‘So what’s the message?’ Davie asked.
‘The bawbag owes Rab some dough. I’ve to remind him of his responsibilities. Nothing heavy, just a word or two, a wee nudge, but he’ll get the picture right enough. But it’s drugs, Davie. Hate them.’
Davie paused for a moment then asked, ‘So what’ll you do?’
‘When I get out?’ Davie nodded. ‘You mind my Uncle Bobby? The one I’m named after?’
Davie recalled a man who used to give them both comics when they were kids. Bobby may have been named after his uncle, but there the similarities ended. Uncle Bobby was large, round, red-faced and had a bad comb over. But he was kind-hearted and funny and, more importantly, as straight an arrow as you could hope to find.
Bobby said, ‘He says there’s a place for me in his shop, that wholesale painting and decorating place down the far end of Duke Street, mind it?’ Davie nodded, recalling the smell of thinners that permeated the large storeroom at the back of the store. One summer Bobby and he were paid a fiver each to redecorate the small toilets using industrial strength paints and after two hours in the confined space they had stumbled out into the fresh air, high as kites on the fumes. It was the first and only time Davie had felt that sense of euphoria, short-lived though it was. Within an hour they were both puking their guts out in the alleyway behind the shop, Uncle Bobby pleading with them not to let their parents know.
‘I think I’m going to do it, Davie,’ Bobby said. ‘And there’s some-thing else. I’m getting married…’ Davie looked up again, a smile beginning to grow on his face. Bobby gave him a shy sideways glance. ‘I never said nothing yesterday, it was your day, mate, but next year, I’m getting hitched. Rab doesn’t know yet. You’re the only one I’ve told.’
‘Who is she?’
‘You don’t know her, she’s from over Shawlands way. Connie’s her name. Connie Lorrimer. You’ll like her, Davie. She’s a wee bit older than me…’
‘How much older?’
‘Only five years, I’m no playing grab a granny or nothin, don’t worry. She’s been married before, didn’t work out. She’s a primary school teacher, can you believe that? I’m going out with Miss.’
Davie smiled, remembering the days in school when they called the teacher ‘Miss’, even if she was an old witch who had been married for forty years.
‘Anyway,’ Bobby said, ‘she wants me out The Life. She knows all about me… well… most of it. And she doesn’t like Rab one bit. She never gave him a chance, to be honest, just judged him on his reputation. That’s why I never brought her along yesterday to your party, he’s okay with her but I know she cannae stick him. She’ll like you, though.’
Davie wondered about that. If she judged Rab on his reputation, what would she think of him? But then another thought struck him. ‘There’ll be some very disappointed girls down our way.’
Bobby gave a wide, almost shameful smile. ‘Aye, well… she knows I’ve been a bit of a lad in my day. But, you know something, Davie? See since I’ve been going out with her, I’ve no been tempted. I can still pull them if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. How was Vari, by the way?’
Davie was thrown by the minor non-sequitor but he soon answered, ‘She’s a nice girl.’
Bobby’s smile grew. ‘Thought you’d like her. You going to see her again?’
Davie shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about it, there being too many other matters to deal with.
Bobby nodded. ‘Aye, same old Davie. Give her a call, man! Have some fun, for God’s sake. You come this way but once, know what I’m sayin? Live a little. I’m no sayin marry the girl but, Jesus, it doesn’t do any harm to get some now and then.’ Then something sounding like awe crept into Bobby’s voice. ‘Fuck me – would you look at that!’
Davie had been dimly aware during their conversation that they had driven through the small town of Maybole and had passed the ruins of an old abbey on their left. The car crested a rise above Turnberry and ahead of them lay the Firth of Clyde, its waters a deep blue, reflecting the lighter blue of the sky. The dark mound of the Ailsa Craig rose from the water ahead of them and to the right they could see the tail end of the Isle of Arran. It was an incredible vista and neither of them spoke for a few moments, two Glasgow boys more used to the high rise flats and sandstone tenements of the city than the blue-tinged splendour before them.
‘Makes you wish you could get out of Glasgow, eh, Davie?’
Davie didn’t answer. The sight had brought back memories of the holidays he’d taken with his parents. Ballantrae was only a few miles further down the coast and he was tempted to ask Bobby to take him there once their business was completed in Girvan. But he decided against it. That was the past and it was dead and buried. There was no going back.
Instead he said, ‘Congratulations, Bobby. I hope you and Connie are very happy.’
‘Thanks, mate. You’ll meet her soon, I promise.’ Bobby cleared his throat. ‘What about you? You going back to work with Rab?’
Davie looked through the passenger window. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and he was being truthful. That lawyer had told him he had some money in the bank, enough to tide him over. He didn’t need to go back to work right away. He didn’t want to go back to work right away. He was no longer sure there was a place for him in The Life. Drugs had changed everything. Sammy said it, Bobby said it. It had been far from peaceful before but now, with the riches to be found in addicts’ veins, The Life was more volatile than ever. And Davie was not sure he wanted any part of it.
* * *
Liam Mulvey was of slight build, his balding head scraped down to the flesh, and was dressed in green and black camouflage trousers and a sleeveless jerkin over a dark t-shirt. He was hefting a rifle case into the back of a four-wheel drive outside his terraced house, once owned by the council but now his thanks to Right to Buy, when Bobby pulled up at his gate.
‘Fuck me, Liam,’ Bobby shouted through his open window, ‘almost never saw you there in your camo gear.’
A frown etched itself into Mulvey’s narrow forehead and Davie could tell he was not happy to see them. ‘Bobby,’ he said, his voice heavy, ‘what brings you down here?’
Bobby climbed out of the car and Mulvey moved down the drive to meet him, as if he didn’t want the visitor to set foot on his property. ‘Well, Liam, it’s no a social call, let me put it that way.’
‘Rab sent you?’
Davie decided to get out of the car too. He stood on the road beside the passenger door, leaning on the roof, watching the two men talk a few feet away. Mulvey glanced at him and for a second Davie thought there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. Davie searched his memory, but he couldn’t dredge up a Liam Mulvey. But then, he had met many people during his time with Joe the Tailor, it was always possible their paths had crossed.
‘Just a gentle reminder, Liam,’ Bobby said. ‘Big man wants his wedge.’
‘He’ll get his money.’
‘Oh, he knows that, Liam,’ Bobby said softly. ‘One way or the other, he knows that.’
Bobby had learned a great deal over the years, Davie realised. Joe had always taught them that there was seldom any need to go in heavy. A word or two should be enough to bring a man round to your way of thinking.
‘So where you off to, Liam?’ Bobby jerked his head towards the four-wheel drive.
‘Up into the hills there,’ Mulvey nodded towards the green hills that loomed above the seaside town. ‘Bit of rough shooting. Rabbits, maybe a pheasie if there’s a stray one around. Just for sport.’
Davie saw distaste flicker on Bobby’s face. He felt a certain revulsion himself.
‘Sport, eh?’ asked Bobby. ‘Don’t see how it’s sport myself. Now, maybe if the rabbits had guns and could shoot back, might be a different matter, eh, Davie?’
Mulvey looked again at Davie and once more there was that flicker. Davie asked, ‘We met before?’
Mulvey hesitated. ‘No, don’t think so.’
Davie moved around the front of the car. ‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. I just know who you are, that’s all. But we’ve never met.’
‘Aye, Davie’s famous, so he is,’ said Bobby, smiling. ‘I wouldn’t let Rab down, Liam.’
Mulvey’s eyes hardened. ‘Tell Rab that he needs to come down here, see me himself, no send his errand boys. No matter how famous they are.’
Bobby drew in his breath sharply. ‘That would piss him off big time. And you don’t want to piss him off, do you?’
‘Bobby, I like you…’
‘That’s nice, Liam.’
‘But, see – I really don’t give a flying fuck if I piss Rab McClymont off. I’ve been a good customer to him for a while now and I’m a little late in settling up, so what? I’m good for it and he knows it. He wants to talk to me about it, he can come down see me and we’ll talk. Tell him I’ve got a proposition for him, too.’
‘What kind of proposition?’
Mulvey smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. It gave his thin face a wolfish quality. ‘I want the organ grinder, no the monkey. Tell him it’ll make him a lot more than what I owe him.’
Bobby shrugged. ‘That what you want me to tell him?’
‘Aye, that’s what I want you to tell him.’
Bobby exhaled deeply. ‘Okay, I’ll tell him. And you know what? I think he might take you up on your offer. He was just saying the other day he could do with some fresh air and a wee trip doon the watter might be just the job. We’ll be in touch.’
Bobby gave Mulvey a little wave and turned back to the car. Mulvey watched as he climbed back in and then his eyes flicked to Davie again. He held Davie’s cool gaze for as long as he could then broke eye contact and turned back to his four-wheel drive. Davie climbed back in beside Bobby.
‘How much does he owe Rab?’ He asked.
Bobby watched Mulvey as he hoisted himself into the front of his four-wheel drive, then flicked the ignition key of the Montego. ‘Enough that Rab will want to come and give him a talking to for being so cheeky.’ Bobby eased the car away from the kerb. ‘Never did like that wee bastard. See the size of that gun? That’s him all over. He’s a short-arsed wee sod and shooting that cannon, killing animals that can’t fight back, that’ll make him feel like a big man. Wee man with a big gun, that’s him. Penis extension, that what they call it? Maybe I’ll hang around long enough to see Rab give him a slap.’
* * *
Mulvey watched in his rear view as the blue Montego pulled away, allowing them enough time to turn out of his street before he steered his four-wheel drive in the opposite direction. He knew they would be heading north, but he was going in the opposite direction. He could’ve made a call but what he was about to say was not something you trusted to phone lines. You never knew who was listening. So he headed south, following the twisting coastal route to Ballantrae. Fifteen minutes later he stood outside a small terraced cottage. He’d met the man who opened the door many times, of course, but now he looked at him with fresh eyes. Liam paused, as if he expected to be invited in, but he should’ve known better.
‘Rab’s boys have just left.’ Liam’s voice was low. He hated talking on the doorstep but he’d never once been taken inside. He wondered why.
The man nodded. ‘Will they deliver the message?’
‘Aye. Rab’ll want to have a go at me for being so bloody cheeky when I owe him dosh, but he’ll also be curious about what I’ve got to say. Rab McClymont’s fond of money, so he is.’
‘Good.’
‘One other thing…’ Liam paused but the man said nothing, just waited. ‘It was Bobby Newman that was here.’
‘So?’
‘He wasn’t on his tod. Davie McCall was with him.’
The man did not seem surprised. ‘He didn’t lose any time getting back in action.’
‘Aye. But here’s the thing. Me seeing him? Made me think.’
‘About what?’
Liam leaned in closer. ‘About how much he looks like you.’
Danny McCall didn’t even flinch. He turned those cold blue eyes on Liam and said, ‘Your point is?’
‘Here was me thinking your name was Bill McAllister. But see now that I know who you are? Changes things, doesn’t it?’
McCall’s voice grew soft. ‘How do you work that out, Liam?’
‘I know what you done. I know the Law’s still looking for you.’
A soft laugh rattled in McCall’s throat. ‘Liam, son, the Law’s forgotten all about me. And I’d suggest you forget what you’ve just said, too. I’m liable to take it personally.’
‘Ah, see, that wouldn’t be wise, Danny – can I call you Danny? Suits you better than that other name you gave me. You need me, mate…’
‘I could find another partner. Lots of guys out there with ambition, just like you, with connections to Rab.’
‘Aye, but I’ve set the ball in motion now and you need me to see it through. So what I think is, I should get a wee bit extra dosh, just so’s I don’t drop a word to the boys in blue about who you really are. Cos I don’t think they have forgotten.’ Liam leaned in closer, dropping his voice even lower. ‘ I don’t think they ever forget about murder.’
McCall considered this. Then he sighed. ‘Okay, Liam, fair enough. We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. Once we remove Rab and move in on his territory, we’re partners. Sound good?’
‘Aye, mate, sounds fantastic.’
‘Good. Let me know when Rab gets in touch. Make sure everything’s ready.’
The door closed, leaving Liam staring at the wood. He didn’t care. He was grinning. He turned away, headed back to his motor, thinking this is a good deal… Seeing that bloke McCall and putting two and two together to make one happy family was a stroke of luck.
* * *
Davie was quiet most of the way back to Glasgow. Bobby didn’t intrude, knowing that when Davie descended into that kind of silence, the best thing to do was leave him to it. Bobby didn’t feel like talking much anyway, truth be told. He had admitted to Davie he wanted out and that was the fact of it, but he hadn’t told him everything. It was true that things hadn’t been the same since Joe died, with Luca and Rab taking them further into the drug trade, but the reality for Bobby was that the world really turned sour the day Mouthy Grant was killed.
Bobby had never spoken to anyone about that day. He doubted if Davie even knew what happened. In all of Bobby’s visits to the Bar-L, Davie had never asked about it. Connie certainly didn’t know. He’d never be able to tell her about that. Never.
Bobby told himself that he hadn’t known what Rab was going to do with Mouthy. He told himself that he really believed Rab was simply going to give the boy a warning and then send him out of the city. As they sat in the car on the journey from Luca’s Duke Street café to the waste ground, he told himself that he had no idea this was to be Mouthy’s last trip. Deep down, though, he knew what was going to happen. It was inevitable. Mouthy had grassed.
Bobby walked with Mouthy across the waste ground, Rab bringing up the rear. Mouthy was quiet, which was unnatural for him, as he was able to keep up a seemingly non-stop stream of chatter. Hence his nickname. Bobby had wondered over the years if the wee guy knew what was going to happen, and that was what was keeping him silent, but doubted it. Rab had told him they were going to get his stuff and then see him out of Glasgow. Mouthy and Rab were mates. He trusted the big fella. There was no way Rab would do him harm.
The bullet crack was very loud, or maybe that was just the way it sounded to Bobby. Mouthy pitched forward, blood spraying into the dirt. None of it hit Bobby, not in the literal sense. But Bobby knew he had Mouthy Grant’s blood on him just the same.
When he saw the message painted on the broken-down wall telling the world MOUTHY GRANT IS A GRASS, Bobby told himself something else – that what had been done was the only thing that could be done. Mouthy had broken the code and there was a price to pay. The boy must’ve known that before he blabbed
to the cops, before he helped put Davie away. Bobby continued to tell himself a lot about that day. And he almost believed it, until he met Connie. She was like no-one else he had ever met, and for the first time he felt he could put his old life behind him and start afresh. He wondered if that was how Davie had felt when he’d been going out with that reporter lassie.
There had been a lot of things he’d done of which he wasn’t proud. There had been slappings and there had been full-on kickings. But the only thing that shamed him was Mouthy Grant’s death.
Bobby Newman wanted no more blood on his hands.
15
DAVIE WATCHED the man complete the paperwork. The guy had obviously done this a million times before and boredom swam around his eyes on the few occasions he looked directly at Davie. Maybe once he had been young and enthusiastic about his job, but not anymore. Maybe once he’d thought he was going to make a difference, that he was going to help people. But that, too, had died. Now he followed the routine and his words were lifeless, his movements listless. He was grey, too, but that fitted his environment because everything about this room was grey – the walls, the furniture, even the air. Bobby had told him to sign on as soon as possible, so he’d made his way to the ‘buroo’, the unemployment exchange. It was the civil service, so there was a pile of forms to be filled in, questions to be answered. Davie watched the man scribble in various boxes then glanced around the big room, where other guys just like him were sitting at identical desks with other form pushers. Davie knew he’d have to start earning. Or at least draw the dole. He didn’t need to worry about rent and Rab had given him a hundred quid to be getting on with, but the big man had been right – the cost of living was scary. When they came back from Girvan, Davie had asked Bobby to drop him off at a supermarket and he’d realised with a shock just how much prices had risen in ten years.
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