The Silence

by Linda Tweedie

  There was call after call from the dead man’s ex-associates, each gravely sorry for her loss and anxious to assist in her hour of need. Well, as far as her father’s clients were concerned, business was business, after all.

  Paddy was extremely impressed with the way Bridget handled the grave robbers. This was not some shrinking violet; the girl could fend off threats without giving offence and with the promise to be in touch when and if she needed help, leaving each contender thinking he had won the prize. They all assumed she was a mug and Mickey Kelly’s extremely lucrative business would soon be coming their way. Not if Bridget had anything to do with things, and unknown to her, even less if Paddy could help it.

  It was almost 11pm when two police officers pitched up and curtly informed Miss Bridget Kelly that it appeared her father had been the victim of a gangland execution and she would be required to accompany them to the city morgue to identify the body.

  Despite her being able to deal with the calls, a visit to the morgue at midnight was way more than Bridget could deal with. No matter what Paddy thought of Kelly, she was still his flesh and blood and the poor, grieving daughter had been completely traumatised by the evening’s events.

  “Miss Kelly will attend in the morning. She has to contact family members and her solicitor. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Paddy showed the two reluctant officers to the door.

  “It would be helpful if you could attend this evening,” pressed one.

  “Helpful to who?” countered Paddy.

  “And you are?” questioned the first officer, recognising Paddy but unable to place him.

  To this day, Paddy Coyle had no idea why, or if he actually did say, “Patrick Coyle, Miss Kelly’s fiancé.”

  A loud gasp from Bridget almost gave the game away.

  “Yes, I’m her fiancé and I’ll bring her along in the morning. So, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Paddy ushered them out into the cold night and slammed the door before any further conversation could ensue.

  “What the bloody hell did you go and say that for?” wept Bridget. “Look, you have to go, I can’t get my head round all this and I’m sure you mean well, but you’re making things worse.”

  “Do you really not have anyone that you can call, no-one anywhere?”

  “How many times have I got to tell you? And not only am I not your fiancée, I’m not your problem. I can deal with this.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Paddy was mesmerised by her. Always popular with the girls round his way, he had never had what anyone could call a serious relationship − family commitments and demands had put paid to that. Truthfully, he wasn’t that interested, they were too much bother, but he’d never come across anyone like Bridget Kelly.

  “Listen, girl, I wasn’t your dad’s favourite person and he certainly wasn’t mine, but no way can I leave you to the mercy of the bastards he associated with. You’ve had a small taste tonight and believe me, this is only the beginning.”

  “And what’s in it for you?” snapped Bridget.

  “Oh, make no mistake, I’ll have anything that’s going, but I don’t think you have any idea what’s going to happen here. Before your da is cold in the ground all those vultures will be picking the meat clean off his bones. You’ll be lucky to be left with the drawers you’re standing in.”

  “I beg your pardon . . .”

  “Listen to me, you’re a woman on your own and no matter how smart you are, and you are smart, these fuckers will strip you clean. So if you want to come out of this with the price of a bus ticket to nowhere, go it alone. Otherwise, go and get some sleep and let me figure out what’s to be done. And turn that fucking phone off.”

  The shock of what had happened finally hit her and the poor lass crumpled before his eyes. Realizing the enormity of the situation, Bridget was inconsolable. There was nothing Paddy could do but simply hold the girl till the sobs finally abated. She smelled so clean and fresh it was difficult for him to concentrate on why he was there.

  Fuck, not exactly the time to be hitting on the poor bint, he chuckled to himself, well aware and a bit embarrassed about the effect she was having on him.

  Identify

  It was a long night, and the two strangers had talked and talked. Each settled on one of the comfortable sofas in the dimly lit room, warmed by the dying embers of the fire. Maybe it was the anonymity of the surroundings, but Paddy Coyle had never opened up to anyone in his life the way he did to Bridget Kelly during the wee small hours.

  He told her about his errant father and all his madcap antics. How he, Paddy, felt, not knowing if the man was dead or alive, not a problem Bridget would have to face. He spoke of the responsibility he had in supporting his family at such a young age. About McClelland’s treachery, deliberately omitting the fact that it was his ex-buddy who had pulled the trigger.

  They even got round to how each saw their future. Paddy astounded himself by admitting he wanted a wife and family and maybe a house like the one they were in. To say that this shocked the young lad was an understatement. He had never given the future much thought, he was always too busy dealing with the present, but now that he’d voiced it out loud he realised it was exactly what he wanted, and ridiculously, he wanted the girl sitting opposite him to be a part of it.

  Fuck! Am I going soft or what? I’ve only known her five minutes and we’re walking down the aisle, Paddy laughed to himself.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, drinking Paddy in. No man had ever had the effect that he was having on her.

  God Almighty, I’ve just been told my father’s dead and I’m desperate to cop off with his henchman. I’ve heard of don’t shoot the messenger, but surely shagging him is just as bad?

  It was sheer animal lust and both knew the inevitable would happen; it was just a question of when.

  Bridget confided in Paddy of her fear and dislike of her father. He’d given her everything she could ever want and had never laid a hand on her, but she knew this was because she kept her mouth shut and did his bidding. There was no real father-daughter bond between them. She was his possession and if the day had ever come that he had no use for her, maybe she’d have disappeared like her mother had. God, where had that come from?

  Her mother had run off, abandoned her without warning when she was only seven, on the day before her birthday. There had been no indication that there was anything wrong and there didn’t seem to be anyone else. In fact, there had been no explanation at all. She was just gone. Bridget had cried herself to sleep night after night for a long time, and spent hours gazing out her bedroom window, waiting for her mum to come back, but she never did.

  There was little Bridget didn’t know about her father’s business dealings or how he earned his money. She understood the fact that he had to operate under a cloak of secrecy so she was discouraged from having friends, ‘just in case’. As for boyfriends, they all were seen off, either physically discouraged or threatened. Who the hell was going to put their life in jeopardy for a one night stand with her? After all, she was nothing special.

  She was no fool and while she didn’t condone what her father did for a living, it was simply a fact of her life. The reality was, she had expected the knock on the door for years and she admitted to Paddy it wouldn’t be the first time she had actually prayed for it to come. She wanted a life and she was certainly no hypocrite.

  Paddy woke to the tantalising smell of bacon wafting through the house. For a few moments he had no idea where he was. Then the previous evenings events came flooding into his head. What had he got himself into? Telling the boys in blue he was her fiancé. What a fucking eejit. The more he listened to Bridget, the more he realized she knew what was what. That still didn’t make her fair game for her dad’s mates. No, he was going to stick around for a bit, and not just for her sake, or so he told himself.

  “How do you like your eggs?” she asked and quelled his usual reply of ‘fertilized’ with one look.

  That one sentence, that one silly q
uestion, did it. Neither believed in love at first sight; that was for stupid women’s magazines, wasn’t it? Something had happened between them, no doubt about it. They were a couple, God knows how, but they were. Bridget knew from the bottom of her heart that he would take care of her and Paddy knew she was ‘the one’. He would fight tooth and nail for her, protect and cherish her. Starting today. Yes, from now on they were in it together. What the fuck would his mother say?

  The phone started its constant ringing again. The word was out on the street, there was a vacant spot to fill and everyone wanted a piece of it. Fortunately for Mickey Kelly’s daughter, the dead man’s ‘bible’ was missing. Without it there was no business, which meant a number of hungry villains were convinced that both Paddy and Bridget knew far more than they were letting on. There were also a lot of very relieved customers, many of whom were celebrating maybe just a tad too prematurely.

  Consolidation

  Four weeks after the funeral, Paddy and Bridget were married. It was a quiet affair with only Lizzie, the twins and Marie in attendance. The young couple had made it known that it was too soon after Mickey’s death to be celebrating, but if the truth be told, there was no-one else to invite. Bridget had almost no relatives, certainly none who would go to the expense of attending a wedding, and the Coyles were such a self-sufficient quintet that they too were thin on the ground where family was concerned.

  Police enquiries into the death of the local moneylender drew a blank on all counts. Little or no effort was made to trace the culprits, thanks to years of backhanders. There was virtually no chance of the perpetrator being apprehended and the case was unofficially closed. Micky Kelly’s remains were released for burial in just less than three weeks. All the while the vultures were circling.

  On the fourth day after the murder, Paddy had produced the ‘bible’ and all her father’s personal effects. His future wife had asked for no explanation and Paddy had given none, the understanding being that they were now on an equal footing and trusted each other implicitly. They were bound together for better or worse.

  There was a no-expenses-spared, lavish funeral with the traditional black horses, glass carriage, and the usual accord given to a person of standing. This was done, of course, for the living, not the dead. Every ’face’, or their representative, attended the Requiem Mass, conducted by the bishop himself. There was one notable absentee family: the McClellands. Uncle, nephew and foot soldiers were holding their own wake for their deceased in the famous Horseshoe Bar, together with their guest of honour, none other than Mad Billy Mitchell, recently released from hospital. Never a particularly handsome dude, Mad Billy was a queer-looking creature now, thanks to a certain person’s handywork. The damage done to his right eye gave him a permanent look of surprise, together with the crisscross scars adorning his face. You wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night.

  Never the most sociable of men, Mitchell was an even more bitter and twisted caricature of the man he’d once been. His motto, to anyone who would listen was, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ And with the backing of his new buddies, that was exactly what he intended to do. But his was the long game and Paddy Coyle would keep. Mitchell would strike when he least expected it.

  The official wake was held in the Gunners, the pub where Kelly had breathed his last and where Bridget carried out the grieving daughter duties to perfection. She received condolences from men who had hated and despised her father, but were anxious to keep in favour with the family, such as it was.

  The whereabouts of the ‘bible’ and where it would turn up eventually was openly discussed. Mostly by those who’d owed substantial amounts of money and were, quite wrongly, under the impression that they had got off scot free. It came, therefore, as a major shock to those present when it was whispered that there was a new sheriff in town; it was soon to be business as usual and Paddy Coyle would be back on collections. More than a dozen mourners left town that day.

  It transpired that Mickey Kelly had been far more astute than anyone had given him credit for, none more than his offspring. Bridget now owned the house she lived in, two others in Bearsden, a bookies shop where she had worked for a short time, and the ‘bible’. All in all, she was a wealthy woman. Her wedding gift to Paddy was to hand everything over to him, lock, stock and barrel, with instructions to make as much money as he could, as quickly as he could, and then go legit. Bridget had no desire to live the life her father had created, but would tolerate it for the time being.

  The Beginning of the End

  “Oh my God, she’s absolutely beautiful.” Paddy gazed at the tiny bundle asleep in his arms. “Just like her mother,” he kissed his wife gently on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Honest, I got here as fast as I could.”

  “It’s okay, Paddy. Really, it’s okay. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

  Bridget was worn out, she’d had a difficult birth, made all the more difficult by Paddy being AWOL, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. After all, she was the one who had made the rules.

  But his mother wasn’t so forgiving. Lizzie clipped her big son round the ear, “Fecking missing at the birth of your first child, fecking disgrace. Whatever you said about your da, he was always there.”

  “Aye, maybe at the conception, but not always at the birth,” said Sean, nodding towards Marie.

  “Enough,” Bridget quipped. “If I’m okay with it, then it’s bugger-all to do with any of you lot.”

  “I can’t believe how perfect she is,” her daddy chuckled. She was only a few hours old and already she had him wrapped around her little finger.

  “She’s a beauty alright,” said a proud and delighted Lizzie. “This one will break a few hearts when she gets older.”

  “No chance,” her father joked. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

  Those standing round the cot weren’t so sure he was joking.

  Erin had entered the world at 2.45 that morning, at the precise moment the life juices of one Jimmy McGregor had just expired, and Paddy Coyle had been responsible for both.

  Almost a year had passed since Mickey Kelly’s murder and Paddy Coyle was now more than something to be reckoned with in the hierarchy of the Glasgow criminal fraternity. His arrival on the scene had been met with great indignation and contempt.

  To say Paddy met with opposition at taking over Kelly’s businesses was putting it mildly. There were many would be ‘faces’ who were under the very wrong impression that they were entitled to a slice of the pie and in some cases, all of it.

  Firms who had been sworn enemies for decades joined forces to eradicate this young pup. But the Coyle clan were too smart and too strong to be taken out of the picture. Their main strength lay in the fact that they were organised. Every aspect of their business had a strategy, a plan, and the plan was to be number one. Paddy was ruthless. He knew it was a ‘them or us’ situation and casualties were a fact of life or death.

  His first action had been to sack every member of the Kelly firm. They were old, useless and skimming so much it was hardly worth collecting. They needed putting out to pasture. Most of the boys went without a fight, knowing they’d had it good for the past few years and who had no intention of bowing to this new boss. But there were a few die-hards, Kelly’s top men, who thought they were worth more than a sweet goodbye and went out of their way to cause as much aggravation as possible, the last of whom was the aforementioned Jimmy McGregor.

  McGregor had been with the firm since day one and had been instrumental in arranging the first ever loan. A loan that was, incidentally, still being paid off all these years later. He and Kelly had been mates from way back when. Nicking dinner money off their classmates had put paid to what little schooling either of them needed or wanted. They could read, write and count and that was enough for these two wide boys. Their first entry into the criminal world was via a (not very profitable) raid on a sub-post office. This had earned them a trip to court and a holiday, courtesy of Her Majesty,
lasting six months.

  Jimmy McGregor was adamant the ‘bible’ should be his. He’d worked it for Mickey Kelly for the past twenty years and knew every entry. There was no way he was bowing down to this fucking interloper, married to the daughter or not. The ‘bible’ was his, and he’d show them. With the help and assistance of his parish priest, McGregor managed to stay under Paddy’s radar for almost a year and cause him all sorts of grief, much to the delight of Canon O’Farrell.

  Paddy, together with the twins, had recruited a workforce from his neighbourhood, gym and a few he’d done time with. These boys were fit, drug-free, loyal and hungry. The rewards were second to none. Top of the range cars meant guys were clamouring to join the firm. His squad knew the score and on the morning after Mickey’s funeral, a dozen or so baronial homes all over the city were petrol-bombed.

  This was a warning shot over the bows that the Coyles meant business. Within the first week, every turf suffered casualties. Pubs, clubs and saunas were hit, causing panic and fury in every patch and a huge drop in business. Who was going to visit a sauna and get their bits blown off? These actions were costing money.

  “Time to talk,” he told the person on the other end of the line. “Two o’clock at the Horseshoe, you on your own, no guards and no shooters. Be there or suffer the consequences.”

  “Who the fuck do you . . .?”

  “Two o’clock,” and the dialling tone purred as Paddy disconnected.

  Two calls were received by the most dangerous men in Glasgow; the term, drug barons was too insignificant.

  Outside the Horseshoe Bar stretched a line of cars. To the innocent passer-by it looked like some society funeral, which was a possibility. Each vehicle had two or three heavies primed and ready for action. At the other end of the spectrum, a few police officers were struck down with the ‘skits’ on what could turn out to be another Valentine’s Day Massacre.