How a Gunman Says Goodbye

by Malcolm Mackay

  Fisher wants to get into the flat, have a good rummage around, but the forensic team is still on its way. Let them do their work, then have a free run at it. He’s seeing a plod he recognizes coming along the corridor. Higgins, a good young cop, lot of potential. In his mid-twenties now, been in the force a few years. He’s good enough to make progress, Fisher’s decided. Might push to get him out of uniform soon, make better use of him.

  ‘Any news?’ Fisher’s asking the younger man.

  ‘We’ve woken most of the building–anyone who’s likely to have heard or seen anything.’ Higgins is shrugging. ‘Not many of them. Most of these flats are empty now. Fellow down the corridor says he didn’t hear anything. Neither did anyone else, apparently. Not sure how much I believe them; I think they just want to avoid bother. Just the guy downstairs who’ll admit to hearing anything. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Fisher’s nodding, ‘I had a word.’

  Everyone goes deaf. Two gunshots at least. If the weapon on the floor is the killer, then it’s a standard handgun, no silencer. It’s not as if the walls in this damp-ridden dump are terribly thick. They must have heard it. That bastard downstairs knew exactly what it was. He didn’t report it until morning to make sure all danger had passed before he got involved. Other people get to pretend they heard nothing at all. It’s not just a fear of giving evidence against a killer. People fear being mixed up in organized crime, they fear that they’ll be forced to shut up. Fair enough. There have been plenty of cases where criminals have targeted witnesses; Fisher doesn’t blame them for their fear. Others just aren’t willing to get involved in any court case. Not just with organized crime, but with any case. They won’t suffer inconvenience for the sake of justice.

  ‘I want to find out everything there is to know about this pair,’ Fisher’s saying to Higgins. ‘I want to know who they were working with, if anyone. We know Scott was selling on the street. He has to have been getting his supply from somewhere. Let’s try to find out if there was a puppet-master behind these idiots. Find out who else was in their circle of friends, see if there’s anyone with more than a dozen brain cells. Find out about their families, any interesting connections.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Higgins is saying, and wandering off. He’s a good cop, but he’s not likely to find out much by himself.

  Where the hell is that forensics team? Fisher wants in there and he can’t get past the body until forensics have worked their magic. A crappy little flat in a grotty tower block is a horrible place to have to do his job anyway.

  20

  In normal circumstances you wouldn’t contact the person who hired you for a job for days, maybe weeks, afterwards. It’s common sense to keep your distance. Those first few days are the days when the police are most likely to be watching you and your employer. These, evidently, aren’t normal circumstances. John Young called him up about twenty minutes ago, asked to meet him in a cafe halfway across the city. Awkward location. A long way from anyone who might be interested in them. Calum doesn’t go to the west end often–a little out of his price range. Thankfully, Emma had left before Young called. He’s now packing last night’s clothing into a carrier bag, and he’ll dump it in a random bin on his way. It’s the sort of thing he might have done last night, but Emma prevented that.

  He’s in the car, trying to find somewhere to park that’s even remotely close to the cafe. He managed to dump the bag in a big green industrial bin that was lurking on a pavement, waiting for a bin man. Now his thoughts are with Young. Another dip in standards. They ought to be keeping their distance, at least for another week. A double killing and he wants to hang out and get a coffee. Obviously he wants a debrief, but he should be more patient. He should be more careful. This isn’t like Young. Jamieson’s hand is pulling the strings here. Young would wait, Calum’s sure. He’s not one for emotion. No matter how important Frank might be to him, he would take the time to do things properly.

  He has to walk two streets to find the cafe. Have a cup of coffee with a man you don’t much like. There’s something about Peter Jamieson that makes him almost likeable. His admirable bullishness, maybe. The who-gives-a-shit nature that he lets you see. Most of it’s bluff, but it makes him approachable. Young’s not. He’s a schemer. Calum’s wondered for a while about the night he killed Glen Davidson. How much did Young know beforehand? Calum told Frank that Davidson was sniffing around. He’s sure Frank told Young. He hasn’t asked, because you don’t ask questions, but he’s sure. Young knew Shug was lining Calum up for a hit, and did nothing. He left him exposed when he could have moved him. The little schemer. Calum can see him sitting at a small table in a corner at the back of the cafe as he’s opening the door. Young’s glancing towards him and then looking away.

  It smells lovely, this cosy little place full of real wood and broadsheet newspapers. There are a lot of people wearing expensive glasses, sipping coffee that’s more expensive than Calum finds acceptable. Young’s nodding to him to sit down. They’re only just out of range of the nearest drinkers. The waitress is hovering. Calum’s ordering something unpronounceable.

  ‘I like coming here,’ Young’s saying, once she disappears, ‘no chance of running into other people in the business.’ He’s pausing. ‘Their little blow-up dolls flutter in and out now and again, thinking it makes them classy.’ He’s saying it with a knowing smile, like he knows Calum has a girlfriend now. He almost certainly does know. Knows who she is. Knows she’s not the usual hanger-on. Calum’s saying nothing. Young’s happy knowing what he knows; Calum’s not going to add to it.

  The waitress has put a suspiciously small cup in front of Calum and moved on to another table. He’s frowning at it. It’s obvious he doesn’t eat out much. He’s not the kind of person who finds comfort in the company of other people. Young’s smiling, but he’s here for business, and he needs to do it quickly.

  ‘You did one hell of a job last night,’ he’s saying, almost in a whisper. ‘Tell me what I need to know.’

  Calum’s puffing out his cheeks. ‘I got there, knocked on the door. It was Scott who answered. Let me in. He obviously didn’t know who to expect. Did it quick. Him, then his mate. His mate I did side-on, make it look like suicide. Left the gun there. We left. That’s about it.’

  Young’s not reacting. Takes years of practice to learn not to react. Young’s never killed anyone. Better to have people like Calum, so cold and detached, who can do that for you. They seem to have no problem with emotional baggage, with nerves. Lucky for them.

  ‘And how was Frank?’

  Calum’s shrugging. ‘He was on the floor. Wasn’t much he could do. Scott had his gun.’

  ‘Was he calm?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Calum’s saying, ‘I would say so.’

  It’s taken a few seconds for Calum to realize what a big conversation this is. This isn’t just catching up on the interesting events of last night. This is Jamieson and Young trying to work out if they can trust Frank with a job again. This is his future. They want to know if Frank bottled it. They want to know if his health caused the botch. And that’s putting Calum under pressure. What he says will have a big impact. It’ll impact on Frank’s future, of course, but on his own as well. If Frank’s gone, then that’s a lot more work for Calum. He becomes Jamieson’s only gunman. Even if Jamieson brings in someone else, which he eventually will, Calum will now be senior man. The first option on every job. So it serves him to help Frank along here, to try to keep him in the game. He doesn’t want Frank’s share of the work. He doesn’t even want his own.

  ‘How did it happen?’ Young’s asking him. ‘I haven’t spoken to Frank.’ Letting Calum know that his side of the story comes first. His doesn’t have to tally with Frank’s; Frank’s has to tally with his.

  ‘Seems like he turned up and they were waiting for him. They must have found out he was after them.’

  ‘A leak?’ Young’s asking. There’s real concern in that voice now. If it was down to a leak, then Frank
would be in the clear and someone else would be clinging to his life by a thread. Anyone who leaked that sort of information from the organization would be a dead man.

  ‘Don’t know. How many people knew about the hit? Could’ve been a leak, but if you played it close to your chest, then I doubt it. Could’ve been that someone spotted Frank watching them, when he was prepping the job.’

  It had to be said. It’s by far the most likely reason they got the jump on Frank. It puts all the pressure back onto Frank, though. It’s his responsibility to scout a target without the target finding out.

  ‘Once they knew he was after them, he walked into a setup. It happens, I suppose. Hell of a place to do a job anyway, a block of flats like that. Hate them. They knocked him down, but they didn’t have it in them to kill him. When I got there, he was still where they’d dragged him, just inside the door. He was handling it well, I thought. He was cool about it. Kept it quiet. Let me get on with what I had to do. We got down to the car fine. We switched back to his car and he dropped me off at the club.’

  Young’s nodding along, but there’s no expression. Not enough detail in the face for Calum to know what he’s thinking. That’ll be deliberate too. Well practised.

  They’ve fallen silent. When they’re not talking work, they’re not talking anything. There’s no real relationship there. Something else that’ll change if Frank’s not around any more. It’ll have to. Jamieson will try to pull him closer. There are so many reasons to talk Frank up right now. One good reason not to. Frank botched the job. He shouldn’t have given them any chance to spot him. If he’s making sloppy mistakes, then he’s a danger not just to himself, but to all of them. Calum will look like a liar if he talks Frank up now.

  ‘You think Frank told them anything?’ Young’s asking.

  ‘About the business? Nah,’ Calum’s saying, with honest confidence. ‘He wasn’t bawling or anything, he was calm. He won’t have told them a thing. Even if he did, they’re not going to tell anyone now. But I’m sure he didn’t.’

  He’s left Young in the cafe, ordering another coffee. Calum’s back at his car now, heading home. He should never have left. Lie low after a job. Keep to a normal routine. Do nothing that stands out. Driving halfway across the city for a ten-minute coffee with John Young stands out. Anyone watching him now knows that he’s up to something unusual. If he was ambitious, then he could have destroyed Frank today. Ended his career. If he liked Frank less, then he could at least have damaged him. Instead, he’s trying to prop up someone who blundered. Dress it up how you like, Frank can’t be trusted with a job. There’s no escaping that.

  He’s pulling up beside his flat. It’s all in Jamieson’s hands now. Calum will have nothing more to do with this.

  21

  Young didn’t drink that second coffee. It’s not like he comes here for the coffee anyway. It’s for the escape. He waited for Calum to leave and then made his own way out. Back to the club. Back to Jamieson. Sitting behind his desk, looking miserable. He’s been in the office all morning. Not in the mood to see anyone. Not in the mood to talk to people. He’s been waiting for Young to come back with news. It’s a horrible thing, being the top man and not being able to do things for yourself because of it. The more successful he is, the less it’s safe for him to be seen doing. He’s giving Young a grim look as he walks across to his usual place on the couch.

  ‘You speak to the boy?’ The boy. Calum’s twenty-nine, nearly thirty. They’ve become so used to thinking of gunmen as being Frank. Old men, gnarled veterans of many a battle.

  ‘I spoke to him,’ Young’s nodding.

  He’s gone through the conversation, telling Jamieson everything Calum had to say. Almost word for word. He might as well have recorded it. There wasn’t much to remember. Jamieson’s listened intently, hasn’t said a single word throughout. Not even a nod of approval. Listening, building up a picture of events. Trying to picture everything that happened last night.

  ‘He was a long time in that flat with that pair,’ he’s saying, now that Young’s finished.

  ‘He was.’

  ‘The boy did well.’

  ‘He did,’ Young’s agreeing.

  Jamieson’s tone is miserable. Casting doubt on Frank. Complimenting Calum. It sounds like he’s trying to persuade himself that Frank’s time has passed.

  Jamieson’s taken a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet behind his desk. He hasn’t switched on the two TVs on top of the cabinet today. That’s unlike him, but this requires his full attention. He’s pouring out a glass. Kenny can drive him home. He doesn’t offer one to Young; he wouldn’t accept it anyway. Not much of a drinker. Not in the daytime anyway.

  ‘I wish we knew for certain what went wrong,’ he’s saying, sitting back at the desk. ‘If there was a leak…’

  ‘Highly unlikely,’ Young’s saying. ‘Only you, me and Frank knew. We kept it close, nobody could have guessed. I didn’t tell anyone. I assume you didn’t. Frank’s a pro; he wouldn’t have breathed a word. He was spotted.’

  ‘Aye. I guess he was.’ A gunman who gets spotted prepping a job isn’t much of a gunman. It’s a fundamental part of the job. You get in and out without raising any alarms. The killing is supposed to be the easy part.

  ‘Your opinion,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘Honest-to-God opinion.’ He’s saying it with trepidation. He has a good idea where this conversation is going to go now. He needs to hear the words.

  ‘I…’ Young starts, but now he’s stopping. He’s trying to think of the right way to put it. He can usually be as blunt as he wants with Jamieson. They’re normally talking about people who don’t matter much to either of them. Frank’s different. Frank’s earned the right to respect. ‘I think maybe we still see Frank as he was when we first started working with him. He’s not that guy any more. He’s out for months, getting a hip replaced. Now, first job back, and this happens. I trust Frank. With my life. I’m just not sure we can rely on him for a job any more. I know he gives his best, but now maybe that’s not enough. Whatever you do with Frank, last night proved that Calum’s the best gunman we’ve got.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake!’ Jamieson’s whispering. He’s annoyed because he agrees. Three months ago and Frank was the best gunman in the city. He had been convinced of that. Had been since the day he hired him. Now he can’t trust him to do a simple job. This has to be down to the hip replacement. He’s convinced it was the recovery time. Frank resting up, out of the business altogether. Not able to come and hang around the club, keep in touch. Sitting with his feet up instead. Then he sent him out to Spain for a couple of weeks’ holiday in his little villa. Frank switched off. Now he can’t switch back on. Tempting to give him another job. Get him back in the saddle. It might give him a chance to redeem himself, get back to being the Frank MacLeod he was. It also might just get him killed. He’s too much of a friend to take a risk like that.

  Jamieson’s thumping the table with a flat palm. Decision made, stick to it, get on with life. That’s how he works. Decisive. Determined. Committed to his judgement.

  ‘I’m going to have to speak to Frank,’ he’s saying. ‘Maybe give it a few days first. I’ll see if there’s something else he can do. I won’t just throw all that experience overboard.’

  ‘There’s nothing else he’ll want to do,’ Young’s saying. Warning: you could only offend a man like Frank with the offer of a lesser role. He’s a gunman. Nothing else. If he accepts, it’ll only be because he, in turn, is scared of offending Jamieson.

  ‘I’ll talk to him, see what he says. You,’ he’s saying to Young, ‘need to keep your ear to the ground. The boy still isn’t properly committed to us. He’s good, but I don’t trust him yet. I won’t have him as our only option. Find another one. A good one. A trustworthy one. Someone young would be preferable. Someone from within would be ideal.’

  He always does this. He always gives Young an unobtainable target and sends him out to find it. If they had someone in the organization who met all th
ose criteria, Young would have identified him by now. To be fair to him, he doesn’t bitch if Young falls short. Jamieson knows he asks a lot, and is generally satisfied with how close to the mark Young gets. There are plenty of ambitious young men around. Never a shortage there. How many of them have the talent to back it up? A tiny minority. You have to find the one person who has what it takes. Sometimes that person belongs to someone else. You have to try to persuade them to cross over. It’s possible. A lot of people are attracted to working for Jamieson. It’s a well-run organization. An organization that rewards talent. People like that. They trust you more than they would a family business. Nobody wants to work for a firm where you have to be a family member to have a real chance of climbing the ladder.

  Young’s out of the office, into the city. He always has people to meet. Make sure the business is ticking along nicely. Meet contacts, get information. Keep your ear to the ground–that’s what Jamieson said. But he’s going to tell Frank within the week. Which means they’ll be relying on Calum alone from then on. A good guy to rely on. Keeps doing well under pressure. Young has never worked with a gunman who’s had two absolute stinkers in succession and handled them so well. He’s a boy with talent. Jamieson’s right, though. Calum’s still not committed to them. Young told George to get closer to him. He did. He told George to get Calum settled down. He did. Got him a girlfriend, which was going too far. Still hasn’t settled him–not the way they want. He’s still reluctant to be a part of what they’re doing. He’s still a man who could walk away and leave them exposed.

  Jamieson isn’t thinking about Calum. He’s not thinking about Young, either. He’s tapping the top of the desk with his forefinger. Telling himself he’s being stupid. He’s had to ditch people he liked before. It happens a lot in this business. You keep the ones you need, not the ones you like. It’s not as if Frank’s a father figure. He’s overreacting. He’s getting emotional about the job. That’s just damned unprofessional. You don’t need to like the people who work for you. You need to be able to trust them. That’s about it. Trust, maybe a little respect. Anything else is a bonus.