Chasing Aquila

by James Hume

  Sam nodded. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it.’

  ***

  They stood at the bar, wearing football scarves to blend in. Sam glanced at the table five yards away, with the ‘Reserved’ sign on it, but no one sitting there. ‘Where the hell is he?’

  The barman stopped in front of them to wash some glasses. Eddie leaned forward. ‘Excuse me. Do you know if this guy’s coming in today?’ He pointed at the table.

  The barman frowned. ‘Oh, Davy Wilson?’ He glanced up at the clock. ‘Yeah, he’s usually here by now. Maybe got held up, eh?’ He moved away to serve someone.

  Eddie murmured. ‘Just got to wait. But at least we’ve got a name.’

  By two o’clock the table was still empty. Sam silently screamed with frustration.

  Eddie turned to him. ‘Sam, just think about it. They’ve got a ‘Reserved’ sign on the table. It means they’ve organised it. Davy must pay them off. Let’s try something.’

  The bar was now quieter, and the barman again stopped in front of them. Eddie leaned over. ‘Excuse me.’

  The barman looked up. ‘What can I get you?’

  Eddie said, ‘We’d like some information.’ He went into his wallet, pulled out a five pound note, and folded it in his hand. ‘Do you know where Davy lives?’

  The barman shook his head. ‘No, sorry, I don’t.’

  Eddie leaned forward again. ‘You’ve got a great bar. Well run. Good crowd. We’d like to do a bit of business here as well.’

  The barman glanced at Sam, and then back to Eddie. ‘On or under the table?’

  ‘Under.’

  ‘Legit or illegit?’

  ‘Legit.’

  ‘You need to see the bar manager, Benny Dougan. He deals with that side of things. He could probably tell you more about Davy as well.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No, he’s away this weekend. A wedding down south. He’ll be back on Wednesday.’

  ‘Anyone else we could talk to today?’

  The barman grimaced. ‘No. Come in after seven on Wednesday, and see Benny. You really don’t want to talk to anyone else.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Thanks, mate.’ He stretched out to shake hands and passed the fiver over in the process. ‘Appreciate it.’

  They finished their beers and left to get into the two cars outside.

  ***

  On the Wednesday night, Sam entered the bar with Eddie and Johnny. The barman saw Eddie, held up a finger, and went to a phone behind the bar. A few moments later he came over to them. ‘Benny’s on his way. Can I get you anything?’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’

  A couple of minutes later, a heavy built, florid faced man approached, with a big smile, but wary piggy eyes. ‘Hello, gentlemen. Benny Dougan.’ He held out a hand.

  Eddie shook hands. ‘I’m Eddie. This is Sam and Johnny.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Come on up to the office, gentlemen.’ Dougan led the way up a couple of flights of stairs. Sam thought ‘office’ a grand title for the small, dull room, with a too-big desk. Dougan went round the desk to the matching too-big chair. Eddie and Sam sat at the desk. Dougan waved Johnny to a sofa. ‘Just move some of these boxes and have a seat.’

  ‘No, I’m alright here.’ Johnny leaned against the wall, two paces from the desk. Dougan glanced at Johnny, unhappy with his position, but turned to Eddie with a smile.

  ‘I understand from Joe you want to do some under the table business with us. We’re always interested, provided it’s legit. Five pounds an hour, cash up front. Booze extra.’

  Eddie nodded. He turned to Sam. ‘Yeah, sounds good. What do you think?’

  Sam nodded. A very expensive rate. This guy was smarter than he looked.

  ‘Great.’ Dougan smiled at the two of them. ‘When do you want to start?’

  Eddie thought for a moment. ‘We’re not quite ready to go. Maybe a couple of weeks?’

  ‘No problem. Just let me know, and we’ll set it up for you.’

  ‘Good.’ Edde went into his wallet and drew out two five pound notes. Sam saw the piggy eyes glint at the money. It’s all the bastard’s interested in. Eddie went on, ‘We’d like some information as well.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know Davy Wilson?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We think Davy’s got a good thing going, and we’d like to help him. We’re part of a big organisation, and we’d make sure you get a share.’ The piggy eyes gleamed. ‘I mean, Sam’s dad has fantastic connections. You may have heard of him, Dan McFadden,’

  Dougan’s face blanched. His piggy eyes looked scared. Good. Dad’s name still carried a punch in these circles, thought Sam.

  Eddie continued. ‘We’d like to talk to Davy about this, but we don’t have his address. Could you give us it?’

  Dougan glanced at the money in Eddie’s hand. He reached towards his desk drawer and thumbed through a notebook. ‘15, Ardenlea Street, Glasgow SE.’

  ‘Do you have a phone number?’

  ‘No, he’s not on the phone.’

  Eddie stood up. ‘Good. Enjoyed doing business with you, Benny. We’ll see you again in a couple of weeks, huh?’ They shook hands and the money transferred over.

  Dougan shook hands with Sam and Johnny with a forced smile. He didn’t look too happy, thought Sam, but bugger him, they’d got what they wanted.

  They got into the car, and Johnny drove off towards Renfield Street. Sam turned to Eddie in the back seat. ‘Thanks a lot, Eddie. You’ve got to get back, right?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Yeah, sorry Sam. We’ve got family over tonight.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll drop you off.’

  ‘Thanks. What will you do?’

  ‘We’ll go and see Davy. Give him an offer he can’t refuse.’ Sam sat back. He needed a magic pill. But only had three left. He had to find this fellow and get his stash. Tonight.

  ***

  Sam pressed a gloved finger against the doorbell. He heard the faint sound of a radio from somewhere, then shuffling on the other side of the door. ‘Who is it?’

  Sam called, ‘It’s me, Davy.’

  The door unlocked and slowly opened. Johnny pushed hard against it and knocked Davy back against the wall. They quickly entered and closed the door.

  Sam realised Davy had two crutches and helped him upright again. ‘What happened to you, Davy?’ he asked, pointing to his foot.

  ‘Broke my ankle. Who are you?’

  Sam guided Davy into the kitchen. ‘We’re here to help you, Davy.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘To become even more successful. You just need to tell us, Davy, where are the pills, and where do you get them from?’

  Davy looked from one to the other. ‘What pills?’

  ‘Now, Davy, we want to be nice about this. We want to work with you, but you need to help us too. Where are the pills you sell in the pub?’

  Davy shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only pills I have are for the pain in my ankle.’

  Sam tightened his lips. What a knucklehead. ‘Last time, Davy. Don’t be stupid about it. Where are the bloody pills?’

  ‘It’s no’ me being stupid about it.’

  Sam lost his temper and pushed Davy down into an armchair. He snarled, ‘Now, don’t bloody move.’ He turned to Johnny. ‘You take this room, I’ll go through to the other one.’

  They’d agreed to look for some plastic bags with white pills, and some record of where Davy got them. They might find some cash around as well, but they’d just leave it.

  Sam went into the bedroom, and checked the pillows, bedclothes and mattress. Nothing. He emptied a couple of boxes from under the bed, then the wardrobe, a cupboard, and a chest of drawers. Nothing anywhere. He checked the cistern in a small toilet between he rooms, then went back into the kitchen.

  Johnny had emptied two cupboards and tipped the contents of all the packets and tins on the floor. Nothing. Sam took out a large p
enknife and slashed the cushions and fabric of the sofa. The only place left to check was the armchair Davy sat on.

  ‘Come on, get up.’ He grabbed Davy by the arm and pulled him to his feet, and then slashed the cushions and frame of the chair. Nothing.

  Davy shouted, ‘Bastards’. Sam looked up to see him swing one of his crutches at him. Sam dodged it and Davy overbalanced, and collapsed into the fireplace with a crash.

  Sam stared at Davy, blood now seeping out of his head into the hearth. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  They dashed to the door, and rushed downstairs. They raced round the corner, into their car, and Johnny drove off.

  Sam fumed at the way the visit had turned out. ‘Stupid bastard. Why don’t these people see sense? He must have them hidden somewhere else.’

  ‘Where do you want to go, boss?’

  Sam grimaced. ‘Oh, just drop me off. I need to think about what we do now.’ He really needed a magic pill and a night with the girl Tracey. No chance, now.

  Helen glanced up from her book when he got home. ‘Good day?’ The Light Programme played in the background.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ he snarled.

  She picked up her book. Sam went to the drinks cabinet, poured himself a large whisky, and tried to relax in an easy chair. His brain whirred with angry thoughts. How could a numbskull like Davy outwit him? Gradually, the whisky worked and he began to relax.

  He woke up at ten to five needing a pee. A table lamp lit the room beside him, but the rest of the house was in darkness. He used the toilet and splashed cold water on his face. He needed some fresh air, put on his coat, scarf and hat, and went outside.

  His father had bought an old printing works before the war, used some of it for offices and meeting rooms, and demolished the rest to build three bungalows, for himself, his eldest son Kenny, and for Sam. He’d landscaped the area, with a high fence around it, but still kept a guard on 24/7. Sam found Gav standing near the front gate. ‘How’s it going?’

  Gav nodded. ‘Fine, Mr McFadden. Nice night.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He was never going to get back to sleep now. ‘Think I’ll get the car round. Keep an eye out for it.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  Sam went back inside and called Johnny.

  ‘Yep.’ Sounded very sleepy.

  ‘Can you bring the car round?’

  ‘Sure. Ten minutes?’

  ‘Fine’.

  He noticed some whisky in his glass, and drank it down to perk him up a bit. He went back outside, and within a few minutes, Johnny arrived with the car.

  ‘Where do you want to go, boss?’

  ‘Let’s go down to Bridgeton Cross and see the girls.’

  ‘Sure. Got a problem sleeping?’

  ‘Ach, I’m just annoyed at last night. We should have handled it better.’

  Johnny parked next to the Umbrella, the large octagonal iron shelter with a clock on top. A couple of his girls stood under it. Sam got out. ‘How’s it going, Sadie?’ She was one of his longest serving girls. Had deft fingers and a sweet mouth, and could use them top notch.

  ‘A quiet night, Sam. Only a few punters.’

  He glanced at the young girl beside her, shivering in a light raincoat. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘This is Carol, Sam. First week.’ She turned to the girl. ‘This is Mr McFadden, the boss.’

  The young girl smiled. ‘Hello.’

  Sam smiled back. ‘Any punters tonight?’

  She nodded. ‘A couple.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave Sadie a florin. ‘Go over to Carlo’s and get yourselves a cup of tea and a roll and sausage or something.’

  ‘Okay, Sam. Thanks.’ The two girls walked over towards Carlo’s all night café.

  Jakey emerged from the shadows. Sam nodded. ‘Hi Jakey. Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, Mr McFadden. We had a couple of outsiders try to muscle in on the pitch, and young Susie had a problem punter, but we sorted them out no problem.’

  ‘Good, Jakey. Thanks.’ He saw a news vendor with the morning papers on the steps of the Olympia cinema, and asked Johnny to get him one. Then Paulie drove up. He ran the prostitution side of the business for Sam. ‘Hey Paulie, how’s it going?’

  ‘Not bad for a Wednesday, Sam. A bit quiet here and at Parkhead Cross, but everywhere else has done okay.’

  ‘What about Glasgow Cross? Is Biggart playing ball?’

  Paulie nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s pulled his girls back to south and west of the Cross. We’re clear for the rest.’

  ‘Good. And what about Pollokshields? How’s that going? Haven’t seen it for a couple of weeks, now.’ Sam had rented a large detached house in the posh suburbs after he heard about Dirty Dick’s brothel in Paris from an ex-Army officer in one of Kenny’s night clubs. He’d spent a few bob on it, and put in Agnes, one of his long-serving girls, to manage it.

  ‘Going great, Sam. Brilliant idea. High-quality girls. We’ve now got six between day shift and night shift. High prices. Super service. And it’s ideal having the driveway entrance down the side street. Keeps the traffic away from the neighbours. Great business, Sam. Agnes tells me the new girl, Tracey, is very good. You need to get over and see them.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll do that, Paulie. Good stuff. Thanks a lot.’

  ‘No problem. Sam.’ He turned to go back to his car.

  ‘Oh, Paulie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The wee new girl here with Sadie tonight.’

  ‘Erm, Carol?’

  ‘Yeah. Get her a heavy coat on me. Second hand somewhere. Sadie’ll help you. She’s stood there shivering. Nobody’ll pick her up like that.’

  ‘Okay, Sam. Leave it with me.’ He looked around. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In Carlo’s. I sent them for a cup of tea.’

  Paulie headed over towards Carlo’s. Johnny strolled up with a paper. ‘I think we’ll get a cup of tea as well, Johnny.’

  Carlo welcomed them as usual. ‘Mister Sam, Mister Johnny,’

  ‘Two teas, Carlo,’ Sam said, and took a seat at the back of the café. He still felt hung over. He needed one of these pills again – to get his mind back in gear – to feel good again. How the hell could he find these pills?

  Johnny sat reading the paper, ‘Oh, shit.’

  Sam turned to him. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘That bugger last night. He’s dead. The police are calling it possible murder.’ He folded the paper over and passed it to Sam.

  Sam read the article. ‘Christ, we never touched him.’ His brain jangled. Maybe he should get back home and snort a line to clear his head. Shit. What should he do? He needed clarity. ‘I’m going to call Eddie. See what he has to say.’

  He went to the counter, got Carlo’s phone, and asked Eddie to join him.

  Eddie arrived ten minutes later, bleary-eyed. ‘Got a problem?’

  ‘Yeah. Read this.’ Sam passed him the paper.

  ‘I take it you went there last night?’

  ‘Yeah. But we didn’t touch the bugger. We just looked for his stash of pills. He took a swing at us and overbalanced and fell into the fireplace. We just thought he’d knocked himself out and we scarpered. But it wasn’t bloody murder.’

  ‘Did you find any pills?’

  ‘No, never found a bloody thing. He must have hidden them somewhere else.’

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly surprised.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Because this picture of Davy Wilson’s not the lad I’ve followed for the last few weeks. That’s somebody else.’

  Sam’s jaw dropped. He turned and glanced at Johnny and splayed his hands. ‘But his was the only Wilson nameplate up the close. Isn’t that right?’

  Johnny nodded.

  Eddie pursed his lips. ‘May be. But he’s not the lad with the drugs.’

  ‘Jesus. What do we do?’

  ‘Well, I suggest you get hold of your friend, Jack Bruce. He’s on the payroll, after all. Tell him what happened, and get
him to take the possible murder charge off for a start.’

  ‘Right.’ Sam rose, got Carlo’s phone again, and asked for the number.

  ‘Glasgow Police?’

  ‘Can I speak to DI Bruce, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not available at the moment. Who’s calling?’

  ‘It’s Eric.’

  ‘Eric who?’

  ‘Just Eric. Tell him it’s urgent. It’s about Arcadia.’ That was the code for ‘we need to meet right now’.

  ‘Has he got your number?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He hung up and went back to the table. ‘Right, we should see him in ten minutes. Let’s get ready to go.’

  ***

  Johnny drove them back down Dalmarnock Road into Swanston Street. He parked on a concrete area at the far end, near the river. Sam waited in silence.

  A few minutes later a car pulled up alongside them. Jack Bruce got out and came across into their front passenger seat. He turned to Sam, ‘What’s the panic?’

  ‘It’s this.’ Eddie passed the newspaper, folded at the story.

  Bruce looked down at it. ‘Oh, Christ. Was this you?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, but it wasn’t murder, Jack. He took a swing at us with a crutch, overbalanced, and fell into the fireplace. We never touched him.’

  Bruce pursed his lips. ‘The first copper on the scene found the place ransacked and Wilson dead. He called it in as a murder in the course of a robbery. Then everyone went into panic mode.’ He sighed. ‘Right, leave it with me. I’ll talk to the medics and see what they say. Were you gloved up?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Okay. Why were you there?’

  ‘Eddie’s followed a drug dealer for a couple of weeks. We want to take over his business. We found out his name was Davy Wilson, and somebody that knew him gave us his address. So we went along last night to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. But he started to play silly buggers, and we had to search the place. We didn’t find anything because, of course, as Eddie pointed out when he saw the paper this morning, it was the wrong guy.’

  Bruce looked over at Eddie. ‘So, who did you follow?’

  ‘Davy Wilson. But not that Davy Wilson. Another Davy Wilson. Dark wavy hair and thick glasses.’