Blood City

by Douglas Skelton

  Rab immediately shook his head. ‘I told you, I won’t grass on Davie or Joe. No way.’

  ‘Joe’s dead, son.’

  ‘Davie’s no.’

  ‘He’s dangerous, Rab.’

  ‘No,’ Rab insisted.

  ‘Aye,’ Knight said firmly. ‘He’s no like you and the others. You know it and I know it. Look at the way he went after Clem Boyle the other night…’

  ‘The boy tried to kill his burd.’

  ‘So what you saying, Rab?’ Knight went on, ‘You saying that you don’t think Davie boy wouldn’t still do something about Joe’s death? You know he believes Johnny Jones is behind it.’

  ‘Jones was behind it. Jazz Sinclair was one of his.’

  ‘Jazz Sinclair was a fuckwit. Johnny’s a bastard but he’s no a stupid bastard. There’s no way he sent that fuckwit to take out Joe Klein.’

  Rab nodded. He had discussed this with Luca and they had reached the same conclusion. If Johnny had wanted to get Joe he would have called on someone with more experience, maybe from down south. Jazz Sinclair had gone after Joe for reasons of his own and got lucky. In a way. But what Knight said next moved those particular goalposts.

  ‘You heard of gunshot residue? We call it GSR?’ When Rab shook his head, Knight continued. ‘See, whenever you fire a gun it leaves traces, they call it “blow back.” You cannae see it with the naked eye but it can be collected when you treat the skin with chemicals. Thing is, Sinclair didn’t have any on his hand.’

  ‘So maybe he wore gloves.’

  Knight smiled. ‘They’d still be there, you know? No, no matter what way you shake it, it still comes out the same. Someone else was there.’

  Rab’s brow creased into deep lines. ‘Boyle, maybe?’

  Knight shrugged. ‘Maybe. The way we see it, Joe did for Jazz before he could get off a shot, this other bloke then did Joe, left the gun behind. When this comes out – and it will – you know Davie’s going to start thinking about Johnny again and it’s only a matter of time before he does something about it. He’s got a lot of fury in him, that lad, I saw it the first time I clapped peepers on him. A lot of angst that needs to be worked through, know what I’m saying? Could get in the way of business.’

  Rab gave Knight a long, hard look, something in the cop’s voice telling him that he knew about the drug deals. He tried to find some clue in the man’s eyes but it was like trying to read Braille wearing a boxing glove. That was the problem with this guy – his breadth of knowledge verged on the supernatural, something he shared with Joe, and he only gave away what he wanted to give away. Something else he had in common with the old man. Rab wondered suddenly if this was what it was like when you dealt with the Devil. That horned bastard would know everything, too.

  Rab dropped his eyes to the table top and considered what the cop had said about Davie, recalling the conversation in Luca’s café. Davie had been very quiet throughout but Rab had known something was working away at him. Joe’s murder had affected him deeply, which was unsurprising, given the bond between them. Knight was right – with Boyle and Sinclair dead, there was a slim chance that Davie would let it lie, but if he found out someone else was there Rab knew he would do something about Jones, screwing up a sweet deal for them all in the process.

  Knight said quietly, ‘Doesn’t need to be anything major, just something that would take him off the streets for a year or so.’ Rab immediately thought of Barney Cable’s warehouse and something must have shown on his face because the detective’s eyes narrowed and he said, ‘What?’

  * * *

  Donovan had more wires coming out of him than an up-market stereo and he hated it. Every time he moved he was aware of the bloody things pulling at his flesh, not that he moved very much. Marie had been at his bedside when he came to the morning after he’d taken the bullet. His wife’s face was the first thing he saw, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, her nose running and her skin pale. She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was sitting at his bedside, his hand in hers, crying softly into a soggy tissue, and he lay there looking at her for a few seconds before he whispered, ‘Is this because you can’t find the insurance policy?’

  When she looked up he saw all the pain and anguish she must have been feeling being washed away by deep, cleansing relief and she threw herself forward to wrap her arms around his neck. He grunted and reminded her he’d been shot and she sat back again, filled with apologies, her hand fluttering over his wound, fearful to touch it but needing physical contact, so she settled again for holding his hand in both of hers.

  She said, ‘We thought we’d lost you.’

  He managed a weak smile and said, ‘Kinda thought that myself.’

  He saw the tears forming again. ‘You died, you know. They told me. There in that close, on the ground, you died. They brought you back.’

  He squeezed her hands as best he could and cleared his throat. ‘I don’t remember anything about it.’

  She gave him a slight, brave smile. ‘So, no heavenly choir? No hordes of angels?’

  ‘Not even a solitary harp.’

  They sat there together for some time, holding hands, smiling at each other like teenagers as they listened to the rain pounding against the window of his hospital room.

  That had been two days before and he could already feel his strength returning. The wound still ached but the morphine drip helped. He was sitting up in bed reading an Ed McBain novel when Audrey appeared in the open door of his room. He recognised her, of course, but couldn’t recall her name.

  A nervous smile plucked at the corners of her mouth as she said, ‘I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?’

  He struggled further upright and said, ‘No, not at all, just reading.’

  She stepped into the room and raised the brown paper bag she carried. ‘I’ve brought grapes, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘Not very original.’

  ‘Grapes are fine, Miss…?’

  She caught the question in his voice and she moved closer, her free hand outstretched, ‘Burke. Audrey.’

  He smiled. ‘Nice to meet you, Burke Audrey.’ He took her hand, trying not to wince as his body protested at the movement. Her hand was cool, her fingers soft to the touch. He looked into her face and saw her staring at his bandages with subdued horror.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you, for what you did,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘If I’d known I was going to end up getting shot, I might not have done it.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’s true.’

  Donovan smiled back, wondering if it was true or not. He had acted on instinct that night, yanking her out of the close when he saw Boyle levelling the gun. His big mistake was not getting himself out of the way, too.

  ‘They tell me you’re Davie McCall’s girlfriend.’

  The words were out before he knew it. He didn’t know this young woman yet there he was asking her a personal question. But boredom had set in very quickly. There was nothing on the telly and his book could wait. After two days in hospital he was ready to speak to anyone who was not a brisk nurse or a doctor.

  She was nodding, her eyes lowering to look at the green hospital top sheet on the bed as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

  Donovan asked, ‘You like him?’ Christ, he thought, it was like being back in high school.

  She nodded, her eyes still downcast, and he sensed she was wondering why she was telling him this.

  ‘You like him a lot?’

  She looked up then and he saw a reservoir of tears welling in her green eyes. She was strong, she was holding them back, but then the dam burst and two goblets trickled down her face. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything...’

  He reached out and grasped her hand, hoping to Christ that Marie didn’t walk in and see him playing patty-fingers with an attractive young woman. ‘Take it easy, hen, you’ll have me going in a minute.’

  She smiled and wiped the tears away with he
r free hand. ‘If I hadn’t gone to see him that night, you wouldn’t be lying here with a bullet hole in you.’

  ‘You can’t think like that. It happened, that’s it. You’re alive, I’m alive, let’s just be happy for that.’

  ‘Boyle isn’t alive.’

  Donovan felt his face harden. ‘Well, don’t expect me to shed any tears over him. I owe your boyfriend for what he did and someday I’ll repay the debt. Davie McCall’s a complex guy. I’ve said I owe him and I mean that, but there’s an old saying that if you save someone’s life you’re responsible for them forever. Don’t know how that works, to be honest, but just in case it’s true let me say this – he’s not for you.’ He could tell from her expression that she had heard this before but he pressed on regardless. ‘Your lives are different. You’re a good looking lassie, you’ve got a good job – reporter, right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Take my advice – stay away from him. He’s bad news, and believe me, it pains me to say it cos I actually quite like the guy, and I don’t like neds on principle.’

  ‘Davie’s different…’

  ‘I’ll give you that, he’s not like the rest. But he’s still a ned, and a particularly violent one at that. You and him, you’re like oil and water. You can be together but you sure as hell don’t mix. My advice? Stay away from him. He’ll be the death of you.’

  But when he looked into her eyes he saw her strong will shining through again and he knew he was wasting his breath.

  * * *

  Luca knew who Bannatyne was, even though he had never actually met the man. Joe had pointed him out at Barney’s funeral, but even before then the Sicilian had marked the smartly-dressed grey-haired man as a cop. Now here he was, sitting in the same alcove where just a couple of nights before Luca had discussed the future with Rab while worrying about how Davie would react. That night ended in more violence, with Davie at its centre. Luca hadn’t seen the young man since but he was never far from his mind. There was a chance Davie suspected his hand in Joe’s death and that was a chance Luca was not willing to take. Joe had understood Davie, but to the Sicilian the workings of his mind were a mystery. Luca didn’t like mysteries; they made him nervous. Luca did not like to be nervous.

  Now here was this cop with the smart grey suit and the clear brown eyes sitting in his café, sipping his coffee and eating one of his wife’s scones. Luca was anxious, which annoyed him. He had dealt with the police all his life and yet here he was feeling dread clutch at his belly like food poisoning.

  ‘Mr Vizzini, right?’ Said the cop. ‘Detective Inspector Bannatyne, Baird Street CID.’

  Luca forced a broad smile as he stood by the table, drying his hands on a paper towel. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said and held out his hand.

  Bannatyne shook it, his grip firm and dry. Luca cursed himself for he knew his hand was still slightly damp from cleaning dishes in the kitchen. He hoped Bannatyne didn’t think his palms were sweating.

  ‘You were a friend of Joe Klein’s,’ said the cop, taking a sip of his coffee.

  ‘Si, we were good friends. May he rest in peace,’ said Luca. No need to lie, it was common knowledge that Joe was his partner in the café.

  ‘Terrible thing.’

  Luca nodded solemnly, waiting for the next question.

  ‘Did you know that you were the last person he phoned before he died?’

  Luca adopted a look of shock. ‘No...’

  Bannatyne nodded, slipping a chunk of buttered scone into his mouth. ‘Lovely scone, by the way. Homemade?’

  Luca nodded. ‘My wife.’

  ‘My compliments.’

  Luca inclined his head slightly. ‘Grazie…’

  Bannatyne sighed. ‘Aye, phone records show that he phoned your home that night. Care to tell me what the conversation was about?’

  Luca shrugged. ‘The usual. Business, Mister Cable’s funeral…’

  ‘You were there, weren’t you?’

  ‘You know I was – you saw me with Joe.’

  Bannatyne smiled. ‘Yes, I did. I have to admit, I had to ask who you were. You’ve kept very much under our radar.’

  Luca spread his hands. ‘I am just a café owner, nothing more.’

  Bannatyne tore another segment of scone off and threw it into his mouth. He regarded Luca with a slightly amused expression before he said, ‘Of course you are. So that was why Joe phoned you that night? Just to talk about the day’s events.’

  ‘Joe often called me at night, just to talk. We were friends.’

  Bannatyne nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘But I thought you found the guy who did it beside Joe. That’s what it says in the paper.’

  Bannatyne looked thoughtful at this. ‘Yes, we did find the body of an individual.’

  ‘So, case closed, right?’

  The detective wrinkled his nose a little. ‘Well… let’s just say there are a few unanswered questions.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Ah, Mister Vizzini, you wouldn’t expect me to discuss an ongoing investigation, I’m sure. You know how it works.’ Bannatyne raised his eyes to look directly into Luca’s. The café owner saw a challenge in the brown irises and he knew then that this cop knew more about him than he let on. His guts fluttered again.

  ‘So you think someone else did it, not this boy Sinclair?’ Luca said, more to say something than anything else.

  ‘Let me just say that the case remains open,’ said Bannatyne.

  ‘Then if he didn’t do it, I hope you get the son-of-a-bitch who did.’

  ‘So do I, so do I,’ said Bannatyne, swallowing the final crumb of scone and washing it down with the rest of his coffee. He stood up, fishing in his pocket for some coins and Luca held out his hands in dismissal, saying, ‘No, please, it is my pleasure.’

  Bannatyne smiled. ‘That’s kind of you, Mister Vizzini, but I’d prefer to pay.’ He dropped a 50 and three ten pence pieces on the table top. ‘Wouldn’t want people to think you’re trying to bribe me.’

  Luca smiled back at him and scooped up the coins. ‘Heaven forbid, Detective Inspector.’

  Bannatyne smiled and held out his hand again. ‘Well, good to meet you.’

  ‘Si,’ said Luca, grasping the hand again. Despite his growing nervousness, this time his hand was as fresh as Bannatyne’s. If their palms had been any drier they could’ve started a fire.

  ‘I’m sure our paths will cross again,’ said the cop.

  Luca wondered whether that was a promise or a threat as he watched Bannatyne step outside into the sunlight.

  * * *

  Davie was in bed when they came for him. Abe was lying on the bedspread beside him and he must have heard a noise on the stairway because he raised his head and growled. There was a fierce rapping on the front door and Davie knew by its sound that it was The Law. They had a way of knocking a door. He glanced at the clock beside the bed and saw it was six-thirty. That clinched it – they liked to come early, catch you unawares. He heard Rab’s bedroom door open and the big guy padding towards the front door. Davie leaped out of bed and got dressed. Abe was already standing at the closed door, his nose pressed to the gap at the bottom to sniff out what was happening in the hall. Davie jerked open the door to find two uniformed cops just about to burst in.

  ‘David McCall?’ One asked, and he nodded. The two officers reached out and gripped him by the arms, one stepping behind him, the cuffs already in his hands. Abe’s growl deepened and he bared his teeth.

  ‘Keep your dog back if you don’t want it shot,’ warned the other cop and Davie told Abe to sit and stay. The officers weren’t armed, but it would be a simple task to call for support. Abe fell silent but his lips still quivered as he watched the two cops push his master out into the hallway. The dog tried to follow but one of them held him back with his foot and closed the door on him.

  Rab was standing in the hallway, still in his pyjamas, and Davie saw that big cop Knight at his side with another two uniforms. ‘Robert M
cClymont and David McCall, we are arresting you for a housebreaking at the premises of the SwiftMart Warehouse in Queenslie. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘Can I put some clothes on?’ said Rab.

  He and Rab appeared in the Sheriff Court the following morning and Joe’s old lawyer managed to get them bailed. The depute procurator fiscal handling the case against them did not oppose the motion.

  As they walked out of the court building on Ingram Street, Rab said, ‘So where the fuck was Mouthy?’

  * * *

  Mouthy stared across the table at Rab, his face white with fear. ‘Honest, Rab – I never said nothing!’

  Rab grimaced. ‘Don’t fuck me about, son. You were lifted the day before us but you’ve no been charged wi nothing. You were seen.’

  ‘Aye but they never even mentioned the warehouse job. They just took me in for questioning about Boyle and them, asking me what I knew. The warehouse wasnae even mentioned, honest!’

  They were sitting at a corner table in Luca’s and Bobby Newman, sitting beside Rab, leaned over and hissed, ‘Come on, Mouthy – you expect us to believe that?’

  ‘Raise my hand to God, Bobby, it’s the honest truth, on my mammy’s life, so it is. I would never tell the police nothing. I’m no a grass.’

  ‘Well, somebody did,’ said Rab, ‘and it sure as fuck wasnae me or Davie. So who?’

  Mouthy’s brow furrowed as he thought about this. ‘It wasnae me,’ he said plaintively.

  Rab glanced at Bobby, who shrugged, unsure whether to believe Mouthy or not. Rab sighed and said, ‘You’re lucky Davie doesn’t want anything to happen to you, Mouthy son, cos if it was up to me you’d be face down right now with a bullet in your head.’

  Mouthy’s eyes widened and he said, ‘Rab, I...’

  Rab leaned in closer to the smaller youth and he snarled, ‘Shut the fuck up now or I’ll use that teaspoon there to take your fuckin eye out.’

  Mouthy’s jaws clamped tight.

  ‘Now,’ said Rab, ‘here’s what you’re gonnae do. Go home, pack up your stuff and get the fuck out of Glasgow by tonight. We don’t ever want to hear from you again, understand? We see you back here, we take your head off, understand?’