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by Owen Mullen


  ‘Do any of you understand what’s going on? Are you completely fucking stupid? Anderson could come at us right now. Get your act together before we retire the lot of you. Permanently. We aren’t paying you to get pissed. We’re paying you to do your job. If you can’t, fuck off, we don’t need you.’

  Was this really the best we could find? If it was, we were in trouble.

  The barman got it next. ‘From now on nobody drinks while they’re supposed to be working. I catch you serving them and you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Danny doesn’t mind.’

  ‘You’re not talking to Danny, you’re talking to me and, yeah, he does mind. Now, clean that mess up. Felix, help him.’

  Upstairs the door was closed. I opened it and went in. Danny was still wearing the coat he’d had on in Kent. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Silent rage boiled off him, a sign of the impotence he was feeling. All my life, anger had been my brother’s default reaction. But this was bad. His jaw moved and nothing came out. Five hours after the raid and he was literally too furious to speak. Eventually he did, his voice thick and slurred as if he’d had a stroke.

  ‘What kept you?’

  I didn’t reply and sat down across from him. He needed to take his frustration out on somebody.

  ‘Took your bloody time getting here, didn’t you?’

  Being around Danny meant constantly having to navigate his mood swings. Usually it was wiser to just let him blow off steam, but occasionally – very occasionally – pushing back got a better result than going along with his bullshit. This was one of those times.

  ‘Consider yourself lucky I’m not at St Pancras stepping onto the Eurostar.’

  My defiance worked. Some of the aggression disappeared.

  ‘Those bastards made a right show of us.’ He rubbed the corners of his cheeks and laughed bitterly.

  ‘By now it’ll be all over London. Every loser south of the river will be having a good old chuckle and word will spread: Danny Glass is on the way down.’

  He fought to get himself under control. This was a Danny even I’d never seen, wounded and capable of anything, in its way more disturbing because I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. I leaned over the desk and pressed his hand.

  ‘Fuck other people. Danny Glass is worth ten of them. Team Glass, remember?’

  The veins in his neck were thin blue wires, taut under the skin. Suddenly, he relaxed and the tension went out of him, replaced by a sly smile. He eased his fingers free of mine, laughing again, and I realised I was being mocked.

  ‘You really believe I’d let this morning get to me? You actually think that could happen? Not a chance, little brother. Not a snowball’s.’

  The anger had been real. The despair had been a performance for my benefit, an act to get me to buy into his idea of us. And I’d fallen for it. He’d even got me to say it: Team Glass. Danny patted my cheek none too gently and put a hand on my shoulder as if I were the one who needed comforting.

  ‘Got a lot to learn, Luke. Thought you of all people knew me better than that.’

  Apparently not. He went over to the jukebox and pressed a key. Joe Cocker rasped his way into ‘With a Little Help from My Friends’ and it dawned on me how badly I’d underestimated my brother. What happened next confirmed it.

  I said, ‘Some of the guys are downstairs waiting for orders.’

  Danny tossed his reply casually over his shoulder, almost like he’d forgotten to tell me and wouldn’t have remembered if I hadn’t brought it up.

  ‘They’re too late. Made my move an hour ago.’

  Before I could ask what he meant, his phone rang. Oliver Stanford was angry. Danny listened, ended the call and turned to me. ‘Ollie’s not best pleased.’

  ‘What’s his problem?’

  ‘Who cares? The day I start worrying about what might upset him is the day I’m ready for the knacker’s yard.’

  ‘Be careful, Danny. If he needs sorting, do it, but not now, not while this lot’s going on.’

  He reached down and pulled a Beretta 9000S and a packet of Xanax from a drawer.

  ‘Don’t know which one you need most. I’ll tell you, bro, you haven’t been right since you came out of Wandsworth.’ He tossed the gun and the pills across to me. ‘Whatever you do, don’t get them mixed up and blow your bloody head off.’

  18

  Elise Stanford slowed down and pointed the Mercedes towards the drive of her mock-Tudor house. Behind the wheel a headscarf hid her blonde hair. She wore no make-up – with the tan from their holiday in the Caribbean, none was needed.

  As she admitted to anyone who’d listen, she wasn’t ‘a morning person’. Oliver was usually gone by seven o’clock, often earlier, which meant dropping their two daughters at school was her responsibility. Elise didn’t mind. Her time was her own until she picked them up again at four. During the week the most taxing thing she did was sit on the committee of a local charity or have coffee with a group of like-minded ladies. None of the women worked, not because they were lazy – although most of them were – they already had jobs making sure their successful husbands stayed that way.

  Today, her ‘schedule’ was free apart from lunch with Alison Bentner, an old school friend who’d had the good sense to marry a banker. Elise had her mind on what to wear when she noticed something odd: the electric gates were open. Strange. She was certain she’d closed them on her way out. Half the time the bloody things didn’t work. The Mercedes rolled silently into the drive, past a tall man in sunglasses, a stranger to her upmarket neighbourhood, waiting on the pavement.

  Seeing him annoyed her. She almost asked what the hell he thought he was doing.

  The first hour after Elise came home was always spent reading the newspapers, full of the usual stuff – the goings-on of movie stars she’d never heard of, and politicians promising things they’d no hope of delivering. As Oliver’s wife, Elise had met more than her fair share and didn’t trust any of them. One piece caught her attention. According to the latest statistics, violent crime was on the increase and she quietly thanked God they’d moved to Hendon – a long slow drive into the city for Oliver, but not far from Aerodrome Road and the college when he was lecturing.

  Sunshine flooded the conservatory, her favourite part of The Old Coach House and something she’d always wanted. Oliver had come home one night and surprised her by announcing she could have it, waving away questions about how they were going to afford it.

  Elise remembered him kissing her forehead and saying, ‘All taken care of, darling. All taken care of.’

  Oliver Stanford was a good man.

  Her tea had gone cold and she went to the kitchen to make a fresh cup. The stranger was sitting on a swing tied to the branch of an oak tree the girls had played on at the bottom of the garden when they were younger, staring at her from behind his shades.

  Elise was outraged. This was private property. What the hell did he think he was doing? Obviously, he didn’t know who her husband was.

  Her indignation was short-lived. A second stranger rose from underneath the window, his empty expression inches from the glass. Elise cried out, backed away and dropped the kettle. Water washed across the flagstone floor. The man got off the swing and strode purposefully across the neat lawn. When he was close enough for her to see his eyes, he took off his sunglasses and smiled. Fear was a new experience for Elise Stanford. Being a policeman’s wife, she gave no thought to her personal safety. What was happening terrified her. She fumbled for her mobile and the first number on her speed dial.

  Oliver’s irritation came down the line. ‘Elise, we’ve spoken about this. I prefer you don’t call me at work. I could be in a meeting with the commander and it doesn’t play well. What is it? What do you want? If it’s to confirm some dinner party or some other nonsense I promise you, I won’t appreciate it.’

  The impatient tirade hardly registered with his wife. She struggled to get the words out.

  ‘Oliver�
� Oliver… there are two men at the window.’

  I followed Danny downstairs and saw relief on the faces of the troops at the bar. These guys weren’t employed for their brains. He was their leader and their meal-ticket. They depended on him to function. As part of Danny Glass’s crew, they had a place in the world. Without him they were nothing and most of them got that.

  Felix came forward with his hand outstretched. ‘Glad you’re okay, boss.’

  Foolish.

  Danny looked him up and down, pushed past and answered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘What you on about? ’Course I’m okay.’

  Said with a grin. Felix had to be tone deaf to miss the undercurrent of irritation in his voice. The others knew the score and stayed quiet while he bumbled on.

  ‘I mean… after…’

  A nod to the barman brought a large whisky. Danny threw it back in one go, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and faced the setback head-on, his voice clear and strong.

  ‘This morning was a balls-up. No use denying it. But it doesn’t matter. Anderson’s a dead man.’

  Felix didn’t learn – he interrupted. ‘When’re we going after the tossers?’

  I pulled the idiot aside. ‘Some advice for you, Felix. When you’re with my brother, never miss an opportunity to shut up.’

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  It didn’t deserve an answer and didn’t get one. Felix worked at persuading me how loyal he was. ‘I’m with Danny 100 per cent, 200 per cent. He knows that.’

  ‘Then do yourself a favour and button it.’

  Danny was standing in the centre of the group loudly telling a story as if he hadn’t a care in the world – faking it. He delivered the joke, everybody laughed and he glanced to where I was with the same sly smile on his face. He’d conned me in the office. This was a variation on the theme, convincing his men everything was all okay.

  Business as usual. Nothing to be concerned about.

  I wasn’t buying it.

  He breezed past Felix and headed for the stairs. Back in the office he kept the charade going. ‘Good guys. Rollie doesn’t understand what he’s started.’

  Only days out of Wandsworth and already I was tired of his horseshit. Also, I disagreed. Anderson knew exactly what he’d started and, so far, he’d had it all his own way.

  Danny sensed I wasn’t happy. ‘What’s wrong? Not enough action for you? Didn’t you say we should be unpredictable? No ‘Gunfight at the O.K. Corral’?’

  ‘There’s unpredictable and there’s stupid.’

  He dropped the laid-back crap and waved a finger to make his point.

  ‘Watch it, little brother. Just watch it. You haven’t a clue. The business survived without you for seven years, or had you forgotten? This is Danny Glass you’re talking to.’

  ‘Then stop playing games. I told you something wasn’t right.’

  A vein throbbed at his temple and I realised that – brother or not – I was pushing too hard. The words were said quietly, almost conversationally. All the more chilling for that.

  ‘Think you’re ready to take over, do you?’

  ‘That’s not what I said. You have to admit they’re taking the piss.’

  ‘Wrong, little brother, I don’t have to admit anything.’

  Footsteps running up the stairs broke in before the confrontation exploded. The door flew open and Oliver Stanford burst into the room. At our first meeting he’d been smug, even when Danny was laying into him. The superiority was missing now and he was white with anger.

  ‘You’re out of order, Glass. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, threatening my family?’

  Danny’s reply took both of us by surprise.

  ‘Right reaction, copper.’

  19

  Stanford spoke through gritted teeth. ‘My wife knows nothing about our arrangements and that’s how it stays.’

  ‘Then she’s living in cloud cuckoo land. Where does she think the money comes from? She can’t believe they pay you that well. You’ve married an idiot, Oliver.’

  ‘Elise doesn’t get involved with money.’

  Danny leaned back in his chair. ‘What a sheltered life you’ve given her. Hope she’s grateful.’ He made a crude gesture intended to goad the chief inspector. The detective gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles poked through the skin. I appreciated his dilemma. He was angry but he wasn’t a fool. My brother was moody and impulsive and capable of things he couldn’t imagine.

  Stanford worked hard to hold onto himself and just about managed it.

  ‘Whether she is or whether she isn’t, leave her out of it. Sending your goons to my house isn’t part of our deal.’

  Danny reached across the desk and roared into the DCI’s face.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s part of our deal, Ollie Boy. Anything I fucking want!’

  I gave the policeman credit. Coming here had taken courage, though there was a point where courage morphed into idiocy and he was running pretty close to it. He wasn’t sure what was going on and glanced over at me for a clue. No chance. I hadn’t forgotten his disdain for me the first time we’d met, when he’d behaved as if I wasn’t there – he deserved nothing and he got nothing.

  Danny loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. ‘Thanks to your information we ended up looking like a bunch of amateurs this morning.’

  That shocked Stanford – clearly, he hadn’t known. ‘What happened? It wasn’t reported.’

  ‘Somebody at your end’s playing away from home. Either your contact’s useless or you’ve got a rat in your team, Detective Chief Inspector.’

  The DCI hit back. ‘I gave you word for word exactly what I was told.’

  Danny wasn’t impressed. ‘Then you got told wrong. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been caught with our trousers round our ankles in fucking Kent.’

  Stanford remembered the conversation with Trevor Mills and Bob Wallace. Trevor hadn’t been happy talking so openly in front of Wallace. He’d told Trevor Mills it was a test: a test their colleague had failed.

  ‘I can’t believe that’s true but I’ll find out.’

  Danny’s tone mocked him. ‘Good man. Good man.’ He turned to Luke. ‘Didn’t I just say we can count on Detective Chief Inspector Stanford?’

  His expression changed, the fake humour turned off like a switch.

  ‘You’ve got forty-eight hours to come back with a name before I pull the plug on your nice life. You knew sod all about the hit on this place. Now your information’s tainted. Understand?’

  The policeman was wise enough to say nothing until he was at the door.

  ‘What if the leak didn’t come from my side?’

  It was a question Danny had to be asking. Team Glass was me, him and Nina. Beyond that, apart from Marcus, his men were career criminals; thugs for hire. Some had even been on Albert’s payroll and swapped sides when they saw Danny was on the rise south of the river. Their loyalty was bought with money and held by fear. The moment the pendulum started to swing the other way, they’d reconsider their future.

  ‘Trust me, Ollie, it did.’

  Stanford pushed his luck. ‘So you say. How do you know?’

  ‘That’s easy, copper. It’s not worth it. Anybody who crosses me, and I mean anybody, will wish their mother had never had them.’ Danny added a question that needed no answer. ‘Ever seen a man die slowly? No? My advice: keep it like that.’ He turned the screw. ‘The screams stay with you the rest of your life. Sometimes in the middle of the night they’re all you can hear. When they stop, the silence is beautiful, just beautiful.’

  Stanford was being given a warning. He’d do well to pay attention.

  ‘Sort it out at your end. If it happens again I’m holding you responsible. Now fuck off out of it.’

  After he’d gone, I said, ‘He has a point. We don’t know.’

  ‘Correction: we don’t know, yet.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘I’m taking your advice. Bei
ng unpredictable by doing sod all.’

  My brother was still playing games.

  ‘You need me for anything?’

  ‘Not right now.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. And don’t worry. How do you think I managed when you were inside? Rollie will be off his face for at least a couple of days. I bet he’s celebrating as we speak. We would be. Let him enjoy his moment in the sun. It won’t last.’

  ‘Then I’m off. Call if things change.’

  ‘Where’re you heading?’

  ‘Haven’t given it much thought. Brighton, maybe.’

  ‘Going by yourself?’

  I didn’t reply and he smiled. ‘Thought as much. Taking that tart with you, aren’t you?’ He wagged a cautionary finger. ‘Just don’t forget what she is. Being inside makes us go soft in the head about women. Ex-cons marry the first one who smiles at them. Happens all the time. Don’t be a mug and fall into the trap, okay?’

  ‘I hear you.’

  ‘Make sure you do, little brother. And be careful. Take that waster Felix with you.’

  ‘No, not today. I need some space.’

  Something dark passed behind his eyes: I was disobeying him.

  He blinked and was Danny again.

  ‘Wherever you fetch up, call me so I know you’re all right.’

  The car drove like a dream, gliding through the slow-moving traffic towards the Kennington address Mandy had given me. In the rear-view mirror, the Golf had been replaced by a Fiesta and a Corsa; one courtesy of the Metropolitan Police, the other from my brother, Felix no doubt. I ignored them and tried to enjoy the trip.

  On a whim I decided to visit Nina and fished out the card she’d given me. The business park was at the start of Brixton Road and easy to find, as it happened. She came to Reception, gave me a hug and led the way to her office, a thirty-square-metre box on the second floor, sparsely furnished and painted in neutral colours. Nina seemed relaxed, pleased to see me, and I was glad I’d come. There was an energy to her that was missing when she was around Danny.

 

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