But it’s harder this time. Struggling to get the footholds, but struggling more with his hands. The damn gun. Can’t drop it. Need to get out and need to get the gun out too. Can’t come away empty-handed. Can’t leave the gun for the cops to play with. But it’s slowing him. He’s looking behind him as he’s swinging his leg over the top of the fence. No cop. He must have gotten Lawson. That’s Lawson’s problem. He’ll only talk if he’s dead from the neck up. Even someone desperate and stupid knows that you don’t name the buyer. So the cop has Lawson to play with. Good, gives Peterkinney a better chance.
Peterkinney’s dropping to the other side of the fence. Jarring his ankles again. This time worse, but in a hurry. Ignore it and move. Something else Bowles told him. A uniformed cop is never alone. Always in pairs. And if they know there’s a gun involved, there will be at least one detective as well. So there could be two more, and they could be close. Could be at his car. Play this careful.
But careful just took a jump out the broken window. There’s a cop stepping inside the gate. Closing it behind him. Moving casually. Peterkinney’s stopped. Back the way he came? Maybe run round the other side of this building and see how his luck holds. No idea what’s there, but it’s still an option. But he’s not moving. He’s standing, watching the cop come towards him. The cop’s smiling.
‘Well, young man, what have you got there?’
So smug. Happy as a pig in shit, as they say. And Peterkinney knows him. Learned this little lesson from one of Marty’s boys. A guy he once did a collection job with pointed this cop out in a pub they went to. PC Paul Greig. Bent, the fellow told him. A fucking nightmare though. So bent he takes your money and still arrests you. You just can’t rely on him at all. But bent. That’s the important thing to remember here. It’s Peterkinney, a gun and a bent copper. Now his mind’s racing. Coming up with a new option.
Things are starting to make sense. Lawson was nervous about it. Bowles was worried that it might be a set-up. One cop came running after them. One, on his own. A situation with a gun, and only one cop came round the other way. Now Greig turns up. Nah, that doesn’t add up to an honest situation. This is a stitch-up. Lawson probably in on it. They set up the sale to catch Peterkinney. Or any employee of Bowles. But that’s not how they do things. Not when they’re honest. One cop confronting Peterkinney, all on his own. Doesn’t need to worry about the gun, the cop knows more about it than Peterkinney does. The cop will know there are no bullets to fear. But he shouldn’t be here alone.
So Peterkinney’s starting to talk. He’s not going to fight his way out of this. Whatever Greig is, he’s still a cop. Can’t run. Doesn’t know for sure what he’s up against, although he’s willing to bet now that there are only the two cops. Greig wouldn’t be on his own if there were more. Best way out is talking.
‘Can I help you, officer?’ Pausing as Greig smiles a little. ‘I’m sure I can do something to help you.’
Greig walking a little closer, standing a few feet away. ‘You think so, huh? I think if I opened that bag you’re carrying I’d find a gun. I think I could arrest you. Get you locked up for a few years. Very serious crime, carrying a gun.’
‘You could do that. But what’s the point? Another gun will replace it. Someone else will replace me. I’m sure you and me can come to a better arrangement than that. One that’ll last. One that we can all benefit from.’ His heart’s beating fast. This, talking to a cop, is far more nerve-racking than collecting a gun or money. But his mind is still sharp. It’s the good kind of nerves. Inspiring.
Greig’s looking at him. ‘So, what? You and me set up some scheme, huh? You and me take a cut of money away from the seller, that sort of thing? That your big idea?’ Looking sharply at Peterkinney. Speaking sharp too.
This is where you pick your words carefully. What do you know about Greig? How do you judge what he just said? ‘That sort of set-up wouldn’t work,’ Peterkinney’s saying honestly. ‘People would never sell to my boss if they heard people were being ripped off. But there could be another way. My boss would pay for protection. He would pay for . . .’
‘Please,’ Greig is saying, waving a dismissive hand. This isn’t what he wants to hear. He needs to hear something convincing, and this ain’t it. Roy Bowles will not pay a uniformed officer good money for limited protection.
Peterkinney’s thinking. Remembering that conversation he had with one of Marty’s boys. Greig still arrests you. He still does his job. He’s still a cop who acts like one. That’s why you don’t trust him, apparently. But if you know he’s still a proper cop, you can use that. Use it to get yourself out of this situation. Not like Greig’s told him to shut up. They’ve both essentially accepted that a deal can happen. Now they’re just negotiating.
‘You keep the money from this sale, fine,’ Peterkinney is saying. ‘Maybe there’s a way of sorting out other payments, maybe not. I’m sure we can come up with something. But look at it this way. You know there are much worse people than my boss moving guns in this city. Much worse. Much less careful. People like Mark Garvey. People like Robby Draper. You heard about this new kid Spikey?’
‘I heard. So what?’
‘So you know how my boss does his work. He’s strict. He only sells to people in the business. Everything he sells is for use in the industry. None end up in civilian cases. You know that. Can’t say that for the rest of them. Garvey will sell to anyone. Draper’s been getting desperate. Losing business and selling to anyone who’ll pay. This Spikey is a kid, selling to other kids. Street gangs. You want to keep these guns away from civilians, you need someone like my boss controlling the flow. Can’t wipe out the trade, you know that. That’s naive. If you can’t wipe it out, next best thing is controlling it. There might be money in it for you, but what I’m talking about is worth more than that. I’m talking about taking charge of who does and who doesn’t get guns in this city.’
Damn, that sounded good to Peterkinney. Can’t believe how easily it all spilled out. Almost casual. The nerves are dropping too, because he knows he’s right. Knows he sounds convincing. Knows that this is what Greig wants to hear.
Greig is looking at him. Not saying no, which is a start. Looking back towards the gate. Looking thoughtful. ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Peterkinney. Oliver Peterkinney.’
‘Huh. Well, Peterkinney, you may have stumbled onto something worthwhile. Your boss doesn’t get a free ride. He steps out of line and I’ll be on him. And I’ll be watching you too. We’ll be having regular meetings. You and me are going to get to know each other, you understand?’
Peterkinney’s nodding. He means that Peterkinney’s going to have to pay him regularly. The control thing might matter most, but don’t forget the money. ‘I’m sure it’ll be a profitable relationship,’ Peterkinney’s saying.
Greig’s nodding. Nice to meet a kid who gets it. Who understands the ways of the industry. He’ll do okay, this one. Greig’s nodding for the kid to leave. Watching him walk to the gate and out. Walking comfortable. Not running, not stiff. Walking like he’s just done a perfectly normal thing.
10
Arnie’s never quick to answer the door these days. More often than not bad news. Why rush? Just be someone he doesn’t want to talk to. So the person is knocking a second time when he opens it. A young fellow. Takes him a couple of seconds to recognize. It’s Alex Glass. Oliver’s wee mate. Or he was. Don’t see nearly so much of him round here any more. Which is a good thing, in Arnie’s book.
‘Hi, is Oliver about?’
The kid looks a mess. He was always a rogue, but at least he was a well-turned-out rogue. Now he looks tired. Looks like he hasn’t had a shower after a long night. Looks nervy.
‘No, he’s out. You want to leave a message or something?’ Kids these days. Don’t need to leave messages. They got about a hundred different ways of getting in touch with each other. If you can’t get through to someone it’s because they don’t want you to.
‘
No, no,’ Glass is saying. Doesn’t sound convinced though. Still standing there. Seems like a boy with something to say.
Arnie’s about to close the door when the kid pipes up. ‘Actually yeah, I do. Look, tell him to call me, yeah. Home or mobile, whatever. I really need to talk to him about work. It’s important.’
That’s got Arnie pausing. ‘What work?’ he’s asking. The only work Arnie knows Oliver does is for Roy Bowles. Roy would not hire this unreliable moron. And he would not be happy to hear that one of his men has been passing work on to him. Or even talking about it, for that matter. This could be a sackable offence.
Glass is nodding, because he thinks he understands. Peterkinney has two jobs, and his grandfather wants to know which one he’s talking about. The old man might be able to put in a good word for him. This could be a chance. ‘Working for Marty, I mean. I know Oliver’s been getting loads of work from him. I haven’t been getting any. It’s a struggle, you know. Trying to make ends meet. I was hoping he might be able to help me out, get some work.’
Arnie’s nodding. His face has gone hard, but Glass is too wrapped up in his own problems to notice. ‘Why don’t you come in and wait,’ Arnie’s saying. ‘Have a cup of tea. He’s only gone out for a wee while. He won’t be long.’
Glass has nowhere else to go, so he’s stepping inside. Into the cramped kitchen. Taking a seat and a cup. Arnie sitting opposite him. Wanting to know about this Marty business, but not wanting to push it. He knows Glass will clam up if he thinks he’s dropping his mate in it. So he has to pretend that he already knows. Pretend that Oliver doesn’t mind him knowing. Even though Oliver’s obviously been keeping it from him for a while. If he’s been working for Marty since the first time Arnie heard mention of Marty’s name then this has been going on for months. The boy lying to him.
‘You not getting a lot of work then, Alex?’ he’s asking. Being friendlier than he’s ever been to the worthless kid before. That should be enough to put the boy on high alert, but apparently not. He’s just delighted to have someone show an interest.
‘Nah. I think Marty’s done with me. Says he doesn’t have any work for me, but he’s got plenty for Oliver. Plenty for everyone else. I was hoping me and Oliver could sort something out. You know, he takes a job from Marty, I do it for him. We split the cash. That sort of thing. Helps him take more work, helps me make some money. You know,’ he’s saying, then trailing off. Aware that he’s been talking for a while, and feeling uncomfortable. He always had the impression that Arnie didn’t like him much, and that memory has suddenly come back to him.
‘You struggling for cash?’ Arnie’s surprising himself. He actually cares.
‘Little bit, yeah,’ Glass is saying, and shrugging. Looking down at the table. Looking awkward. Not the sort of thing he wants to admit. He’s always been independent. Left home when he was eighteen. Always managed to keep his nose above the waterline. Been close a few times, but he’s always been able to look after himself. Found work, earned money. Did a better job of looking after himself than his parents ever did of looking after him. Now he needs help.
A suspicion. Arnie frowning and looking at the boy. ‘You in trouble here, lad?’
Glass breathing out heavily. The truth is tempting. And maybe the old man can put pressure on Oliver to help. Getting to the point where humiliating yourself in front of this old man is the only choice he’s got. ‘I . . . borrowed some money. Shouldn’t have, but I needed it. So now I’m in a hole. I just need some work, that’s all. Just a bit to get started, you know. I didn’t borrow a lot, so I just need a little work to cover it. It’s okay. Just a bit. Oliver can sort me out. He’s well in with Marty.’
‘I didn’t know he was doing so well,’ Arnie’s saying, making it sound casual. Making it sound like he knew his grandson was working for that piece of shit, just didn’t realize how successfully.
‘Oh yeah, Oliver’s doing great.’ Thinking he’s doing his mate a favour by talking him up. Looking Arnie in the eye, across the little table. They can’t both put their arms on the table; their hands would meet in the middle. So Glass has his hands in his lap, feeling uncomfortable and looking childish. ‘He gets a hell of a lot more work than me. Actually, I think he gets more than anyone. Marty likes him. I don’t think Oliver likes Marty much,’ Glass is saying with a shrug. ‘Doesn’t go in for the lifestyle or anything like that, you know. But he gets the work, so . . .’
One thing to be relieved about. But it’s a small thing. He might not live the life, but he works the job. That’s bad enough on its own. ‘Was it going in for the lifestyle that got you into a hole?’ Arnie’s asking.
Glass is smiling. He doesn’t think about Ella as being part of the lifestyle. She’s part of his life. ‘Sort of,’ he’s saying reluctantly. Because he only met her through her work. Can’t deny that. And her work is part of the lifestyle. Doesn’t matter how much he wishes otherwise, it is and it will continue to be.
Arnie’s about to pursue the point when he hears a key in the door. Oliver home. Hears him walking along the corridor and opening the door to his bedroom.
‘Oliver, kitchen,’ Arnie’s shouting.
Oliver sticks his head round the door. Sees his friend and his grandfather. A slight frown that he manages to kill before it gives his mood away. He was happy coming in the door. Came out of that meeting with Greig about as well as he could have. The adrenalin may be fading, but he’s still a little high. The thrill, the confidence that he handled a treacherous situation well. Can’t beat that feeling. It’s going to cost him. He’s the one who’ll have to pay the cop, because he isn’t going to tell Bowles about it. Not yet, anyway. You don’t tell the boss that you got cornered by a bent copper. You pay the cost yourself. You see if there’s any way you can make it work for you. A guy like Greig could be very useful. A guy like Glass, not so much.
‘Alex. Good to see you, man. Come through.’ Nodding for his friend to follow him through to the bedroom where they can talk in private. Away from Arnie. Away from any conversation that reveals more than it should. Too late for that.
Arnie is still sitting in the kitchen. Waiting for Glass to leave and Oliver to come talk to him. Which he will, because he has to explain this Marty thing. Glass isn’t smart enough to lie about what he told Arnie. They’ve been in there ten minutes now. At one point there was a raised voice. Oliver’s, certainly. Harsh, it sounded. Almost mocking in tone. Now the bedroom door is opening. Now the front door, and someone’s gone. Glass moved along that corridor quickly, leaving in a hurry and a huff.
Oliver’s coming into the kitchen. Nodding to his grandfather. Looks grumpy, looks like he’s ready for an argument. Arnie knows the look. Oliver gets it when he’s annoyed with something, but he knows it better from Oliver’s father. There was a fellow who never let a potential fight walk casually by. Always spoiling for trouble. Always in a howler. Had to handle him carefully, just like you do his son.
‘I think that boy’s in trouble,’ Arnie’s saying. Open with agreement. Something obvious. Something that Oliver can’t possibly object to.
‘I think so too.’
‘Silly thing, to borrow money. Drags you down, that sort of thing. Never ends well. That boy needs a friend to help him out. Why don’t you give him the work Marty Jones is giving you? You can concentrate on getting the hell away from Marty Jones, like you were going to.’
A sigh for an answer. Oliver standing with his back to the worktop, looking down at the table where Arnie’s sitting. A grim look, already on the defensive and ready to defend with aggression. ‘I’ve been doing a few jobs for Marty, yeah. Just a few. Now and again. I don’t make enough money from Roy Bowles. You know how unreliable that work is. You know I don’t make enough there. So I need something else. But it’s temporary.’
‘And how long has it been temporary?’
‘Fine. You’re right. I know you are. Marty Jones is poison. You don’t have to tell me that. You really don’t. Listen, right. I’ll make
you a promise: I will be out from Marty’s business within the month, okay? I’ll be gone in a month. I’m looking at another opportunity. Something better. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I did a job for Roy today. Made me realize a few things. Seriously, within a month. That enough to make you happy?’
Arnie’s looking at him. Ignoring the snarky tone. The superior tone that’s crept into a lot of what Oliver says these days. This time he meant it, but he doesn’t always. There’s been a tendency lately for him to speak down to his grandfather. Presumably because he’s working and Arnie isn’t. Gets on Arnie’s nerves, sure, but he doesn’t say anything. Why bother?
He wants to believe Oliver will get out from under Marty. He also wants to believe that when Oliver stops working for Marty, it will be for something better. Something legitimate. Wants to believe, but doesn’t. If he has plans of his own then it’ll be within the industry. What else does he know? But anything is better than Marty.
‘Fine. You get away from Marty Jones; I’ll say no more about it.’
PART THREE
1
This hasn’t gone as quickly as he would have liked. Not as quickly as MacArthur would like either. But Cruickshank can see it for what it is. Cracking a tough little nut. Once you get inside, it’ll be soft. Break through and things happen quickly. But Patterson has surrounded his business with a wall of tough employees. Loyal and hard. Also very private. Done an amazing job of keeping mouths shut, not giving away any detail they don’t want people to know. That’s a hard challenge, even with loyal employees. People speak, but not the people working for Patterson. Been difficult for both Potty and MacArthur to work out who’s who in the Patterson organization. They’ve done so well in protecting themselves. Today will change some of that. Today Potty has a meeting with a lowlife scumbag with a big mouth.
The Night the Rich Men Burned Page 13