by Anna Smith
‘I hear Frankie’s already had a word.’
‘Has he? And?’
‘It didn’t go down too well. She put him right back in his box, she did.’
‘What, Frankie? And he took it just like that? Fuck me! He was Mickey’s right-hand man. He knows the score. He’d have a bit more clout than that, you’d think. You’ll need to get onto him, get him to talk to me. I need to know what’s what with this bird. Maybe we should organise a meet with her. Make her get over all this and get back to doing business. What’s past is past. But if the Caseys do any other fucking deals with the Durkins or the Hills, things are going to get a whole lot worse for her.’
‘Yeah,’ Jimmy said.
They were silent for a moment, then Del Brown, who’d been sitting at the far end of the table, got up with a litre of whisky in his hand and went around the table filling up tumblers. Del was a few years older than Knuckles but they’d come up through the ranks in Manchester together, before fighting their way to the top and forming their own crew. People looked on Del as the brains behind a lot of deals and he was, but he also had a ruthless streak. Business was business, no matter who had to be removed and for whatever reason. If they weren’t playing ball, they disappeared. Simple as that.
‘Two things here, Knuckles. This Kerry bird. She’s just got in from wherever it is – London or some fucking place; her brother’s been bumped off, though I don’t think there was a lot of love between them – probably disapproved of the way Mickey did business. She’s an educated girl. Smart. A lawyer. But she was only back for the funeral. I mean, she wasn’t going to have any part of running the family, as far as I know. It would have been down to Frankie or whoever to work things out. But with those fucking idiots bumping off her old ma by mistake, then everything changed. I mean, can you imagine it? Any of you? Your mum dying in your arms at your brother’s funeral. That’s enough to turn any mild-mannered punter’s head. So maybe it’s all knee-jerk. She’ll want to take charge, but she’ll see very quickly that this isn’t her bag and she’ll fade out the picture.’ He glared down at Jack Turner. ‘It’s your fucking boys’ fault, anyway, that she’s now running things. I mean, what the fuck were they doing going in like that to the fucking funeral? It was fair game to take Mickey out, but turning up shooting people at a funeral?’
‘It was meant to send a message, Del. You know that. It wasn’t meant to end the way it did. We was supposed to be firing off a couple of rounds over people’s heads. But suddenly these fuckers start shooting back and it’s bodies everywhere.’
‘What the fuck did you expect them to do? You’ve got three guys firing off rounds all over the fucking place. You didn’t think they’d have bodyguards? Are your boys completely cunting clueless? Why the fuck did you not get the boys just to fire a few rounds at the building from the outside, or into the cars that were parked? Something that would send a message? Make a bit of noise but no bloodletting?’
Knuckles put his hand up. ‘Enough of that business, lads. Not here. Not in front of the girls.’ He jerked his head towards the women’s side of the table. ‘Anyway. Right now, they’ll not be a hundred per cent sure who’s behind it because Pat Durkin or that fucker Billy Hill are just as capable of stabbing the Caseys in the back while working with them. And also, the Caseys have enough on their plate as it is, because there’s a turf war going on up in Glasgow between a couple of the poxy crews jostling for more power, so let them fight among themselves. She’ll think it was one of that mob who did it.’
Nobody answered. A few nodded their heads in agreement, but Del Brown just sipped his whisky and looked at the table.
At the other end, Sharon heard everything that was said, and she’d remembered Joe had mentioned a few days ago about some sister of Mickey Casey’s who’d taken over the firm back in Glasgow. She liked the idea of that straight away, and from what she’d heard here, she liked it even more. Kerry Casey. She was looking forward to meeting her some time.
*
The kettle pinged and Sharon finished making her coffee, then put it with the juice and bowl of yoghurt onto a tray and carried it out to the terrace. Kerry Casey sounded like a force to be reckoned with.
Chapter Five
Kerry had gone over some of the papers Marty had given her, but she hadn’t scrutinised them the way they needed to be scrutinised. They were definitely light in detail though, so anything she really wanted to know of the workings would have to come from someone as close to things as Mickey had been. Clearly, that was Frankie – he had been Mickey’s right-hand man and would know everything and everyone involved in every operation. But she didn’t trust him. Her gut had been screaming at her since three days ago around the table. She hadn’t discussed her misgivings about him with Marty, and thought it best to keep them to herself. She had replayed the meeting over and over in her head. Was that really her who had told Marty that she wanted to take out every one of their enemies? Was she the one talking tough to the hard men sat opposite her, their faces managing to hide the shock they must have felt hearing this kind of talk from little Kerry Casey? The words had come out of her mouth, but where they came from she still wasn’t sure. The word would already be out in the city that she was in charge and things were going to be different. How different, she would only know once she got out there and saw the Casey business for herself. She’d decided not to tell Marty about that either. But a couple of the bits of paperwork she had been reading over had jumped out at her, and to find out what was going on, she’d have to go there and see for herself. She sat back in the leather chair in the study and finished her breakfast of coffee and poached eggs, then picked up the phone. She called Jack Reilly.
‘Jack. It’s Kerry. Where are you?’
‘I’m out at the taxi office in the town. What’s up?’
‘Can you come back in here, get a driver and take me out to a couple of places?’
‘Sure. Be there in fifteen.’
She knew Jack wouldn’t ask where they were going, and she was sure he would also not tell anyone what he was doing, unless she asked. She’d agreed with Marty that under the circumstances, with not knowing if someone out there still wanted more victims, she should not leave the house without a bodyguard. An armed one. She didn’t argue with that.
Kerry dressed casually, in black jeans, ankle boots, a blue cotton blouse and a black leather jacket. She checked herself in the mirror of her bedroom, made sure her make-up was minimal with a hint of lipstick. Then she messed up her auburn hair a little, bringing it over to cover the stitches in her cheek where the skin around it was still a little inflamed. Pale blue eyes stared back at her, and she took a deep breath. There was work to be done.
Downstairs, she got into the back seat of the Merc as Jack held the door open for her, then he got into the passenger seat. The driver, Eddie, had been her mother’s chauffeur for the past fifteen years. He turned around and nodded.
‘Where to, Kerry? Where do you want to go?’
‘The Paradise Club.’ Kerry waited for a response, but there was none. She saw Jack cast a sidewards glance at Eddie, who said nothing as he eased the car towards the metal gates.
‘It’s still quite early doors yet. Only half eleven,’ Jack said. ‘It won’t be that busy.’
‘That’s okay. I just want to look. Who’ve we got running the place?’
‘McCann.’
‘What’s he like?’
Jack swivelled his body around a little to face her, a half-smile playing on his lips.
‘How can I put this, Kerry . . .’
‘Whatever way you like, Jack.’
‘Well. He’s an arsehole.’
‘In what way?’
‘I’m sure you’ll find out when you meet him – if he’s there at this time. McCann was left very much to his own devices to run the Paradise Club, and to be fair it brings in a lot of money. He takes a fair whack of it, but he pays his way.’
‘But we own it, right? The building, I mean?’
‘Yeah. Of course.’
‘So if he’s such an arsehole, why did Mickey and Frankie let him run it himself, as if it’s his place?’
He sighed. ‘Not sure. It’s a place I never go into. So I’ve no idea really. I only see him from time to time if he’s out and about in the town.’
Kerry didn’t want to ask any more. She’d see for herself soon enough, now that the Mercedes was turning up the side road off Sauchiehall Street and into the area where the Paradise Club nestled between a bar and a row of shops. Kerry looked out of the window at the neon sign of bright yellow with a champagne cocktail glass with neon sparkles coming out. It couldn’t really be much tackier.
‘Let’s go.’
Eddie and Jack exchanged glances again, as Kerry got out of the car.
Jack pressed the buzzer once on the side of the building and the main door clicked open. He walked in first, with Kerry behind him. Immediately, the smell hit her: perfume, the steamy smell of cigars and grubby couches. She could feel her feet sticking to the filthy carpet. They walked into the reception where a skinny girl sat behind a leopard-skin patterned Formica unit. Jack nodded to her. She glanced at Kerry but didn’t say anything, and Kerry was hoping Jack didn’t introduce them.
‘McCann in?’
The girl’s eyes darted nervously.
‘Er . . . yes. He’s in his office. Will I buzz him through? I . . . maybe I should buzz him.’
Jack put his hand up. ‘No. Don’t buzz him.’
Jack jerked his head for Kerry to follow him and they walked along a hallway. Glancing through an open door off the hall she could see some scantily clad women who at a glance looked Eastern European. Two of them were crying. Then, as they approached McCann’s office at the end, they could hear a woman sobbing.
‘No. Please, Mr McCann. I sorry.’ Then a squeal and a thud.
Jack shook his head and blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Fuck!’
Kerry said nothing as he put his hand on the door and pushed it. She hoped her mouth hadn’t dropped open when they stepped inside. She could see a man pistol-whipping a young woman on the head. Blood streamed out of her forehead and her eye was puffed up. A fat minder stood at the side with a shocked look on his face when he saw Jack.
‘McCann!’ Jack spat. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
McCann turned around, surprised, with the wild eyes of a man who’d had a recent coke hit.
‘She’s a fucking thief, Jack! Stole two hundred quid from a punter’s wallet.’
‘Fuck’s sake! You don’t do shit like that! You don’t hit the birds!’
McCann looked at Kerry and she could see the colour drain from his face.
‘You haven’t met Kerry, have you?’
Kerry stared at him, her stomach sick with rage and anger at this piece of shit. She took a step forward and he stretched out his hand.
‘Hello, Kerry. Sorry you had to see this . . . B-But—’
Kerry put her hand out. ‘Give me the gun.’
McCann looked from her to Jack. The girl stood, before sliding down the wall, legs buckling. He handed Kerry the gun.
In one seamless movement, Kerry pistol-whipped him four times as hard as she could, the blood pumping from his shocked face. She had to stop herself hitting him another time because right now she wanted to beat the shit out of him until his face was a bloody pulp. She stood, her blood cold with an anger that she didn’t until now even know she was capable of. She had never hit anyone in her life. Ever. McCann writhed in pain, crouched over his desk.
‘Fuck’s sake! Jack! What the fuck!’
Then Kerry found herself turning the gun and holding it to his head.
‘You listen to me, you filthy parasite bastard. Get your fat arse out of here now. You’re out. End of.’
McCann’s lips quivered but nothing came out. Then he looked at Jack.
‘Jack . . . Jack! Tell her, for fuck’s sake!’ He grabbed his phone from the desk. ‘I need to phone Frankie! Fucking hell! What is this?’
Kerry knocked the phone out of his hand to the floor.
‘Are you deaf as well as a complete prick? Get out of here now. While you still can . . .’ She pointed the gun at him.
The girl on the floor looked up at Kerry but didn’t move.
McCann grabbed his wallet from the desk and picked up his phone. He scurried to the door and disappeared.
Kerry turned to the fat boy. ‘You. What’s your name?’
He put his hands up. ‘B-Brian. This is nothing do with me, miss. Honest. I only was asked to tell the girl to come in. I work the front door mostly.’
Kerry turned to Jack, who was looking at her with a shocked expression.
‘Jack. Can you wait outside until I come out? This place is closed as of now. Tell the girl in the reception I want to know the names and nationalities of all those girls. Get her in here.’
Jack nodded slowly. He didn’t ask any questions, but reached down a hand to the girl on the floor, helped her up and walked her out of the door, jerking his head to the fat guy to come with him.
Alone in the office, Kerry gazed around at the grubby surroundings, the brown two-seater sofa that looked stained and filthy, the high-backed bamboo chairs against the wall. She went behind McCann’s desk, cluttered with paper cups and dirty cutlery, papers and rubbish. She pulled open the top drawer and lifted out the pencil tray. Underneath were a few wraps of coke. She lifted one of them out, examined it, then put it back in. She looked closely at the desk and saw a CD, and on closer inspection she could see powdery remnants of a snorted line. Useless bastard, probably in here like some kind of king of the road, coked up, using and abusing the women. She hadn’t even really examined the paperwork on the sauna and massage parlour, but on the surface it was making money. A lot of money. Whether it really was or not was a different story. It was all money-laundering. But she wanted to know if McCann had been using it for anything else – maybe he was bringing drugs in and dealing on his own. There was a gentle knock at the door.
‘Come in, Jack,’ she said.
The door opened and Jack came in, turning to the girl in the doorway and telling her to wait a moment.
‘Kerry,’ he lowered his voice, ‘McCann is a vicious bastard, but he’s also dangerous. He won’t take this lying down. He’ll already be out there trying to do damage.’
Kerry looked at him. ‘Okay. Get someone on it, Jack. I want to know what he’s up to, where he goes, who he talks to. If he’s that dangerous, then we’ll have to deal with him.’
Jack took his phone out of his pocket.
‘But give it five minutes, till I talk to that girl. Bring her in.’
Jack opened the door and beckoned the ashen-faced receptionist in.
Kerry came out from behind the desk and stood in front of her. She could see the girl was terrified.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Karen.’ Her voice was a whimper.
‘Karen who?’
‘Karen Watson.’
‘How old are you, Karen?’
‘Twenty-three.’
Kerry watched as she sniffed and ran the back of her hand across her nose, which was a little red.
‘Do you do coke?’
‘Whit?’
‘You heard me. Answer the question.’
The girl swallowed hard.
‘No.’ She sniffed. ‘Well. I’ve done it a few times. But I’ve got the cold just now.’
Kerry looked at her, then at Jack, and sighed.
‘Don’t bullshit me, Karen. I’m really not in the mood.’
‘I’m telling the truth. I smoke some weed. I’ve done coke. But not for ages. I’ve no money. And I don’t like it much anyway. I just like weed.’
‘How did you get a job in here?’
‘I . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I used to be the cleaner. I did all the towels and the stuff like that – you know, from the punters. I did all that.’
The idea of piles of sweaty towels
discarded by fat punters paying for sex disgusted her.
‘And McCann made you the receptionist? Just like that?’
‘I’ve only been looking after the reception for a month. I mean . . . I don’t know anything that goes on. Honest. I just needed a job.’ Her lip began to tremble. ‘I’ve got two weans. The hours were all right. Mostly the afternoon. I . . . I needed a job.’
‘How much did you get paid?’
‘A hundred and fifty a week. Sometimes I got tips from the punters.’
‘Did McCann ever ask you to do anything? I mean with the punters?’
She swallowed. ‘Aye.’ Her cheeks blushed.
Kerry waited a moment, watched her.
‘And did you?’
Tears came to the girl’s eyes and she looked up at Jack then at Karen.
‘Aye. Twice.’ She broke down. ‘I . . . It was for my leccy bill. I only did it twice. I felt like shit after it. Look, I’m sorry. But I haven’t done anything. Can I just go?’
‘No. You can’t. I want to ask you some more questions.’
‘But I don’t know anything.’
‘Tell me this, Karen. And I mean honestly. Have you ever seen McCann beat any of the girls before this morning?’
Karen squirmed and wiped her nose.
‘Have you?’
‘Aye. He does it all the time. He’s a bastard. The lassies are terrified of him.’
Kerry took a breath and let out a sigh. She glanced up at the greying ceiling and the bare light bulb. What a shithole of a place.
‘These girls out there. Where are they from?’
‘I don’t know. Foreign. East European, I heard McCann say. They were brought up here from down south. It’s nearly all East Europe girls. McCann got rid of the local girls. Said they were all on smack and he wanted to make the place a bit more glam with glam birds. The girls are beautiful.’
