The Sudden Arrival of Violence

by Malcolm Mackay

  He stepped out from behind the wall. Let them get just out of sight, then caught them up. They were talking loudly. He can still remember that. Couldn’t hear what they were saying. Just the voices. Two drunk men, talking merrily in the night. A taxi came along the street. The other guy waved it down. It stopped. Calum could see the other guy trying to persuade Kirkpatrick to get in with him. Kirkpatrick refusing. His mate got in, the taxi pulled away. Calum had to keep walking. Getting dangerously close to Kirkpatrick now. The taxi driver must have seen him as he pulled away and moved down the street. The mate was too pissed, but the driver must have seen. Kept it to himself, if he did. It was just Kirkpatrick and Calum on the street now. Hard to remember what buildings were around them. Closed shops. Brick walls. Dark and silent. No houses, he remembers that. Kirkpatrick slowing down. Making a sort of growling noise. Looking left and right. Seeing a wide alleyway between two buildings. Lurching sideways towards it. Kirkpatrick going too slow. Calum with no choice but to walk right past him.

  Slowing and looking back over his shoulder. Kirkpatrick disappearing into the alleyway. Shit, what’s he up to? Calum wasn’t in control of the situation. Not at all. He reached into his pocket, felt the handle of the knife. Turning back. Nobody else on the street. No cars. Maybe Kirkpatrick isn’t that drunk after all. Maybe he’s lying in wait, a gun in his hand. Nope. Standing facing the wall. Fumbling with his trousers. Didn’t hear Calum approach behind him. Stood there, pissing happily against the wall. Calum walked silently up behind him. No hesitation. Get it done. Knife out of pocket. Almost slapping it into Kirkpatrick. A second time, into the back. Kirkpatrick slumped forward. Hit the wall. Fell forward. Ungainly. A mess of sodden limbs, crumpled against the wall. He has to be dead. Calum raising the knife. Into the side of the neck. If that’s not enough, too bad. A need to leave. A desire to run. But he didn’t. Knife back into the pocket. Walking out of the alleyway and along the street. Back to Lacock’s house, then home.

  There was so much wrong with it. With the hit. With the situation. So many mistakes. It was luck alone that kept Calum safe. Luck and a little bit of judgement. That night he saw Lacock’s desperation. Saw him out of control. Never did another job for him. Went off the radar. A month later, Lacock was in jail. Charged with supplying class-A drugs. They figured him for the Kirkpatrick hit, but they couldn’t prove it. Lacock never spoke about it. He went away for six years anyway. William crossed his fingers and hoped that was the end of it. Because he knew. He knew Calum had murdered Kirkpatrick. It had to be him. Lacock had nobody else to do it for him. It was Calum. Time passed, and it seemed like Calum was out of the business. Then a few rumours. Calum was doing work for people. Freelance. Good at what he does. And William went back to worrying.

  But the guilt was there. Calum met Lacock at the garage. William had multiple chances to warn Calum off. To force him to back out. Ignored all of them because he didn’t care enough. Didn’t see the trouble coming. Misjudged his brother. Thought he was too good a human being to be caught up in that sort of thing. And he still feels the guilt, because he never did anything about it. Let it go on for years. Now there’s a chance to help, and there’s nothing he won’t do for Calum. Nothing he won’t do to help him get away. William will never come straight out and say it. He’s sitting down opposite Calum with a cup of tea. Saying nothing at all. You don’t speak about these things. You keep it all to yourself. You hope that the other person is smart enough to work it out for themselves. And Calum is. He knows. It doesn’t need to be said. Should he say something to William? Tell him there’s nothing to be guilty about. They were all Calum’s choices. Nah. William’s smart enough to know that, too.

  30

  Sending a text: Come to flat NOW. Hoping that his contact will see it and turn up in good time. Hoping he has his phone with him, wherever he is. Young’s going straight to the flat. Parking along the street and going up. He’ll be there first, waiting as usual. Thinking he ought to call Jamieson. And tell him what? No progress. No sign of Calum. He doesn’t need to know that. Call him when you have something to say. Young’s sitting with his head in his hands. He’ll go back to the club after this meeting, because there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing else he can do. You spend so long trying to pull strings, and one little thing screws it all up. Spent so long setting up this thing with Shug and MacArthur. It was perfect. Fisher doing all the hard work for them. Taking Shug out of the picture. Setting up a run at MacArthur. It was delayed by Frank. Now it could be ruined by Calum.

  It’s less than twenty minutes later when there’s a knock on the door. Young’s up and walking to the door. Looking through the peephole. PC Joseph Higgins. He looks nervous. He should. Young can’t remember ever making an emergency call to the young cop. That’ll unsettle the boy. If he works out what’s happening, then he’ll be much more unsettled. Calum running could spark any kind of trouble. A running gunman gets talkative, and that’s dangerous for anyone with even the lightest connection to the organization. Young’s opening the door, nodding for Higgins to come in. The cop’s moving quickly. Trying not to look intimidated by this call, and failing. Going and taking his usual seat in the living room. Young’s walking in behind him. Trying not to look exhausted by the whole bloody mess, and failing. Higgins can see it in him, and that makes the nerves worse.

  ‘I came as soon as I got your message,’ Higgins is saying. Trying to start on a positive.

  ‘Good,’ Young is nodding. ‘Now, this might not be much of a big deal,’ he’s saying, aiming for casual and missing, ‘but it is time-sensitive. That’s what the hurry’s about. I hate to have to drag you into this, but you’re the only person I can trust to do this properly. It’s not a complicated job. And there shouldn’t be much risk for you, I don’t think. But I can assure you, I won’t forget this help from you.’ Young thinking about the latest bullshit business venture he’s sucked Higgins senior into. Get the father into debt, bail him out, keep the son grateful. Knowing that Higgins junior is thinking of the same thing.

  ‘Okay’ is all Higgins is saying in response.

  ‘I just need you to find out if someone’s left the country or not. See if they’ve booked an air ticket or train ticket. We’re trying to get in touch with someone, and we can’t find them. Running out of time, to be honest with you.’

  Higgins is nodding. He knows he can check. Easy enough. All he needs is a reason why.

  ‘Who’s the person?’

  ‘Donald Tompkin,’ Young’s saying. ‘May have left the city in the last couple of hours, or may be leaving in the next twenty-four.’

  Higgins is frowning slightly. Never heard of this Tompkin guy. Thought he’d recognize the name. A known criminal. Then he could pretend at the station that he’s heard rumours about this guy being a target. Say that he’s looking for him. If the guy then turns up dead, he can say he thought the fellow was in trouble. Didn’t think it was anything as bad as that. Might look a little iffy that he was investigating the name alone, but explainable. Harder to explain when it’s a name unknown to the police.

  ‘Donald Tompkin. Don’t know him,’ Higgins is saying. Won’t push it further than that. If Young doesn’t want to say who he is, then Higgins won’t ask. ‘I can check for him, though.’

  Higgins is getting up to leave. Young wants this done in a hurry, so you look like you’re in a hurry. He’s reached the front door, and he’s stopping. Well, damn it all, doesn’t he at least have the right to ask? This is his career. His safety. He’s entitled to one question. One reasonable question. He’s going back into the living room.

  ‘Is there any danger that this Tompkin guy is going to turn up dead?’ he’s asking.

  Young’s looking at him. Couple of months ago, the boy wouldn’t have dared. Would have just taken his instruction and carried it out. He’s changing. Maturing maybe. Or getting harder. Bound to happen eventually. He’s becoming used to being a contact. Starting to think he’s entitled to ask questions. How long does it take them to
become as hard as Paul Greig?

  ‘There is absolutely no prospect of Donald Tompkin turning up dead,’ Young’s saying. ‘It’s not like that at all. You don’t have to worry.’

  Higgins has gone. Said he’d call in the next couple of hours. Young told him the truth about Tompkin. A man who doesn’t exist can’t turn up dead. A man who doesn’t exist can still ruin your career. Can ruin everything, if he wants to. Young’s giving Higgins a head start. Trying to think of something else he can do. Calling George.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nothing. Nobody’s come out since William went in.’ A pause. ‘Would it not be better for someone to go in there and find out what’s going on?’

  Stupid question, born of impatience. Born of loyalty to Calum. Young’s getting frustrated. ‘Just sit where you are and keep your eyes open. Anyone goes in or out, you tell me. No pissing about here.’ Hanging up. Getting out of the flat and driving to the club. Relief to be in the car, focusing on the drive. Focus on anything that isn’t this colossal fuckup.

  Up the stairs and through the snooker room. A room Jamieson has spent very little time in recently. Along the corridor and into the office. Jamieson sitting at his desk. Reading something, looking up at Young as he comes in. Young walking across the room and sitting on the couch.

  ‘Any news?’ Jamieson’s asking.

  ‘None useful. Brother left work early, went home. He’s at the house now. It’s being watched. Apparently the brother’s been taking a lot of time off this week. I’ve got someone checking travel details for Donald Tompkin. I’m sure he hasn’t gone yet. Sure of it.’

  Jamieson’s saying nothing. Shouldn’t be sure of anything. Not yet. Not when they’re in danger of falling into a river of shit. Calum’s been a smart little bastard. Setting up his escape just after a job. Knows they won’t be expecting to hear from him. This job in particular. Knows how distracted they’re going to be. Such a shame. Smart and cold like that–he could have been brilliant.

  They’ve been in near-total silence as they wait for Young’s mobile to ring. It’s dark outside. The club will be filling up. It’s Friday night, so it’ll be heaving with people down there. A long night and a loud one. People oblivious to what’s going on above them. Wouldn’t care anyway. As long as it doesn’t get in their way. People just want to have a good time and be left alone. That’s one valuable lesson Jamieson’s learned over the years. Let people have their way and leave them to it, and they’ll have nothing bad to say about you. It’s been two hours since Young got back to the office. Nothing. This is taking longer than it should. Maybe Higgins has run into trouble. Jamieson’s glancing across at Young, who’s pretending to read a paper. How well does Young know these contacts of his? He thinks he can trust this Higgins character. Jamieson’s never met the boy. Stop that. Stop thinking that way right now. You lose trust in your right-hand man and it’s all fucked. There’s enough people to doubt right now. John Young ain’t one of them.

  It’s nearly ten o’clock when Young’s mobile starts to ring. He’s looking at the screen. Looking across to Jamieson and nodding before he answers.

  ‘Hello. Uh-huh. Okay. That’s excellent.’ And hanging up. Keep the conversation as short as possible. ‘Donald Tompkin is still with us. Has a plane ticket to London for tomorrow. Leaving from Edinburgh airport.’

  Jamieson’s frowning. ‘Could be in Edinburgh already.’

  ‘Nah,’ Young’s saying. ‘He won’t have left his brother’s house. Not since the night he killed Kenny and Hardy. He’ll be hiding there. Won’t want anyone to see him. Won’t take the risk. I’ll bet his brother will give him a lift across to Edinburgh tomorrow. Flight’s in the afternoon.’ You can hear the enthusiasm in Young’s voice. He feels as though they’re back in control.

  Jamieson’s sitting at his desk and he’s thinking. Plotting. Go with your gut. That’s what he’s always done. It got him a long way. Started to doubt his instinct lately. Started to doubt himself. Frank’s fault. And Kenny’s, to a lesser extent. You let people get close to you, and they let you down. How can you trust yourself after that? Because you have to, is the short and simplistic answer. His gut tells him that Calum’s finished. Common sense tells him the same thing. So it’s unanimous. They have to find Calum. And they have to kill him. There’s no other way out. No other punishment will do. They can’t take him back. That’s what Jamieson had hoped for, but he can see now it’s not going to happen. Once a gunman tries to get away, you have to stop them altogether. He tries once, and he’ll try again. He’s not happy now, and he’s never going to be. So Jamieson knows exactly what they’re going to do.

  ‘We need to get him out of the house and away from his brother,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘Going to have to do it tomorrow morning.’

  31

  William’s leaving the house early. Going to head in to the garage and spend an hour or two there. Should probably be with his brother, but it’s too tense. Besides, he’s going to drive Calum across to Edinburgh later this morning. There’ll be plenty of time for goodbyes then. Calum has said they’ll stay in touch. Might be a while before he’s able, but he’ll make it happen.

  ‘When I’ve settled somewhere, established my new ID, I’ll be in touch. I’m not going to suddenly forget that you’re my brother,’ Calum told him. Won’t forget what William’s done for him, either. Didn’t say that. Didn’t need to.

  Nice to be out of the house, William’s thinking now. Nice to get to the garage and focus on work for a little while. Make sure that nothing indescribably stupid has happened in his absence. He’s driving away from the house. Didn’t stop and check for any sign he was being followed. Getting blasé about it now.

  If he’d stopped to look, he might have seen George. Exhausted George, sitting in the car. He fell asleep last night. Should have been watching the house, and he fell asleep for more than two hours. Unprofessional. But he is only human. He’s calling Young now, telling him that William’s left the house by himself.

  ‘Should I follow him?’

  A long pause. The long pause of a bad decision being made. ‘No. Stay where you are. Keep an eye out for Calum. If he leaves the house, then you follow him. Otherwise, stay where you are.’ It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was going to be George who followed William. George who delivered William’s punishment. But Young’s changed his mind. A lack of trust. George is too close to Calum. Wouldn’t deliver the punishment that must be delivered. He’d let William off the hook. William MacLean knew what he was doing. Knew the risk he was taking. Now he has to pay for that.

  Young’s calling Shaun Hutton. Hutton is still going to deliver Calum’s punishment. The only man they have who can. First, he’s going to deal with William. Young’s telling him what to do. Where to draw the line. Hutton doesn’t sound enthusiastic. Thinks this sort of thing beneath him. He’s a gunman, not muscle. Maybe Young should have gone with George after all. No, too late.

  ‘Go round to his garage,’ Young’s saying. ‘He might be there. If not, let us know.’

  Was that the right move? Jamieson will be pissed off. He wanted George to handle the brother. Jamieson likes George. Thinks he has talent, which he does. Been making a point of getting George involved, meeting personally with him. Thinks the lad has brains, which he does. But none of that matters if you don’t have trust. George is too close to Calum.

  Hutton’s sitting outside the garage. He’s seen the man he thinks is William. It’s turning into a lovely day. Bright sunshine. Sent round to punish a guy in the daylight. Yeah, like that’s ever a good idea. This whole Jamieson organization is starting to seem like a mess. Feels like they only have shitty jobs for a man to do. Maybe crossing over was a mistake. Maybe he should just have ducked out. Lie low for a while, then find work freelance. Too late. Can’t get off a horse halfway through a race. Not without taking a painful tumble. So he’s watching William MacLean. Coming out of the garage and looking at a car parked on the street. Trying to look under it. Looking a
t a sheet of paper he has in his hand. Seems like something doesn’t add up. Shaking his head slightly and going back into the garage. No sign of anyone else. Saturday morning. The other mechanics won’t be there. Just the boss coming in for a little work. Close those garage doors and it’ll be just the two of them.

  William’s been in there a while. Still no sign of anyone else. Hutton’s getting out of his car. No time like the present. Young told him to be quick about it. Locking the car and walking up to the entrance. Feels weird, doing a job in the daytime. Out in the open like this. Not a hit, which justifies the lack of caution. Still doesn’t feel right. He’s stepping inside the large doors, looking around. Gloomy in here. Nobody moving about. One car up on the ramp on the right-hand side of the garage, another two parked close together at the back. There’s what looks like a little cabin at the back, windows overlooking the garage floor. A light on there. Hutton’s tall enough to see the top of someone’s head, sitting at the desk in the office. That would be our target. Hutton’s turning and pulling shut the garage doors. They slide across. Slow and loud, but he’s reached the point where stealth doesn’t matter.

  William doesn’t think anything of the scraping noise. Heard it a million times before. Hardly registers that it’s the garage doors closing. It’s the reduction in sunlight. Always dark at the back of the garage, that’s why he needs the light on all the time. Still, you notice when the little sunlight there is disappears. He’s craning his neck to look out the window and into the garage. He can see a figure closing the doors, but not who it is. He’s getting up, angry at first, then nervous. Could be a cop. William’s coming down the few wooden steps to the garage floor. Walking towards the man who’s approaching him. William’s about to say something. Something that shows his annoyance, but not something that pisses off a cop. Play nice. If they ask about Calum, play dumb. The man’s reached him. Big fellow. The only light is coming from the office. Just enough to see the man. Just enough to see that he isn’t a cop.