The Night the Rich Men Burned

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The Night the Rich Men Burned Page 25

by Malcolm Mackay


  ‘And I’ll be at the front of it.’

  Greig’s shaking his head. The boy’s getting a little bit too confident now. ‘You won’t be at the front. It won’t be some orderly line. Never bloody is. It’ll be a mad scramble. And it won’t just be the usual suspects either. It’ll be people who worked for Potty, wanting to start on their own. Thinking their inside info will serve them well. It’ll be every opportunist little shit in this city. It’ll be big people like Alex MacArthur thinking they might as well take a slice of the business if it’s going free. No bigger opportunists than the big organizations.’

  Peterkinney’s shaking his head. This isn’t the conversation he wanted to have. ‘So you’re saying I take Potty Cruickshank and in return I get fuck-all. Actually, less than fuck-all. In return I get a bunch of other people who might try to take me down?’

  Greig’s shaking his head. Not the boy taking Potty down, it’s Greig. But he’ll let that slide. ‘If you wait, yeah, that’s what you get. What you want to do is take advantage now. Start pulling business away from Potty now. He’ll know you’re doing it, but that’s the gamble. He’ll come after you, but when the second arrest comes, he’s finished anyway. If you’re willing to take the risk, then you move now. He’s weak, but he’ll try and hit back. Try and damage you. You just have to hold out until he gets arrested.’

  ‘Hold out?’ Peterkinney’s saying with a confident smile. ‘I can do more than that.’

  ‘No,’ Greig’s saying loudly. ‘Don’t be some fucking idiot about this. He attacks you once so you attack him twice. That’s all bullshit. You don’t fight back. You don’t do anything. You get into a war with that fat bastard while the police are investigating him and you get swept up in the arrests. Us cops aren’t fucking blind, you know. A guy we’re investigating is being attacked and we’ll see it. We’ll do something about it. You hold out. You take his business while everyone knows he’s weak. You make him look even weaker. Then you sit back and let the police take him down for you. You get rid of him without breaking sweat.’

  There’s a pause while Peterkinney considers this. The idea of getting rid of Cruickshank without even having to attack him is nice. But there’s a problem. The problem of PR. ‘People see me taking shit from him without hitting back. People think I get lucky when the police put him away. That doesn’t help my image.’

  ‘No, people in the business will think you were playing it this way from the start. They’ll know it. They’ll respect it. It’s not about winning. It’s about winning with as few losses as possible. That’s what people respect. Don’t . . .’ Pausing as he lets his frustration with Peterkinney slide. The boy’s still young. You have to be patient with him. Ambitious and determined, but a little naive. Trying again now that his tone will be calmer, less aggressive. ‘Look, you’re smart. You get it. A lot of people will tell you that you have to look strong. How the way other people see you is important. That’s true, but not at any price. See, the people that really matter are the people you do business with. The people you do business with know the business. They know that someone who takes advantage of a guy getting arrested before he gets arrested is well connected and smart. They will like that. They’ll be impressed and they’ll be intimidated. See what I mean? That’s the PR you want.’

  Now he’s got Peterkinney nodding. This is something he can get behind. You might sacrifice a little of your image with the muscle, but you gain more from the moneymen. He can handle that. He’s agreeing with Greig. He’ll work to take business from Potty. He won’t strike back if Potty moves against him. Which he might not, because he knows he’s being watched by the plod. Although he might try one or two sneaky manoeuvres. Take it. Survive it. Then profit.

  Greig’s up and walking to the door. ‘Listen, this stuff about me going off the radar. It’s not a maybe, it’s a definite. There’s a lot of stuff going on. But I’ll still be around, sort of. I’ll keep in touch, now and again.’ He can see that Peterkinney isn’t bothered by that. He can see the boy doesn’t think he’s important any more. Which is fine. Happens with all of them eventually. They think a cop as a contact is a great thing at first. Then they get blasé about it. Finally they start to resent you because you don’t do everything they want. So be it. Important thing to Greig is getting someone like Potty Cruickshank off the streets. That fat scumbag and his family have done so much damage in this city. Potty won’t survive a year in prison, and he’ll get at least that. The collection industry will be better in the hands of someone more controllable, like Peterkinney.

  Greig’s gone. Peterkinney sitting and waiting a decent amount of time before he leaves. Doesn’t matter what his grandfather thinks. Doesn’t matter what any of them think. He has a plan. He’s going to take down Potty, and then all the rest of them. He’ll have the whole collection business under his control by the time he’s twenty-five. Then what? Ha. Easy. Then he goes looking for other challenges. Shit, he could have the city under his thumb by the time he’s thirty. See what his grandfather thinks of that.

  9

  He knew Glass would sleep late. Physically and emotionally drained. Arnie had been to the shops and back and started making lunch by the time he showed his face. Not a great face to show. Tired and haggard. If you said he was thirty-five, Arnie would believe you. Kid looks a mess. A mess of his own creation. Walking gingerly, still clutching that stomach.

  ‘How are the wounds?’ Arnie’s asking.

  Glass dropping slowly down into the chair at the kitchen table. ‘Shoulder’s a bit sore but not as bad as it was. Stomach still hurts when I move around.’

  ‘You hungry?’

  ‘Yeah, really hungry.’ Trying to remember the last time he ate something, rather than drank or snorted it. Can’t. Yesterday, probably. Might have been the day before. No, yesterday morning. Before he went to see Jefferson. Hell, was that only yesterday. Time slows down when you’re waiting for it to stop.

  Arnie’s pottering about in the kitchen. Working silently between frying pan and fridge. Getting the lad something wonderfully unhealthy. Looks like he needs it. Looks skinny, which he didn’t before. Never fat or chubby, but used to be healthy-looking. Now he looks thin, weary and beaten.

  Arnie’s putting the plate down in front of him. Watching silently as the boy eats. One of them has to bring it up. One of them has to mention the fact that last night Glass admitted killing a man. Someone certainly has to mention the fact that he turned up in the middle of the night with lumps kicked into him.

  ‘Do you remember who gave you the beating?’ Arnie’s asking. Ask the safe questions first. A beating is an easy conversation opener compared to murder.

  ‘I do,’ Glass is saying, slurping tea before he goes on. ‘Bouncers at a club. Ella was there. We had an argument. Some guy got between us and there was a scuffle. I think him and his mate landed a few blows. I think the bouncers probably did too. Threw me out the back of the club. I passed out. Couldn’t make it home after that.’ Said quietly and apologetically.

  Arnie’s actually relieved. This sounds like no big deal. A few punches thrown in a nightclub. Bouncers chucked him out. Chances are nobody even called the cops. As soon as the door was shut behind him, they all forgot him and got back to their partying. The odds are slim that last night’s incident will draw the police to Glass, which is good. This boy wouldn’t cope with a police interrogation. If he burst out crying and confessed to Arnie, what would he be like with some rough detective barking at him? He’d crumble. He’d tell them everything. He’d end up looking at fifteen years, minimum. Worse than that, he would grass the people that made him do it. Then he’d be a walking target.

  Let him finish eating in peace. Let him sit back in the chair, a little uncomfortable at having a full stomach for the first time in a long time. A boy making no effort to look after himself. Holding those bruises on his stomach. They did look bad last night. In normal circumstances, Arnie would insist on him going to see a doctor. These are not normal circumstances. Glas
s won’t go to a doctor. Won’t go near anything that looks like authority.

  It’s Glass who breaks the silence while Arnie washes the dishes. ‘About what I said last night,’ Glass is saying. You can tell he’s thought about how to bring it up. Tried to work out the best tone to use with Arnie. ‘About, you know, killing that guy. I don’t . . . I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.’

  Arnie’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. It never occurred to me for one second to tell anyone. But you have to do me a favour in exchange.’

  Glass is looking at him. A little bit crestfallen. Didn’t expect Arnie to be demanding favours from him. ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have to promise me that you’re going to get your life in order, okay? I mean, come on, look at you. You’re in a bad place right now, and I don’t like to see that. I want you to sort yourself out. I want you to get your life back under control. I’m willing to help you, lad. I am. But you have to be willing to help yourself. You have to want to change this life of yours.’

  Glass is crying again. This time it came from nowhere. He had no intention of crying. Wasn’t emotional. Just suddenly came bursting out of him. Someone offering to help. Someone who cares enough to help. Not wanting anything in exchange. Just wanting to help.

  Arnie’s no social worker. He’s no good at the old give-us-a-hug stuff. He’s standing back at the sink and letting the boy cry it out at the table. When he’s quite finished with the emotional stuff, Arnie will start talking again. They’ll try and come up with something. A plan that’ll direct Glass back onto the right path.

  Strange to see him this way, young Alex Glass. He was a strong and independent kid. Always in trouble, which is why Arnie didn’t like Oliver hanging out with him. But he was independent. Went and got a place of his own when he was eighteen. Always seemed to earn enough money to keep him going. Not sure how, but he always did. He seemed like a kid who knew how to point forwards. But now? Now is different. Now he’s stuck in the spiral.

  They spend nearly an hour talking round in circles. They both want the same thing. Neither has any clear idea on how they’re going to get it. Glass is walking home now. His stomach still hurts, but he can walk without bending over. He’s not the wreck he was last night. Back to the flat. Not expecting to find anyone there. Surprised to find Ella sitting on the couch in the living room, her phone in her hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he’s saying. Uncertain.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she’s saying, getting up from the couch and walking to him. She said it louder than she intended, more emotional than she realized. ‘I didn’t know where you were. I went back to the club. I looked around for you. I was going to call the hospitals, or the police, I don’t . . . Where have you been?’

  ‘I stayed at a friend’s,’ he’s saying, nodding slowly. ‘Didn’t want to, uh, walk all the way home last night. I was pretty out of it. His place was closer.’

  There’s an awkward silence. Each filling the silence with thoughts of what the other’s just said. Ella said she went back to the club looking for him. Back to it. So she went with the guy. Left him there and went with the guy. Has to do her work. Has to earn money. She’s thinking about Glass, not being able to make it home.

  ‘How are you now?’ she’s asking quietly.

  Glass is nodding. ‘I’ll be okay. Little bruised, nothing more than that.’

  ‘Okay.’

  More of that silence. Both building up to a big conversation. Just a question of who gets there first. It’s Glass.

  ‘Can we sit down, and talk?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ella’s nodding. She’s not sure if this is promising or ominous. They’re both on the couch now.

  ‘Listen, Ella. Thing is, last night. I . . . well, thing is, it was like, a wake-up call. That’s what I’m trying to say. Last night, it was a wake-up call for me. We need to look at, uh, the way we’re living.’

  ‘Yes,’ she’s saying, and nodding her head enthusiastically. This is what she wants to hear. Glass accepting that he’s been behaving poorly for the last few months. Committing to changing that behaviour.

  ‘Yes,’ he’s saying, and smiling. ‘Good, yes. And I think we can. We might need a bit of help, but we can get that. And we’re both young, we can do what we want to do. I’ll go find something serious. Something proper. Make some real money. And you can find something as well. It’ll be so much better.’

  She’s not nodding now. She’s frowning a little, because she thinks she can see what this is. This is Glass trying to come up with some conniving way to get her to change her job. Stop her doing what she’s been doing. If that’s what the last few months have been about . . .

  ‘How do you think I’m going to change my job?’ she’s asking quietly. ‘What am I going to do? We have no money. You’re not earning anything. You haven’t been able to find anything for ages. And I won’t be able to find anything else. Not for a while, anyway. So what are we going to use for money in the meantime? Alex, you’re not thinking.’

  ‘But we need to change.’

  ‘I know that,’ she’s saying, voice rising. ‘I know that. And I want to. But we have no money, and we need to have money. I have to work. If you’re not working then I have to, and this is the only thing I know how to do.’

  ‘I will find something,’ Glass is shouting. ‘I will. I will find something, okay.’

  This shouldn’t have turned into an argument. Glass is sighing. Ella’s getting up from the couch, going through to the bedroom. Her relief at his return has been wrecked. Felt like he was blaming her. Glass is sitting on the couch, wishing he was better at explaining the things he wants. The things he’s sure they can get. He has Arnie to help him now. They have the chance at a life they can be proud to live. A life that isn’t lived under a ticking clock. Waiting for time to run out.

  10

  You make sacrifices. That’s how you do it. That’s how you help people. Especially people who are in real trouble. They need help. You give it. You lose a little something along the way. Dignity, for one thing. Something you spent sixty years clinging on to. Believing it’s the one thing of value you have left. The one thing you have to protect ahead of everything else. Arnold Peterkinney has clung on to his dignity long past the point anyone else noticed he still had it. Now he’s going to let a little go.

  He’s telling himself that he’s doing it for the right reasons. That’s supposed to make it easier, isn’t it? When you’re doing it for someone else. Doing it to help them. Your sacrifice becomes something noble, rather than something pathetic. Doesn’t help. Not a damn bit. It’s humiliating, and that’s all it is.

  He’s been standing across the road from Oliver’s office for more than ten minutes. Making sure his grandson’s in there. Hoping that other fellow in the office will leave. Oliver’s there. So is the other one. Some poor-looking bastard went in a few minutes ago. Arnie’s waiting for him to leave. Doesn’t want anyone else in there. Not unless it’s unavoidable. He’ll tell the other one to leave as well. Just him and Oliver. But then, it’s only Oliver’s opinion he cares about.

  There was a day that boy wouldn’t have sneered at him. Wouldn’t have dared. Wouldn’t have wanted to. Today he’ll be in his element. Revelling in what Arnie’s going to ask. He’ll be one snide remark away from a punch in the mouth. Arnie might be older than him and smaller than him. He might love the boy. But he will punch him in the bloody mouth if he pushes his luck.

  The fellow who went in looking sorry is coming out looking sorrier. Actually looks scared. Went in looking for a favour and didn’t find any waiting. Poor sod. Another one like Glass. Another one who couldn’t see another way. Ah, the hell is he standing here thinking this for? Get in there, get this done. The sooner it’s over, the sooner he can go home and punch a wall.

  Across the street and pulling open the office door. Oliver and the other one are in the same seats they had yesterday. They’re both looking at him as he comes i
n. There’s a glare from Oliver. Not welcome. Did the other one roll his eyes? Looked a bit like it to Arnie. Probably fed up of being sent out of the office. Well, he’s going to take another walk today. Either he walks, or Oliver doesn’t get to hear what he wants to hear.

  ‘Get rid of him,’ Arnie’s saying quietly to his grandson.

  Oliver’s sighing. This is tricky for him. He sends Kilbanne away every time his grandfather shows up and it looks like he’s under the old man’s thumb. It also makes him look like a childish amateur. Papa’s turned up to tell him what to do. But he’ll do it this one last time. Not because he owes it to his grandfather. He doesn’t. He’ll do it because he’s intrigued by the old man’s tone. Because he’s intrigued about him coming back so soon. Yesterday’s conversation seemed like a goodbye.

  Oliver’s looking across at Kilbanne. Nodding just a little. There’s an audible sigh and very clear shake of the head from the older man. Not happy at his young boss’s behaviour. This is not how you run a business. Not the successful sort of business they both keep saying they want. But he’s getting up because the young guy making the error is still his boss. Getting up and walking out of the office. Going for a ten-minute walk from which he will gain absolutely nothing. He’ll negate the health benefits of walking with a couple of cigarettes along the way.

  ‘So what do you want today?’ Oliver’s asking as soon as the door shuts behind Kilbanne. Little bit of sarcasm. Oliver wants this over fast. Another awkward goodbye.

  ‘I want to talk to you about something, and it’s a little awkward.’ Arnie sitting down this time. Didn’t do this yesterday. Suggests this is going to be a long conversation, which isn’t what Oliver wants.

 

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