The Night the Rich Men Burned

by Malcolm Mackay

  A reluctant sigh. ‘Listen to me, Alex. If you don’t have at least five hundred by the end of the week, I run out of patience. I have a business to run here. This isn’t a charity.’ How often has he spoken these words?

  ‘Sure. I get that, I do. Trust me: I will have five hundred by the weekend. I swear on my life I will.’

  Glass is up and shaking Jefferson by the hand. So enthusiastic, just because he thinks he’s bought himself a week. They all get like that. Thinking they’ve done something brilliant. The great negotiators. Thinking a week will be enough to pay off the debt they’ve been building for months. Always thinking that something will come along and rescue them.

  By the time he gets back to the flat and Ella, Glass is feeling pretty good about things. He’s got five days to put something together. To come up with some real money. Right now he has thirty quid to his name. That’s everything he has in the world. Where to find work in five days. Where to find work that will pay him five hundred quid. Okay, that’s a tough one. Begging to Peterkinney again. That has to be the first port of call. After that, he’s out of options. Into desperation territory. Kind of territory where you don’t earn money, you just take it.

  ‘I’m going out tonight,’ Ella’s saying, sitting down beside him on the couch. ‘Work.’ Neatly dressed, made-up. Always ready to make a good impression.

  ‘I’ll come with,’ Glass is saying optimistically.

  ‘No, can’t. I’m going to Heavenly. Adam told me you’re not allowed. Marty’s orders.’

  Well, that’s just fucking brilliant. Ella going to a private party and Glass isn’t even allowed in the door. And whose fault is that? Peterkinney’s. So he bloody well owes him a favour. A little work isn’t much to ask. Not with the money Peterkinney’s making these days.

  3

  There’s a pleasure waking up in your own place for the first time. Not his parents’ house. Not his grandfather’s flat. A flat of his own. Small, sure, but he’s the only one here. He doesn’t have to wait for someone else to get out of the bathroom, or rush because they’re waiting for him. He doesn’t have to shuffle sideways to get past his grandfather in the kitchen. It’s small, but it’s big enough for one. And his own. All his own. Oliver Peterkinney, with his own place. His own privacy. His own life, at last. That’s because he has the money for it. Because he’s raising the cash to pay for this. Moving up in the world costs.

  Did one shitty job too many for Marty. Got bored of waiting for Bowles to come up with more work. He knew he could do better than Marty. He could see how Marty was running his business. See all the mistakes he was making. Mistakes born from greed and complacency. Marty was too distracted. Had too many other things he was trying to make money from. Collecting was down his list, and that meant he took his eye off the ball too often. Peterkinney could do better than that; he just needed to take the initiative. So he did.

  He had the connections. Knew plenty guys at the bottom of the heap from the work he’d already done. Easy to find the other connections he needed. They came thick and fast as soon as he started looking. You start with Paul Greig. He was willing to help. He’s a very well-connected man. So he gave Peterkinney a few names to help him get his business off the ground. After that, it was all about setting the right tone.

  He’d thought Greig was going to be tricky. Not a bit of it. You just need to know what to say. Greig wants two things from any deal he does. He wants money, and he wants to feel like he’s doing his duty. See, the money on its own isn’t enough. Greig’s bent, but he doesn’t want to be reminded of it. That’s what some people don’t get. People like Marty, who Greig thinks is a monumental dickhead. You have to give Greig the sense that he’s doing what’s right as a cop. That was simple. Just repeat the trick he used with the guns.

  They had a good thing going with the guns. Peterkinney paid Greig from his share, Greig kept Peterkinney safe. Even dropped the name of a new buyer in town. So Peterkinney went for two in a row. Told Greig he was looking to get into the collecting business. That he saw the mess a guy like Marty was making, and thought he could do it better. Do it cleaner. Do it in a way that contains it. A lot of talk about moneylending and debt collection these days. Economy in the gutter and all that. Greig liked the idea of containing that business. Didn’t much believe in it, but he liked it enough to justify helping. To justify taking his cut.

  Out of the flat and along to his new car. Nicer than the last one. Not much to ask. Not exactly top of the range, but one step at a time. Got a decent deal from a garage owner looking to cut a debt he owed. Peterkinney knows better than to be flash. It’s smart to stay under the radar. He’s already made an enemy of Marty, which he didn’t want to do. Didn’t want to make an enemy of anyone. Best way to make your way in this business is quietly. Grow without drawing attention until you’re big enough to defend yourself. These early days are the riskiest. But he’s been at this nearly two months and nobody’s stamped on him. So far, he’s in the clear.

  He’s got a little office. It was Greig that pushed him towards it. Peterkinney wasn’t sure about the expense, but Greig made it clear. People want you to have an office. People expect you to have an office. If you want to look significant, you go get an office. You get a covering business. If people don’t see those things, they think you’re not serious. Nothing worse than people thinking you’re some bumbling amateur. So Peterkinney has them, and the expense they bring. Can’t argue with it though, people respect the property as much as the business. People like to see it. Peterkinney likes them to see it. Loves the feeling of power, of intimidation. Makes the job so much easier. Once you’re behind the desk, on the proper side of the desk, you realize what it means. You see the power of the office. Of legitimacy. There’s nothing more powerful than that. He loves it.

  Used to belong to a van hire business. They had the little office and the big garage next door. They sold the garage to some storage company that hasn’t started using it yet. The office they’re renting to Peterkinney. They don’t ask questions, they have more sense than that. They must know what he’s doing. It’s not a secret. Can’t be if you want customers. They must know, and they turn a blind eye. As long as they’re getting their money.

  Peterkinney’s not greedy. That’s the key to his good start. He takes wafer-thin margins on the debts he buys. Sometimes he buys at a loss. A lot of his profit goes back out the door in buying loss-leaders. Doesn’t matter. Let the profit go. It’ll be back. And it’ll bring friends. You get a reputation as a good buyer, and all the lenders get in touch. The first few months are defined not by the money you make, but by the impression you make.

  But a good buyer needs to show that he can last. That’s the second thing. See, the big lenders like to stick to one debt collector. Preferably for years. Common sense. Builds trust and reduces risks. So Peterkinney has to show that he’s capable of sticking around. At least as capable as his competitors. Needs to work harder than anyone to prove that, given his age. That means having good people around you. Get a smooth start. No fuck-ups. Another tick on that one. Didn’t get every employee he wanted. A few were out of his reach. A few that would have made a difference. Still needs to prove himself to get the very best. But he got good people to work for him. The rest will come, he’s sure.

  The good employees he did get were attracted by the office too. Here’s a new guy, connected to Greig, setting up his own office. Still only twenty years old. The hot new thing. Something of a prodigy. Get one or two well-regarded employees, and the rest follow. Now he has a good little group around him. All busy, collecting. No mess made. They’re tough with people, because they have to be. That’s the job. He has to collect as much of the debt he buys as possible when his margins are walking on the edge like this. Needs every penny he can claw back. They’re tough, but they’ve never crossed the line. Peterkinney made that very clear. First man crosses the line gets a dose of his own medicine. They respect that approach.

  ‘Any news?’ Peterkinney’s
asking John Kilbanne. Kilbanne works the office for him. Keeps the books. He’s nearly twice Peterkinney’s age, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem. You just have to act mature, and people forget the age. You give them a reason to remember you’re a kid, and you’re in trouble.

  ‘Nope. Few collections in. Three, actually. One of them paid in full. Other two are still on the hook, but they’ll be good for it over time. Couple of jobs to do this afternoon. That’s about it.’

  He sounds bored. Probably is. Excitement comes from being successful. Well, it does for Peterkinney. This isn’t success for Kilbanne. A thirty-eight-year-old with a degree and ten years’ work in accounting. Then a conviction for embezzlement. Then a year and a half inside. He did steal rather a lot of money. Stole it from a law firm, of all things. Then months of not being able to get a legit job. Then years of this kind of work. He doesn’t like his work. He doesn’t want to be doing this. But his name is poison, his reputation ruined, and this pays the bills.

  Peterkinney understands that. It’s one of his sharpest skills. He seems to have a knack for knowing what makes people tick. With Kilbanne, it’s making sure he has a sense that there’s something better on the horizon. Something befitting his old standards. He wants to kid himself that he can reclaim his credibility. So Peterkinney keeps feeding him lines about growing the business. About expanding into legitimate financial services. A wide variety of legitimate businesses that Kilbanne will run. And that keeps him happy. Bored, but happy.

  The office is a small place. Room enough for a couple of desks and a filing cabinet. It gives the impression of being a busy place. Folders and sheets of paper on both desks and on top of the filing cabinet. The window’s by the front door, a big whiteboard dominates one wall. Peterkinney’s happy for people to think the whiteboard was his idea. Let them think they keep running tallies of debts there. They don’t. It was here when they moved in and they’ve never used it. But he likes it. Likes that it makes the office feel like a working environment. Better a blank whiteboard than some smutty calendar.

  There’s a little toilet out back as well, but it’s temperamental. Not worth the risk. Little corridor that leads out the back door to a small yard that now belongs to the storage company. Kilbanne goes out there for a smoke, but that’s it. Peterkinney keeps the door to the corridor closed whenever there’s a customer around. Let them think it leads somewhere bigger. Let them think there are more offices back there.

  ‘Your grandfather called again this morning,’ Kilbanne is telling him. That’s all he’s saying. All he needs to say.

  Peterkinney’s dropping down into his chair. Looking across the small office at Kilbanne. He knows what Kilbanne thinks. Kilbanne thinks his dear old grandpa just wants to talk. Spend some quality time with his wee grandson. Kilbanne thinks that Peterkinney should call the old man back. Go round to see him. Spend some time with him. Arnie’s been calling often, and Peterkinney hasn’t called back once. Bad grandson. Naughty grandson.

  But that isn’t it. His grandfather doesn’t want to spend more time with him. Living together was enough, thanks all the same. Arnie’s about as glad as Oliver is that he’s moved out. But Arnie still worries. And Arnie does not like Peterkinney’s new venture one little bit. That’s why he’s calling. Took him a little time to find out what it was, but now he knows. Now that he knows, he’s pissed off. He was pleased when Peterkinney told him he had quit working for Marty. The boy keeping a promise. A little relieved when he found out he wasn’t working for Roy Bowles any more. Thought the lad was going straight. Then he finds out he’s set up his own collection agency. Well, that sent him off the deep end.

  They had one argument about it. Only needed one. They’ve hardly spoken since. Won’t either, if Peterkinney can help it. They’re not living under each other’s feet any more. Easy to break contact. Let the old man get used to it, then get in touch. If he can’t get used to it, then he loses a grandson. He doesn’t want to lose his grandfather, but this is Peterkinney’s choice. This is his life and his future. This, he knows, is what he’s good at. He won’t be held back by anyone. Can’t be.

  It’s afternoon when the call comes into the office from another person that’ll only hold him back. Alex Glass. Been a long time now since they spoke. He’s still shacked up with that cheap hooker. Ella something or other. There’s a pair of them. Total halfwits. Running round after Marty, looking for scraps from his table. Now looking to scrounge from Peterkinney.

  Kilbanne’s taken the call. Looking across at Peterkinney and getting a shake of the head.

  ‘No, he’s not in,’ Kilbanne’s saying. ‘Can I take a message? Okay, I’ll tell him when he gets back. Goodbye.’ Hanging up the phone and looking across at Peterkinney. ‘Wants you to call him. Says he has news.’

  Yeah, right. News. They always have news. Funny how quickly news turns into requests when people know you have money. Another one who needs to learn, before they can go back to being friends. He does care about Glass, but he won’t be his safety net. He won’t pay for Glass’s mistakes. When Glass stops dreaming and gets rid of the girl, then they can talk. Peterkinney will find work for a friend, if the friend is mature. If the friend can help him.

  4

  He’s been pacing around the office for the last ten minutes. You don’t have to know him to know that the best thing to do right now is sit there and nod along. Don’t say anything. For God’s sake, don’t open your mouth. Sit there. Nod when it feels like he’s said something that requires agreement. Sit it out and wait for him to say something that requires an answer.

  ‘I lifted him out of the gutter,’ Marty’s saying. Well, shouting. Hissing, occasionally. They’re sitting in the office above a gadget shop that Marty owns. Or leases. Like a lot of Marty’s businesses, it’s cloudy. Only Marty seems to really know, and he doesn’t share info on his businesses.

  He uses this office for his collection business. It’s his favourite collection point. The muscle bring the money back to this office. Door out on the street that opens onto the staircase. Up the stairs and the door on your left. Unmarked. An office that doesn’t advertise its financial service. Big enough place, airy and bright. A few desks, but nothing on any of them. It’s not an office where office work gets done. Just a collection point. A place to give out a few orders and collect the returns. The real office work is done somewhere else. Somewhere the muscle don’t get to see. No muscle coming in today. Today there are just the two of them in there.

  Marty called Neil Fraser about an hour ago. Fraser arrived half an hour ago. All he’s said so far was hello. That was ignored. Marty’s on a rant. One that, even for him, is turning epic. Getting it out of his system, and there’s a lot to get out. So Fraser’s sitting on the comfy swivel chair at a desk, and he’s dutifully nodding along in silence. Resisting the temptation to swivel back and forth while he listens.

  ‘He was nothing. Nothing. Shit, wasn’t even him I hired, it was his mate. That useless prick. What was his name? Doesn’t matter. I hired him. I saw the potential. I gave him everything. Everything. Nobody in his life did more for him than I did. He was living with his grandfather in some shitty shoebox flat. I gave him everything he has. And he thanks me how? How? By fucking off and setting up in competition. Trying to cut me down. Then what does he do? Oh man. What does the bastard do? He grasses me to John Young. Me. The man who made him. And he’s grassing me to Young.’

  It needn’t have come to this. Peterkinney had no intention of picking a fight with Marty. He was going to walk away and hope Marty was smart enough to leave him alone. But Marty couldn’t just let him be. Wounded pride. Bad PR. Marty wanted to be seen to bring down the man he had built up. Had to show the world that he took this sort of thing seriously. You let one bastard with big ideas set up against you, and the rest of these knuckleheads will try and do the same thing. They’re impressionable. So he tried to take a few shots at Peterkinney. Undermine him with lenders. So Peterkinney decided to undermine Marty with the peop
le that matter most.

  Marty’s position in the business is dependent upon the protection he gets from Peter Jamieson. We’ve established that. Marty couldn’t get away with it all if he didn’t have that protection. He can run his girls and his parties without Jamieson. He can run some of the other little businesses he has on the go as well. But collecting is different. Collecting is a business built on violence. Attack and defence. You need to be able to protect yourself, or have someone that’ll protect you. Jamieson is the protection Marty hides behind.

  Jamieson’s right-hand man is John Young. Young handles the day-to-day stuff, including collecting their share of Marty’s money. A reasonable cut for providing little-needed protection. The name – and reputation – Jamieson and his men carry is protection enough. But Peterkinney knew a little something. He knew that Marty held his private parties at his brother’s club instead of Jamieson’s because it meant he could avoid paying Jamieson his cut. Thought he could keep a little more for himself. That was greedy, and very stupid. So Peterkinney made a phone call.

  ‘That little bastard calling up John Young. Dropping me right into the shit. Thinking he was being clever. Thinking they would stop working with me because of it. Huh, little bastard doesn’t know how this business works. Doesn’t know a fucking thing. Now I’ll have to spend the next few months sucking up to John fucking Young because of this. He’s not getting away with it. Nobody gets away with treating me that way.’

  It’s all clichéd ranting. In part, this is Marty trying to sound big and tough. Trying to reassure himself that he can sound big and tough. A brain-dead lump of wood like Fraser will believe it, and that boosts Marty’s ego. But he also knows that nobody would grass a man they really feared. Nobody would grass Jamieson or Alex MacArthur. Nobody would grass men like Don Park or John Young. Even muscle like Nate Colgan and Mikey Summers would carry enough reputation to protect themselves from tattletales. But Peterkinney didn’t fear Marty, and that worries Marty. People like Jamieson and Young see him as a profitable opportunist. People like Peterkinney see him as an unreliable party boy. None of them see him the way he sees himself. So he’s going to have to persuade them. Prove that he’s a man to fear. For that, he needs someone like Fraser.