‘Right away?’
‘Right away.’
A job offer, obviously. Important? Maybe, but he’s waited three days, and that suggests not urgent. Perhaps that’s what it’s supposed to suggest. It’ll be temporary, but it could be designed to draw him into something longer. Frank MacLeod isn’t going to last forever. Nobody in this business does. Calum switches everything off, leaving nothing on standby. He gets a coat; it’s a colder day. Blustery outside. He picks his car keys from the top of the fridge in the kitchen, and leaves the flat.
There’s nothing in the flat that can tell you what he does for a living. There’s certainly no gun. No one who works with a gun and has any sense keeps a gun in their home. There’s no documentation. Keep no reminder. Some people keep souvenirs. Those people are stupid. Dangerously stupid. Maybe a bit sick. They will be caught. A police raid will tell nothing about Calum. No emails. No tweets. No text messages. Tracking phone calls would tell that he was in touch with people like Young, but you can’t go to jail for the friends you keep. Calum has never been arrested, no convictions, never seen the inside of a jail cell. He’s been in the business for ten years. He won’t gloat about avoiding arrest until he’s retired.
Avoiding arrest is not the same as avoiding suspicion. Not sure how he’s doing on that front. Do the police know that he exists? Surely. They must know about Jamieson; everyone else does. Jamieson is the up-and-coming figure. Calum has done work for Jamieson before. He’s done work for one or two more established figures as well. He’s not tied to any of them, though – that’s important. He’s a moving target. A chance that the police don’t know him. A chance they don’t know what he does. That’s what he wants for himself, and what Jamieson wants from an employee as well. Starting with a clean slate.
He goes into the club by the front door as he always does. No point sneaking in. If people are watching the club, then they’re watching the back as well as the front. Sneaking in the back only makes you look more suspicious. Up the stairs, through the door. The snooker hall is open to the public, the bar open. Six people using three different tables, another four people at the bar. One of the men at the tables is Kenny McBride, Jamieson’s driver. Driver is a broad description. Jamieson can drive himself most of the time. Kenny’s a taxi for the boss. He’s a driver on important jobs. He delivers things. He picks things up. Anything that needs a car. Calum nods hello, walks past.
Along the corridor, all the way to the end. Nobody outside the office door, no obvious security. Never is. No paranoia yet, although that will probably come. It does with most. Jamieson is mid-forties. Not old. More youthful than most people his age. Not big enough yet to be plotted against. So most people think. A hands-off approach to security. Ruthless, yes, but casual too. Calum knocks on the door three times and waits to be shouted in. He doesn’t have the sort of relationship that allows him to enter uninvited. Somebody calls for him to come in. He opens the door, steps inside and closes it behind him.
It’s just Jamieson and Young. The TVs are off, which means business. Jamieson is behind his desk. Is he trying to look like a businessman, trying to look respectable? Unlikely. He has bucketfuls of self-awareness, he doesn’t feel a need to try and look like the good guy. The desk isn’t to make him look respectable; it’s to let you know he’s in charge. Young’s sitting to the side on the couch, as always. Neither one of them is intimidating. But then neither one of them is trying to be. Young isn’t capable – too podgy and relaxed. Jamieson can do it. He can scare, when he wants to. His eyes, that’s what does it. It’s almost always about the eyes. If your eyes can’t do scary, then you can’t do scary. Jamieson could give a look when he chose.
‘Good to see you, Calum, been a while,’ Jamieson says, nodding for him to sit on the chair in front of the desk. ‘Take your coat off.’
Calum does as he’s told, because you do what you’re told. He places the coat over the back of the chair and sits in it. Now he’s facing Jamieson, and Young is only just out of view. That’s disconcerting, deliberately. You don’t know what Young is doing. You don’t know if he’s mouthing something to Jamieson. You don’t know if he’s made a gesture or not. You can’t see his reaction. You don’t even know if he’s paying attention. That’s the point. You will leave that office not knowing what at least one of them is thinking.
‘Let’s get down to business,’ Jamieson says, with that cold face that tells you to pay attention. ‘Have you been doing much work lately?’
He wants to know if Calum has killed many people lately. Kill too many in a short space of time and you will inevitably draw attention to yourself. Jamieson’s clever about that, good instinct. Don’t hire someone who’s been too busy. Don’t hire someone who hasn’t been working at all. Not too hot, not too cold, but just right. A Goldilocks employee. You answer because you have to, but it’s awkward. Nothing wrong with Calum’s answer, but you have to trust Jamieson with the answer. You have to trust that the only people who hear it are the people in the room. No bugs. They’re rare, but not impossible.
‘I’ve been keeping to a regular schedule,’ Calum answers. ‘I don’t like to overstretch.’
It’s the right answer. It means little, but it’s right enough for now. Jamieson knows Calum is smart. Calum knows what answer Jamieson wants to hear. In this case it’s true, and Jamieson believes him, but takes everything with a pinch of salt.
‘I might have a job for you, if you’re interested. You know we’re short.’
‘I heard. I might be interested. Depends, though.’
‘On?’ Jamieson’s frowning now. He doesn’t like conditions. He particularly doesn’t like guys who haven’t even hit thirty making demands, when people like Frank MacLeod rarely do.
‘The schedule I work is good for me. I don’t want to break that.’
Jamieson nods. Not unreasonable. Also fits with his own plan. No more relying on one man to do such important work. Frank was great, but now he’s broken and there’s nobody to step in. They have to recruit from outside. From now on, they always have at least two.
5
‘You know Lewis Winter?’
Now it’s real business. It’s considered that the job has been accepted. Calum hasn’t said he’ll do it, but he’s laid down a single condition and, by moving on to the job, Jamieson has accepted the condition. You don’t talk money. They both know what the ballpark figure is. Now it’s specifics for this job. Calum is on board. Jamieson and Young have both accepted it. Now they will treat him as though he’s one of their people, in the organization. Maybe just for this one job. It’s been like that before, when they had a big job and Frank chose him to ride shotgun. You’re in the family for one job. Then you’re on the outside, with them keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t say anything you shouldn’t. Also making sure you stay useful to them, for moments like this.
‘I know of Lewis Winter. Met him once, briefly. Wouldn’t say I know him.’
But Calum knows enough. He knows who Lewis Winter is, and he knows what Lewis Winter does. That’s enough. Lessons from Frank MacLeod, lessons from others with experience. Don’t learn from the ones who have been caught and tell their stories to all and sundry. Don’t learn from those who know how to do it; learn from those who know how to do it well. They tell you to learn everything. Not a glib comment. Learn who everyone in the business is and what they do, because you don’t know when you’ll run into them. So you learn who people like Lewis Winter are, even though they’re not important people. You learn every nook and cranny of the city, because you don’t know when you’ll be there. Calum has done it. He’s kept himself up to date. He drove around the city, exploring areas he didn’t know. He made sure he knew the industry better than it knew him. He made sure he knew Glasgow better than it could ever know him. If he needed to move quickly, he would know the route. He might only need the knowledge once in his life, but that once could decide the length of that life.
He had met Lewis Winter through a mutual
friend. They were at a party where Winter didn’t belong. He was there with his much younger girlfriend. It was only three or four months ago, and someone had introduced them for reasons inexplicable to Calum. Perhaps because they were the only two criminals the mutual friend knew, and he thought they would get along. Winter is into his mid-forties. He has grey hair around the temples; he’s struggling to keep his weight down. He looked as though he had just lost. He isn’t a man for a party. He isn’t a man blessed with great success. If he’s the subject of this conversation, then things aren’t liable to get any better for him.
‘Winter’s become a problem. The job would be for you to deal with him.’
Calum nods. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Surprising that Winter should have become a problem to a man like Jamieson. Winter is small-time, always has been. He is a man cursed. Every success was swiftly followed by a crushing failure. Twenty-five years of it, no sign of a change.
‘Sounds simple. Anything I should know?’
Jamieson shakes his head briefly, a slight shrug of the shoulders. ‘Anything you think you should know?’
A key distinction to make. What you should know is what you need to know, not what you want to know. You want to know why Jamieson plans to murder this man. You don’t need to know that. Lewis Winter is a long-term, small-time drug dealer. Jamieson is involved in many facets of criminal life, drug dealing included. Lewis Winter steps on Peter Jamieson’s toes. If Jamieson’s not seen to take action, then he could look weak. Perception is vital. The things you need to know relate only to your ability to do the job well, and to the consequences. You need to know if there’s anything hidden that could catch you out; if your target has friends or contacts who might catch you up. Only what will help you do the job. Only what will help you live with the consequences.
‘Does he have any sort of security that I should know about?’
Not a question he would usually ask about Lewis Winter. Winter is small-time, he has no security. At least none to speak of. He has no bodyguards. He has no hangers-on who would be capable of causing trouble.
‘He might own a dog, that would be about it,’ Jamieson shrugs.
‘He doesn’t,’ Young chips in from the side, his first contribution.
‘There you go,’ Jamieson smiles. ‘He’s living with his girlfriend now, that wee trollop.’
‘Zara Cope,’ Young says. ‘A slut, but a smart one.’
‘A smart slut,’ Jamieson is saying with a smile and a shake of the head, ‘those are the ones. Man, those are the ones. You know she had a kid with Nate Colgan six or seven years ago,’ he’s saying to Calum.
‘Does the kid live with them?’ Calum’s asking, always worried about that scenario.
‘Nah, with the grandparents.’
Nate Colgan. It’s a name that conjures images that are better left unseen. A hardman. Not a caricature of a hardman. Not someone who walks around flexing muscles, covered in tattoos, playing the role of the angry man. A real hardman. A man that people like Jamieson use, but treat with care. A man you would all do very well to avoid upsetting. A man Calum is worried about upsetting. He met him once. Colgan seemed surly. When he spoke, he was surprisingly intelligent. Not unpredictable. Not an explosion of anger for no good reason. That’s not hard. That’s crazy. Hard is people knowing what you’re going to do to them and being unable to stop you. Calum didn’t know what the relationship between Colgan and Cope was these days. Better to avoid her, if possible.
A thought occurs.
‘Is Winter still working alone these days?’ Calum asks.
This matters. Winter alone means killing Winter. Winter in an organization means killing Winter and paying for it later. People can’t be seen to be weak.
Jamieson is glancing across at Young. Calum can’t see the response.
‘As far as we know,’ Jamieson begins, ‘he’s still working alone. He’s been making moves in my areas, though, and not being subtle about it. Like he’s trying to piss me off. Like he knows he has backup. I don’t think he does. Yet. I think he will. I want to get him before he gets backup.’
That’s as much as Calum should know. No more detail. No word on who the backup is, how close it might be. It hints at something bigger, though. An ugly hint.
A nod of the head accepts the job. No shake of the hand, not necessary. This isn’t a gentleman’s club, after all. This isn’t a gentleman’s agreement. This is business. Calum has agreed to it. If he fails, then he will probably be punished. Not killed. If you kill a man for failure, who else will want to work for you? You ostracize him, though. You make life tough. Calum knows this. He’s seen it happen to others. It’s happened to talented people. Mostly it happens to the loudmouths, to the idiots who think they can do the job, but can’t. It’s easy to kill a man. It’s hard to kill a man well. People who do it well know this. People who do it badly find out the hard way. The hard way has consequences. Even the talented must be wary of that fact.
6
Jamieson is sitting in the chair, watching the door close behind Calum. Young is still sitting on the couch to his right, sitting in silence. Jamieson is a man of definite action. He makes the call to have a man killed, and he turns back to his horses, or his golf, or whatever hobby is occupying his attention today. Only, today, he doesn’t. Today he sits tapping the table, still looking at the closed door.
‘He’s got a lot of talent, that boy,’ he says softly. ‘Something about him I’m not sure of.’
‘He’s just socially awkward,’ Young shrugs, ‘that’s his way. Smarter than your average bear.’
‘Aye,’ Jamieson nods, ‘that’s a fact. Frank told me that, first day he met him. Said the boy was smart, said he had the guts for it too.’
Courage and intelligence are worth little alone. It’s why Jamieson and Young work together, and always will. It’s why so many people are almost good at what they do. They have one or the other. A stupid person can have enough courage to make them useful in this industry. A smart person can do a lot. To be great, you must have both. You have to know when to rely on your brain and when to rely on your guts. Some people have enough of both to keep themselves free and working for decades. Sometimes even people with an abundance of both make a mistake. One mistake. One simple, sloppy mistake. Twenty years in jail. Unemployable thereafter. The smartest of all know not to take their brains for granted.
‘You worried about the job?’ Young’s asking him. It’s rare to see Jamieson being uncertain about a job.
Jamieson shrugs. ‘I don’t care how good the boy is – this is the sort of job that can trip him up. Trust me. I ain’t saying he can’t do it. I ain’t saying he’ll botch it, not at all. He’s the best we can get for the job. But these are the ones. Look at it. We don’t know what we’re sending him into. We don’t know what Winter’s got.’
He says it reluctantly, because he knows that it’s an implied insult towards his friend. It’s always Young’s role to plan the job. It’s Young’s role to know what they are likely to be up against. They think they know, but they can’t be certain.
Young sighs impatiently. They’ve been over this before. Lewis Winter is now working with others. He’s moving into new territory because he believes he can get away with it. He’s making himself more high-profile because he needs to, if he’s going to attract the new business he wants. They know that he’s becoming a danger to them. They know that he has bigger people behind him. Or that he will have. They aren’t there yet. There’s a promise of support. So you get rid of him before the promise is realized. It makes sense. It’s logical to Young. He’s justified it to himself. It’s necessary to kill Lewis Winter. Now Jamieson is questioning.
‘He has no support yet. I’ve been having him watched. The only contact he has is over the phone. There’s no extra security. Not yet. We know that. The boy himself will check. He won’t just blaze in there. He’s smart.’
Jamieson nods his head. All of that is true. ‘The boy will follow him. So long
as he doesn’t follow him so long that the support arrives.’
‘He won’t have to worry about Winter’s new friends. We have to worry about them. He doesn’t. He has to worry about the girlfriend. Maybe he has to worry about one or two dick-head hangers-on.’
Jamieson smiles and nods. There are always hangers-on, people who want to be a part of it. They find a sop like Winter and attach themselves to him, try to bleed him dry.
‘What about that wee gold-digger?’
The gold-digger. There are plenty of them floating around too. Always have been, always will be. No worse than the hangers-on, and in many ways more fun. The same aim: bleed you dry and move on. Most gold-diggers are of no consequence. You enjoy their company, you give them a little something and then you move them quietly along. Some are more dangerous. Some are harder to get rid of. Zara Cope has always been one of those. A smart girl, one who knows how to make it last. One who knows how to get more than money. She knows how to get control. She’s been with Winter for a while now, moved in with him. She’s always with him, pulling the invisible strings. She has her claws in deep, and she will surely be there when Winter expires.
Young’s shrugging. ‘He’ll judge how to deal with her. He’s smart enough to work it out.’
‘Hope he doesn’t kill her,’ Jamieson says quietly, ‘I wouldn’t want to piss off Colgan.’
‘Would it piss him off?’
‘He still carries a candle for that bitch,’ Jamieson nods solemnly. ‘I don’t know Colgan well, but I know that much. Obvious.’
‘The boy will judge it.’
Jamieson turns and reaches for the remote control, putting on one television. Not a lot of sport on this afternoon. Not a lot of work to do, either. Building up to things. Should be building more quickly, but new things keep getting in the way. New things, like Lewis Winter’s new friends.
7
The first thing is easy. You find out where the target lives, and you track him. If you know the target well, then you can skip a lot of this. Many people end up killing those they know well. It’s people they worked with, people they’ve seen around the industry many times. They may have partied with them. They may even be friends. But you do it, because that’s the job. The victims know that, as well as the aggressors. If you don’t go into the industry with your eyes open, then someone or something will soon open them. You soon learn how it works. You track them to learn their routine. Everyone has some sort of routine. Sometimes messy, sometimes only a sliver of routine in a chaotic life. The routine is when you get them.
The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) Page 2