How a Gunman Says Goodbye

by Malcolm Mackay

  He’s thinking about that as he leaves the flat and makes his way out of the building. Clueless is going to be pissed off that this is another meeting he’s not at. He thinks he should be there. He sees himself as the right-hand man, a key player. But he’s not. Not bright enough to be a useful right-hand man. Besides, Tommy isn’t important enough yet to need one. He’s still a low-scale dealer, although he’s rising fast. He has a good number of peddlers; he’s pushing into good areas. He’s sending the right messages. But he’s not a big player. Important to Shug, sure, but not to anyone else. This meeting might help change that. A couple of guys who control the patch on a few large estates in Lanarkshire. Big area with big demand. They’re known, but not important to the big organizations. They have ambitions too. Good to have on board. Men of ambition should stick together.

  They’re eyeing him up as he’s walking into the pub. Trying to decide if he’s serious or not. They’ve heard he’s a rising star. They need a new supplier. A rising star with good connections would be ideal. They’re cousins, apparently. Ian and Charlie Allen, although he doesn’t know which is which. They don’t look like family to Tommy as he’s walking over to them. Both middle-aged. One of them’s tall, has a mop of fair hair, pockmarked cheeks. The other one looks short and tubby, with a shaven head and glasses. None of that matters, although the age can be an issue. Tommy’s young, and he looks young. Middle-aged men don’t like that. They want someone with their own experience level. Makes them feel comfortable, thinking they’re working with someone like themselves. But they can live with discomfort, if the deal’s good.

  Shaking their hands. Smiling to both. Introducing himself and sitting opposite. Projecting confidence. He’s nervous, but he knows how to hide it now.

  ‘I’ve heard you’re looking for a new supplier,’ he’s saying quietly, the pleasantries out of the way. People like this don’t play about. Get to the point–they respect that. ‘An operation like yours needs someone reliable, consistent and with good variety. I can offer that. I can match your need.’ He’s been thinking those words over on the way here. They sound good to him. They sound like what the Allens will want to hear.

  ‘We’ve been let down by our last supplier,’ the chubby one’s saying. He won’t say more than that, no detail. You don’t bad-mouth a supplier publicly, even if he’s let you down. If he finds out you’ve blackened his name, he might choose to do something about it. Suppliers tend to be dangerous men. ‘How big is your operation?’

  ‘Bigger than you need,’ Tommy’s telling them.

  That’s true. Shug has a deal with a major supplier, but the supplier’s getting tetchy. Shug isn’t moving enough gear yet, that’s why a deal like this will impress the boss. Tommy isn’t supposed to know that they’re struggling to shift gear, but it’s obvious. A big supplier doesn’t want someone small on his books. Shug needs to increase deliveries or lose supply.

  ‘We have everything you need,’ Tommy’s telling them, ‘and then some. We can match your demand with ease. If your demand increases, which I’m sure it will, then we’ll have no trouble with that. We only provide quality product. Your customers will like what we provide.’ It’s good sales patter. Ingratiating. A little bit creepy.

  ‘Good to know,’ the chubby one’s saying, and nodding. ‘We’ll be in touch in the next couple of days.’ They’re getting up and leaving. Business meeting over.

  It went well. They were never going to commit one way or the other just yet. They wanted to meet him, hear what he had to say. See if he was a serious kind of guy. They heard what they wanted to hear. No need to discuss money. Both sides will know what the market price is when the transactions are being done. It’ll vary, deal to deal. Tommy’s convinced they’re going to call and agree to the hook-up. They won’t get a better one. This’ll be a big boost with Shug. Such a rare opportunity. Shug, struggling to get people on board. Tommy could be his most important dealer. He could become senior. Not just have good money, but be truly rich. Powerful too. That’s what he’s thinking as he’s walking back home. Get some lunch. Check on some of the peddlers. Only a couple should be running low. It’s a Wednesday, sluggish demand. Top them all up tomorrow, before the weekend burst. Keep business ticking over nicely. His business.

  3

  Sitting outside a tower block, watching the rain bounce off the windscreen. Waiting and watching. Making sure you’re not seen. A boring but necessary part of the job. The most boring part of this job tops the most interesting part of a normal job. People would think him odd, sitting in his car like this. Any passer-by could see you and remember your face. Take your registration. A couple of days later they hear about a man being murdered nearby; they do their civic duty and report you to the police. Frank’s heard every story there is to hear. All the different ways people are caught out. The sob-stories of a hundred halfwits, locked up because of one mistake.

  Frank long ago learned how to be careful. You sit, and you watch, and you wait. You are patient. You scout a location properly. Then you move quickly. The speed at which he does his work, from order to completion, has always been his trademark. It’s one of the things that will separate him from Calum. Calum’s good, but he’s slow. Ponders the job. Takes too long in scouting. It reassures people like Jamieson to have things done quickly. Makes them think it was nice and easy.

  Watching the clock. Watching the door. He doesn’t know if it’s the right door to watch. Doesn’t even know if he’s on the correct side of the building. Scott could be tucked up in bed already. Or he might have a squad of spotty-faced little mates in there with him. Better to wait, play it safe. He’s thinking that he should probably have parked further away from the building. His eyesight isn’t perfect, less so in this rain. Better to be close enough to see the door. Better to reduce the amount of walking he has to do as well. Sort of dump where the lifts could be out of order. That might be too much for him. Climbing all the way up there and back down again. Nope, that wouldn’t do. Even if he were young and fit, that would mean too long an exit time after the kill. Something else to worry about. Still, that’s what scouting is for.

  It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning now. Enough waiting around. Nobody’s used the door he’s watching. There isn’t a single light visible on this side of the building. Many of the flats are empty, Frank knows that. One by one, they’re ripping these monstrosities down. Good riddance. They seem like horrible places to live. They’re certainly horrible places to do a job. As people move out, their flats are left empty. When there’s only a handful occupied, the council moves the occupants. The fewer people living in the building, the more unpleasant it becomes. Other people start using the building for their own ends. Homeless people. Junkies. People dump things there. Can’t be a nice place for a guy like Scott to live. No wonder he’s taking the stupid risk of working for Shug. Taking the risk of following in Lewis Winter’s footsteps. Living like this is a reason to be desperate.

  Frank’s getting out of the car and pressing the button on his key to lock it. Hip’s a little stiff. Sitting in the car like that isn’t good for it. Doctor told him that. Told him he needed to be careful with it for a little while. Don’t overreach, that’s what he said. Frank told him he was a security consultant. The doc smiled, said something about an office job being a good thing. Frank nodded along. Now he’s walking towards the door of the building, pulling up his hood. It’s raining, but there might also be CCTV. Most of the cameras don’t work, but you still take the precaution of pulling up your hood. And it is raining, after all.

  He’s in the doorway. There’s a camera up in a corner, but even with a brief glance he can see it’s useless. It looks like some little scamp has decided he doesn’t like being watched and has smashed the thing. It makes this a good door to enter through. A useful bit of scouting. Into the lobby, confronted by two lifts. Neither seems to be out of order. More good news. Nobody around. He’s pressing the button to call the lift. Nobody inside when the doors open. Inside and press
ing the button for the second-from-top floor. It’s a long way up and a slow lift. Watching the lights tick up, praying they don’t stop on another floor. Other people out and about, bumping into him. The lift stops on the thirteenth floor, second from the top. Out into the cold corridor. Silent and empty, just how he likes it. Now he’s looking at door numbers. Trying to find Scott’s, so that he’ll be able to get to it in a hurry for the hit. Trying to work out what side of the building it’s on, so that he can watch for the lights.

  Towards the end of the corridor, on his right, he finds what he’s looking for. Flat 34B. Door closed, silence inside. He’s checking the surroundings. Nothing of note, except the flat opposite. Flat 35A. The door is directly opposite Scott’s front door. Would be nice to know if there was anyone living there. He might have to check that out tomorrow morning. Find out who lives where, and who’s likely to hear suspicious noises. Frank’s not dumb enough to stand right in front of a door with a peephole. He’s up against the wall that the door is on, taking sideways glances at it. Looking for signs of security. Certainly no cameras up here. Door doesn’t look like it has any unexpected locks on it, either. That might become important, but hopefully not. He’s seen all he needs to for now. He’s smiling to himself as he’s walking back towards the lift. It all looks as simple as he’d hoped. He’s looking back along the corridor as the lift doors open for him. There are a couple of places where you can see wet footprints. He’ll have to remember that if it’s raining tomorrow night.

  The job will be tomorrow night. He’s decided on that as the lift’s returning to the ground floor. A simple job with no complications. No need to delay it any longer than that. Out of the lift and through the lobby. Out to his car. Still raining. Rain’s a mixed blessing. More chance of leaving footprints behind. More chance of falling on your arse, if you need to move quickly. But it does give an excuse for a hood. And it keeps people indoors. There’s much to be said for that. He’s in the car, starting it up and pulling away. Driving through the city at night, as he has so many times before. Changing city, though–lurching from an industrial past to a shiny future in one ungainly bound. You have to know the place. Every nook and cranny, as the old ones would say. It takes a second before his memory reminds Frank that he is one of the old ones.

  He’s outside his house. Closing the car door quietly and heading up the garden path. He’ll be using a different car tomorrow. Leaving the house earlier, too. Still, you develop the habit of carefulness, and you stick to it. He’s through the front door, closing it quietly. Locking it. He won’t put a light on. He knows where everything in the house is. He can move about in the dark just fine. The need for silence has gone, though. There’s nobody to wake up. Nobody to hide from here. There’s never been anyone in his life. Well, nobody close enough that they would live with him. Been a few women over the years, but he never let it get serious. When he was in Spain there was an Englishwoman. Mid-forties, funny, presentable. She was there visiting her son. She kept saying how silly it was that people their age were having a holiday romance. Didn’t stop her enjoying it. All Frank’s ever had were short romances. Holiday romances, you could call them. Holidays from the life he’s chosen for himself.

  4

  There’s no escaping the fact that Clueless is a moron. A complete clot of a human being, truth be known. Tommy Scott’s always known it, but he’s a loyal friend and he tries his best. Sometimes, though, sometimes Clueless shows signs that he’s learning. Like right now, for instance. He’s coming in the front door of the flat. Scott sent him across the hall with a bag of gear. They stash a lot of stuff under the floorboards in the empty flat opposite. Less chance of it being found there. Scott doesn’t keep big amounts near him for long–he’s smarter than that. He picks it up from Shug’s supplier, then moves it on to his peddlers in quick time. Common sense says you can’t hold it for long. Anyway, that’s just the routine they go through. Clueless has gone across the hall to hide the stuff. Taking longer than usual to come back. Now he’s coming in the front door, and there’s a strange look on his face. He usually specializes in a fine line of vacant expressions. This look is more baffled.

  Clueless has come in the front door and closed it behind him. ‘I just saw some guy in the corridor,’ he’s saying.

  ‘Yeah?’ Scott says. He could feign interest, but it’s usually better not to encourage him.

  ‘Yeah. I looked through the peephole before I came out, like you said to. There was this guy. Old guy, he was. Looked old, anyway. Had a big jacket on. Had the hood up. He was against the wall like that,’ he’s saying, mimicking Frank’s stance. ‘Looking at your door.’

  Okay, now he’s interested. ‘Yeah? Did he just leave?’

  ‘Aye. I waited for him to get in the lift, and then I came in here.’

  The only light in the flat comes from the TV in the corner. The sound’s down low. Scott’s over at the window, peeking out through the gap in the curtain, looking down at the car park. ‘Switch that TV off,’ he’s saying to Clueless. Waiting a few seconds for complete darkness, and watching as a figure moves across the car park. Down towards the road and into a car.

  He left, which is a good thing. Means he’s probably not going to try anything tonight. Silly old bastard. Oh, this is a chance. This is a big chance.

  ‘Who was that guy anyway?’ Clueless is asking him. ‘Should I have done something?’

  ‘No, you did the right thing.’ Pausing. How much does he tell his friend? He’ll need him, so he has to tell it all. ‘I think that guy works for Peter Jamieson.’

  ‘Jamieson? Shit, you think that old guy was after us?’

  ‘I reckon he was. And I reckon he’ll be back. See, if I’m right, that old fart was here to try and kill us. Only, when he does come back, we’re going to be waiting for him.’

  ‘Are we?’ Clueless is pausing, thinking about this. Takes a while. ‘Isn’t this the sort of thing we should be telling Shug about? Let him deal with it?’

  ‘No,’ Scott’s saying. It would be the easy thing to do, but not right. Initiative. That’s what they want. Use your initiative. Deal with it yourself and really impress them.

  There’s no prospect of sleep tonight anyway. Not with the worry in the back of his mind that Frank MacLeod might come right back. Might not have been him, but who else? Fizzy, that’s Shug’s right-hand man, warned him. Said that Jamieson was a tough bastard, that he has gunmen on his staff. The most dangerous one is Frank MacLeod. Old guy that’s killed loads and always got away with it. Bit of a legend, it seems. Would be a big blow to Jamieson if he ended up dead. Big boost for Shug, if one of his men did it. What an opportunity! Shit, something like this only comes along once in a lifetime. They have to grab the chance. Kill him. Kill a man. Shit, never done that before. Never even thought about it. Scott’s thinking about that as they get ready to go out. Killing a man is something else. It’s crossing some sort of line. But he has to. Doesn’t have a choice. Kill or be killed. And it’s such a great chance for him.

  Out into the rain and the cold, looking for a gun. Any sort of gun. Anything that’s capable of doing the job. There are places you can go, professional gunrunners. They sell any time, but only to the right people. They have to know you, know that they can trust you. They won’t sell to the likes of Scott, and he knows it. One day they’ll be desperate for his business, queuing up, but not tonight. They’re bloody expensive too, and he doesn’t have much cash on him. So they’re going for the cheap option. They won’t get such a good gun, but who cares? As long as it goes bang and Frank MacLeod falls down and doesn’t get back up, then it’s good enough. Might not be clean, either. Scott knows all the parlance. Clean is when a gun hasn’t been used in any other crime that can then be linked to you, if you’re caught with it. They won’t get a weapon that can guarantee them that. Cheap and available–that’s what matters.

  His name’s Donall Tokely. Everyone calls him Spikey, for reasons most people have forgotten. Seems to have had something to
do with a childhood hairstyle. When Scott and Clueless ran with a gang in this area, Spikey was in there with them. A year or so younger, but a tough little bastard. He and a few of the other gang members ended up in jail. Got three years for robbery. The day he got out, he stole a charity collection tin from a newsagent’s. In the last year he’s got closer to people at the serious end of the business. Made connections through his mother, of all people. She sells counterfeit clothes from her house. Spikey got pally with some of her suppliers, and he’s gone up in the world since. The rumours said he was handling weapons. People were bringing old stuff across from Northern Ireland, and Spikey was selling it for them. He showed a handgun to Scott a couple of months ago. Told him if he was serious about setting up a network, then he should buy one. Scott said no thanks. Not now, anyway. Well, this is the new now, and now he wants to buy that gun.

  They’re banging on his door, waiting impatiently. So what if he’s fast asleep? They need this done quickly. This is life, death and business. Scott wants all the preparation time he can get. He doesn’t actually know what he needs to do, but it seems obvious that he will need time. They have to be careful with this one. Frank MacLeod is, amongst other things, a very dangerous man. Banging on the door again. Scott’s trying to remember if Spikey still lives with his mother. He’s far more afraid of that beefy old witch than he is of Spikey. Heard a few stories about her that made him sick in his mouth. The sound of a latch being pulled back; now the door’s opening.