‘So what experience do you have?’
Davie returned his attention to the man opposite him, who was now staring at him with those disappointed eyes of his. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, what have you done in the past?’
He felt the hard cement scraping his flesh, felt the sweat soaking through his clothes, felt the hot breath of Clem Boyle on his face as they each struggled to reach the gun…
‘Not much,’ he said.
The man frowned. ‘You’ve never had a job?’
Davie jutted his head towards the from he’d filled in earlier. ‘Been away for the past ten years.’
The man scanned Davie’s handwriting, found the section that explained Davie’s absence from the work pool. He nodded and scribbled something down on his own form. ‘Do you have any skills?’
The ease with which he’d disarmed Harris. And Harris’ face contorted in agony as he twisted his arm from the socket…
‘Nothing to speak of,’ said Davie.
The man sighed. ‘So what kind of job would you be looking for, Mister McCall?’
Davie shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. Get signed on, Bobby had said. Get your Giro every two weeks.
‘I mean, you have no experience, you have no skills. The best you’re looking at is labouring, or menial work somewhere. And I’ll not kid you, your prison record will hold you back. Have you spoken to your probation officer? Maybe he can help.’
‘Not on probation.’
The man sighed again and looked around the office. ‘I’ll be honest, Mister McCall, I don’t know what to suggest. I know we have nothing to offer you right now. Look around you – there are lots of young men in the same position, and most of them have worked before.’
Davie knew what the man was telling him. He’d known it himself. Three years of working for Joe the Tailor and ten years banged up was no preparation for life as a straight arrow.
Even if his nature would let him.
* * *
Luca felt his body clench when Davie McCall walked into the café around tea-time. His eyes flitted around the café for a sight of Joe, but the old man wasn’t there, which was strange. He really thought he’d see him when Davie showed up for the first time. Luca knew it was bound to happen, knew Davie would come sooner or later. Even so, he was surprised and, if the tingle in his fingertips and the tightness at his throat was anything to go by, scared. He wondered what that was all about. Luca had killed men, he’d beaten them, he’d put the fear of God into them. He’d rubbed shoulders with mobbed-up psychos who’d kill you for just looking at them the wrong way. But here’s Davie McCall, this boy, and all he’s done is walk into the café and I’m trembling like a virgin on a first date. Seriously, he thought, what’s up with that?
He plastered his biggest shit-eating grin across his face and moved out from behind the counter. ‘Davie,’ he said, and no-one would’ve known that this guy was the last person in the world he ever wanted to see. ‘What do ya hear, what do ya say?’ Jimmy Cagney, Angels With Dirty Faces. He’d watched the flick years ago with Joe and Davie and ever since then he’d used the greeting when he saw the kid. He relaxed considerably when Davie smiled at the memory and held out his hand.
‘Luca, good to see you,’ he said. His voice was different, Luca noted. Deeper. He’d grown up since he was away. Looked even more like his father now. Same blue eyes, same dark hair, same way of holding himself as he took note of his surroundings. Not for the first time, Luca wondered if that was what disturbed him about this kid – no, not a kid anymore, a man. A man like his pop.
Luca shook his hand and said, ‘Sorry I didn’t make the party, kid. Not got the patience for small talk no more, you know how it is.’
Davie nodded. Yeah, thought Luca, he knows how it is. Davie was never one for small talk – in that way he differed from his father, who could talk the legs off a donkey. Danny McCall was a charmer, sure, but he was a dangerous man. There was always something working away behind those blue peepers. Luca searched the eyes of the young man before him but saw nothing. He reckoned he was safe. Davie didn’t know what he had done.
Luca asked, ‘You wanna have something to eat maybe?’
Davie looked around and Luca followed his gaze. The café was quiet, only a mad old bat talking to her shopping bag at one table, and two kids nursing Cokes while they waited for their burger and chips.
Davie shrugged then nodded. He slid into a booth and settled himself into the faux leather bench in Joe’s favourite booth. Luca wondered if Davie chose it on purpose. He glanced around again, certain that Joe would appear, but still there was no sign. Davie plucked the plastic-covered menu from its slot in the wall and studied the food on offer. He selected a cheeseburger, chips and a glass of milk. Luca yelled the order to Enrico and took a seat opposite.
‘You’re lookin good, kid. Could do with some sun, though. You got the Barlinnie Tan, right enough.’
Davie smiled. ‘Not much sunshine in the halls, Luca.’
‘How’s freedom been so far?’
Luca saw Davie’s eyes cloud as if something dark had seeped into the irises and he knew something troubled the kid. He wanted to ask what it was, but was afraid what the answer might be. But all Davie said was, ‘It’s good to be out, that’s for sure.’
Luca nodded. Like Rab, he’d never done time, although that bastard cop Jack Bannatyne had sniffed around long enough, trying to root something out. It had taken all of Luca’s street smarts to keep himself distanced from the operational end of the business and keep Bannatyne off his trail. Bannatyne had planted the niggling thought that Davie would’ve worked some things out while he was away. He certainly seemed to have something on his mind. The question was, what did this kid know?
Luca decided to bite the bullet. ‘What’s up, kid? You look kinda blue.’
Davie’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes bored deeply into Luca’s own. ‘I’ve been thinking about Joe,’ he said, and Luca felt icy fingers clench inside his chest.
‘What about him?’
Davie sighed and leaned forward. ‘You really think Jazz killed him?’
Luca sat back and suddenly Joe was there, sitting beside Davie, smiling at him. ‘Why do you ask that?’ He struggled to keep his voice even.
‘I don’t know. Had lots of time to think in the jail. Nothing much else to do. It’s just… well, I can’t believe Joe would let a scroat like that get the better of him, that’s all.’
‘Joe got him.’
‘Yeah, but only after he’d let Jazz put a bullet in him. I don’t think that boy would’ve been able to get one over Joe.’
Luca swallowed and forced his mind to slow down. He had to be careful here. If Davie suspected his involvement, there was no way he would be here talking about it. Davie McCall had no guile. If he thought he’d killed Joe, he would be fighting for his life right now. No, the kid just had doubts and Luca had to deflect them. For now.
He leaned forward. ‘Listen, this ain’t gonna be easy to hear. Shit, it ain’t easy for me to say. But Joe was getting old, you know?’
‘He was fifty-five, Luca. Not that old.’
‘Yeah, but his life had taken its toll, y’unnerstand? He was tired, Davie, I know because he told me. And it was a tense time – all that killing, all that blood. Johnny Jones on the rampage. Joe knew he was next on the list.’
‘That’s my point. Joe was on his guard.’
‘Sometimes your guard slips, you know? He was weary, bone weary. He made a mistake.’
Luca watched as Davie processed this. The kid didn’t want to believe that Joe was fallible, was all. He didn’t want to believe that Joe was human. The fact was, Joe hadn’t let Jazz get the drop on him – he’d gutted the scroat before he knew what hit him. It was Luca who pulled the trigger, using Jazz’s gun, to put Joe down. His old buddy Luca. Luca saw the betrayal reflected in his old friend’s eyes as he died, but it had been necessary.
Davie looked down at the ta
ble top and his body slumped as if accepting something he had until now refused to believe. He said nothing more, apart from a ‘thank you’ when Luca collected his food, laid it down in front of him and wished him buon appetito. Luca left him to his meal and took up a position behind the counter. He kept himself busy, washing down the serving area, rearranging the confectionary on display, but all the while he kept a watch on the kid. Luca thought he had convinced him, but he was still troubled. He needed to see Davie’s eyes to be sure he was in the clear, but he couldn’t get a clear view of them.
It did not help when Joe appeared at his side and whispered, He knows.
* * *
He’d only been out a day and everything appeared familiar and yet different. Ten years was a long time and things had changed. Shops had new owners. Buildings were gone. Fashion had changed. He was older.
As Davie walked back to Sword Street, he thought about Luca’s words. Joe had been ageing, Davie had noticed it. It was nothing overt. A slowing down, that’s all. Maybe he did just make that one mistake and gave Jazz the chance to pull the trigger. It would only take a second. But Joe still had the strength with a bullet in him to stick a knife in Jazz. To Davie, that wasn’t what a tired, weak old man would be able to do. And there was only one bullet, he’d heard. If Joe was coming for Jazz with a knife, Jazz could’ve put another one in him, maybe two, stopped him dead.
On the other hand, maybe Jazz was so shit-scared that he couldn’t fire again. Maybe the boy panicked and Joe got to him first. Davie knew the old man was handy with that knife, he’d learned to use it with the Polish partisans in the war. Joe had told him his war stories and Davie knew he was capable of wielding it expertly and swiftly.
And then Joe lay down and died.
He didn’t try to call anyone, he didn’t try to get help.
He just died.
Davie didn’t believe it.
Someone else was there, he knew it.
* * *
She was waiting for him when he reached the closemouth. He’d seen a figure in the car but didn’t know it was her until she climbed out. He stared into her green eyes and was instantly transported back to the night in the city’s West End when he’d seen her for the first time. He felt the same powerhouse blow to his chest he’d felt then. Some things never change.
‘Hello, Davie,’ she said, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
‘Hello, Audrey,’ he said.
‘I heard you were out,’ she said. He nodded. Of course she would. ‘You’re looking good,’ she said, and he had the impression it was more to say something than anything else.
‘So do you,’ he said and he wasn’t just being polite. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back from her face and tied in a pony tail. She had lines that weren’t there the last time he saw her, but then, so did he. Ten years is a long time. She hadn’t put on weight, she was still slim yet curvy at the same time. She was wearing a smart dark blue trouser suit and crisp white blouse. She looked gorgeous.
And then he saw the ring on her finger.
‘You’re married,’ he said and she glanced down at her left hand as if she’d forgotten. She reddened slightly.
‘Five years,’ she said.
Of course she was married, he thought. Why wouldn’t she be? So that was why her by-line vanished – her name changed.
They stood for a few moments, looking at each other, their awkwardness standing between them like a third person. Her right hand had moved to cover her left, he saw, hiding her ring. He wondered if she knew she’d done that.
‘I need to talk to you, Davie,’ she said.
He nodded as if a former girlfriend appearing out of the blue after eight years was the most natural thing in the world for him. ‘You want to come in?’
She looked up at the red sandstone walls as if the answer was written there. ‘Sure,’ she said finally. ‘Why not?’
The flat seemed even quieter than usual as they sat facing each other in the sitting room. He’d asked her if she wanted tea or coffee but she declined. He didn’t offer anything else because he wasn’t sure what he had. After that they sat in silence, the only sound the whirring of the electric clock on the mantelpiece above the gas fire. Davie hated that clock and vowed to get rid of it. If he wanted to hear the passing of time, he wanted a good old-fashioned tick and not an electronic throb. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he left it to Audrey. She was the wordsmith, after all. He was just a ned.
‘Davie,’ she said, finally, ‘I’m sorry about the way things ended. Back then. In the jail.’
He shook his head. ‘Not your fault, Aud.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I… well, I ran out on you. I deserted you.’
‘Aud,’ he said, his voice firm, ‘water under the bridge. You did the right thing.’
She gave him a slight smile. He couldn’t tell whether she was agreeing with him or if there was something else. ‘When you… when you had your sentence extended after…’
‘After I beat that guy senseless. You can say it, Aud, I was there, I remember.’
Her eyes dropped. ‘Yes… well… I couldn’t handle it.’
‘I know.’
‘I let you down.’
Davie repeated, ‘You did the right thing. I wasn’t the right one for you.’
She nodded, her right hand absently moving again over her left. ‘He’s a police officer,’ she said, even though Davie hadn’t asked. She looked up and saw his raised eyebrow. ‘A DC, Stewart Street.’
Davie said nothing. She shrugged, as if she was apologising. He wanted to tell her not to apologise. She never had to apologise to him. She got on with her life and that life was not for him. But he didn’t speak, choosing, as usual, to remain silent.
‘You’re a legend, you know that?’ There was that slight smile again. He had missed that little smile, the one she gave him when she was about to make fun of him. He missed the way her eyes sparkled. He missed her. But she was not for him, he had to keep reminding himself of that. ‘The way you chased Boyle down Duke Street after he’d shot that policeman…’
‘Frank Donovan.’
‘Yes. Frank Donovan. He’s a Detective Sergeant now, back at Baird Street. The fight in the street between you and Boyle, it’s grown arms and legs over the years,’ she continued. ‘Last time I heard it mentioned, it lasted half an hour and you were both beaten to a bloody pulp.’
Davie’s mind flashed back to that night and he was facing Clem Boyle again – felt the ache in his ribs, in his muscles and where his flesh had been scraped from the bone as they scrambled on the pavement trying to reach a gun. ‘Didn’t last that long. But we were pretty beat up.’
‘Still, it’s made you a legend. I was reminded of that yesterday when I met an old friend of yours. Donald Harris.’
Davie frowned. ‘Harris?’
‘He told me what happened, what really happened. You were telling me the truth back then. I’m sorry, Davie…’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he went after you, that you got the better of him. That someone paid him to do it.’
Davie was tense, leaning forward in his chair. ‘He say who?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s a junkie now, he’d just shot up and passed out. I wouldn’t get much sense out of him even if I woke him. I’m sorry, Davie, I should’ve believed you.’
Davie dismissed the thought with a flick of his hand, his mind on Harris. He might know who had paid Lomas off. It was a long shot, but he might know something.
He stared deeply into Audrey’s eyes, almost losing himself again, but pulling himself back. That was over, he told himself. ‘Do you trust me, Aud?’
She thought about his question for a moment then nodded. ‘I should’ve trusted you eight years ago. I trust you now. Why?’
‘Because I want you to take me to Harris right now…’
16
THERE WAS NO answer at the door of Jinky’s top-floor flat. Davie had knelt d
own to listen at the letterbox but heard no movement inside, no telly blaring, no radio. That didn’t mean anything, of course, because if Audrey was right and it was a shooting gallery, the addicts could all be asleep, like vampires in the daytime. Short of kicking the door in, which Davie might have been tempted to do had she not been there, there was nothing for it but to head out to see if they could find him.
Audrey drove them to the shopping arcade in Cumberland Street. It wasn’t a huge mall like the one they had built at St Enoch Square in the city centre. The shops here drew local trade in the main, and the occasional visitor in need of a newspaper, sandwich or a hot pie. But that was not what would attract addicts like Harris. They needed to eat, but they had more pressing reasons to come here. Audrey parked the car opposite the opening to the shopping centre and nodded towards a railing cutting the wide pavement off from the road.
‘That’s the Beggar’s Rail,’ she said. ‘Watch.’
Davie watched intently. A few people wandered in and out of the shops, women with shopping bags, young mums with children, men heading for the bookies or the pub. But there were others, hanging around with seemingly nothing to do. They appeared restless, nervous even, young women, young men, a few older people, some of them obviously addicts, their thin faces and pale skin as much a giveaway as the continual scratching at their arms or groins.
‘When they can no longer find veins in their arms, they start to inject in other parts of their body – their groin, usually,’ said Audrey. ‘Strip them down and you’ll find track marks all over. There’ll be ulcers on the arms and legs, scabs, sores, you name it.’
Many of them limped as they paced to and fro, puffing on cigarettes like the nicotine was mother’s milk. They paid little attention to their surroundings or the fearful looks from some of the shoppers as they skirted around them. Their complete attention was on the roadway.
‘Here we go,’ said Audrey, and Davie saw a blue VW Estate park up near the rail. A white-haired man in his fifties and a hard-faced woman who might have been a decade younger climbed out. The addicts didn’t move, but they stared at the newcomers expectantly. The white-haired man stood at the rail and nodded to a young man to come forward. A word or two was exchanged and the man held his hand out to the woman, who had stationed herself at the rear of the VW. She opened the door and reached inside, then passed something to the man, who in turn handed it to the younger man. Bank notes were exchanged and the junkie limped off, his purchase clutched in his palm.
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