Blood City

by Douglas Skelton

  ‘What about Boyle?’

  ‘He’s had a piece for a while now, a revolver. He said he liked the feel of it. He got a sawn-off at the same time and another automatic. All the pieces were clean, never been used. No in Glasgow, anyway.’

  Davie recalled seeing the pistol thrust into Boyle’s belt a few nights before. ‘You seen either Boyle or Sinclair tonight?’

  Morrie shook his head. ‘Jazz’s vanished, I hear. Saw Boyle up by Tollcross when I came out, but he lives up near there.’

  Davie looked towards the railway arch, considering heading to Tollcross and tackling Boyle right away. In the café he had been happy to feign his agreement with Luca and Rab, but he never had any intention of letting Boyle or Jones away with it. They had gone too far. He knew Luca was keen to steer them away from striking back in order to profit from Jones’ business deal, but Davie had little interest in money and none at all in becoming a drug dealer. He decided that Boyle would keep for now. It was late and he was tired. When he took Boyle on he wanted to be daisy fresh.

  ‘You finished wi me or what, Davie?’ Morrie asked and Davie turned back towards him. He let go of his arm and stepped away without a word. Morrie rubbed the area where he had had gripped him so tightly and moved off. He stopped when Davie shouted after him, ‘Don’t say anything to anyone, Morrie.’

  Morrie turned back, still rubbing his arm, nodded and beetled off in the direction of the railway bridge. Davie watched him go for a few moments then turned and moved back along Duke Street towards home.

  * * *

  When his phone rang, Rab’s first thought was ‘What the fuck now?’ He had just arrived home after hatching plans with Luca and he was bone tired. A glance at the clock told him it was just after four in the morning. He decided to ignore it and after a few rings it stopped. All Rab wanted now was to get to bed, get some kip and see what the next day brought. There would be a lot to do because Joe’s death would hit the city like a thunderclap. Positions would have to be strengthened, messages might need to be sent. He’d discussed it all with Luca and they knew what had to be done.

  Then the phone rang again and Rab decided he had better answer it.

  His heart sank when he heard Knight’s voice saying, ‘Knew you were in, ya bastard.’

  ‘Come on, Knight, eh? It’s no a good time.’

  ‘I realise that, son, I really do, but this is urgent. I need something from you.’

  ‘This arrangement of ours is gettin kinda one-sided here. When am I gonnae see something from you?’

  Knight chuckled on the other end of the line. ‘Right now, son. My boss is very concerned about you and your boy McCall.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Joe’s death. He meant a lot to you, specially young Davie. We need to know that you’re not going to go off on some revenge mission.’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘See, I believe you when you say it, but what about Davie? Loose cannon, he is.’

  ‘Davie’ll be fine.’

  ‘Wish I could believe you, son.’

  Rab sighed. ‘What you wantin?’

  ‘We need to put your boy away for a wee while.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t grass Davie.’

  ‘Nothing big, just for a wee while, till the heat dies a bit, you know? Now, I know you can steer me in the right direction.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Wrong answer, son. You need to do this.’

  ‘I don’t need to do anything.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Because if you don’t I’ll be forced to come up with something myself. And believe me, if you make me do that it’ll be something serious, you know what I’m saying?’

  Rab fell silent, his fingers gripping the receiver so tightly he feared he might snap it in two. He couldn’t fire Davie in for something, he just couldn’t. But if he didn’t he knew this bastard cop would fit him up for something big. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Knight was capable of it.

  Rab sighed and said, ‘So how does this all benefit me?’

  Knight gave a small laugh again. ‘Because it’s not you I’m after, son.’

  * * *

  Davie saw the car parked at the closemouth as he turned into the street from Duke Street. He knew it for a police car even if it was unmarked. He ignored it as he stepped towards the close, stopping only when he heard the copper’s voice coming through the open window.

  ‘Where you been, Davie?’

  Davie turned and peered through the window. It was the cop, Donovan, the one who had questioned him after Norrie Kennedy’s murder. Christ, was that really just a couple of weeks ago? The detective was alone, which was unusual.

  ‘Taking the dog for a walk,’ He answered, truthfully.

  Donovan gave Abe a quick glance then his gaze reverted back to Davie. ‘Things are well fucked, Davie.’

  Davie nodded. He’d get no argument from him on that score.

  ‘We don’t want them getting any more fucked, son.’

  Davie remained silent. He was taciturn at the best of times, but he knew to say even less to a cop, even if they were alone. Not that his silence would matter if this guy wanted to do something – cops were always good at providing their own corroboration when the need arose. Donovan didn’t strike him as being that kind of cop, though.

  ‘Mister Bannatyne wanted me to give you a message,’ Donovan went on. ‘Leave things to us. We’ll get Joe’s killer, put him away.’

  Davie raised his eyes to the thick clouds filling the sky, as if looking for the squadron of flying pigs he knew must have been passing overhead.

  ‘Don’t be taking matters into your own hands,’ Donovan went on.

  Davie nodded. ‘Okay. That all?’

  Donovan sighed. ‘I’m trying to be your pal here, son. I’ve been asking around about you – you’re no stupid. You’ve got a rep for being a hard bastard, well-deserved from what I hear, but there’s respect out there for you. Your pal, McClymont? He’s maybe got the ambition but he’s nothing compared to you. Don’t be a mug over this. You know something, you come to me with it, okay? We told you before, you’re no the law on the streets – we are.’

  ‘I don’t grass.’

  ‘Even if it meant bringing Joe’s killer to justice?’

  Davie hesitated. He thought about telling Donovan that Jazz had bought a gun, and that Boyle was also armed, but decided against it. Donovan saw the hesitation and said, ‘You know something, don’t you?’

  Davie stared at him, then said, ‘We finished?’

  Donovan returned the young man’s grave look and shrugged. Davie turned without another word and stepped into the close, where the ground floor lamp was dark. Light fell down from the next landing and filled the close with a faint glow, but the bottom of the stairs was in a pool of shadow. The detective watched Davie and the dog vanish into the darkness then reappear as they began to climb the stairs before he twisted the ignition key. Bannatyne had asked him to speak to the boy and he’d done it. There was something about Davie McCall that set him apart from the others. Of all of Joe’s boys, he was the most enigmatic, the least predictable. Donovan didn’t think talking to him would do the least bit of good, but it was worth a try.

  The detective pulled away from the kerb and was steering the car towards Duke Street when he caught sight of Clem Boyle turning the corner ahead. Donovan stared at him through the window as he moved slowly past, but the boy was oblivious to him as he walked towards Davie’s closemouth, his face set in a purposeful scowl.

  26

  WHEN DAVIE WALKED through the main door of the flat, he found Rab standing in the hallway. ‘You’ve got a visitor, in the living room,’ said Rab, jerking his head towards the door, then went into his own bedroom. Rab’s face was troubled, his eyes unable to meet Davie’s, which he put down to grief. He walked down the hall into the living room, Abe at his heels.

  ‘Well popular tonight, so I am,’ he muttered.

  Audrey was sitting in the armchair facing the door. Sh
e stood up when Davie came in and swiftly crossed the room to step into his arms. He pulled her close, appreciating the sensation of her body against his and the apple blossom smell of her hair.

  ‘Davie,’ she said and then said no more.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, unwrapping her arms from his body and stepping away to stare into his face. He wanted to kiss her but something told him that was not what she wanted. ‘Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid.’

  For a fleeting moment he wondered if she had been speaking to Donovan, then he replied, ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid.’

  ‘Now tell me like you mean it.’

  He saw the concern etched in her green eyes and he brought his hands up to her cheeks, letting them linger for a moment. However, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. To say anything further would be a lie and he cared too much to lie to her. He saw tears well up and she gently pulled his hands from her face, stepping back from him as she did so.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she said. The words hit Davie like a powerful blow to the chest but he waited for her to continue. ‘Your life… your world… it’s…’ She tried to complete her sentence but couldn’t find the words. Davie silently finished it for her. His life, his world, was not her world and she did not fit in. Her world was safe, it was normal, it was having drinks with friends and going to the pictures and the dancing and going home to a nice house in Bearsden. It was having a nice boyfriend who came to meet the parents and stayed for a nice Sunday dinner. It was getting married and having nice kids and settling down in a nice house close enough for the in-laws to come and babysit whenever they were needed. Her world was nice. Davie’s was not. His world was the streets and back courts of the East End. Davie’s world was hard and tough and violent. He didn’t fit in her world and she would never fit in his. Deep down, he had known that from the start. Even so, as he stood there looking at her, wanting to reach out and hold her close, something harsh and bitter lodged in his throat and wouldn’t move.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. Just one word. He wanted to say more. He found he had no more to say.

  She shook her head, dislodging the tears and freeing them to trickle down her cheek. He wanted to brush them away but he stood perfectly still, his arms at his side, his own eyes burning. So this was what it was like to be dumped, he thought.

  ‘I just wanted to see you... to tell you...’ she said and stopped again. She stared at him for what seemed like an age then she shook her head again. ‘I don’t know if I can do this... but I’m going to try.’

  It took a moment for her words to sink in, so convinced was he that she was ending it. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. The pain he had been feeling – in his throat, his chest, his eyes – dissipated and was replaced by something new. He didn’t know what it was but he liked it.

  But still a dark little whisper in his head told him she was making a mistake and he should tell her to get as far away from him as possible.

  But Davie ignored that voice and told himself that he would never let anything happen to her. Ever.

  And he meant it.

  She moved in close again, a hand resting lightly on his cheek, her face upturned, and he kissed her. It was a soft kiss, with no urgency, no overpowering passion, yet it was the most remarkable kiss Davie had ever experienced. It made him forget Joe, forget Boyle, forget the voice that still hissed that he would ruin her life.

  ‘Stay,’ he said, but she shook her head.

  ‘Not tonight. I’ve got work in the morning.’

  She smiled and kissed him once more, then stepped away and moved towards the door. She stopped to give Abe an affectionate rub on the head before she looked back at Davie and said, ‘Ask me again on Friday night.’

  And then with another smile, a beautiful smile, she was gone.

  Davie looked at the door for a full minute, a grin growing on his face. Maybe, just maybe, he could give it all up. Maybe he could stick two fingers up to destiny and change everything just like Joe had said.

  He didn’t know how long he had been standing there when he heard the gunshot.

  * * *

  Boyle had taken up position in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, his back against the wall, eyes on the steps leading up to McClymont’s first floor flat. He didn’t know how long he would have to wait but he didn’t care. He would stand here as long as he had to. Sooner or later one of them would come down those stairs and he’d put one between the eyes. He didn’t much care who it was – McCall or McClymont. He’d prefer McCall but if it was Big Rab, fine. Somebody was paying for Jazz tonight.

  He pulled the revolver from under his sweatshirt and clicked open the cylinder for what must have been the 20th time since leaving Johnny’s place in Castlemilk. He didn’t know why he kept opening it to check the bullets. It wasn’t as if any of the six slugs could have fallen out. But he jerked it open, glanced inside and snapped it shut again. Then he made sure the safety was off and lowered his arm, letting the gun dangle there at his side.

  A door on the next floor opened and closed, then footsteps descended the stone steps. He tensed, pushing himself away from the wall, the gun already coming up as he watched through the metal railings between him and the stairs for his first glimpse of a target. McCall or McClymont. Didn’t matter. Really didn’t matter.

  * * *

  Watching in his wing mirror, Donovan had seen Boyle disappear into the close and knew he had trouble in mind. The detective jerked the wheel and pointed the nose of the car towards the kerb. Something told him he had no time for fancy parking so he merely ensured the vehicle was as far off the road as possible before jumping out, leaving the keys dangling in the ignition, his mind on Boyle and his grim expression. Donovan stood on the pavement for a moment, wondering if he should call for assistance. No, he decided, it may be nothing.

  He began to walk swiftly towards the tenement opening.

  * * *

  Audrey was still smiling as she stepped down the stairs. When she had arrived she’d no idea what she was going to say. No, that’s not right, she kind of did. She was going to tell Davie that it couldn’t work out between them, but as soon as she saw him, as soon as she looked into those blue eyes, she knew those words wouldn’t come. She stopped on the landing between the first floor and ground level, looking down at the well of darkness at the bottom of the final flight but not really seeing it. She was thinking about going back upstairs, to be with Davie, to take him to bed, to finish what they had started earlier. Then she recalled how late it was and that in – God, three hours time – she had to be up and out to work. Leave it, she decided. Friday night would come soon enough.

  She stepped down the last flight of stairs.

  She didn’t see Boyle as he lurked in the deep shadow, didn’t hear him step up behind her as she reached the ground floor landing, didn’t know he was raising the gun at her back.

  * * *

  Boyle had frozen when he saw it was the girl, the one McCall was seeing. He hadn’t expected that and he stepped back again, planning to let her go on her way. But then he realised how late it was and wondered what she had been doing up there with McCall at this time of night. She must have been up there shagging him, he realised, the two of them at it like bunnies while his pal was going cold somewhere. Boyle didn’t like that idea, not one bit. He smiled to himself in the darkness, deciding that she would do just nicely. He’d put one in her, put the bitch down, and that would hurt McCall. Yeah, she would do nicely.

  He moved silently behind her as she passed and raised the gun to shoulder level, the sight centred squarely on the back of her head, his finger tightening on the trigger. All it would take was to tighten that finger slightly, just a wee pull, and she’d be dead.

  But as he peered down the barrel at the back of her head he found he couldn’t pull the trigger.

  He stood there, holding his breath, his arm steady and true but unable to fire the gun. Th
is wasn’t like that day with Barney Cable and his boy. This was different. That day it was as if he and Jazz had been watching the killings on the telly. The adrenalin had been flowing, Cable had let off a few rounds at them and Boyle couldn’t be sure if it was his bullet or Johnny’s that had brought him down. One thing he did know, it wasn’t him who had shot Peter Morton, knew that for a fact because he hadn’t even been aiming in his direction. Jazz was lying face down on the road by that time so it must’ve been a bullet from Johnny’s gun that had taken Cable’s minder down. Cable was different though. When Barney had tried to get over that fence, Boyle had no trouble in blasting away at him. But here in this quiet close, watching the girl move towards the street, he knew he couldn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t do it. He hated this lassie, hated the fact that she probably still had Davie McCall’s smell all over her, but even so he couldn’t fire.

  But when Donovan appeared at the closemouth and yelled at the girl to get down, Boyle’s finger jerked and the gun went off.

  * * *

  Donovan had just pulled the girl out into the street when he heard the shot. The bullet went a little wide, but not wide enough. He felt it punch into his chest then a split second later felt the searing pain. He slumped against the tiled wall of the close and slid down, fuck, fuck, fuck, screaming through his mind. He saw the girl’s pale face over him and he was aware of Boyle moving down the shadowy corridor towards them, the gun still pointing in their direction. He heard a voice in his head telling him that he really should be arresting the bastard but he knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon and he just lay there saying fuck, fuck, fuck over and over to himself. Then he felt her hands on his shoulder and he tried to push them away. He didn’t know why.

  ‘Somebody help,’ he heard her yell. ‘Somebody phone an ambulance!’

  That sounds like a good idea, he said. At least, he thought he said it, but he really couldn’t be sure. Boyle still hadn’t moved, the red-haired bastard just stood there looming over the two of them. The pain was gone now and all Donovan felt was numb and cold. Numb and cold, were they the same thing? Maybe they were. No, he decided, you can be numb without feeling cold. So, that was it decided then, he felt both numb and cold at the same time. Happy now? Delirious, he said. Or maybe he didn’t say anything at all. He felt as if he was falling, pitching into a dark hole without a parachute, but he knew that couldn’t be the case because he could still feel the hard stone beneath him. But then even that sensation was beginning to fade and he was still falling, falling, falling.