How a Gunman Says Goodbye

by Malcolm Mackay

  29

  Frank’s told him everything he can. Told it straight. Now he’s sitting in front of the desk, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for Jamieson to make the judgement that will shape the rest of his life. Jamieson’s tapping the desk with his forefinger; he does that whenever he’s thinking. Presumably does it when he’s nervous too, although he usually makes a point of keeping his nerves to himself. He’s looking at Frank, then sideways at Young.

  ‘John, could you leave us for a few minutes.’

  Young doesn’t say anything, but Frank can see out of the corner of his eye that he’s already halfway to his feet. Young would have expected this. Jamieson doesn’t want anyone else around when he makes the difficult speech about how much they’ve appreciated everything Frank’s done for them. How much they’ll miss having him around. If there’s anything they can do for him, he need only ask. All the usual shit people tell you as they push you off a cliff.

  The door closes quietly behind Young. Jamieson’s looking over Frank’s shoulder, making sure nobody can possibly hear them. Now he’s leaning back in his chair and sighing loudly.

  ‘What a fucking situation,’ he’s saying with a weary smile.

  ‘Sort of situation that’s only supposed to happen to other people.’

  ‘I seem to be getting a few of those lately.’ He’s looking at Frank. There’s no way out of this. He knew from the start it was going to have to be this way. He’s going to soften it as much as possible, but it’ll still feel hard to Frank. ‘I think we both know what has to happen now.’ Jamieson’s looking to Frank for a reaction. Please make this easy for me.

  What happens now is you throw me overboard, Frank is thinking. He won’t come out and say it, but he’s not going to roll over, either. He hasn’t worked this long, done all that he’s done, just to walk away with a whimper. He deserves better, and he knows he’s still capable of better. No matter what other people might think.

  ‘I think I can guess where this is going to go,’ he’s saying. Frank doesn’t realize, but Jamieson can see the hard look in his eyes. The look of a man about to fight. The last look he wanted to see. ‘I know that I can still do this job. I can still do it better than ninety nine per cent of the other guys in this business. Maybe, a few years ago, I could do it better than a hundred per cent of the rest. That doesn’t make me useless. That doesn’t make me some old cripple who needs resting. I can still do this job, and I don’t want you, or anyone else, thinking otherwise. I made a mistake. I’m not stupid enough to think I earned the right to make a mistake. Nobody earns that right–we both know that. Mistakes are usually the end of it for people like me. But I earned the right to prove it was only once. That’s what I reckon.’

  Jamieson’s nodding along politely. Heard it all before, old man. This salvo, uncharacteristically effusive from Frank, and sounding off-the-cuff, is so familiar. You hear it every time someone lets you down. The chance to prove it was all a one-off. Ignoring the fact that once is once too many.

  You can sweeten a conversation like this all you want; a man like Frank will still see the truth of it. Jamieson understands that.

  ‘I’m not going to retire you,’ Jamieson’s saying, knowing that’s exactly what he’s about to do. ‘But I think we need to take a look at things. What happened with Scott,’ he’s saying, and pausing, ‘can’t happen again. Calum got you out once, but I won’t send him a second time. That wouldn’t be right.’

  Frank’s nodding, he gets it. Jamieson’s admitting that he shouldn’t have sent him the first time. He should have left Frank to die.

  ‘We need to make sure you don’t get into those circumstances again,’ Jamieson’s saying. He’s talking slowly, and aware of it. Picking every word, sounding unlike himself. ‘I’m not saying that I won’t give you another job, but maybe we need to look at other things you can do. Just for now.’

  Frank isn’t reacting. Isn’t saying anything, isn’t nodding along. Frank’s thinking: he’s throwing me overboard, but he’s tying a rope to me, so that I won’t drift far. Neither out nor in. No-man’s-land. Dangerous, but useless. They don’t want him wandering off into the darkness where they can’t see him, but they don’t want him doing any more jobs he might botch.

  ‘What sort of other things did you have in mind?’ he’s asking, after a ten-second pause that felt longer.

  Jamieson’s shrugging a little. ‘There has to be plenty that a man with your talent and experience can bring. Advice, for one. Helping organize things, I guess. There’s plenty. If I take you off gun jobs, that leaves me with Calum. I don’t know how committed he is yet. You could play a part in helping me with that. I’ll also want someone else on board for cover. I’ll need to find someone worth recruiting. You can definitely help with that.’

  Frank still hasn’t reacted. This is all beneath him, and they both know it. He doesn’t want to do the kind of work Jamieson’s suggesting. The kind of work other people can do. Might as well ask him to make cups of tea and wash his fucking car for him.

  ‘Listen, Frank,’ Jamieson’s saying, leaning across the desk. There’s a pleading tone to his voice. ‘I know things like recruiting are bullshit to you. John can do all that. But I will need you around. I got to stamp on Shug Francis; all this crap with him has gone on a lot longer than it should have. I should have wiped him out inside a month, instead it’s four months and growing. People are talking. I stamp him, and then I make a move. A big move. I need to show people that I still have strength. I need to step it up. I’ll need good people around for that. Hell of a lot of work. I’ll need experience around to help me through that. Key roles, no bullshit.’

  He said more than he intended. Telling Frank his plans for the future wasn’t supposed to happen, but it’s out of the bag now. So Frank has to offer some sort of reaction. Jamieson’s said everything he can. It’s now either Frank or silence.

  ‘Smart move,’ Frank’s saying. ‘Good time to step it up, pick a fight with a bigger organization. Need to pick the right one. I’m sure you’ll have that worked out already, though.’ Agreeing with Jamieson, but not committing to helping him. His tone wasn’t just wary, it was almost dismissive. A tone that suggests he doesn’t want to be involved. Frank didn’t notice that he was giving that much away, but Jamieson did.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Jamieson’s asking anyway. ‘You think you might have a big role to play in that?’

  Frank’s looking him in the eye for just about the first time in the conversation. ‘I suppose I could. The best work I could do would be the work I’ve always done. If that’s not available, then I’ll do the best I can.’

  There were a few minutes of chit-chat–nothing either man will remember. Now Frank’s leaving the room. Jamieson’s watching the door close behind him, knowing that John Young will be opening it within the minute. He’ll want to know where they stand. Jamieson’s not in the mood. Young will be cold and analytical. He’ll want detail, he’ll want precision. Jamieson wants a whiskey. He’s opening his drawer, taking out a bottle and a glass. The door’s opening without a knock and Young’s walking across to his couch, noting the bottle and glass. Noting the glass filling three-quarters of the way up.

  ‘Went that badly, huh,’ he’s saying, after a respectful pause to let Jamieson drink.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So what now?’

  He wants those details that he loves so much. Jamieson’s tapping the top of his desk. It’s not details that he has, it’s a sense. A horrible sense that things are going to change, and that he’s not going to like it.

  30

  It feels like a busy time. Yet, there’s nothing much to do. Young knows everything that needs to be done, and has it all in hand. Other people run around carrying out the orders he gives them. He sits back and waits to hear the results. Always safe. Never directly involved. There are so many people between Young and the person who carries out the order. Usually they have no idea who they’re working for. Young is the last in a long li
ne of gatekeepers before you reach Jamieson. He’s never felt this bored by the job before.

  In the old days, it was different. Old days. That’s a laugh. Young’s only forty-three, Jamieson a couple of years older. Nonetheless, they’ve been at this for nearly twenty-five years. They’ve always been good at it. Young’s strategic brain, Jamieson’s guts and personality. In the beginning Young thought his brain was their best asset. He learned different soon enough. Jamieson mattered most. People wanted to work for him. They wanted to be a part of the things he was doing. It’s still that way. No jealousy, though. Just a little disappointment that he doesn’t have a more exciting role to play right now.

  It’s a curious time. This Shug thing is a drain. An annoyance. They need to deal with it, sure, but it isn’t exciting. It’s street stuff out of proportion. It’s just a matter of when they crush him, not if. If it wasn’t for the Frank issue, it would be done by now. Jamieson knows how to deal with it, but he needs a second gunman he can trust. Calum plus one. Then on to something bigger. That’s what Young’s looking forward to. It’s what he’s always lived for. The great leap forward. One after another. They’re due another one. They’ve been flatlining for a while. Working out of the club because it’s still the biggest business they have. Biggest legit business, anyway. That’ll change when they take another leap. They’ll find an opponent and go to war. They’ll take them down. It’ll be a constant struggle. Day after day. Always something happening. Always something that you need to do. News to react to. Waking every morning knowing something’s going to come out of the blue. Thinking on your feet. Young can’t wait. They just need to resolve this irritating Frank issue first, and then stamp on Shug.

  He needs two gunmen. There are two people Young would like for the job. Trouble with both. The best candidate would be George Daly. He’s smart and tough, certainly not squeamish. He’s been loyal to them for years now. Started out as a teenager doing the crappiest of jobs. Never baulked. That was nine years ago. Now he’s the best muscle they have. Best by a considerable distance, it’s worth adding. A little bit of a playboy at times, but he knows where to draw the line. Throw in the fact that he’s about the only friend Calum has, and he’s perfect. Except he won’t do it. Not willing to take the responsibility. Not willing to accept the sacrifices. A great candidate who doesn’t want the job. That leaves one other person in Young’s mind. A good gunman. An awkward situation. Awkward timing, anyway. That’s for another day.

  There’s something else to ponder. It’s Jamieson and his gut instincts. Still refuses to accept that Calum can be trusted. He’s convinced Calum’s going to do a runner or turn his back in some way. Young’s told him umpteen times that you have to be patient. It takes time to build trust in a business like this. Jamieson hasn’t known Calum long. So the boy doesn’t look happy. So what? Miserable sod never did. Not even when he was freelance. Okay, there’s a commitment issue there, but Young can work on that. In fact, that’s a little job to pass the time with, until something better comes along. He needs to put a little pressure on Calum. Not too much. Carrot and stick. They got him into the Davidson mess. Well, Young did. They cleaned it up, though. Looked after him, and looked after him well. Found him a new place to live. Did all they could to provide comfort. Let him take all the time he needed. First job back, he proves what a good investment that was. So now Young’s checking up, making sure there’s nothing else they can do for him.

  Ringing his flat. Why shouldn’t he? They’re acquaintances, of sorts. The one worry is that the police might check the phone records of the club. That might lead them back to Calum. They’re going to find him eventually. If they haven’t already. Just a question of what they’re able to do with him when they do. Young will need to talk to Calum again about Frank. Let him know that Frank’s taking a backward step. That Frank might not like it. Gunmen are a tight group. They all know each other, or know of each other. Mostly all loners. Most don’t like people poking about in their business. Don’t like giving away detail. Frank won’t want anyone knowing that he’s being pushed aside. Not even the guy taking his place. It’s not a question of honour. Never is in this business. It’s a question of mentality. Someone’s going to have to keep an eye on Frank.

  The phone’s ringing. Young’s waiting, expecting to hear the now almost familiar voice. Young but flat. Never betraying emotion. Always disinterested. But that’s not the voice that says hello. The voice that says hello is young, perky and female. The girlfriend. It could only be.

  ‘Hello, is Calum there, please?’ He’s being polite, not looking for general conversation. How much has Calum told her? Almost certainly nothing. He’ll be playing her along, giving nothing away. He’ll be safe when it comes to work. A smart gunman is always secretive. So she knows nothing. At least, very little. She won’t know who Young is.

  ‘No, he just went out. Can I take a message?’

  Engage with her or not? It’s worth finding out how involved she is with Calum. Women were never an issue with Frank. By the time he came to work for them, Frank had resigned himself to isolation.

  That’s what Calum should be doing now. This is the price of youthful talent, Young’s realizing. They’re still working out how they’re going to live the life. Still learning from their mistakes.

  ‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’ Young’s asking. Drag it out a little. Let’s hear how smart she is. She’s a student, he knows that. Doesn’t tell him anything. He’s seen some students being indescribably stupid in his time. There’s quite a difference between being well educated and being intelligent.

  ‘I’m Emma; I’m Calum’s… friend.’

  Okay, so they’re not yet at the point where they’re declaring a relationship to all and sundry. That’s good. But the fact that she’s alone in his flat suggests they’re getting there.

  ‘Ah, Emma,’ he’s saying, as though he’s heard of her. Which he has, of course, but Calum doesn’t know that. ‘Just tell him John called. It’s not important. I’ll catch up with him in the next few days.’

  He’s waiting for her to say okay and hang up. That would be the decent thing to do. She’s not, though. She has something she wants to ask.

  ‘Are you a friend of Calum’s?’

  That’s a little forward. Well, of course he’s going to say yes. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘George’s too?’ she’s asking.

  Now she’s interesting. She’s trying to plant him in the same circle as those two. So she knows something. Not everything, or she wouldn’t be fishing for info now.

  ‘I know George.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she’s saying, and she’s trying to sound knowing.

  You know nothing, girl, he’s thinking. If you sound disapproving now, you wouldn’t be there at all if you knew the truth. That’s positive. She doesn’t know anything dangerous yet. Yet. ‘It was nice to talk to you,’ he’s saying. Just enough sarcasm to be noticeable, not so much that it provokes a response. ‘You’ll let Calum know I called.’

  ‘I will.’

  He’s hung up the phone and he’s sitting back in the chair in his living room, smiling. This is something to do. Something that needs doing. Part of his responsibilities involves stopping problems before they appear. This girl Emma could be a problem. They have one gunman, and one young woman looking to lead him astray. A little game to play while passing the time. How to break up the happy couple. She must come to no harm, that’s obvious. The last thing he wants is this little project drawing police attention. Break them up without her feeling any need to make a noise. Probably won’t be able to do it on his own. Calum can never find out. There’s also the worry that a break-up will make the boy even more miserable and difficult to handle. It’s starting to sound less fun now. Still necessary, though.

  31

  He’s been retired. It doesn’t matter how Jamieson dressed it up; fact is, he’s been retired. The old man on the outside. Frank knows what that makes him. Dangerous. That’s why Jamieson was talking a
bout advisory roles. Complete bullshit. He doesn’t need advising. Not even when he’s going up against a big organization. Jamieson’s got this far precisely because he doesn’t need anyone’s advice. He knows what he’s doing. Instinct and intelligence. If you have those two, you don’t need much advising. The idea that he’d have Frank run around doing errands during a war is absurd. When the police know there’s a war on, you keep your big guns off the radar. The police know Frank. Can’t arrest him, he’s never left them evidence, but they know him. In a war, Jamieson would use him, but carefully. Only occasional contact. Give him a target and let him get on with it. A war is the most isolating time for a gunman, but also the most thrilling. You know there’ll be work. Challenges to overcome. It tests you. A good gunman thrives on it. Frank won’t even be involved.

  He’s sitting in his kitchen, holding a cup of tea with both hands. Old hands, he’s thinking. Old hands that have done it all before, and done it well. He can tell himself that all he likes–it doesn’t matter. It’s not the hands that are at fault. It’s the hip. Actually there’s nothing wrong with the hip now. It feels much better than it did in the six months before he had it replaced. Yet, in those six months, Jamieson thought Frank was the bee’s knees. He respected and admired him. Trusted him. If Frank had botched a job in those six months, which he didn’t, when his hip actually did trouble him, he would have got a second chance. There’s no doubt in his mind. Jamieson would have been pissed off, sure. More so than he is now, in fact. Now he’s just sad. Anger would be better. But he would have let him go back to work. Instead, he thinks of Frank as an old man. Tired, decrepit and dangerously incompetent. All because of the hip. All because he got it fixed. If only he had just struggled on in pain.

  Too late for that now. He has a sprightly new hip that nobody wants to play with. No more work. No more work that matters, anyway. Not with Jamieson. There could be work with someone else. That sends a shiver. Working with someone else means making an enemy of Jamieson. A good friend. A deadly enemy. Frank knows what would happen. He wouldn’t even do one job for a new employer before Jamieson found out he’d crossed. He wouldn’t get the chance to do one job. Jamieson isn’t stupid. He won’t let emotion conquer him. If he considers Frank a threat, he’ll remove the threat.