by Owen Mullen
‘Box clever? Joking, aren’t you? Ever heard anything like it, Nina? Rollie Anderson tried to kill all of us yesterday and your brother wants us to box clever.’
Nina started to speak but Danny closed her down. ‘Anderson’s going to get what he deserves.’
I said, ‘I agree.’
‘Then, what was that about?’
‘For Stanford’s benefit. You don’t believe he was in the dark about the raid, do you? My disappearing act spoiled the surprise. Otherwise he’d be discussing his new arrangement with Anderson this morning.’
‘Thank Christ. Thought you’d gone soft.’
We spent the next hour discussing what to do, Danny as animated as I’d ever seen him, throwing out suggestions, each more violent than the last. Finally, I said, ‘Forget the ‘Gunfight at the O.K. Corral’ stuff, he’ll be prepared for that. Don’t play his game.’
‘So we do what exactly? Let him get away with it? Not a chance.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. Hit him where it hurts, his earners.’
Danny needed action; he needed revenge. ‘No. If people think Anderson’s got us on the run, they’ll start taking liberties.’
Nina interrupted him. ‘Give Luke a chance. At least listen to what he has to say.’
Danny ignored her. ‘George Ritchie’s the key. Without him, Rollie’s just a silly boy out of his depth. Ritchie’s had a good innings, time he was retired.’
I struggled to believe what I was hearing. ‘Are you serious? Word on the inside says Rollie’s a ticking bomb. He’s already crazy-mad at me. Ritchie’s old-school and shrewd. I’m surprised he didn’t take over after Albert. He’ll put the brakes on anything too outrageous. We don’t want him out of the picture at this stage. Later maybe, but not now.’
‘Yeah? You think?’
‘I do think.’
‘Then tell me, where was this great influence yesterday when Anderson damn near ended you and me?’
I didn’t have an answer for him. ‘I’d bet the move on the King Pot didn’t come from George. By himself, Rollie’s unpredictable. You can’t second-guess a lunatic. Ritchie’s the wrong target. You wanted me involved, okay, I’m involved. Listen to what I’m saying or let me go.’
Danny didn’t blink for half a minute, finally he said, ‘So you’re for holding off?’
‘Only until we can do some real damage. Get Stanford to come back with information we can use to cripple Anderson. About his shipments and when he shifts his money. Everything. Cut him off at the knees.’
‘All right, we’ll do it your way, see where it gets us.’
Nina clapped her hands derisively. ‘Finally, the fucking dinosaur sees sense.’
I carried on. ‘We let him sweat. When we don’t come at him, he’ll get nervous.’
My brother agreed. ‘Waiting’s hard. Not everybody’s built for it. Takes nerve. Let’s find out how much he has.’
I turned the conversation back to the DCI. ‘How long has Stanford been on the books?’
‘Three years.’
‘Value for money?’
‘Over the course, yeah.’
‘How much are we paying him?’
‘Enough. It won’t save him though because he’s living beyond his means. Up to his arse in debt. Should see the house.’
‘I don’t trust him.’
Danny gave me a strange look. ‘Do I seem thick to you?’
‘No.’
His face coloured, the anger was back. ‘Well, don’t treat me like I am. Stanford’s dodgy as a three-pound note. He doesn’t trust us. We don’t trust him. The perfect relationship.’
‘All I’m saying is, he needs watching.’
‘’Course he does, he’s police.’ He spoke to Nina without looking at her. ‘You can go, just stay alive to anything unusual. You might not be Number One on Anderson’s list but he’d settle for you if he has to. And leave your mobile switched on. I want to be able to contact you at all times. Our family’s under attack. We need to pull together.’
Nina threw her head back and confronted him full on. ‘So that’s it. I’m dismissed. No place for a silly woman at the Big Boys’ table. Well, fuck you, Danny Glass. I’m here and I’m staying. This affects me as much as anybody, and here’s a newsflash – I’ve got a vote, too.’
Before he could react, I jumped in. ‘Of course, you’ve got a vote. What’re you thinking?’
The intervention worked but it showed how brittle their relationship was.
Nina said, ‘Anderson will do any of us, all of us if he can, but it’s you he’s really after.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Then take the heat out of the situation.’
‘Yeah, how?’
‘Get out of London – for a while at least? Leave tonight.’ She glanced at Danny. ‘He intends to go anyway.’
His right hand closed in a fist. ‘Until this thing’s over, nobody’s going anywhere, get that through your skull. I need Luke here. Running away – and that’s what he’d be doing – isn’t an option. Don’t mention it again.’
Nina faced him down and said: ‘If you’re depending on that smarmy copper to protect us, you’re kidding yourself.’
Danny rose out of his chair. ‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you. ’Course I’m not depending on Stanford, what do you take me for? Oliver Stanford’s a snake. In some ways, worse than Anderson. I’ll have people on both of you, so you can forget the little disappearing acts you’re so fond of doing in the middle of the afternoon.’
Nina blanched, her jaw dropped and Danny smiled.
‘Think I didn’t know about it? You must be joking. And by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, my birthday’s coming up. There’s a party in the pub. I expect you to be there and that isn’t an invitation – it’s an order.’
When Nina left, Danny got up and paced the room. I waited a long time for him to speak; eventually, he did, and surprised me. ‘I blame myself. Should’ve wiped the bastard off the map. Finished what you started. This is the result.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
He faced me. ‘I’ll tell you the truth but it never leaves this room. I bottled it. Danny Glass didn’t have the stones.’
Admitting failure wasn’t something my brother was famous for. He rubbed his eyes like a tired child. ‘Rebecca and Cheryl were gone… you were gone… Nina didn’t say anything but I knew everyone thought it was my fault for not being there. I don’t know… Was as much as I could do to get out of bed in the morning.’
Hearing him open up about the bomb that killed Cheryl and Rebecca was odd, like listening to a stranger’s story. I wasn’t sure what to say. ‘You were in shock.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I told myself.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘Months and months. Best part of a year. I tried to keep it from you.’
‘By stopping coming to see me?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘Did you speak to anybody about how you felt?’
He let out a dismissive grunt. ‘What? Do a Tony Soprano? Bawling my eyes out on a psychiatrist’s couch? ’Course not.’
‘Might have helped.’
‘Yeah? And pay for some quack’s villa in Marbella. Not likely. My childhood was shit. My father and mother fucked me up. So what? Nothing changes the fact I should have ended it there and then.’
Danny rubbed his eyes. ‘Rollie was a kid and didn’t look like a threat. Shows how out of it I must have been. I froze and gave him a second chance.’
‘So, what’s his strength?’
‘Compared to us, he’s nobody.’
‘Nobody almost blew us away.’
‘There’s always that. He’s been a pain in the arse for years but nothing serious. Until yesterday.’
‘What’s he into these days?’
‘The usual. A couple of security firms, one in Peckham, one in Lambeth. Taxis. Two or three boozers. Part of his operation is the girls he runs. Sluts from Moldavia
and the like – English tarts aren’t good enough. Brings them in for half the gangs in London. Wouldn’t mind taking that over. And a club: the Picasso. Rollie’s the best customer, and he’s as queer as a bottle of chips. Old Albert will be turning in his grave.’
‘No drugs?’
‘Nothing that affects us.’
‘He’s done all right, considering.’
‘Because of George Ritchie.’
‘Albert’s Brain?’
‘Except now, he’s Rollie’s Brain. Seven years ago, Rollie would’ve started something he couldn’t finish. Ritchie talked him down. The idea of using outside shooters would have come from him.’
I glanced at the Rolex he’d given me. Danny saw me and wasn’t pleased. ‘Sorry. Am I keeping you from something? You do know we’ve got decisions to make?’
I made one last stab at changing his mind.
‘Look. You hit Anderson, he hits back and, okay, you beat him. Maybe Nina’s got a point. Wouldn’t it be easier if I wasn’t around? I mean, he hasn’t been a real problem ’til I showed up. Inside I did plenty of thinking and…’
Danny interrupted, irritation in his voice. ‘Thought this was settled. Forget Anderson, we’ll deal with him, I need you here.’
‘You keep saying that. Why?’
He stood, close to shouting. ‘Because I do, that’s why. Any idea how much we turned last year?’
‘No.’
‘Neither do I, that’s how much. Things are a lot different these days. Rollie’s getting a slap, no question, but it’s time you started pulling your weight. Christ knows I’ve carried you long enough.’
The veins in his neck stuck out. ‘I was a good sport about you giving the party a miss. You did us a favour, as it happens. Now it’s time to make a contribution. Stop talking and start acting like a Glass.’
He calmed down as quickly as he’d blown up. ‘It’s about trust, Luke. Who can I trust if I can’t trust my own brother, eh?’
England expects and all that bollocks.
Danny wasn’t done. ‘Putting Anderson back in his box is just part of it. It’s the team that’s important. The Glass kids play a team game.’
His understanding of a team game was everybody, including me, doing what he said. Buying into his bullshit had taken me where I’d never wanted to go. Prison was a great teacher and I’d had all the time in the world to learn and think what had gone wrong with my life: who I owed and who owed me. None of it was a defence against my brother. He felt my resolve weaken and pressed home his advantage.
‘Nothing trumps family. Nothing.’
I shook his hand and said goodbye to everything I’d planned during the long dark nights in Wandsworth. He’d won.
I’d told Danny about not being able to shake the feeling of being watched, down-playing it because I didn’t want him to think I’d gone soft. He’d studied me the way a boy studies a bee in a jar, his dark eyes a mix of curiosity and pity. ‘Could be a reaction to almost getting killed the first day you’re out. Or, because somebody is watching you.’
‘You mean Anderson.’
‘I mean anybody with a grudge, and yeah, he fits the bill. Told you yesterday – not everybody’s pleased to see you back. It’s a mistake to assume Anderson’s planning to leave it a while before he tries again.’
Danny went into guardian angel mode.
‘That’s why we need you covered. What’re you up to today?’
‘Thought I’d have a look around.’
‘Who with?’
‘By myself?’
He snorted his disapproval. ‘After what you’ve just told me? Forget it.’
‘I’m a big boy, Danny.’
My independence exasperated him. ‘Anderson almost did for you. From now on you don’t go anywhere alone.’
I didn’t fight it.
‘Okay, where’s Felix?’
‘I meant somebody reliable.’
‘Get me Felix.’
Marcus gave me a look that left me in no doubt he felt the same about me as I did about him. We hadn’t had much to do with each other when Cheryl and Rebecca were still alive and there was no real reason for the animosity that hung between us. Maybe our paths had crossed in another life.
My brother said, ‘Luke’s going walkabout.’
‘Sure, Danny.’
‘He wants Felix with him, Christ knows why.’
In the car, I straightened out the confusion Felix might be feeling about what working with me meant. ‘Any repeat of the King Pot fiasco and it’s over for you. Get it?’
‘Yeah, I fucked up. No excuses. Everybody was having a good time, everything was cool. I mean, who gatecrashes a Danny Glass party? I thought…’
I wasn’t interested in his version.
‘There’s your trouble right there: you thought. In future do your job. Leave the thinking to other people.’
‘Thanks, anyway.’
‘You’re welcome. It won’t happen a second time.’
9
The Picasso Club was in darkness. In the basement, Rollie Anderson cradled a whisky, unaware that a few miles away Oliver Stanford was climbing the stairs to the office above the King of Mesopotamia and his meeting with Danny Glass. Rollie finished his drink, refilled the tumbler then emptied half of it in one go. Straight Scotch caught the back of his throat, its harshness pleasing him, about the only thing that did.
George Ritchie, his nephew, Jonjo Hart and Charlie Thompson watched their young boss drown his sorrows. Thompson, a heavy-set Liverpudlian more effective with his fists than most thugs were with a knife, shot a glance at twenty-three-year-old Jonjo Hart. Getting drunk wasn’t a good idea right now. Hart had followed his uncle, George from the north-east to the capital and hooked-up with him in South London. Thompson and Hart didn’t rate Anderson but would follow Ritchie anywhere.
Ritchie spoke to Rollie. ‘Go easy on that stuff. We need clear heads.’
Rollie’s petulant reply revealed his state of mind. ‘Do we?’
‘Yes. Today and every day from now on.’
Anderson glared at his father’s old lieutenant for admonishing him and kept his hands out of sight so the others in the room wouldn’t see his slender fingers shaking. He was gutted, unable to believe they’d failed. Yesterday, surprise was on their side. Now, regaining the territory Albert had controlled would be ten times harder. Even holding onto what they had might not be possible. The Glass family should’ve been stone cold on mortuary slabs, while he settled to the task of running the biggest criminal organisation either side of the Thames.
But the brothers survived the attack and the celebration he’d planned had become a wake.
Rollie Anderson was nineteen when his father was murdered, too immature and headstrong to be in charge of his operation. Fortunately for him, wise counsel was close by. George Ritchie, Albert’s right-hand man for fourteen years, kept the young hothead in check and slowly helped him rebuild the family business. In the early days, Rollie had trusted Ritchie – he’d known him most of his life – and listened to him even when the advice wasn’t easy to accept. But with time, that changed. Albert Anderson’s boy grew tired of being told that sooner or later the solution or the opportunity would arrive.
Well, it had, and they’d botched it.
Rollie’s face was pale; he didn’t feel well. ‘The chance was there and we blew it.’
Ritchie had been in the dark about the raid and only found out after it had happened. There would be a time for anger. This wasn’t it. He kept his in check.
‘It was bad luck. Nobody’s fault. The brothers should’ve been in the bar. Who could’ve known they’d have other ideas?’
‘“Nobody’s fault.”’ Anderson repeated the phrase in a monotone, his eyes boring into his lieutenant. ‘Is that supposed to help, George? Because it doesn’t. It doesn’t fucking help anything.’
‘Rollie, it was—’
‘Bad luck, yeah, you told me. We showed our hand. They’ve been warned. Our ad
vantage is gone. And fucking Luke Glass is still breathing.’ Anderson choked back his disappointment. ‘That bastard murdered my father.’
Ritchie knew luck had nothing to do with it. The attack had gone wrong. Apart from the fact it obviously hadn’t been properly planned – for Christ’s sake, they didn’t know the brothers weren’t there – it was a crazy idea to begin with, a high-risk strategy he would never have sanctioned – the reason he’d been left out of the loop. History repeating itself. With Albert it had been a car bomb he’d put under Glass’s car. Now, like a spoiled child, Anderson was lashing out. Weak and pathetic. Though it raised another issue: George Ritchie had stepped in and salvaged a leaderless organisation on the understanding that Rollie – still not yet twenty – would eventually take over. He’d assumed a gradual transition with him fading into the background. That time had come, except the son wasn’t ready. And he might never be ready because he didn’t have what it took.
Ritchie tried to reassure his young boss. ‘We keep our heads down and tighten security. Glass will get his. In the long run, we’ll nail him.’
‘Will we? You sure? Because it didn’t go off when it was supposed to, did it? We haven’t enough men on the ground for an all-out fight.’
A pity the stupid bastard hadn’t thought of that before. There was nobody to blame but himself. Ritchie was ahead of him, as ever smoothing the ground. ‘Not a problem. I’ve already been on to Liverpool and Birmingham. We can turn this thing around. Six months down the line, it’ll all look different.’
‘That a promise, George?’
‘That’s a promise, Rollie. But first things first. They’re bound to come back at us. We need to be ready.’
Luke had been gone less than a minute before Danny Glass pressed the buzzer on his desk. Marcus reappeared. ‘Got a job for you. Find out everything you can about George Ritchie.’
‘Everything meaning what?’
‘Start with what he had for breakfast this morning and take it from there.’
‘Thought it was his boss we’d be going after.’
‘Don’t think. Thinking isn’t your strong suit, Marcus. Just do it.’