Terms of Restitution

by Denzil Meyrick

  Ginerva had watched a Visit Scotland ad on YouTube during her flight from Italy. The sky was bright blue, the sand a glistening white, as fresh-faced, invigorated young people gambolled by a blue, blue sea. Children played, gulls soared and legends were written in the ruins of craggy monuments to days gone by.

  As she watched a dog squat to empty its bowels in the gutter, she wondered at the imagination of the people who had made the advert to attract people to Scotland. Certainly, judging by the reality in front of her, an Oscar would be poor reward.

  But Ginerva had long-since ceased to be surprised be anything. Disappointment was hovering around every corner, no matter where she found herself. The human condition was a miserable one – even under the Calabrian sun. That’s why people like her existed. She peddled sex in the shape of trafficked women from Eastern Europe; dreams in the form of the best cocaine and heroin money could buy; thrills and the promise of riches to all who participated in her illegal numbers rackets and casinos.

  That such desires had been in the hearts of men since the beginning of time was proof positive that humanity was damned. She was merely a facilitator, a conduit to what people really wanted. It wasn’t her fault mankind was so flawed.

  She thought about ‘mankind’, for men were – in the main – those who put money in her burgeoning bank accounts located in the most secretive and customer-friendly places on the planet. From the Isle of Man to the Caymans, Switzerland to South America, she found clever people in smart suits more than happy to keep safe the money her organisation made from the worst instincts the world had on offer.

  Her organisation. This was complicated; she was the ‘under boss’ – well, at least officially. She had been running things for ten years – the ten years since her father had occupied the same role. Ginerva had carte blanche to do what she wished. She knew that the chances of the only person who could gainsay her objecting to what she wanted to do were vanishingly small. In short, she was the biggest, richest, most successful criminal in the world.

  She closed her eyes and her mind drifted to the beach on the Cayman Islands where she’d spent two blissful weeks recently, part business, but mostly for pleasure. She could feel the sun on her bronzed skin; see the palm trees swaying in the cooling breeze under the azure sky.

  Then the SUV came to a halt outside a grey building with small, barred windows and those dreams drifted away.

  *

  ‘I mean, it’s not what you expect when you’re just watching the telly with your weans, is it?’ The woman chewed gum aggressively in-between sentences.

  Amelia Langley regarded her with a weariness she hadn’t felt since having to cram for her finals at university. If it weren’t for the fact she knew why she was so tired, she’d have been compelled to seek the advice of a doctor. Every part of her wanted to sleep; yet when she tried, sleep would not come. ‘Tell us about last night, Mrs Maguire – in detail, I mean,’ said Langley wearily.

  ‘Well, he was away at the football. Partick Thistle, would you believe? I mean, I know fuck all about football, but even I know they’re shite.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Are you like me? Just can’t be bothered with watching men chasing about a wee ball?’

  ‘No, I’m not so keen. Anyway, back to last night. What made you look out of the window?’

  ‘Nothing else to do, that’s why. It was either his season ticket or Netflix. Guess what we bought?’

  ‘The season ticket, by any chance?’

  ‘I can see how you’re a super inspector, or whatever.’

  ‘Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Aye, that’s it. Right mouthful, eh?’

  ‘So, you looked out the window . . . when?’

  ‘Just after EastEnders finished.’

  ‘And what time was that?’

  ‘I dunno, half eight? You’d need to check the TV guide. Och, they have it on at all different times just now. I missed a couple of episodes a while ago because they was all over the place. It’s a pain in the arse.’

  ‘I can imagine. So, when you looked out of the window, what did you see?’

  ‘Young Gemma Colville winching a wee ned from Dunmore Road. She’s a right tart, so she is. Supposed to be engaged – engaged, my arse! That’s a right nice boy she’s cheating on, too. I was at the school with his uncle, so I was.’

  For an instant, Langley pictured herself with her hands clamped around Mrs Maguire’s neck, but did her best to banish this thought and carry on. ‘When did you see the dealer?’

  ‘He’s always there. Every night from six until late. You can set your watch by him. He stands by that hedge at the side of the car park.’

  ‘Right. He’s by the hedge – what happens then?’

  ‘Well, these guys come out of nowhere. Three of them, like.’

  ‘Did you recognise them?’

  ‘No, but Bianca down the close reckons one of them might have been a cousin of her friend’s from the Drum.’

  ‘Is she sure?’

  ‘I wouldn’t pay much heed to what she has to say. She told me that auld Jimmy next door to me was having it off with the dinner lady from Our Lady of the Rock primary school. Turned out to be pure shite, so it did.’

  ‘Can you give me her address, just in case? We’d like to have a word with her.’

  ‘No way, man! Me get the name for being a grass! You must be fucking joking. Anyhow, she wouldn’t tell you lot fuck all.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Because one of your mob burst her man’s nose when he was minding his own business one night a couple of weeks ago. The poor guy was just walking through a rammy. He’d a hold of that baseball bat because it was his son’s birthday the next day. It was a present, you know what I mean?’

  Langley’s temper broke. ‘Mrs Maguire, can we please stick to the matters in hand? Please remember, two men were killed outside your home last night. You can surely understand why I’m so anxious to find out what happened.’

  ‘Okay, keep your wig on, man. If you ask me the right questions, I’ll be able to give you an answer. All this shite about what’s on the telly and Partick Thistle is putting me right off.’

  Langley was about to remind the woman who was chewing her gum across the table that it was her who had brought up the subjects of football and EastEnders. However, she thought the better of it. ‘These three guys start noising up the dealer. Then what?’

  ‘They, like, started pushing him about. Nothing serious, just winding the bastard up, likely.’

  ‘You didn’t see any weapons at this point?’

  ‘Naw, nothing.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Your man took this for a couple of minutes. Then a big black beamer comes shooting into the car park. Two of the biggest guys you’ve ever seen come boosting out of it. One of them had an axe in his hand, the other a steel bar or something. I can’t be sure.’

  ‘They approached the dealer and the men who were hassling him in a black BMW, right?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  ‘What did these youths do?’

  ‘What would you do? They got on their toes, quick smart, like. Flicking the Vicky at these two big guys. Cheeky wee zoomers, so they were.’

  ‘The big guys – did they speak to the dealer?’

  ‘Aye, they goes up tae him and have a fag and a wee chat. All relaxed and that.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘So my wee lassie – Cologne, that’s a lovely name, so it is – well, she starts roaring because her brother’s left a shite in the bog without flushing it. He’s a wee bastard for that. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell him about it.’

  ‘And when you looked out of the window again?’

  ‘Oh right, aye. So, like, these two big guys is back in the motor, just pulling away. Next minute it’s like fucking mayhem, man. Guns firing from all directions into their car.’

  ‘Did you get a look at anyone?’

  ‘Eh? Are you wrong in the hea
d or what? I got away from the window as quick as I could. Me and the weans hid in the toilet until the noise stopped, which, by the way, was stinking because Lennon had left a big log floating in the lavvy.’

  Langley looked at Neil Dickie, who was sitting to her left. He nodded.

  ‘Okay, Mrs Maguire. We’ll get what you’ve told us written up in a statement so that you can sign it as being a true representation of what you’ve told us. It won’t take long.’

  ‘It better not. Me and my bestie, big Morag, are away out on the bevvy tonight.’ She chewed furiously for a few moments. ‘Here, I won’t have to go to court, will I? If yous ask me, I’ll just say no, got it?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll come to that. It’s not as though you can identify anyone. We just wanted to get a picture of what happened last night.’

  ‘Aye well, picture away. Mind, I’ll need a lift back home – aye, and no’ in a marked motor neither. I don’t want half the scheme thinking I run off to the polis at the least wee thing.’

  Back in the corridor, Amelia Langley leaned back against a wall and rubbed her eyes. ‘Cologne – can you imagine?’

  ‘Aye, the poor wee bastard. Mind you, it’s lucky she didn’t call the boy for an aftershave. Brut, even.’

  ‘Well, we know how they did it, at least. Well planned, eh?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. They get some wee shites to noise up the dealer and when cavalry arrives, the big boys pick them off. It’s somebody who knows their business, that’s for sure.’

  She sighed. ‘Okay, back to Finn. We can question him a bit longer. But we’ve got nothing on him, have we?’

  ‘Nope. Everybody saw what happened, but nobody saw who did it. Come on, ma’am, if it was you, would you be rushing to give evidence?’

  ‘No,’ Langley sighed. ‘Let’s have another go at Finn.’

  ‘Can I suggest something?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Neil. You know I value your opinion.’

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Oh, just spit it out!’

  ‘We’re not going to get anything out of Finn, you know that. Why don’t we release him and see what he does next?’

  ‘Tail him?’

  ‘Aye, we’re much more likely to get something that way. He has to have another move up his sleeve.’

  ‘Okay. But you run it, Neil. Our best men, right?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I know someone who won’t be happy.’

  ‘Green? Fuck her, what does she know about anything? She’s just a desk jockey with gold braid.’

  ‘Funny, that’s just what she thinks about me.’

  Langley watched DS Dickie head off to put their plan in place. She didn’t really share his confidence that Zander Finn would fall so easily into such a trap, but they had to try something. Now all she had to do was go and tell her superior what was happening.

  39

  Ginerva de Lucca was like a Ming vase in a junk shop. She didn’t look right walking past the old man rolling his cigarette with his clawed, nicotine-stained fingers, nor the plump young woman in strained leggings swearing at the fruit machine, onto which her pendulous belly was precariously balanced, as she fed more money in for another roll.

  Every eye in the Iron Horse was on Ginerva. Not least those of Pavel the barman, who – for the first time since he’d taken the job – felt a twist of excitement. This feeling was somewhat tempered by the presence of two large men in suits and dark glasses who stood on each side of the dark-haired, beautifully dressed woman.

  ‘You’re like thon Sophia Loren, so you are,’ said an old dear with no bottom set of falsers, gums tough-looking and shrunken. ‘Like a fucking painting, so you are.’

  Ginerva smiled at the compliment. ‘You are so kind.’ She turned to one of the men at her side. ‘Buy this wonderful lady a drink – in fact, buy everyone a drink!’ She said this loudly enough to initiate a stampede. Chairs scraped on the faded linoleum and a crowd soon gathered at the bar, all smiles and expressions of thanks.

  ‘You are very generous,’ said Pavel, as he went to work behind the bar. ‘Some of these people haven’t moved this quickly since the war.’

  ‘Aye, and fuck you too,’ said an elderly man. ‘You’ll be on your way back to Poland, the way things is heading. You should count yourself lucky we’ve made you welcome in our community.’

  ‘Oh, it has been such a pleasure, Archie.’ Pavel said the word with long vowels. ‘How could I wish for a better place in which to live and work?’

  A door opened and a large man with a scar down one cheek emerged behind the bar.

  ‘How are yous all?’ He took in Ginerva and her associates with a leery eye.

  ‘We are very well. Mr Mannion, we come to see him.’

  ‘Aye, I get that. He’s just in the bog right now, but I’ll take you up to his office. Follow me.’ Sammy Sloane performed what could best be described as a cross between a bow and a curtsey for his new guests, a movement at odds with his bulky frame.

  ‘Big Sammy, you’re not at the dancing, you know,’ exclaimed a man at the bar with brown tape around one arm of his spectacles.

  Sloane leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. ‘See they broken specs of yours. You know where they’re going in just two minutes.’ He turned to his guests. ‘Up here, this way.’

  As the party of Italians walked behind the bar, Ginerva received a ragged cheer from the clientele of the Iron Horse, to whom she had been so generous.

  As they disappeared up the steep stair an old woman shook her head. ‘Aye, she looks bonnie in they heels and those nice clothes. It’s amazing what you can do with that, and some expensive make-up and a good haircut. See, once she gets home and slips into her leggings an’ a big jumper, she’ll no’ be so bonny.’

  This engendered a murmur of agreement in the room, as people drifted back to their newspapers, fruit machines and dominoes.

  *

  Senga Finn sat uncomfortably in her new home in Howwood. She was uncomfortable because she was with her mother-in-law, who was sitting on the chair opposite. They had always enjoyed a strained relationship, like two dogs circling each other in a backyard. But this silent war of dirty looks, off-hand remarks and raised brows was a cold war that had gone on for decades.

  Zander had often maintained that his wife and mother could never get on because they were too alike. But Senga found it hard to see any of herself in the woman with the thin legs poking out of expensive shoes, who in turn was regarding her with equal distaste.

  ‘Our Gillian opted to stay with her dad, then,’ said Maggie Finn.

  ‘So it would appear,’ Senga replied defiantly. ‘Though she wasn’t so keen to see him when she was in the hospital. Oh no, when it came to her life being in danger, it was Mummy she wanted to be with.’

  ‘I suppose she has to get to know you somehow.’

  Senga took a large gulp of wine and tried to keep her temper. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’

  ‘Bit early in the day, is it not?’ Maggie felt no sense of hypocrisy saying this: even though she’d downed a large vodka before making her impromptu visit: she was using alcohol medicinally, while her daughter-in-law was a lush. There was a clear difference in her mind. ‘Anyway, I’m not staying long. The taxi’s coming back in half an hour.’

  ‘Half an hour! What the fuck are we going to talk about for all that time?’

  ‘Your family.’

  ‘Oh, my family, now! You’ve got nothing to do with it when things aren’t going so well. It was the same when they were kids. If they did something good in school, Granny tramped up in her high heels and took all the credit. When there was spew, dirty nappies, broken hearts or skinned knees to be dealt with, Granny was elsewhere.’

  ‘I did my fair share of that shite. That’s what mothers do.’

  ‘Huh, you only had the one – easy-peasy.’

  ‘Oh, you think managing Zander and his father was easy? My arse, it was!’

>   ‘At least he’s still alive.’

  ‘Och, don’t start that shit. You’re banging the man that likely killed our Danny.’

  Senga sat forward on her chair. ‘I don’t care whose mother you are, or what age you are either. You speak to me like that again and I’ll come across there and snap one of they chicken legs of yours!’

  ‘You’ll need to lose some weight off they thighs of yours if you want to catch me.’

  ‘What?’

  Maggie sighed. ‘I need you to listen to me. This isn’t a game. For once we have to behave like adults. Your family – my family – are in danger.’

  ‘So, what’s changed? I’m down one and a half sons, or had you forgotten?’

  ‘This is worse – much worse.’

  ‘And how do you know? Been to that soothsayer, or whatever she is again?’

  ‘She’s an astrologist.’

  ‘Aye, right, so I’ve got to burst into action because Mystic Meg tells you something. That will be shining bright.’

  ‘It’s not from her. I know things.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you tell your precious son? From what I hear, he’s doing just fine in the “standing up for himself department”, eh?’

  ‘I can’t tell him. And anyway, it would do no good. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Aye.’ Senga’s eyes roamed around the room. ‘That’s why I’m here in this hen house, not in my own home.’

  ‘Hen house? You’ve got six bedrooms. Aye, and I bet you’ve made use of all of them already.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ Senga returned to her glass of wine.

  ‘Listen to me. I’m not saying this for badness. Joe Mannion isn’t who you think he is.’

  ‘Oh, change the record, Maggie. My marriage to your son is over, end of story. And I’ll see anyone I like. When your precious Zander was pushing about OAPs in wheelchairs, I was holding things together, remember? And I couldn’t have done it without Joe.’

  ‘The trouble with they Albanians, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, well spotted. I thought you just concerned yourself with bingo and the Darby and Joan Club.’