When the phone rang Davie ignored it. After all, he had been dreaming of this from the first time he had seen Audrey in the pub. But it kept ringing and finally he sat up and reached out to the receiver on a low table beside the couch.
‘Hello,’ he said, his voice a little hoarse.
‘Thank fuck you’re there, son,’ said Rab, and Davie could tell by the thin tone in his voice that something was wrong.
‘What’s up?’ He asked.
‘You’d better get over to Joe’s right away…’
Rab fell silent then and Davie waited, feeling the blood congealing in his veins.
‘What’s happened, Rab?’
And then Rab sobbed and Davie felt his heart breaking. He didn’t need to hear what Rab said next, his voice cracked with emotion. ‘They’ve shot him, Davie. They’ve shot Joe. The bastards have killed him, Davie…’
Audrey straightened slowly when she saw Davie’s expression stiffen and his face pale. She pulled her blouse over her breasts, suddenly feeling exposed. ‘Davie?’ she said.
Davie hung up the phone and stood up, his eyes brimming with tears. ‘Can you drive me out to Joe’s place?’
* * *
Rab was standing as close to Joe’s house as he could while keeping his distance from the sprawl of reporters, cameras and rubber-neckers. Audrey had parked her car further up the road, closer to a side street that led to Barlinnie Prison, and the two of them had sprinted back to Joe’s house. As Davie moved to his side, Rab turned a pair of angry eyes towards him.
‘They shot him, Davie,’ he said. ‘They fuckin shot Joe.’
Davie touched his friend’s arm gently. ‘Have they got anyone?’
‘They’re no saying nothing. All I know is that Joe is in that fuckin house and he’s dead.’
Audrey scanned the knot of reporters who were standing together beside a police van and spotted Barclay Forbes. She touched Davie’s arm and said, ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’
Davie nodded his thanks, turning his attention to the house.
Barclay Forbes threw a cigarette away as Audrey approached and looked past her to Davie and Rab. ‘You with them, hen?’
She nodded, her face tight, not in the mood for any kind of lecture. ‘What’s happened, Barc?’
‘Joe the Tailor got himself killed, that’s what. It’s no real surprise.’
‘Do they know who did it?’
The older reporter shrugged and shook a fresh cigarette out of a pack of Embassy Tipped. ‘They’re no saying much. I’ve spoken to a couple of my police sources but they know fuck all.’ He lit up the cigarette and looked again at Davie. ‘So you’re with them? No very clever, hen.’
Audrey glanced back at Davie before answering. ‘I don’t want to get into that now.’
‘Fair enough. But this is gonnae change everything, hen, you need to know that. And your boy there is gonnae be in the thick of it. The shit is gonnae hit the fan over this, mark my words, and you need to be careful none of it splashes you...’
As they spoke the reporters, photographers and TV cameramen stood around in what appeared to be a bored fashion as they waited for something to happen. When Bannatyne, Donovan and Knight appeared in the doorway of the house and began to walk down the gravel driveway, their interest perked up and they surged towards them. The experienced Forbes surfed the crest of the wave while Audrey was merely carried along by the tide. Cameras flashed and questions were shouted but Bannatyne ignored them all. He looked past the blue and white police tape across the drive entrance and Audrey followed his gaze towards Davie and Rab, who had now been joined by a small, dark-haired man with olive skin and a thick head of wiry hair. She saw Bannatyne frown as the three of them walked away. She tried to call out to Davie, but he didn’t look back at her. She stood alone in the middle of the crowds, feeling she was neither part of the scribble of colleagues still calling out questions, nor Davie’s smaller group that was now walking towards the city.
24
THE COFFEE ON the formica table top in front of Davie was untouched. It had long since gone cold, but he didn’t care. The sturdy white china cup and saucer were simply props for him to play with while he continued to process the fact that Joe was dead. He could hear Luca and Rab talking but their voices were distant, like a radio playing in another room. He was only two feet away from either of them as they sat in Luca’s café, the shades pulled down over the windows to hide them from prying eyes, but he felt a deep sense of disconnection. He stared at the brown liquid before him, turning the cup on its saucer slowly as he tried to come to terms with the loss of yet another loved one. Only that morning Joe had been alive. Only that morning Davie had stood at his side over Barney Cable’s grave, Joe’s words ‘it’s not how you die that matters, it’s how you live’ echoing in his mind. Joe had been gunned down in his home like a dog, but he had lived like a lion. Davie knew that many people hated him – cops, lawyers, other crooks – but he had loved him. Like a father, he had loved him.
But now he was dead.
And someone had to pay.
And as Davie thought of this he felt the numbness being burned away by the heat of his anger and the voices of his friends began to seep through.
‘We shouldn’t’ve left him alone…’ Rab’s voice. Quiet. Subdued. Saying ‘we’ but blaming himself.
‘Don’t think like that, kid.’ Luca’s voice. Equally quiet, but firmer. In charge now.
‘He’d still be alive…’
‘No, there’d be two bodies in the morgue, that’s all.’
‘I could’ve stopped it…’
‘No, you couldn’t, kid. What happened tonight was gonna happen no matter what. Joe always knew he’d never die in bed. Guys like him, they don’t go peaceful.’
Rab shook his head, not so much in denial, more as if he was trying to clear it. He was staring at his coffee cup. Like Davie’s, it was untouched.
‘Whoever did this woulda taken you out, too.’ Luca was still speaking, softly, reassuringly. ‘It was Joe’s time, not yours.’
‘We know who did this,’ said Rab, raising his eyes to stare at Luca. His eyes were hard and bright and filled with rage.
‘Not for certain we don’t,’ cautioned Luca.
‘The fuck we don’t! It’s that bastard Johnny Jones that’s behind this.’
‘Rab, it could be any one of a dozen…’
‘No, it couldn’t and you know it, Luca. It was Jones. We all know it. He wanted Joe in on this drug thing.’
Luca looked surprised. ‘He told you about that? Joe?’
Rab nodded. ‘Aye. The wee bastard saw Joe as a threat to his business so he did him in, pure and simple.’
‘Joe was wrong about that business. He shoulda got into it…’
‘Maybe so, but that was no reason for Jones to have him done in. He’s out of order there. He’s got to pay for that.’
Luca sat back and stared at the hulking young man across the table, his mind working feverishly. He had to steer Rab away from Jones somehow, dissuade him from any revenge. Sometime in the future Jones would be surplus to requirements, but right now Luca needed him. Just a while longer and then he could let Rab loose. He looked towards Davie sitting on Rab’s right. The boy hadn’t said a word since they took him away from the roadway outside Joe’s house. Rab’s grief and his anger were evident, but this kid was a different matter. His blue eyes were cold and distant and Luca couldn’t read him. Never could.
Rab saw Luca looking at his pal and said, ‘Davie agrees wi me.’
‘He hasn’t said anything,’ Luca protested.
‘Doesn’t need to. Me and Davie, we know each other, we think alike. He knows Jones is behind this.’
Luca looked at Davie again, trying to read something in his blank expression. ‘That right, kid?’
Davie looked up slowly and Luca felt a cold breath on the back of his neck as he looked into those icy blue eyes. He had stared into the eyes of dangerous men in Sicily and New York an
d he knew a killer when he saw one. Joe had always said it took one to know one, and as the words came to him, suddenly Joe was there with them, sitting at Luca’s side. The Sicilian knew that Joe was not really present, but still he heard his voice, saw him watching Davie sadly, and repeat the words that had been uttered months before:
‘People kill for many reasons, my friend. Most do it because they have to, some do it because they enjoy it. But in order to kill you must have something inside you, a talent for violence, that little spark of evil, if you like. I have it, you have it, Rab most certainly has it, Davie’s father had it. I think Davie has it, too, but he fights it. Some day that fight will reach its final round and Davie will either defy, or embrace, his true nature. And when that day comes, I would hate to be the man opposite him.’
And then Joe was gone and all that was left was the frosty gaze of the young man before him. And Luca knew with certainty that one day he and Davie would face each other down.
Luca swallowed hard. ‘We have to be smart here, guys. Sure, we could go out there guns blazing and take Jones out, but that’s a sucker play. What is it they say – revenge is a dish best served cold? Sure, we’ll get the son-of-a-bitch and we’ll get him good, but Joe, God rest his soul, had it all wrong. This thing that Jones brought to him, it’s a goddamn goldmine. We throw in with him now, play it out then when the cash starts to roll in, we take over the whole operation and we put Johnny in the ground. We move now, the cops’ll know it was us and sooner or later they come knockin at our door. We wait, we take everything.’
Rab began to nod before Luca had finished speaking but Davie still hadn’t moved. He sat perfectly still, listening, no expression and no sign of his eyes thawing. Luca began to wonder if he had over-played his hand and that the young man suspected something. Rab was street smart and cunning, but his greed would always supersede his emotions. Davie was different and Luca watched him carefully, searching for some clue as to what was going on behind those blue eyes.
‘Makes sense,’ said Rab. ‘As long as sometime I get to put one in Jones’ head, that’s okay with me. Might as well make some profit first. What you think, Davie?’
For what seemed like a long time Davie remained silent and unmoving. Then, gradually, his eyes moved, then his head, and he looked at his pal and shrugged.
‘I mean, Joe’s dead, right?’ Rab said, convincing himself as much as Davie. ‘Doing that fucker now won’t bring him back. We follow Luca’s lead the now, then we get Jones later, okay?’
Davie’s gaze shifted back to Luca and the Sicilian felt that cold sigh at the back of his neck again. ‘Whatever you say, Rab.’
Luca relaxed a little. He had bought some time, hopefully enough to get the business he had worked so long to set up swing into gear. But Davie McCall’s eyes troubled him. Sooner or later, he knew the young man would come looking for him and somehow Luca had to ensure he was the last man standing.
* * *
Boyle knew there was something wrong the minute he heard Joe the Tailor was dead. He just knew. He hadn’t seen Jazz all day and that just wasn’t like the boy. Boyle was in Johnny Jones’ living room watching the telly when the phone in the bedroom rang and he heard Johnny answer. Boyle knew it was Johnny’s mystery man, but even so it was a bit late for a call. He got up and walked down the hall to the bedroom and saw Johnny standing by the bed, a smile breaking out on his face.
‘Well, that’s fuckin good news,’ he was saying into the phone, then frowned. ‘Naw, it was nothin to do with me.’
Johnny glanced at the doorway towards Boyle. Normally he would have waved him away but this time he just stood there, the frown deepening. Jazz, thought Boyle, what the fuck have you done?
Johnny said, ‘I never sent him…’
Johnny said, ‘Who?’
Johnny said, ‘Fuck…’
More was said but Boyle had stopped listening. Something had happened to Jazz, something bad, he knew it. The stupid bugger had gone and done something crazy. The same instinct that told him the phone call was about his pal now told him the boy was dead and he felt something stinging at his eyes. Jazz was a dumb, stupid twat but he was his mate. He refused to let the tears come. Not in front of Johnny, who was now hanging up the phone and staring at it thoughtfully.
‘What’s happened?’ Boyle asked, hoping the words would take the pressure off his throat.
‘Joe Klein’s deid,’ said Johnny, then he looked at Boyle. ‘Your boy Jazz shot him.’
Good on you, Jazz, thought Boyle, but said, ‘Where’s Jazz now?’ He knew the answer before Johnny told him.
‘Jazz’s deid, too,’ said Johnny.
Boyle swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had lodged in his throat. ‘Who?’
‘That boy McCall, my guy says…’
At Johnny’s words Boyle felt something cold settle over him. McCall, he should’ve known. And maybe on some level he had known. A McCall had taken his father and now another one had taken his best mate. The debt was long overdue for payback. Boyle was done waiting.
25
DAVIE SAW FAT MORRIE before Fat Morrie saw him. Davie knew he would run into him, of course, as they were both late night walkers. And this was no casual meeting. Davie had planned it. After he had left Luca’s Café, Davie went back to his flat and picked up Abe, who was desperate for his walk. Then he set off down Duke Street towards Parkhead, knowing full well he would bump into Morrie at some point. After he passed the bridge over Duke Street railway station, the topography of the buildings changed. The tall tenements were left behind and squat retail and trade outlets took their place. Their roofs were flat and had obviously at one time formed the ground level of tenements just like those behind Davie. He had no idea what had happened to these sandstone buildings. Joe would have known. But Joe was gone and his knowledge with him.
The air was heavy with the threat of an impending storm and when Davie looked up he saw the stars and moon were obscured by thick, dark clouds. He could feel it pressing on his forehead and behind his eyes.
Their paths converged near a pill box-style pub-cum-disco in the shadow of a railway bridge. It was closed now and the area was deserted apart from Davie and the dog swiftly closing on the slow-moving Morrie, who walked with his head down and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his parka, which was zipped up to the neck even though the humid air was stifling. They were almost upon him before the lumbering young man looked up and realised who it was approaching him. Davie saw his expression change from mild surprise to slight suspicion and then, inevitably, to unshakeable fear.
‘Davie,’ said Morrie, his voice trembling just slightly. Morrie was scared. Davie didn’t think much on it. A lot of people were scared of him.
‘Need a word, Morrie,’ said Davie, positioning himself directly in front of the fat youth.
Morrie’s eyes were generally little more than slits amidst fat cheeks, but Davie’s words caused them to widen considerably. ‘What can I do for you, mate?’ Mate. Trying to sound casual and friendly. It was the technique of the bullied and the terrorised everywhere, make yourself their friend, maybe they won’t hit you. Not too hard anyway. Davie had lost count of the number of people who had spoken to him that way, even though he was never a bully. He never needed to be.
‘You punted anything to any of Johnny Jones’ lads recently?’
Morrie took a slight step back and he gave the night-darkened street a sharp glance before he lowered his head and his voice to say, ‘You know I cannae talk about my customers, Davie. They buy my discretion, you know what I mean?’
Davie nodded and stepped closer to the fat guy, his own voice dropping. ‘Morrie, I’ve no got the time or the notion to persuade you. I want to know if you’ve sold a gun to any of Jones’ boys. And you’re going to tell me without me having to do you any damage.’
Morrie swallowed hard and licked his lips as he calculated the odds. Davie knew the armourer was far from stupid and would be aware that he wasn’t one to make
idle threats. He was now sizing up his options – to tell Davie what he wanted to know, or to protect his customer. Davie also knew that Morrie wasn’t the bravest of individuals and would cave without any violence having to be dished out. To his credit, Morrie made a token attempt at resistance.
‘Come on, Davie, you know I cannae tell you,’ he said in a voice that was beginning to rise. If Davie kept up the pressure pretty soon only Abe would be able to hear the boy.
Davie gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Sorry to hear that, mate.’ He made a show of looking around him, then gripped Morrie by a fleshy upper arm and pushed him towards the railway arch. Morrie yelped and tried to pull free but Davie’s grip was too strong.
‘C’mon, Davie, gimme a break!’
‘I told you,’ Davie said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘I don’t have the time to mess around here. Under the arch there will do me just nicely.’
Morrie’s fat legs moved faster than they had ever moved as Davie propelled him towards the shadows under the bridge. The gun dealer looked down at Abe as if the dog could help him but he found no solace there. Finally he said, ‘All right, all right...’ Davie stopped but kept hold of Morrie’s arm, his fingers biting deep into the flab. He waited as Morrie visibly struggled with his conscience, a series of tics working his face like there was something burrowing around under his flesh.
‘Jazz bought a piece from me a coupla days ago,’ he said. ‘An automatic with a suppressor.’
Davie nodded. That explained why Sinclair hadn’t been at the funeral. He was probably hiding out in Joe’s home, preparing to ambush him.
‘I didnae know what he was gonnae do with it, you’ve got to believe me,’ Morrie pleaded. ‘In my line of business it doesnae pay to ask questions like that.’
Blood City Page 17