Blood City

by Douglas Skelton

  ‘Yeah, Jimmy, I know.’

  ‘You’re going to enjoy this. I caught sight of the lassie earlier, Kennedy’s squeeze, and she’s a wee stoater. Blonde – and no bottle job, either. I’m telling you, when this is over I’ll pay her a wee visit myself. I mean, if she could shag Kennedy then she’ll shag anyone, right?’

  Inwardly, Donovan sighed.

  6

  BAIRD STREET POLICE STATION was a featureless block of brown brick sitting within shouting distance of the surging M8. As Joe sat in a bare little interview room he could hear the sound and fury of the traffic as it sped east towards Edinburgh and west towards Greenock.

  Joe, Davie and Rab had been politely invited to ‘assist the police with their inquiries’ and placed in separate interview rooms on the ground floor. Joe knew why he was there, of course. It was inevitable he would be pulled in when Norrie Kennedy was shot. He also knew that Bannatyne would keep him waiting, so he made himself as comfortable as the cheap plastic chair would allow and let his mind wander. He didn’t think long on Kennedy, a man for whom he had little time when he was alive, nor did he think of Johnny Jones and his plan. Instead he thought of Rachel. Little Rachel, beautiful Rachel. His sister had been dead for 40 years, but he thought of her often.

  She was eight years old when she died at the hands of the German soldier, dark-haired, dark-eyed like her mother, whereas Josep Wolfowitz was blond and blue-eyed. He didn’t look like a Jew, which had helped when he joined the band of Polish partisans and adopted the name Adamski. Anti-Semitism was as rife within their ranks as in the enemy’s, and Joe wanted to kill Germans, not countrymen. And kill them he did, with a knife, with a gun, with his bare hands. He became such an enthusiastic killer of men that even his own side grew wary of him. He killed for vengeance; he killed to cleanse his own conscience. He blamed himself for not being there when the soldier had arrived at their farm.

  He thought about the last time he had seen Rachel. He had been wandering the forests with little to eat for days. In the midst of a blizzard he collapsed and waited for death to come. Rachel had been dead for two weeks and yet, there she was, walking towards him. What was she doing out here, he wondered, without a coat? That’s a silly little summer dress she’s wearing. As she bent over him, he asked her where she had been, but she smiled and stroked his forehead.

  Hush now, Josep, she said, sleep.

  I don’t want to sleep, he said.

  Sleep, she insisted, everything will be all right soon.

  Where are Mama, Papa? said Josep. Are they waiting?

  Yes, said Rachel, but it’s not your time, not yet. Sleep, and when you awake you will be safe.

  And then he felt her lips brush his forehead, light and soft like the gentle caress of a single snowflake, and as she straightened her soft voice faded and her pretty little face merged with the growing darkness, and he slept. The partisans found him soon after and nursed him back to health, but he could still hear her voice in the snowfall and feel the touch of her lips.

  The sound of the interview room door opening brought him back to the present day.

  ‘Mister Klein.’ Bannatyne was polite as he sat down opposite Joe. Detective Sergeant Docherty took a seat beside him, flipped open a notebook and clicked a ballpoint pen. They both looked very grim.

  ‘Inspector Bannatyne,’ said Joe, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ Bannatyne lied.

  Joe shrugged. ‘It is of no consequence. I know you are a busy man.’

  ‘You’ll know why I’ve asked you here, of course?’

  ‘I presume because Mr Kennedy was shot last night. I know nothing about it.’

  ‘You can understand why I’m asking you about it though?’

  Joe shrugged again. ‘There was no love lost between us.’

  Bannatyne gave him a wry smile. ‘That’s putting it mildly. He tried to run you over with a white transit five years ago.’

  ‘Allegedly.’

  Bannatyne nodded. ‘True, we couldn’t prove it.’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, it was a drunkard who was never traced.’

  Bannatyne ignored that. ‘You waited a long time for payback, didn’t you, Joe?’

  Joe shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. ‘I really do not mind police officers jumping to conclusions – for some of you it is the only exercise you get – but believe me when I tell you that I had nothing to do with last night’s events, Mister Bannatyne.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Come on, Joe – there’s not much that goes on in this city that you don’t know about. You’re the elder statesman of the underworld…’

  ‘I am a businessman, nothing more.’

  ‘Aye, and I’m Chief Constable.’

  ‘Really? Congratulations on your promotion.’

  Bannatyne, despite himself, smiled. He realised he’d been leaning forward so he sat back, forcing himself to relax. ‘Give me something, Joe. This is bad. Guns going off on the street? It’s not the Glasgow way.’

  Joe sighed. He was fully aware of the gravity of the situation but he wasn’t going to give the police anything to work with. That was the Glasgow way. ‘I cannot help you, Mister Bannatyne. Mister Kennedy’s death was regrettable, but it would be hypocritical of me to say that I mourn his passing. He was not a pleasant man, as you know.’

  ‘And you are? You’re a crook and a pimp, Joe. You bankroll major crimes. You lead young men into temptation. You’re no better than Norrie, if you ask me.’

  Joe smiled. ‘Thankfully, I did not ask. Otherwise, you might have said something hurtful. Now, if you are finished with me I’d like to leave. I am here voluntarily, after all.’

  Bannatyne nodded. ‘You know the way.’

  The two detectives remained seated while Joe stood up and straightened his coat before heading for the door. Bannatyne said, ‘This is the start of something, isn’t it, Joe?’

  Joe opened the door but did not turn back. ‘I sincerely hope not, Mister Bannatyne.’

  * * *

  The only difference between Interview Room Two and Interview Room One was the number on the door. It had a similarly scarred wooden table and identical cheap plastic chairs, as well as the same crime prevention posters on the walls. A cobweb in a high corner may even have been spun by the same spider. Davie had been in rooms like this before and he wasn’t fazed. He’d never met the two cops sitting opposite him, though. One was a big guy with a shock of thick black hair and a wide chin sporting a good growth of dark stubble, which reminded him of Big Rab. He had dark eyes and a powerful physique under his grey jacket and white shirt. He gave off an aura of total confidence and complete authority, and Davie knew this one wouldn’t blink an eye if he felt the need to raise a hand or two. He’d introduced himself as Detective Constable Knight, and from somewhere Davie recalled stories of a cop the boys called the Black Knight, an absolute bastard who was quick with his fists. The other cop, who Knight had identified as DC Donovan, was a bit smaller and quieter in his ways, but not stupid. His brown eyes watched Davie carefully. He was also unshaven. Davie surmised they’d been up all night.

  ‘So,’ said Knight, ‘you’re Davie McCall, eh?’

  Davie remained silent but he held Knight’s gaze steadily, knowing the man was on the prod and knowing what was coming next. Knight didn’t disappoint him.

  ‘I’ve heard tales of your da. Big Danny McCall. He was a terror, I hear.’

  Even though he had expected it, Davie felt the usual stab at the mention of his father’s name.

  ‘Killed your maw, didn’t he?’ Knight went on, ‘Battered her to death. Nasty that, very nasty.’

  Davie shifted a little in his chair and immediately regretted showing discomfort. He knew that Knight was looking for his Achilles heel. He didn’t want him to know he’d found it.

  ‘Aye, it was a shame. Heard she was okay, your maw. A nice woman who just had terrible taste in me
n. You were there when it happened, weren’t you?’

  Davie stared back at him. The other cop looked uncomfortable but said nothing. That was bastard cops all along, Davie thought. They stuck together even when something was out of order.

  Knight’s lips tightened. ‘Cat got your tongue, son?’

  Despite himself, Davie blurted, ‘That why you wanted me here? To talk about my maw? You caught him yet, have you?’

  A faint smile puckered Knight’s lips and Davie knew he’d lost a point by responding. ‘Naw, son, your da’s well in the wind, so he is. Never see him again, no if he’s got any sense. All I’m trying to do is get a feel for you and your life, that’s all. He was quite a guy, your da, by all accounts. Never met him myself but you hear stories, you know? He was a dangerous man. You want to follow in his footsteps, Davie?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ said Davie, and it was true.

  ‘Then why do you work for Joe the Tailor? Your da was a bone-breaker for him and we hear you’re the same.’

  Davie said nothing. He forced himself to sit back in his chair and appear relaxed, but the truth was this big, dark-haired cop had got his goat too easily. He listened to his own breathing and heard the air roaring in his ears. He told himself to calm down, slow down, pull back. Gradually, the roaring dulled and finally stilled, and he knew he was back in control. As he stared back at Knight something passed between them, an understanding of sorts. Davie saw the man give a slight shrug as he sensed that he had dragged himself back from some brink. Knowing now that pushing him any further in that direction would be useless, he took another tack.

  ‘You know a guy called Norrie Kennedy?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You know he was shot last night?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Know anything about it?’

  ‘Only what I heard on Radio Clyde this morning.’

  ‘Where were you between 11 and 12 last night?’

  ‘In my flat.’

  ‘Oh, aye – you’re sharing with Rab McClymont now, that right?’

  Davie nodded. News travels fast.

  ‘Down Sword Street, right?’

  Davie nodded again.

  ‘How’s that working out, eh?’

  Davie shrugged. ‘Just moved in a coupla days ago. It’s only temporary, ‘til I get my own place.’

  ‘Joe’ll help you with that, I’m sure. He’s very… eh… helpful with his young boys, isn’t he?’

  Davie smiled slightly, knowing that Knight was trying another route to get his back up. He was disappointed in the big cop. He thought he would have been more subtle than goading him about his manhood.

  Knight smiled back. ‘Why the smile, Davie? Something funny?’

  ‘Well, you, for one thing. You’re so intent on trying to piss me off. Let me save you some time because I can’t be arsed sitting here all day swapping banter, okay? I don’t know anything about Kennedy gettin done. Neither does Rab, who’s around here someplace too, and neither does Joe. Kennedy wasn’t a well-liked guy and he’s obviously pissed off the wrong person. So, that’s it. Can I go now?’

  Knight grinned and glanced at Donovan, whose face remained impassive. ‘Well, we’re honoured, Mister McCall. We’d heard you seldom string more’n two words together. Aye, son, you can go.’

  Davie stood up but Knight was still talking. ‘But remember this, we’re no having guns going off in our streets, even if they do take out scroats like Norrie Kennedy. These are our streets, no yours or Joe the Tailor’s, okay? If we find out you and your pals had anything to do with this, we’ll come looking for you. And believe me, we’ll no throw the book at you, we’ll beat you black and blue with it. Understand?’

  Davie looked down at the two cops and he knew that Knight meant what he said. He nodded towards Donovan. ‘Does he ever say anything or is he just a cardboard cut-out?’

  Donovan looked up and Davie saw a hard look in his eyes. ‘I speak, son, when there’s someone worth speaking to.’

  Davie looked into Donovan’s eyes and saw that this guy wasn’t like his partner or any other cop he’d ever met. They liked to talk tough, though God knows Knight was no idle boaster, but this guy listened and watched and learned. Davie knew he’d have to keep an eye on this one. ‘Good to know,’ he said and left the room.

  Davie walked down the corridor and pushed through a set of heavy double doors into the public reception area. Joe was seated on one of three low chairs, leafing through a copy of the Strathclyde Police magazine he had found on a low table in front of him. He looked up as Davie appeared.

  ‘They still got Rab?’ Davie asked.

  Joe nodded, his eyes dropping to the magazine again. ‘They do like their little games.’

  7

  THE LAST THING Rab McClymont expected was to run across Jimmy Knight again so soon. After all, it had only been earlier that morning that the big cop had issued his lecture on the dangers of firearms. When they left Baird Street, Joe had headed off with Davie to the small office he kept in a back room of a pub he owned, dropping Rab off in Duke Street. Rab stopped at the bookies to put a bet on what turned out to be a donkey and was walking back towards Sword Street when he saw the big, dark-headed cop up ahead. Rab veered off the busy main road up a side street, intending to take a more circuitous route homeward. He was hardly scared of the detective, but he knew well enough to keep clear of the law whenever possible. So Rab weaved his way through a warren of back alleys and side streets until he reached Sword Street. He entered his close, climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  He found Knight leaning against the doorframe, a big grin on his face.

  ‘Took you long enough,’ said the cop.

  Rab glowered at the man, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his key. ‘What the fuck d’you want now?’

  ‘A word, son, in your shell-like.’

  Rab snorted. Why did these guys always try to speak like the guys in The Sweeney? He pushed his key into the lock and twisted it, saying, ‘Where’s your pal?’

  ‘What I’ve got to say to you isn’t for anyone else’s ears. Know what I’m saying?’

  Rab paused as he pushed open the door. Now he was intrigued. ‘How d’you know there’s no one in here?’

  Knight smiled. ‘Your pal Davie’s with Joe, Bobby Newman’s still assisting us with inquiries. Apart from a few hairies you slip it to now and then, there’s no one else that comes here. We’re on our tod, son, don’t you worry.’

  Rab shrugged and stepped inside, holding the door open for the big cop. ‘I’m beginning to think you fancy me, keeping tabs on my pals an’ that.’

  Knight stepped past and gave a small chuckle. ‘Oh, and you’re no wrong. But no that way…’

  The detective sauntered down the narrow hallway, glancing into the two bedrooms as he walked by, then veered left at the end into the living room. When Rab reached the living room, Knight was in the same armchair Davie had sat in the night before, his feet up on the low coffee table and firing up a short cigar. Rab said, ‘Make yourself at home, eh?’

  ‘I always do,’ said Knight, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.

  Rab sat on the settee. ‘Okay, so what do you want? I don’t want you here any longer than I have to. It’s bad for my clean-living image.’

  ‘I’ll get right to the point then. I’ve been watching you for a while now. Doing a wee bit of digging. You’re a smart guy, Rab, everyone knows that. You’re very much the Tailor’s number one boy.’

  Rab opened his mouth to reply but Knight held up a hand to silence him. ‘Just shut the fuck up and listen to me. I don’t want to be here too long, either, and you’ll know why when you hear what I’ve got to say. You’re on the way up, son, and so am I. And we can help each other.’

  Rab knew then where Knight was heading and didn’t like it. ‘I’m no a grass.’

  ‘Aye – you are. You’ll all grass if the right buttons are pushed. And what I’m offering you is a business arrangement. A detective is only as good as hi
s arrests, and a good tout can make all the difference.’

  ‘I don’t need your money, Knight.’

  Knight smiled. ‘It’s no just money I’m offering, son. I’m offering security. See, I’m gonnae go far in the Job, you know? I’m destined for big things. If I’m right, so are you. We can help each other, know what I’m sayin?’

  Rab sat back into the couch and looked at the big cop. He knew exactly what Knight was saying.

  Knight’s next words confirmed his suspicion. ‘But a cop’s salary isn’t very much, you know? And I’ve got expensive tastes. I’ve got a wife and I’d like to buy her a nice house, nice clothes. And here’s the thing – I like women. And they like to have nice things bought for them. So, you and me, we’ll go into partnership. I don’t expect much at first, but you’re gonnae go far, as I say – especially with my help. Information’s good but cash is better, know what I mean, son? So, you’ll get to indulge in your nefarious schemes and I’ll take a wee skim off the top.’

  ‘And what do I get?’

  ‘You already know that, Rab, old son. I’ll have your back. Any of my colleagues start sniffing around your operation, I’ll be there to warn you. If business is really good, I’ll be able to divert their attention elsewhere. I’ll keep you two steps ahead of the law. I’ll be the best pal you’ve ever had, Rab.’

  ‘And what if I don’t live up to your expectations?’

  ‘I think you will. I’m an excellent judge of character.’

  Rab knew instinctively it made sense. ‘Maybe there’s something in what you say. But I don’t grass on Joe or Davie, understood? They’re off limits.’

  Knight inclined his head in agreement. ‘Okay. We’ve all got parameters, I understand that.’ Rab didn’t know what ‘parameters’ meant but he let it go. Knight went on, ‘So we’re in business then?’

  Rab considered. When he finally nodded, Knight smiled broadly and stuck out his hand. Rab stared at it for a second then slipped his own big fist into it.

  ‘We’re gonnae be good for each other, Rab,’ said Knight. ‘We’re gonnae go far, you and me…’