It’s gloomy inside, which seems about right. He’s in a narrow corridor. Go through to the kitchen, he’ll be waiting there. No mention, when they spoke, of the previous aborted effort. Nothing that might rock the boat. They both want this to work for them. If it’s possible. That’s what Kenny’s thinking as he’s walking towards the kitchen door. Too late to back out, anyway. You’re in. What if it can’t work out for both of them? Surely they can’t both want exactly the same thing. He’s pushing the door open. The man’s sitting at the kitchen table, a cup in his hand. Tea or coffee. Kenny only just about recognizes him. It is the right guy, and he is alone. That’s a start. He’s nodding a hello. They always tell you to stay away from people like him. Don’t think you can handle them, because they’re always working against you. They’ll do you no favours. Can’t stop the fear, though. The fear that they’re going to catch you anyway. Might as well try to take some control of it. Might as well go and meet a detective.
Fisher’s looking up at him, waiting for the driver to sit down. Been a long day of meeting scumbags. This one’s not so bad. Not so many moral questions about having a man like Kenny McBride as a contact. He’s just a driver. Close enough to hear things that matter, easily replaceable. Arresting him makes no difference to a man like Jamieson, so you leave him where he is and use him. It puts the contact at risk, but Kenny knows that already. He must know that Peter Jamieson would kill him if he ever found out he was meeting cops. Something’s made him come to this meeting, though. The same reason he had a year ago when he backed out, more exaggerated now. Treat it carefully, cautiously. Some contacts are unstable, have nothing of value to offer and think they can hide behind you. They can be troublesome, but there are worse. Some are a set-up. Sent by their employer to feed you false information. Those ones can cost you a career.
Kenny’s sitting down opposite him at the kitchen table. Dingy little place, but safe. Fisher won’t offer him a cup of tea; he doesn’t want this to go on for long. A short meeting. An introduction. Leave the driver knowing that he hasn’t done enough to gain any favours from you yet.
‘Do you understand how this is going to work, Kenny?’ he’s asking him.
‘I guess,’ Kenny’s saying. ‘I give you information, help you out.’
‘And what do you expect to get in return?’ This one always stumps them. They never want to say that they expect you to keep them out of jail. They can’t pretend they’re doing it out of a respect for the law. Most of them don’t have an answer. They worry that the wrong answer could spoil their chance at protection. It won’t.
‘I know that what I do is illegal, but all I do is drive. I figure I’m not important. It would be tough for you to prove that I’ve done much illegal, other than keep information to myself. Still, if I end up in court, things go wrong; I want this to be remembered. I want this to play in my favour. I want something to play in my favour.’
Not too dumb for a driver. Knows the limits of what he can expect. That’s good. Maybe too good. Sent in by an employer to tell the cop what he wants to hear. If it wasn’t for that call a year ago, he would be a lot more sceptical.
‘Seems fair,’ Fisher’s saying. Kenny’s sitting right across the table from him, trying to look calm. He’s aiming for aloof, but his nerves are in his eyes. Looking round too much, blinking more than a well-sighted man should. Looking to Fisher to guide the conversation. ‘I appreciate that you’re taking a risk,’ Fisher’s saying, ‘but that doesn’t change the fact that I need you to give me something. I need to know that you’re serious about this.’
Blinking even more heavily now. ‘I’m serious. I don’t know what exactly you want, though.’
Here’s the bit where you have to tread carefully. Don’t scare them away. Ask for too much in the first meeting and you might never get a second. Then again, you always have this meeting to hold over him. You have to ask for something useful. Stay present. Don’t delve into major cases of the past–they can come later. Try to get something immediately useful.
‘I know that Peter Jamieson is in conflict with Shug Francis,’ Fisher’s saying. ‘You can confirm that.’ A basic test of honesty to start.
‘For a few months now,’ Kenny’s agreeing. This is a nice easy one. ‘Shug’s been trying to set up a network, take Peter’s business. To be honest, he’s making a piss-poor job of it. Still, he keeps causing bother. A lot of people are surprised that Peter hasn’t stopped him yet.’
Ah, here we go. A lot of people are surprised. Some people are rather worried. Some people think that Peter Jamieson might be losing the golden touch, so they’ve come running for cover.
Move it along a little. ‘You heard about Tommy Scott?’
There’s a pause. Nervous eyes moving too fast to read. ‘I heard he got killed by his mate. He worked for Shug, I’m pretty sure.’
Talking faster now. His thick Glasgow accent a little harder to understand. Nervous, but for what reason? ‘Did you ever meet Scott?’
‘Nah, never,’ he’s saying, a little too quickly this time. ‘I heard of him. Heard people complaining that Scott was taking clients. He was a nuisance, is what I heard. I don’t know that he was a big deal, though.’ Kenny came here prepared to talk about any job he had played no part in. He drove Calum to the flats to kill Scott. He didn’t know he was doing that at the time, but he does now.
Fisher’s nodding along. Kenny could be telling the truth; he might just be nervous at the meeting. Hard to trust. Take another approach, one last roll of the dice. Better not to throw too much at him right now. Save the rest for a later date.
‘Do you know a guy called Calum MacLean?’ he’s asking. Might draw a blank, or might open the curtains on a dark room.
Kenny’s shaking his head slowly. ‘No, don’t think so.’ He drove him to the flats to kill Scott. Now the police are looking at Calum. Accessory to murder. That’s a damn sight more than driving people around. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells. Should it?’
Fisher’s shrugging. ‘I don’t know. Thought he might have done a job for Jamieson.’
‘I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know everyone who does jobs for Jamieson.’ A little more confident now. ‘I only get to see the ones he doesn’t mind me seeing.’
‘Fair enough.’
He’s let him go. No point in holding a nervous driver when he has little to tell you. It seems above board. Seems like Kenny wants a little shelter and is willing to give info to get it. You do have to wonder how much use he’s going to be. Fisher himself isn’t certain. Kenny could turn out to be a diamond, might come up with something terrific. Or he could be a driver who isn’t told anything useful to begin with. In which case, he’s useless. If he’s useless, he gets no shelter.
Fisher’s giving him a head start before he leaves the house. Washing the cup in the sink–no hot water. Took a while for Kenny to start his car before he left. Fisher was listening for it. Might have been phoning Jamieson to tell him that the cop had bitten their hook. More likely he was looking around for any sign of someone following him. He’s right to be paranoid. The risks are all his, the rewards mostly Fisher’s. Might just be a driver, but it’s his own life he’s playing with now.
26
It’s ringing. Finally, it’s ringing. Three days he’s been waiting. It feels longer. Nobody else has called him in that time. Nobody’s been round to see him. His life without his job is empty, and that’s starting to worry Frank. If they kick him out, this is what it’s going to be like. Every day until the end of his life. You see people his age who just go off a cliff. They stop working, stop socializing, and their health falls apart. He’s been thinking about that for hours. What will his life be like without his work? Empty is the first answer. Dangerous is the second. He’s moving to the phone, looking at the display. It’s the number of the club. It’ll be Young, inviting him to come round. He’s their security adviser, so there’s nothing suspicious for the neutral observer in the call. He’s nervous as he answers. He hates himsel
f for that. Nervous about a bloody phone call.
‘Hi, Frank? It’s John here, from the club. How’ve you been keeping?’ Blandly asked, he’s not looking for an answer.
‘I’m okay. Everything okay with you?’ Equally blandly put. Going through formalities for the sake of someone who probably isn’t listening. Always nurture your old friend, paranoia.
‘Yeah, we’re all good. Listen, there’s one or two things we wanted to talk about–work stuff. Why don’t you come round to the club this afternoon, we’ll chat. Be good to see you.’ Trying to sound friendly. You never know with Young. This would be easier to judge if it was Jamieson. You could tell if he was in a depressed mood or not, but Young’s different. He’s always cold, never shows a lot of emotion.
‘Sure, I can be round this afternoon. Say two-ish?’
‘That’ll be great, see you then, Frank.’
Young didn’t sound angry, but then he wouldn’t after three days. They’ve had enough time to find out everything they’re ever going to find out. They’ll know what Calum had to say. They’ll know what the police are saying about the case. They’ll know, but they might not tell him. Put himself in their shoes. That’s what he’s been doing for three days now. If he were Peter Jamieson, he would cut Frank loose. As soon as you lose trust in the ability of a gunman, you get rid. It has to be that way. That’s what Jamieson has to do. Frank’s hoping for a reprieve that he would never think of giving himself, if he was the man in power. He would actually think less of Jamieson if he proves soft enough to brush this under the carpet. They have to get rid of him, and that’s where the big problem starts.
He becomes the man on the outside. He knows where the bodies are buried, literally and figuratively. He becomes a danger to the security of the people he used to help. Obviously he would be in as much trouble as them, if the truth ever came out. That ought to reassure them, but it won’t. He knows how these things work, how people’s minds move. They push you out. They want rid of you, to make themselves feel safer. As soon as you’re out, they find another reason to be afraid of you. They convince themselves that your incompetence was a danger, so they get rid. Then they convince themselves that your previous competence was equally problematic. You did work for them. You know things that nobody else outside the organization knows. Somehow, the fact that you’re outside the organization matters more than all your previous displays of trustworthiness combined.
Frank’s been thinking about a man called Bernie something-or-other for the last hour. Bernie was in the business, in a roundabout sort of way. Had a small haulage company and moved a lot of counterfeit gear around. Not involved in drugs, which he seemed to think made it okay. Eventually he got chatty, people started to realize what he was up to. This was back in the days before Frank worked for Jamieson. Must have been late Eighties, although he couldn’t put an exact date on it. He was working for Barney McGovern back then. Barney wasn’t one of the big players, but he was reliable. He took a heart attack in the early Nineties; no one was surprised, given the size of the man. He died and his whole operation fell apart. Anyway, Barney stopped working with Bernie, but it still wasn’t enough. Barney convinced himself that Bernie knew far too much. A man on the outside with that much information was too dangerous for his tastes. He called Frank.
Bernie went on a fishing trip by himself to the Highlands. Frank followed him. Killed him beside a quiet loch. Beautiful and tranquil, warm as well. That’s what happens to people with dangerous knowledge. Where will they follow him, if they have to kill him? There’s nowhere to go. He sure as hell isn’t taking up fishing. They’ll have to send someone round to the house. Maybe they’ll call him to a secure location. Yeah, that would make more sense. Set it up that way, because you know the person. You can lure them somewhere safe and do it there. They’d have to use Calum. There isn’t anyone else. Or is there? He’s been out of the loop for three months now. Things move quickly. He hasn’t been around to hear the hints and rumours. No, it would be Calum. You use the best you have, and that has to be Calum.
He’s grabbing his car keys. Fed up of thinking the worst, plotting out all the likely death scenarios. It’s idiotic; there are other ways this could happen. Just get there and talk. If you go in with all these thoughts in your head, then you’re likely to say something you really shouldn’t. You have to play this carefully. Talking to a man who’s about to push you overboard is a delicate business. Frank will have to pick every word carefully. Say nothing that might give Jamieson reason not to trust him. Try to present himself as calm and confident. A little apologetic for what happened, not making excuses, not living in the past either. Ready to move on to the next job, not likely to make the same mistake again. Listen to every word and the tone. Even if he kicks you over, make sure he ends the conversation believing he can trust you. Nothing matters more than that.
It’s good to be in the car again. That was one of the things he missed most when he was recovering. The freedom to go where he wants to go–nothing beats that. Pulling away from the house, heading for the club. He’ll be there in twenty minutes, earlier than agreed. No harm in being early. It strikes him, when it’s too late to matter, that he could be walking into a trap right now. He’s pulling up outside the club, a little along the street. It’s so unlikely that he shouldn’t pay the thought any attention, but still, it’s natural to worry. They would never kill him in the club. They would never use the club in any job. That would be an unpardonable risk on their part, putting everyone around them in danger. No, don’t even think about it. Just go in.
In the front door. Technically he’s an employee, on the books, no need to sneak around. The place is silent. Nobody in the club downstairs; that’s always a little unnerving. You expect to see bar staff and cleaners around. Nobody. Just a very large silence. There’ll be the usual afternoon drinkers at the bar upstairs. The unemployable, mostly. It’s not the sort of bar where the retired often choose to drink. Not with a club downstairs.
Up the stairs then. The one thing he still has any trouble with after the hip replacement. It just feels stiff stepping upwards. He kicks against a step. Damn it all! These stairs are a death-trap. Jamieson’s been talking about having them fixed since he bought the club, but it’s never happened. Too much disruption. Besides, it’s become an institution, laughing at people falling up them. Don’t give them a reason to laugh at you. Ridicule’s even worse than pity.
Top of the stairs, double doors on your right. He can hear people beyond them. Someone talking loudly–some drunk at the bar with an opinion that he’s proud of. All the snooker tables laid out in front of them. Two in use, both by people he doesn’t recognize. Both playing by themselves, which seems pointless. Looking for a familiar face. Kenny the driver is there. Frank’s never been close to Kenny. He always seems a little nervous.
‘Afternoon, Kenneth.’ Frank’s smiling to him. ‘How have you been keeping?’
‘Me?’ Kenny’s asking. More nervous than usual. Nervous about talking to the guy who botched a job. Understandable. You don’t want people thinking you support the guy who isn’t trusted to do his job properly. Especially if you are replaceable, too. ‘I’m okay,’ Kenny’s saying. ‘You want me to go tell Peter you’re here?’
‘Yeah,’ Frank’s saying, ‘you do that.’ An excuse to get away.
27
He’s never rehearsed a meeting before. Never run through in his head what he planned to say to someone. Never been in a meeting where that seemed like a good idea. Most conversations need to be spontaneous to get the best out of them. Even business conversations. Sure, Jamieson’s had meetings where he knew pretty much what he was going to say. Meetings where there was little to say. This is different. This means something to him. More than money. It’s not that he’s scared of retiring Frank. He’s more scared of losing his friendship. Only Frank and John Young matter that much in his life. Only they would be worth a rehearsal. Never thought the day would come when he would have to have this conversation w
ith either of them. Frank’s made the most difficult part of this business so easy for so long. Can anyone replace that?
There’s a knock at the door.
‘Come.’
Kenny’s sticking his head in the door, nodding to both Young and Jamieson. ‘Thought you might want to know that Frank’s here.’
Jamieson’s looking at his watch. He’s early. It’s the first sign that this isn’t going to be easy. Turning up early feels almost confrontational. ‘Okay,’ Jamieson’s saying, ‘ask him to come through.’
Never delay. Handle him gently. Whatever happens, make sure this meeting ends on good terms. There’s a danger that goes way beyond losing a friend. There’s a danger that Frank might cross over to another employer, take all his dangerous knowledge with him. One of the big operators in the city would be happy to have him. Might never use him as a gunman, but they’ll want what he knows, along with his reputation.
A knock on the door, and it’s opening without waiting for a response. Frank’s walking in, smiling and looking relaxed. He looks like his usual self. Well turned-out as always, not a hint of a limp in the way he walks across the room towards the desk. He looks the picture of health, which is probably the point. Jamieson doesn’t notice, too concerned with other thoughts, but Young can recognize that the swagger is forced. Frank’s trying to present himself as at the very height of his vigour and he’s overdoing it. He doesn’t usually walk with that stride, Young knows. Young’s sitting off to the side on his couch, watching and saying nothing. He’ll be the impartial observer. He needs to play that role now more than ever. Jamieson won’t be able to judge Frank’s tone, his reactions. He likes Frank too much to spot anything they ought to be concerned about. As much as he respects Frank, Young won’t allow the blindness of friendship to strike.
How a Gunman Says Goodbye Page 13