slowly, taking a careful look up and down the street. Nobody in view. Calum once asked his brother if there were CCTV cameras on the street. William laughed. There aren’t many businesses on this street any more. Nobody is going to pay for that. Nobody wants it. William’s is not the only business with little things to hide.

Stepping out of the car and onto the street. The keys are in the visor, he’s closing the door. He doesn’t want to be seen with the car. The car might become the key to any police investigation. They might work out that it was used in the disappearance of two men. They might appeal for anyone who saw it this night. Dropping into his own car. Familiarity. Wonderful, comforting familiarity. Pulling down the visor, the keys dropping into his lap. You take nothing with you on a job, not even your car keys. Starting up and pulling away. Driving back to his flat and parking two streets away. A flat that’s never felt like home. That never will. If he could, he would never go back. Doesn’t have that luxury. One last visit.

He’s touching the front of his coat, feeling the shape of the gun. Should have got rid of it. On any other night, any other job, he would. But this isn’t any other job. This, he intends, will be his last.

6

Peter Jamieson’s been sitting in his office for the last couple of hours. The one point in a big job when there’s nothing he can do. You plan it. You deal with the aftermath. The job itself is for others. Calum and Kenny were sent to do a job that will never be spoken of. That shameless little bastard Kenny. Still makes Jamieson’s blood boil to think of it. Talking to the police and still turning up here every day, pretending to be a loyal employee. Telling tales to the enemy. Shit! Jamieson trusted Kenny. Thought he was a solid guy. Not too bright, not too impressive, but solid. You just don’t know. First Frank MacLeod, now this. As soon as John Young came to him with the revelation, Jamieson knew what he was going to do. Two birds with one stone. Kenny would pay the price; but he needs to put Kenny out of his mind for now. There are other things to deal with.

Jamieson’s behind his desk, as he always is. Young’s sitting on the couch to Jamieson’s left, where he always is. Just the two of them. The office is above Jamieson’s nightclub. Soundproofed, but imperfectly. You can still feel the little thumps of the music below. Usually ignorable, but annoying on a night like tonight. A night of action. A night when you need to be switched on. Things can, and do, go wrong. Have gone wrong recently. Tonight should change that. Tonight, and the next few days, should change it all.

‘We should have done this months ago,’ Jamieson’s saying to his right-hand man. ‘No matter the bullshit that was going on.’

Young’s nodding. ‘Maybe. Less risk now, though. Doing it now means doing it right. Doing it perfect. Couldn’t guarantee that before.’

Jamieson’s nodding, and tapping the desk with his forefinger. Glancing across at Young and suddenly laughing. This is it! This is what it’s all about. The action, the thrill, the risk. This is what they’re in it for.

‘I’ve set up a meeting with that goofy prick, Kirk,’ Young’s saying.

Jamieson’s frowning. There are plenty of goofy pricks to choose from, and this particular name doesn’t ring a bell. ‘Who?’

‘Fellow works for the phone company. I’ll get him to set up a few fake calls. Put them in the records. Shug to a gunman, gunman to Shug. I’ll use Des Collins as the gunman. He’s technically freelance. It’ll look legit.’

They’ve discussed this already. The phone calls are just a little extra. Jamieson doesn’t think they’re necessary, but Young likes this sort of thing. His chance to be nice and busy.

‘I still don’t think you should be meeting him. It’s a risk. He’ll blab. You should send someone else to do it.’

‘It’s fine,’ Young’s saying with a shrug. ‘The kid doesn’t know shit from chocolate. He can grass all he wants – I have deniability.’

Fine, the calls are a bonus. But the job is important. People will notice that Kenny’s gone. Not least the cop he was grassing to. Someone has to take the blame. For that and for Hardy. Shug is linked to Hardy. The police will check Shug’s phone records. They’ll find he made calls to a known gunman, Des Collins. Suddenly the police aren’t even considering Peter Jamieson for the crime any more. Shug’s link to Hardy would have set the police on that trail anyway. Still, you can never have too much evidence against your enemies. Collins does most of his work for Alex MacArthur. So the police start sniffing around old MacArthur. They won’t do anything, but sniffing around weakens him. Then things get interesting. Jamieson puts the Shug battle behind him. Victory achieved. A risk, but one every organization has to take if it wants to grow.

This is where John Young’s speciality really comes into play. The planning and scheming. Playing people along. Reading the movements of others before they make them. He loves it. Always has. Always where his strength lay. Young was the planner. Jamieson the man of action. Action gets you to the very top. Planning gets you second in command. They’re both comfortable with that.

‘Marty’s been sniffing around a lot as well,’ Young’s saying. An amused glance across the room to Jamieson. He knows what reaction this is going to get.

‘Tell him to fuck off. Tell him to make sure he pays me what I’m owed from him, the bastard.’

Young’s smiling. ‘I’ve told him that often enough. He’s trying to ingratiate himself. Get back in the good books. There’s nothing he won’t do to win you round.’

Jamieson shudders. ‘Tell him he’d be wise to keep his distance for now. He tried to rob me of my cut. If he didn’t make so much damn money, I would have dealt with him before now.’

Young’s smiling again. Marty Jones is a lot of things. He’s a pimp, for one thing. A loan-shark, too. Has his fingers in all sorts of pies, as it happens. Has a knack for making good money, fast. It’s the one thing that keeps him popular.

Jamieson’s sneaking a glance at his watch. The main job of the night should be done by now. He’s waiting for a phone call. Not from Calum. That won’t come. This is something else. Something separate. So much going on.

‘You know they arrested Potty Cruickshank,’ he says.

‘Good,’ Young’s saying with no interest. He heard this news a week ago. Cruickshank’s another loan-shark. Another scumbag. One of the very worst. No friend to the Jamieson organization.

‘I hear that Cruickshank has Paul Greig in his pocket. Then I hear that the evidence to arrest him can only have come from Greig.’

Young’s looking across the room. Frowning. ‘I know not to trust Greig. He’s not on anyone’s side. Cruickshank should have known that. One of the good things about Shug trusting him. Greig’s only on his own side. He still filters things back to his superiors. It’s why they put up with him.’

Jamieson’s sighing. They shouldn’t be anywhere near the likes of Greig. Too much risk.

The phone’s ringing. Jamieson looks at the display. Looks across to Young and nods his head. This is the call he’s been waiting for. As Jamieson says hello, Young’s getting up to leave. He could stay and listen, just doesn’t see the need. Jamieson will tell him everything he needs to know about the conversation. In the meantime there are other things to get along with. Meetings to arrange. There’s a little part of him, a tiny part, that wishes he could do some of the dirty work. Young thinks about men like Calum, and Frank MacLeod. Okay, Frank was a traitor. Nothing to be envious about there. But the life he lived. The thrills he had. Something you just can’t get by making phone calls. The sort of thrill that Calum MacLean is getting right now. That’s another one he’ll have to keep an eye on. Question marks about Calum’s commitment. Still. Shit, he likes a challenge, but it used to be easier than this.

Young has a little office downstairs that he almost never uses. The fact that it’s downstairs is one reason. The fact that it isn’t soundproofed is another. The racket tonight. Jesus, you can’t hear yourself think! Sounds like someone battering a dog with a bag of spanners. And they call it music. He was going to make a call, but now he won’t bother. Now he’s just killing ten minutes. Waiting until he knows that Jamieson’s finished on the phone. It irks a little. Just a little. Young does so much work to set these things up; Jamieson handles the key call. That means he gets all the credit for this. Not a problem. Not really. Young’s used to it. It’s fine, it’s just – it would be nice for him to be able to close out a job, not just plan it. Less than ten minutes. Fuck it, this music is giving him a headache. He’s going back upstairs. Through the snooker room and along the corridor to Jamieson’s office. Inside, and seeing that Jamieson’s finished his call. Young gives him a questioning nod.

‘Everything’s on,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘As expected.’

7

He didn’t tell her what it was, but he didn’t need to. He was scared of the job.

‘If you don’t think you can do it, then tell them,’ she said to him last night, but Kenny just shook his head.

‘It’s not that I can’t do it. I can. It’s a driving job. Just another driving job. Really, don’t worry about it. It’s a bit different from what I’m used to, that’s all. Just a different sort of driving job. As long as I’m careful . . .’ he trailed off. ‘And I won’t be alone; I’ll be with good people.’ He said that as if he meant it. As if he was confident of the quality of his companions, whoever they would be.

Deana didn’t say anything else about it. Now she wishes she had, no matter how uncomfortable the subsequent conversation would have been.

It was late, that’s her excuse. Kenny came back from the club at close to midnight. She was already in bed; he was undressing as he told her that he had a big job tomorrow, and then a couple of days off afterwards. He never explained why he was getting a couple of days off. He hinted that it was because the job was so big. Maybe the sort of thing that requires you to keep your head down. He’d never had anything like that before. Not in his life. She knows him well enough to know he’ll struggle. He doesn’t cope well under pressure; it’s why she’s always been able to dominate the relationship. Now it’s twenty-four hours later. She’s lying in bed again, looking at the clock. Half past midnight. He told her he’d be home by eleven. Probably earlier. He’s been late before, plenty of times. Much later than this. But this feels different, and she thinks she knows why.

Deana encouraged Kenny to go to the police. It was the right thing to do. No matter what’s happened, it was the right thing to do. He told her everything. Too much. If he’d kept some of his worries to himself, then he’d never have set up the meeting with DI Fisher. Kenny didn’t have the guts to do it himself. He needed a push, so Deana pushed. He was worried about Jamieson taking so long to deal with Shug Francis. Worried it was a sign of weakness. If Jamieson’s organization was picked apart, where would that leave Kenny? He’s just a driver, nothing else. Ten a penny. Whoever took over Jamieson’s patch wouldn’t need him, they’d have plenty of drivers of their own. He’d have no work. Worse still, no protection. Sure, people take over an organization and want to keep the old employees happy. They keep as many as possible on the books. They offer protection. But that generosity is for people who matter. It rarely finds its way down the food chain to drivers.

Kenny was worried sick. Convinced that Jamieson was tripping over too many small distractions. Sure that Shug was getting the upper hand, or at least showing others how vulnerable Jamieson really was. If Shug didn’t get him, then someone else soon would. He told Deana all this, and she told him what to do. Go to the police. Give them little bits of information – nothing that can incriminate Kenny. In exchange they offer you a little protection, if Jamieson’s world implodes. Better than nothing. Only safety net you can get. So he set up the meeting, went and saw the cop. Three times now. It seemed easy. Seemed to go well. There was no suggestion that anyone had found out. He was actually getting used to being a grass. Losing his fear of it.

Now this job. Something that unnerved him. Something out of the blue. You might say she’s reading too much into it, but it’s past two o’clock in the morning now, and he’s still not home. It was obviously something big, this job. Now much as she loves Kenny – in a comfortable, unfaithful sort of way – she knows he’s not a man for the big occasion. Hard to believe that people as smart as Peter Jamieson and John Young don’t know it, too. But they sent him. Desperation? Could be, but Kenny seemed to think they were getting on top of things. He kept suggesting the organization was back on track. No whiff of weakness to be had. So they deliberately sent him on a job they knew he wasn’t the best person for. Well, that’s not like them at all. Kenny’s come home on umpteen occasions and told her how careful they are about recruitment. Told her tales of picking up new employees. Tales of the lengths that are gone to, making sure the right person does the right job. They don’t suddenly get sloppy.

Half past two and Kenny’s still not home. Deana’s out of bed and downstairs. Just walking back and forth in the living room. Going over to the window and sitting on the ledge, looking out into the street. Waiting for a car to pull up. Beginning to worry about what car it will be. Let’s say for a minute that this wasn’t Jamieson setting Kenny up. That this wasn’t his punishment for talking to the police. Let’s say instead that they went along on this job, and something’s gone wrong. They’ve been caught. Maybe the car that pulls up at the house will be a police car. Come to tell her that Kenny’s buried under a mountain of shit, and would she mind coming to the station to discuss what she knows about his life. Not beyond the realms of possibility. Put that on the back burner for now. For now, the fear is that Jamieson knows, and tonight was punishment time.