Falling too, p.20
Falling Too, page 20
I look out the window. Laurel and Hardy are still hanging around, but there’s no one else. They’re standing next to the substation—Laurel is smoking and Hardy is shivering. The two of them look like wretches. A strange choice for someone of The Wee Man’s calibre. My mind goes back to the man on the bridge, the one that clocked me. Looking down. One hand on the gun. But something is off kilter. Not quite on the even keel as it should be. I turn to look at The Wee Man. In the light of the car he looks older than his years. Even a little vulnerable.
My eye catches Laurel and Hardy moving. They’re making their way to the gate. Laurel is laughing. Hardy is now smiling. I turn to The Wee Man. Dawning on me is a truth that has been staring me in the face a few minutes ago. ‘Your man on the bridge.’
‘Which one?’ The vulnerability seems to be spreading across The Wee Man’s body.
My heart adds ten more beats to the minute. ‘The one that spotted me.’
‘What about him?’
‘Why was he carrying an air pistol?’
Chapter 30
Jethro says, ‘Was he?’
I nod.
The Wee Man draws himself up in his seat. ‘Was he hell.’
Wrong answer.
I tap on the window. Loud enough for Laurel and Hardy to hear. I beckon them over. They jump the fence and make for the car. Without looking at The Wee Man, I wind down the window. ‘Lads, how long have you known your employer?’
‘Hardly at all.’ Jake is picking at his nose as he speaks.
‘Where did he find you?’
‘Duck and Drake. Local pub.’
This time I turn back to The Wee Man. ‘So you, a hard bastard of a gangster, decided to hire the local help. Why? You could have brought no end of muscle up from London. Unless, of course, you don’t have access to muscle anymore.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ The Wee Man is trying to sound tough. It doesn’t feel real.
‘You. You’re a sham. A has-been.’
He grabs me by the throat and pushes me back. My head pops out of the open window. The strength in his arms is tremendous. ‘Do you want me to show you how much of a has-been I am?’
Then his hands are gone. The shock of the attack leaves me breathing hard. I pull my head back in. George has his arm over the chest of The Wee Man. The Wee Man looks fit to implode.
‘Is what he’s saying true?’ George is right in The Wee Man’s ear.
The Wee Man tries to take a swing at George, but is beaten by the angle he’s sitting at and George’s strength.
George pushes him against the chair. ‘Is what he’s saying the truth?’
Jethro touches George’s arm. ‘Ease back, big man. I think the accountant is not far from the mark.’
‘And what would you know, you fucking bum?’ The Wee Man shouts, but he doesn’t follow up with violence. He sits, almost squats, anger boiling from his pores.
I rub at my throat. ‘Who were the other guys? I thought it odd that they just walked off. Did you find them at the pub?’
Jake is still standing next to the car, earwigging. ‘Locals. We knew a few nutters that were willing to play hard men.’
Rubbing my neck, I shake my head. ‘And all carrying air pistols. You couldn’t even get guns. And you with a reputation to uphold.’
The Wee Man fumes. He burns.
‘Do you know what’s strange?’ Jethro says. ‘My contacts in London placed you as the same evil bastard you always were. Not a single word about you losing your place. Not a breath.’
The Wee Man uncurls his legs. ‘And quite fucking right, because it’s not true.’
Jethro frowns. ‘What bit’s not true? That you’re washed up, or that my contacts got it wrong?’
‘I’m not some failure. I fucking chose to back down. Years ago. I just didn’t tell anyone. The reason no one knows is simple. I pay good money to people to keep up the fucking reputation. I need to. People like me rarely get old. We tend to get dead. I wanted a quieter life and it was the best way to do it. Now, if you think that means I don’t know the right people to come up here and break every bone in every one of your fucking bodies, then you’re mistaken.’
‘What’s with the Tuff stand off?’ I’m still rubbing my throat.
‘You heard what went down. I wanted to front him up. Bringing muscle up from London wasn’t an option. Local guys were fine. Just for show. But that list changes it all.’
George was back to holding Tina’s hand. ‘Why threaten me?’
‘You?’ Tina’s voice rises.
‘He threatened to kill me if I didn’t do what he said.’
Another moment of revelation. I stop with the throat rubbing. ‘George, that’s what all the mystery stuff was about. All that trust me bumf. The silent routine.’
George nods. ‘I was to be the patsy if the police turned up. It was the condition that he put in place if I wanted to make sure he helped Tina.’
Tina looks at him. ‘Patsy?’
‘If the police had been around I was to lead them away. It’s why I tried to keep some of this secret. I didn’t want you to know.’
‘That’s why you were in Archibald’s flat in Glasgow for so long.’
‘I had to cut a deal, otherwise they were just going to hang us out to dry. They didn’t need us here. Why would they? I needed to get us in on the robbery. I offered myself up and they took me on. Seriously, Tina, did you think someone was going to rob a freight train for your little drawing?’
I expect Tina to slap him for that. Instead she leans over, wraps her arms around him and plants a kiss that lasts longer than anyone in the car, bar George and Tina, feels comfortable with. ‘You silly bugger. You really did that for me? You’d have gone to prison if you’d been caught.’ Her eyes are wet.
So are George’s. ‘And you could have gone to prison if we didn’t get down here.’
Tina leans over to The Wee Man. He sees it coming this time, but doesn’t back off and lets the slap bounce off his face. ‘And you’re a shit.’
The Wee Man actually smiles. ‘I needed insurance. Someone I knew would take the fall if the police really did appear. George was perfect.’
I’m conscious that Laurel and Hardy are taking all this in. I’m not sure where this goes from here, but the more they know the worse it will be. ‘You two.’ Laurel and Hardy walk over. ‘Go home.’
Jake bends down to look in. ‘What about our money?’
The Wee Man scowls.
‘I’d pay,’ I say.
The Wee Man flicks a V at my suggestion.
‘Looks like your luck’s out lads,’ I tell them.
‘That’s not fair.’ John’s first words. ‘We did what we were asked to do. I told my old man that I was getting the cash. He’ll want to know why I didn’t get it all.’
‘You told your old man that you were playing sidekicks with a criminal for cash?’ I layer the sarcasm on the question.
‘No, but I will now. He’s got friends.’
The Wee Man is out of the car at a speed that would look good on a twenty-year-old. He rounds the massive bonnet and takes John from behind with a kick to the knee joint. John tumbles to the ground. The Wee Man drops on him, knees into his shoulder blades. John cries out. Jake twirls round, but The Wee Man throws a look that says keep in the next county. John yells as The Wee Man grabs his collar and pulls back. The Wee Man leans in. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can guess. He finishes and stands up, reaches into his jacket’s inside pocket and pulls out a bundle of notes. Throwing them to the ground, he walks back to his seat.
The whole incident is over in sixty seconds.
Jake helps John up. They gather the money and slink off.
The Wee Man gets back in the car and cracks his knuckles. ‘Forget them. Let’s agree—the lady’s plan is solid.’ The emphasis is on the word lady’s. ‘List to the newspapers. Tuff to the police.’
Before we can reply he kicks the car into gear and nine points us in the opposite direction. We all sit for a while chewing air in our brains.
The Wee Man takes us through the back roads and hits a main artery. He stops the car in a lay-by. ‘Okay, here’s what we do. And if anyone wonders why I’m calling the shots, it’s because I can just piss off at any point and leave you all to worry about the next knock on the door. Only to be fair, and knowing Tuff like I do, there will be no knock. We need Tuff. We need the list. You two.’ He looks at Jethro and me. ‘Get the original list. The two lovebirds are coming with me.’
I object. ‘Let me go with you and send George and Tina for the list. Getting Tuff will be dangerous.’
‘What, and you’re the next Arnie? Get real. I’m not going to use the lovebirds. I’ve got other ways. I just need them to hole up until this is over. And I’m not going to shit on them or you. If I can make this work I’ll screw Tuff over so hard he’ll be dead meat. My place in London is as good as any for the lovebirds. We just need to act quickly.’
Jethro throws in a thought. ‘Do you know where Tuff is going?’
The Wee Man nods. ‘I think so. He’s going to skip out the country, but if I was to guess he’ll pay a visit to his girlfriend first. After all, it’s on the way. But he’s got a fast car and a head start. I need to make a few calls. If I’m right, I might even catch him with his pants well and truly down.’
Jethro smiles. ‘You think he’ll be that dumb and go for a fuck?’
‘Not dumb. He won’t be pecking her cheek either. He needs to head her off. A little bird tells me that things are not all rosy in the Tuff love life world. Seems that said girlfriend is threatening to confront the wife. Mr Wiggs here was on to something when it came to the financial arrangements.’
I try to hide my surprise.
The Wee Man’s face is set hard. ‘A more than reliable source told me, only an hour ago, that the girlfriend had been mouthing off in the local pub. Tuff will need to address that.’
My surprise hidden, I add a query. ‘What makes you think his wife doesn’t know?’
‘Irene? Christ, she’ll know. She’ll know every single thing there is to know. But there’s a difference between knowing and having it broadcast across the land. I’ll put ten to get a hundred that if Tuff doesn’t sort this out, she will.’
Chapter 31
The Wee Man drops Jethro and me at a train station. It seems as a good a place as any. Jethro is still not talking on where the list might be. Once the monster has eaten another mouthful of ozone I turn to him. ‘So, where to?’
‘A hotel and a wash. It’s too late to get to where we need to tonight.’
It takes us ten minutes to find a hotel and my credit card takes a hit to get us a room. With no spare clothes, we are reduced to washing skin, hair and clothes as best we can. A shave and Jethro transforms into a saggy-jowled man that has eight decades behind him. I manage to blag some clean underwear and a clean T-shirt for each of us; both courtesy of a wash cart at the end of the corridor that was delivering. With the hotel’s supply of toiletries exhausted we are a few baby steps down the path to looking respectable. But still a long way from the garden gate.
After a night listening to Jethro enter the Olympics for snoring we rise early and exit the hotel to fill up on a couple of rolls, a bottle each of Coke and a couple of packets of crisps. As I lick the last of the crisp residue from my fingers I look at the train station. ‘Where to?’
‘Glasgow.’
‘Glasgow?’
‘Yip.’
He walks away. His way of saying nothing more. I follow. My credit card takes another dunt in the bollocks and twenty minutes later we are on a Virgin Pendolino north.
The trip is pencilled in at just over four hours and Jethro takes the opportunity to get some more kip. I, on the other hand, just get bored. My inner chimp plays hell with my mind. With all the irrationality born of ancient man, it decides to invent and reinvent the endgame for where we are going. I stare at the countryside.
As we enter Preston station I notice that a lady sitting in the next seat down is charging up her phone. She looks like she has the same vintage phone as me. I ask if I can borrow the charging cord and get a once-over before she hands it to me. Almost as soon as my phone gets some juice, it pings. Within a few minutes there’s a voice message waiting for me. I let the phone build a few more per cent charge before I listen to the message.
‘At some fuckin’ point y’ll switch y’r phone back on. Noo, here’s ma last bit of advice. Y’r stinky pal is not y’r pal. Jist remember that. He’s nae y’r school bag carrier. He’s walkin’ you intae a pile of shite. So that’s that. Ave done aw a can for ye. So y’r on y’r own.’
I put the phone down. Let it charge. I look at Jethro as he adds to the snoring quota from last night.
He’s nae y’r school bag carrier.
The train pulls in to Glasgow Central on time and we both get off, walking quickly under the vaulted glass ceiling. We take the Gordon Street exit, but not before I’ve been instructed by Jethro to withdraw cash from the hole in the wall machine.
As I do so, I ask, ‘Will you tell me where we are going now?’
Jethro walks on. ‘You’ll see.’
It seems that hide and seek is the game of choice for me these last few days. We jump a taxi and Jethro tells him where to go. Byres Road, to be accurate. We zigzag our way up the Georgian grid that makes up the heart of the Glasgow city centre and out towards the west.
The houses out here are a little more desirable. The houses in the west of most towns in Europe usually are. It’s where you built in the industrial revolution; west of the factories, so the prevailing wind from the west carried the fumes and dirt away from your precious abode. It also explains why the east of so many cities is the area where all nineteenth century crime novels were set. Dirt and grime is a good background for murder.
We cruise up Byres Road and, at the entrance to Ashton Lane, Jethro tells the driver to stop.
Ashton Lane is a small cobbled street running parallel with Byres Road. It’s crammed with pubs and restaurants. We walk into the lane and we don’t get far before Jethro stops. A pub sits on our right. A wooden gate sits next to it. Jethro walks up to the gate. A small sign reads Rolter and Grain. Legal Services. Above it is a button. Jethro presses it. High up on the wall a small CCTV camera is looking down on us. There’s a click and the gate opens. We both slip through the gate and Jethro closes it behind us.
We are in a small courtyard. Flowerpots are neatly arranged around the edge and a pergola in the centre is alive with California Vine. Jethro slips under the vine and, as I step through, I spot another door, hidden from prying eyes. As we reach it there’s a click. It opens and we step in.
In the half-light, we’re faced with a set of stairs leading down. Jethro goes first. Another door at the bottom clicks and we enter a cosy planet. One of carpet and soft furnishings.
My nerves tell me there’s all sorts of wrong about this.
Jethro looks a little confused.
We are in a large room. On one side of it sits a small coffee table attended by two chairs and on the other side, a larger dining table with seating for six. Both tables are jet black with glass tops, the sort that used to be popular in the eighties. There’s a further door at the far side of the room.
One of the coffee table chairs is occupied. A familiar man sits looking at me. I nod at him. ‘Simon.’
‘Not surprised to see me, Charlie?’
Simon Malmon was the managing director of Retip, the company that had nearly led to my death a few years back. Last I’d heard was that Simon, and his two other directors, Karen and Robin, had been helping the police with their enquiries. I knew Simon had served three years for his part in the fraud scheme I had uncovered. I also knew that Robin and Karen were still inside. It had been unclear how he, the boss, had been sentenced to fewer years, although at a good guess he must have cut a deal. I look at him. His hair is a bit greyer, but all in all he’s not chasing the age witch too hard.
I try to act casual. ‘I heard you went all mouthy and sank your fellow directors.’ I’m guessing.
‘Don’t believe everything you hear out there, Charlie. There were things going on between those two that I was never supposed to find out.’
‘And now you’re still mixing it with the wrong people.’
‘As are you.’
Touché.
Jethro, who is standing on my right, steps in front of me. ‘You know each other?’
Simon nods. ‘Old friends.’
‘Old friends don’t try to kill each other.’ I try to smile.
‘As I remember it, I didn’t touch you.’
‘But your gorillas and your girlfriend did.’
‘Holding grudges doesn’t work with you, Charlie. You’re too laid back for that.’
‘Still waters run deep.’
Jethro puts his hand up. ‘Look, cut the crap. Simon. I’m here for the list.’
Simon stands up. His manicured fingers are wrapped round a small crystal tumbler of something golden. ‘And what would you want with this list’
‘It’s mine to do what I want with.’
‘Yours?’
‘Stop dicking around. You know fine well. Let’s get this done.’
Simon fiddles with the glass tumbler, twisting it in the dull light, swirling the liquid around. ‘Charlie, do you know what you’re getting into here?’
A rich, familiar smell comes from behind me as the door opens. A smell that had carried on the wind as we had stood at the bridge. There’s a cough and I spin.
Phil Tuff is standing there.
Chapter 32
‘Hi, again.’ Phil’s smile would split the Grand Canyon in two.
Jethro reacts like a man wading in chowder. His head struggles to work out what he’s seeing and his body follows in slo-mo, almost as if reluctant to join in. ‘What the fuck?’
Phil is chilled. ‘What the fuck am I doing here? Why am I not in London pleading with my girlfriend? Begging her not to go all town crier on me? Waiting on Malcolm to turn up? What was he going to do? Mug me? Tie me up and drop me at the police station? And then what? Oh, yes. Take a piece of paper from the sixties and hand it to the newspapers.’
