by Owen Mullen
It had been a whirlwind few days, everyone was exhausted, so I wasn’t surprised when I phoned to tell them I was on my way home and got no answer – they’d both still be in bed; they’d moved into my place when Amy decided she liked it better. They shared a room. I had the other one.
At the end of the second day, Amy had decided I was cool and held my hand wherever we went. Mandy saw her and smiled. ‘She likes you.’
‘Seems she does.’
‘That makes two of us.’
The money for Mandy lay in two neat bundles on the passenger seat. I ought to be feeling pleased. Instead, I was uneasy. A check in the rear-view mirror showed nothing, but the hairs on the back of my neck said different. Back at the flat I took the stairs two at a time, my heart thumping in my chest, cursing myself for leaving them alone.
The door was open. Sweat broke on my brow and I inched forward, afraid of what was waiting for me. It only took a moment to know my worst fears had been realised.
Mandy and Amy weren’t there.
I was punching her number on Quick Dial when my head exploded and the lights went out.
How long I lay unconscious was anybody’s guess – probably only minutes – more than enough time for whoever had been there to get away. Understanding what had happened wasn’t easy. If this was Anderson’s work, I’d be dead. So maybe it wasn’t about me. And if it wasn’t, then it had to be about Mandy. The guy from the Shark’s Mouth flashed across my mind. This might be payback for the mess I’d left him in.
I drove like a madman to the pub and burst through the door. Keith wasn’t there but the memory of me was in the barman’s eyes. He busied himself polishing pint measures, pretending he didn’t know I was there. Until I grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him across the counter.
‘Where’s Keith?’
The guy was scared and he should be.
‘He doesn’t come in during the day.’
‘Where does he work?’
His teeth ground together, wanting to resist, accepting he was going to break.
‘How would I know?’
I tightened my grip, put my other hand round his throat and repeated the question.
‘Tell me where he works.’
He gasped the information out like he was always going to.
‘Drives a forklift in a warehouse in Lewisham.’
I shook directions out of him and let him drop to the floor. Sorting him would keep. Getting Mandy and Amy back was all that mattered.
The barman’s directions were sound and I found the warehouse straight away, a cavern of a place on an industrial estate, fronted by a series of roller doors. Trucks were loading and unloading in the docking bay. Nobody asked who I was, why I was there, or tried to stop me entering.
Inside, Keith was the first man I came across, behind the wheel of a yellow forklift truck, moving a pallet of boxes from one end of the shed to another. He was wearing brown overalls with the company logo written on the chest and his hair was swept back. His face was marked from our fight in the lane where he’d assaulted Mandy. When he saw me, he leapt down and tried to run – not easy in his condition. The forklift tipped and spilled its load. I didn’t go after him. He was a low life, capable of a lot of things, and one day he’d really get what he deserved. But he wasn’t responsible, not this time. Drugging women was his stretch. You don’t abduct somebody and turn up for your shift.
It wasn’t him.
Contacting Stanford crossed my mind. All I had to do was ask and he’d throw his resources into finding Mandy and her little girl. Except, then I’d owe him – at least, that was how he’d see it. And I’d learned enough to know owing the Stanfords of the world never ended well.
Better to make a deal with the devil.
The devil you know.
Against everything I believed, I did the only thing that made sense in the circumstances.
Danny answered on the first ring and I blurted out the terrible news.
‘Anderson’s got Mandy.’
He processed what he was hearing. When he spoke, it wasn’t the out-of-control hothead on the other end of the phone – the man who’d sanctioned the death of innocent people – it was the brother who’d protected me and kept me safe.
‘Slow down, Luke. Slow down and tell me again.’
I choked down my fear. ‘He’s got her. Anderson’s alive. He’s got Mandy and Amy.’
57
I’d intended never to set foot in the King of Mesopotamia again, yet here I was. To hell with principles. My brother’s influence in the South London underworld couldn’t be underestimated. Anderson had taken Mandy and Amy to get back at me. If anybody could find them, Danny could.
A few of his guys were hanging round the bar. When they saw me, they stopped talking, shuffled uncomfortably and stared at their shoes. Being Danny Glass’s brother was still my only claim to fame. They answered to one man – the man I was here to see.
Felix was the exception. Danny still didn’t like him. The smart thing for him would’ve been to take himself somewhere else but he’d stayed, and I admired that. And he’d been serious about watching my back. My choices weren’t great but, given the alternatives, Felix was the only one of them I trusted.
Harry the barman greeted me with an indifferent nod and I climbed the stairs to the office, sick with worry, impotent and overwhelmed.
Danny wasn’t alone. Marcus was there, along with a face I hadn’t seen before: a guy with blond streaks in his hair and a strong chin that jutted out assertively. Studying his shoes wasn’t for him; he met my gaze with undisguised confidence and didn’t blink. Maybe it was my imagination but I got the impression he’d already decided he didn’t like me.
Danny closed his PC and met me in the middle of the room. He wrapped his arms round me and clapped my back. ‘I’ve missed you, bro. Coming here’s the right thing. Anderson won’t have taken them far. He doesn’t know the city. Hardly been north of the river in his whole life. Sit down and tell me what happened.’
My eyes strayed to the newcomer. Danny reassured me.
‘This is Scotch Norrie down from Glasgow to join us. He’s a good man, even if he is a Jock. And he’s been warned – no independence chat or he’s back up the fucking motorway.’
The corners of Norrie’s mouth rose and fell and settled in a thin line. He didn’t laugh. Nobody laughed. Danny poured two whiskies and handed one of them to me.
‘No, thanks.’
He cajoled me. ‘Go on. Do yourself a favour. Just a splash.’
I didn’t have the energy to argue.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘From the beginning, and don’t miss anything. No use chasing around like busy idiots until we’re sure what we’re up against.’
I left out visiting the bank and withdrawing the money – it didn’t take a big brain to guess what my brother would make of that – and started with arriving at the flat and what I’d discovered. Danny let me speak without interrupting, stroking the stubble on his chin. When I finished, he said, ‘How old is the little girl?’
‘Nine.’
‘Why was she staying at your place?’
‘I’ve got room. It made sense to be together.’
The explanation fell short of convincing him.
‘You fond of her?’
‘I’ve only just met her.’
‘Not what I asked. Cute, is she?’
‘Yes, and yes, I am.’
‘Rollie’s the obvious choice. Any chance one of her mother’s less satisfied customers might be behind it?’
On another day I’d have laid him out for that remark.
‘No, it has to be Anderson,’ and left it there. He realised he’d crossed the line with me and altered his approach.
‘You didn’t see who hit you?’
I shook my head.
‘If the kid and her mother were already gone, why was there anybody there?’
‘I’ve no idea, Danny.’
‘They could’ve topped
you. Why didn’t they?’ He answered his question himself. ‘Because they didn’t want to. That isn’t the plan.’
‘My thinking, exactly.’
‘You still getting those calls?’
‘Yeah, and somebody was following me at Euston Station.’
Danny nodded. ‘Anderson’s turning the screw. He’s spotted you playing happy families and saw a way to hurt you. When he thinks you’ve suffered enough, he’ll finish the job.’
Danny spoke over his shoulder to Marcus. ‘You getting all this, Big Boy?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Then why’re you still here? Move your arse. Put feelers out. Do whatever you have to. Somebody knows where they are. Get going. You too, Norrie. This isn’t a rest home.’
The downsides to asking for my brother’s help were many and I didn’t need anybody to remind me. Having to listen to the abuse he casually dropped into almost every conversation was one of them. We’d come close to blows already about Mandy. He seemed to have forgotten.
‘Warned you, little brother. Can’t say I didn’t. Falling for the first female who takes you on is the oldest mistake in the ex-cons’ book.’
I was on edge as it was, I didn’t need this.
‘It isn’t like that, Danny.’
‘’Course it is. You come out after years inside. You’re vulnerable. Females can smell it on us. A wiser man fucks them, goes on to the next one and body-swerves the “I love you” bollocks.’
He lifted his hands in resignation at the ill-considered consequences of me being kind to a woman and her daughter. ‘This could all have been avoided. Mandy and her kid wouldn’t be where they are.’
If he was trying to make me feel better, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.
‘Thanks for reminding me.’
Danny sighed. ‘Sounds harsh. The wrong time to be giving you a lecture, I get that. But I’m telling you for your own good. Some women you just don’t mess with.’
His diatribe was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and Oliver Stanford came in. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since The Spaniards Inn and didn’t expect to. If Danny got to hear about that little slice of betrayal, the detective’s worries would be over.
The policeman had left his delusion of superior at New Scotland Yard, yet I recognised the steel and the ruthlessness in him. Self-preservation was a powerful motivator.
Danny covered his surprise and went into the act I’d witnessed so often – his jokey all-pals-together routine. ‘Ollie, just the man I need to speak to. What you drinking?’
Stanford hooked a thumb in the direction of my brother, his jaw tightening as he forced the words into the world. ‘Thought you were done with this bastard, Luke.’
He wasn’t expecting an answer and didn’t get one.
Danny sensed the shift in dynamics; his pet policeman wasn’t in the room.
‘I asked what you’re drinking.’
Stanford’s focus stayed with me. ‘Your brother’s finished. Tomorrow. Next week. Doesn’t matter, it’s happening.’
Danny said, ‘Got out the wrong side of bed this morning, Detective. Now, calm the fuck down or I’ll break your legs. What’s the problem? Spit it out.’
The detective had taken a lot. Those days were gone. This was a different man.
‘I couldn’t care less what you vermin do. You can slaughter each other until there’s no one left. London won’t miss you…’
‘Steady on, copper.’
‘…but when you start behaving like lunatics, then I care. In fact, I care very much.’
‘What you on about?’
Stanford was warmed up and ready to go. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m on about, Glass. Dumping Jonjo Hart in the river was a move only a fucking simpleton would make.’
Danny didn’t deny it. ‘I had my reasons.’
Stanford stepped closer to him. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck for your reasons. The bottom line is this: a missing police officer is a major event in this town. If you’ve pulled the same stunt with Wallace’s body, nothing can save us, we’re all going down.’
‘Nobody’s going to find anything. Credit me with some intelligence. Now, like I said, calm down. We’ve got a new problem. You were wrong. Anderson didn’t die in the fire. He’s abducted two people. One of them’s a nine-year-old girl. I’m doing what I can do. Need you to do the same.’
Suddenly Stanford understood. ‘So, that’s why you’re here. Should’ve come to me instead of crawling back to your brother.’
I could’ve told him that, on balance, Danny was a better bet. I knew the worst of him. Nothing he did would surprise me.
the devil you know
The policeman got himself under control.
‘Where were they taken from?’
‘My flat.’
Stanford figured the possibilities. ‘Can’t send detectives here. Go back to the flat. Somebody will be waiting for you. Tell them what you know. We’ll do our best. If they’re still in London, we’ll find them.’
He headed for the door and asked a final question.
‘How can you be sure it’s Anderson?’
He pretended DCI Stanford’s outburst hadn’t shaken him, but it had. Danny refilled his glass and forgot about mine, then stood at the window, getting himself together before he turned and let me see his face.
‘I’m not missing something, am I, little brother?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, when did you two become so pally?’
‘I’ve no time for your shit, Danny. The guy’s trying to help. Right now, I’ll take it from anybody, even a bent copper.’
‘Stanford’s a bottler. I put George Ritchie’s nephew in the Thames to make a point.’
nobody mugs off Danny Glass
‘After what he did there was no other way.’
He pointed to me and I sensed another speech coming.
‘Being the boss is about choices. Hard choices. Our enemies are everywhere and they’re jealous about what we’ve achieved.’ He faked a grin and dipped into the past like he often did. ‘Don’t forget, we’re the kids who started out thieving packets of fags.’
I remembered.
‘The first sign of weakness and they’ll take what doesn’t belong to them. I won’t let that happen.’
58
Going to Danny for help had been the right thing – the lives of people I cared about were in danger. If they were still alive, he’d find them.
Amy had brought a vibrancy to the flat with her insatiable curiosity about everything, especially her mother and me. Without her energy, it would be a cold, empty place. Booking into a hotel crossed my mind. Instead, I decided to get it over with.
The policeman Stanford promised was waiting for me and introduced himself as DI Mills. He was polite and asked his questions though I got the impression he was going through the motions. Talking to him was the last thing I wanted. I suddenly felt exhausted and depressed and defeated. The tit-for-tat reprisals and the craziness I’d vowed in Wandsworth to not get caught up in were back in my life.
To emphasise the point, the flat had been trashed.
In my desperate rush to find Mandy and Amy, I hadn’t noticed the extent of the damage. Whoever it was had enjoyed their work and suddenly a hotel seemed the better option: the coffee table had been tipped over, its glass top smashed and lying in shards on the carpet; most of the unread book collection was on the floor, pages ripped and shredded; the TV screen was cracked from top to bottom, and a knife had sliced through the back of the leather couch, revealing yellow stuffing, seeping like pus from an ugly wound. Every room had been given the same treatment, malicious and unnecessary.
The policeman saw what I saw and made no comment. He asked his questions and made notes. I answered, adding little to what he’d already got from his boss, and sent a picture to his phone of Mandy and Amy taken at the Aquarium two days earlier. Mandy was kneeling with Amy in front of her, both of them smiling at the camera
. When he left, I sat on the burst sofa and forced myself to think. The furniture could be replaced. All it took was money. Thanks to my brother, I wasn’t short of that. Mandy and Amy couldn’t be replaced. They were innocents, dragged into a feud they had no part of. Detective Chief Inspector Stanford’s interest was in ending the hold Danny had over him. Fair enough. But he’d get there by himself or not at all. Right now, my brother was the best hope I had.
And there was no escape from guilt. If I’d given Mandy the cash on the way to Euston Station, she and Amy could’ve disappeared there and then and none of this would be happening. I’d sensed I was being followed from the moment I’d come through the prison gates. Apart from mentioning it to Danny, what had I actually done about it? Like everybody else, I’d suspected Anderson died in the fire along with his obsession with me. The fact the calls hadn’t stopped with his presumed death should’ve told me something: Danny was right. I had gone soft. Soft and lazy. Fuck’s sake, I hadn’t even noticed the police tail was gone.
Or, maybe I’d imagined being the great Danny Glass’s brother was enough.
It wasn’t. Not even close.
Slowly, I realised I was on the couch with the lights turned off; the shrill, insistent ringing of the mobile in my inside jacket pocket had woken me. I fumbled for it, already breathing hard, my mouth dry, my fingers thick and clumsy with nerves. It could be Danny. Maybe he’d found them.
The caller ID glowed like a new moon in my palm. And it was familiar – not Vincent Finnegan – the one Stanford couldn’t trace. I answered and wished I hadn’t. Her scream went on forever – the sound of agony. I recognised my name and babbled nonsense.
‘Mandy! Where are you? Mandy!’
She couldn’t hear me.
‘Mandy! Talk to me!’
The screams got louder.
I screamed, too. ‘Anderson! I’m going to tear the head off your fucking body!
