The Sudden Arrival of Violence

by Malcolm Mackay

  It’s just too much to listen to. This old bastard is trying to destroy him, but he still wants a favour. Thinks that Shug is going to do something for him. I break your back, you scratch mine. Trying to persuade Shug to take evidence against Jamieson. Knowing that Shug’s in all kinds of trouble. Knowing that he’ll end up in police company. Hoping that Shug will grass up Jamieson at the same time. Shug’s putting the phone down. Makes him sick to listen to that old man wheezing. Thinking he can persuade Shug to do whatever he wants. There’s nothing else to lose. MacArthur has no leverage left. Shug’s just sitting there. Another twenty seconds passing. The phone ringing again. A man like MacArthur doesn’t give up that easily. He’s used to using people. Used to getting his own way. Shug’s picking up the phone, dropping it back down again to hang up and picking it up again. Leaving it off the hook.

  Remember when it used to be easy? Wasn’t that long ago. The legit business was good. The car-ring was profitable and untouchable. Took a lot of work. Some risk. But they had a system that worked. They were generous towards the big organizations. Made sure they kept them all onside. Shug was good at that. None of the big ones made a run at his business. A few smaller ones did, but Shug had enough money to buy protection. Most of the people who tried to muscle in on the car-ring were aligned to big organizations. People lower down the chain who thought they could overpower a bunch of car geeks. Most were dealt with by talking to the big organization under whose umbrella they were operating. They were slapped down. Shug paid a kickback. Problem solved. Everything goes back to normal. Nothing to worry about from the police. The car-ring was never a priority. Police didn’t even care much. Investigating something like a car-ring would cost a fortune. The reward would be to take Shug’s men off the street, leave a vacuum. Would take the best part of a fortnight for someone to set up a replacement. Probably someone who worked for Shug and knew how to do it. Police couldn’t be sure that the new ring would be so non-violent. Better the devil you know.

  And it still wasn’t enough. A strong business. Good money from the car-ring, well hidden in the legit accounts. So hard to get a system that works, but he had one. A legit business big enough to absorb the finances from a criminal enterprise. Everyone making money. A loyal little bunch of employees. Good people. Or it seemed like it, anyway. But other people were making more money. Not doing anything complicated. Didn’t seem to be doing anything that Shug couldn’t do. Someone suggests that, as he’s moving cars around the country for sale, why not put something in them? Make a little extra cash. No great risk–great reward. Shug held back. Moving stuff around steps on toes. No great risk from the police, sure. But great risk from people who think you’re working against them. So if you’re going to do it, you can’t go in half-hearted. There’s real money. If you do it well, you make a fortune. A killing, even.

  That’s the problem with things being easy. You think it’s going to stay that way. You think that if you can put together a car-ring, then you can put together a drugs network. Control it top to bottom. You become used to that level of control when you have an untouchable operation. So you plot. You organize. You employ. You identify the weakness in others. Identify the target and the mechanisms you can use to bring it down. Take the target’s share of the market. Then move on to the next. The next one always being slightly bigger than the last. Keep working it that way until you get to the top. Of course, Shug knew it would be more dangerous. There are no gunmen in the car trade. At least not that he knows. But he never thought it would be this way. So destructive. Pretty much from day one. And everything he tried blew up in his face. Left him looking weak and stupid. Left him with nothing. All those friends. The perfect system. The easy money. Worthless.

  38

  His mother’s hardly said anything since she got here. Been hours now. She can’t get her head around it. How could this happen to William? George has stayed. All night. Just sitting in silence, ready to help when he can. Hasn’t made any attempt to contact Young. Still letting Calum have control. Still sitting in the corridor. They operated on William, trying to relieve pressure on the brain. Didn’t go well. Nothing more they can do. They’ve invited Calum and his mother in to sit with William now. The final hour.

  George is staying out in the corridor. Not his place to go in. He’s thinking about leaving. He’s entitled. No friend could begrudge him taking this opportunity to protect himself. But he’s not. He’s staying. Still thinking that this is at least partly his fault. Calum probably wanted out, after what happened with Emma. Okay, all the stuff with Frank MacLeod and Glen Davidson probably played a big part. But that’s the job. Calum always handled the job. It’s the personal stuff that would prompt him to run. And that was George’s doing.

  Calum and his mother are sitting in silence. Looking at William, lying in the hospital bed hooked up to a machine. It’s a strange sensation for their mother. You take away the tubes and, apart from a broken nose and cut lip, William looks fine. Calum’s seen the patch of hair that was shaved away before they operated. That’s where the damage is. Where he was kicked. He’s seen enough dead people. Seen some who looked like they hadn’t been touched. It just feels strange that it’s William now. Seen so many that he didn’t care about. Frank was different, too–seeing a man he liked lying dead. Burying him. But this is worse. Frank was part of the business. William doesn’t deserve this. This is Calum’s fault. If it weren’t for the work Calum does, William would be fine.

  The police have visited. Spoke to Calum and George in the corridor. Calum did most of the talking. George was just the friend who went to the garage with him. Calum said he couldn’t understand it. Didn’t know of anyone who would want to hurt his brother. The cops nodded along. A bored-looking detective asking a few questions. At the moment, from the police perspective, this could be anything. Money. A fight over a woman. They can’t even guess at it. Eventually the name will filter around the service. Someone will point out that Calum MacLean is connected to Jamieson. Then people will get excited. Then the police will start swarming. Calum wants to control that. Doesn’t want them anywhere near his brother yet. Not until he’s dead. When William is gone, and Calum’s done his brotherly duty, then things can change.

  The machine’s making a noise. Doesn’t look like there’s any change in William, but they know. A nurse is coming in. Sympathizing. Calum’s looking after his mother. She’s crying, and he’s doing what he can to help her. Which is very little, because he knows this is going to get a lot worse for her before it gets any better. He’s going to have to sit her down and have a talk. Have a conversation that might just destroy her. He’s spent hours thinking about it. Trying to come up with an alternative that would spare her. There is none. It has to be the hard approach. Be cold. Hurt her. There’s no other way. For now, he has his arm around her. They’re still in the room with William. The medical staff have left them. Giving them a moment of peace. A chance to say goodbye.

  They’re out in the corridor. Judge the moment. Calum’s looking at his watch. Ten past eight. William’s been dead for thirty minutes. Their mother doesn’t want to move. Just wants to sit. Shock, probably. George is lingering in the corridor, waiting to find out what happens next. Calum’s ready to tell.

  ‘George, will you go wait for me at the front door. I want to talk to you before we leave.’

  George is nodding. A little unsure, but willing to do what he’s told. Walking along the corridor and round the corner to the lifts. Thinking that something like this was inevitable. You get pushed to do more important work, and you become involved in a more important fuck-up. Inevitable. The police will be all over this soon. Amazing that they’re not already. Distracted by bigger things, perhaps. They’ll open a murder inquiry. That’ll make his life impossible, because they know he was first on the scene. He’s shaking his head as the lift carries him down.

  As soon as George is out of sight, Calum’s turning to his mother. Getting off his chair and crouching down in front of her. Holding bot
h her hands and looking her in the eyes.

  ‘Listen to me Ma. I need you to listen, and hear what I’m saying. I don’t want you to say anything, because I know you won’t believe a lot of what I tell you. You won’t want to believe it. But it’s all true. It’s my fault that William’s dead. They did that to punish him for helping me. I was working for some bad people. Real bad people. I was important to them. They found out that I wanted to get away. Get out from working for them. Get out of Glasgow. They didn’t like that. People aren’t allowed to walk out on them, but I was trying. I couldn’t do it alone, though. I needed someone to help me. I needed William to help me, and he did. He did it because he’s my big brother and he loves me. And because of that, they killed him. Whatever they say about William, I want you to remember that he did it for me. That he lost his life because of me. Because he was such a good brother. Okay?’

  He can see the confusion in her. He can see the hurt. But it’s going to get worse. He has to tell her what’s going to happen next, and that’s going to be even harder for her to take. But the first priority is making sure she doesn’t believe anything she hears about William. The police will uncover stuff he’s done. Handling stolen vehicles and parts. They’ll link him to organized crime; make him sound like he was much more involved than he was. She mustn’t believe the bullshit.

  ‘Listen, Ma, I have to go. I don’t just mean for now. I mean forever. I have to leave the city. Get out of the country. If they find me, they’ll want to kill me too.’ Now she’s opening her mouth to say something. Say anything that’ll keep her last son in the city. ‘I have to go, Ma,’ he’s saying. Interrupt her, before she says anything he can’t handle hearing. ‘I don’t have a choice. If I stay, they’ll kill me too. Talk to the police. Tell them everything. I love you,’ he’s saying, the first time he’s said it since he was a child. Leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.

  He’s standing up, lifting the bag with his belongings over his shoulder, turning and walking away from her. Walking along the white corridor to the corner. Stopping and looking back. She’s still sitting exactly as she was. Staring slightly downwards. Hasn’t moved. Her shoulders are moving up and down. She’s not strong. Their father died a few years ago–she has nobody now. Friends will rally round, but that won’t help. One son murdered, another fleeing the city. She won’t want to leave the house. Won’t want to be seen. Worried that people are talking about her. Speaking badly of her two boys. The shame. It might destroy her. But there’s no other way. The alternative is to stay in the city and end up another victim. Better to give her the glimmer of hope that comes from knowing that Calum’s alive. She might not be able to see him, but he’ll try to get in touch at some point. She can cling to that at least. It’s all she’ll have.

  Calum doesn’t do crying. Doesn’t really do emotions. Can’t remember the last time he was tearful. He goes cold instead. A form of controlled anger. And he’s cold right now. Thinking with a clarity that only comes when you’re under intense pressure. When you’re doing a job, and you know you have to get every last detail of it right. Didn’t have that ability when he started. Something you learn with time. With effort. One of the things that’s made him so good at what he does. The lift doors are opening, and he’s looking left and right as he comes out into the reception area. Plenty of people around, but none that stand out as suspicious. He can see George, standing at the double doors, looking nervous. You’d think he was an expectant father, the way he’s chewing his thumbnail and walking back and forth.

  Calum’s walked across to him. They’ve made their way outside, into the car park. Quieter here, nobody to hear them talk.

  ‘Listen to me, George,’ Calum is saying. ‘Things are going to change. You have to get out. The position they’ve put you in, the position I’ve put you in–you have to get out.’

  ‘I can’t just get out,’ George is saying, and shaking his head. It’s cold this morning. There’s a little wind whipping around them.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Calum is saying, ‘but you only have one chance. Take that chance: get out and leave everything behind. I mean everything. I’m going to change things, George. You don’t want to be here when it happens. They’ll think you helped me. They’ll blame you. If you stay, you’re killing yourself.’

  George is walking round in a circle, hands on his head. Maybe with planning you can run, but not like this. This isn’t workable.

  ‘You have an opportunity,’ Calum’s telling him. ‘You have nobody to leave behind. Ditch everything. Go straight to the train station from here. Get on a train and go south. The police will be looking for you. So will Jamieson. You can’t be here for either of them to find you. I’m going to do something that might change the business in this city. If you’re still here in twenty-four hours, you could be swept away by it.’

  George is looking at him now. ‘Jesus, Calum, don’t do anything stupid here.’

  Calum’s smiling. ‘That ship is long gone. I’m only going to do what I have to do. You need to get out. Head south. Down to London. Hell, I might even see you there. Just… don’t stay here. Go.’ And he’s sticking out a hand. George is shaking it. Calum’s turning and walking across the car park, taking William’s phone from his pocket.

  39

  Fisher doesn’t have time for her. He’ll have to make some. Deana Burke is a woman capable of making trouble. Capable of spoiling what’s shaping up to be a damned good week. She called half an hour ago, said she wanted to talk to him. He tried to put her off, but she was having none of it. Deana Burke wants to talk; she’s not the sort to wait. A lot of them are the same. Women who spend their lives on the fringes of the industry. They think they’re as hard as their men. Think they have the right to behave any way they want. Bloody nightmare, the lot of them. Dealing with the family can be the worst part of an arrest. Not that Burke is family. She was Kenny’s girlfriend, nothing more. But she might have information. Things are falling his way right now. She might actually have something worth listening to.

  He got about four hours’ sleep last night. Nipped home for it. Some people take a nap in the station, shower there. Not Fisher. It’s necessary to get out of the building when you can. There’s a temptation for a cop like him to turn it into a second home. Got to resist. Went home, slept, showered and got something to eat. Then back to the station. Not tired. Not even a bit. Reinvigorated. All of the weight that’s been building up on him in the last few months is falling away. Finishing line in sight. For now, a detour. Down the stairs and into the car park. Deana wants to meet–Fisher suggested her house. She said no. She even suggested the station. Fisher said no to that. Too many leaks. If Greig sees her here, then it means trouble. That little bastard would report to Shug. Greig’s another problem that he’ll soon resolve–he’s been getting away with it for far too long. Not much longer.

  They’re meeting in some fancy coffee bar that she suggested when he refused the station. Fisher’s never been here before. Doesn’t much like the look of it. Quiet, but people coming and going. Never mind. It’ll do. Little chance anyone here will report to Shug. The arrest will come soon. Oh, that’s going to be sweet. Can’t wait for that. Tomorrow, if he gets his own way. Some want to wait, suggesting they should take the time to gather more evidence. No way. That’s just creating time for Jamieson to take the decision out of Fisher’s hands. Time for Shug and MacArthur to hide evidence. Time for them to reduce the potential damage that the police can do. Maybe even run. Not MacArthur–that old bastard wouldn’t shuffle away now. But then they probably won’t get enough to arrest him anyway. Shug might run. Des Collins certainly would.

  He can see Deana sitting at a table by herself. Dressed normally. Hair down. Has the look of a woman who’s decided that a week is quite long enough to grieve. A woman ready to move on. She looks calm and composed, he’s thinking to himself as he walks across to sit opposite her. And he’s already suspicious. She’s given up on mourning. A smart woman like her, ready to move on. S
uddenly she gets in touch. What does that mean?

  ‘Deana, how are you?’ he’s asking. The words sound concerned, but the tone doesn’t.

  ‘I’m okay. Dealing with things. How is your investigation?’

  ‘Moving quickly,’ he’s telling her. ‘Won’t be long now, I can assure you. We’ve made a lot of progress in a short while. I’ll have some big news for you very soon.’

  She’s nodding. Mixed feelings for Deana. She wants everyone involved in Kenny’s killing to get a taste of their own medicine. A bullet for a bullet. Arrests just don’t seem enough. But you take what you can get. And you let people like Peter Jamieson follow the path they think best.

  She’s listening to him. He’s telling her some vague things about the investigation. No detail. Nothing that could identify who he plans to arrest. Or when he plans to make his move. She knows he doesn’t trust her. Why should he? Opposite sides of the fence.

  ‘I received some information,’ she’s saying.

  Fisher’s suddenly paying attention. His head rising sharply, watching her. ‘Information? What information did you receive?’

  ‘I was told a name for who shot Kenny. I think it’s true. Makes sense to me. Do you know of a man called Des Collins?’

  ‘I do,’ he’s saying quietly. Nothing more.

  ‘I was told that Collins did it. That he was working for Alex MacArthur. MacArthur has a deal with Shug Francis. They went after Kenny to send a message to Jamieson. And I think the job Kenny did that night was targeting MacArthur, not Shug.’

  A collision of instincts, cynical at first. Sounded like she was telling him a story she’d carefully learned. It was too perfect. Naming Collins and MacArthur. Felt like a set-up. A set-up that pointed him in the correct direction, but he was still suspicious. Then that last sentence. That turned it all around. With that one sentence, trust. He had thought she was a plant. Telling him what Jamieson wanted him to hear. It seemed a little transparent. Then that–Jamieson would never let her give that sort of information away. Not to a cop. Not to anyone. Jamieson targeting Alex MacArthur is big news. Private news.