‘If you mean our crib nights in the Tile Bar, why not?’
‘For fuck’s sake, it’s like the Star Wars pub in there.’
‘Enough!’ Maggie stood up. ‘Joe Mannion is plotting to wipe us out – all of us. And he has help.’
‘Bollocks. You need to go see a doctor. You’re just at the right age.’
‘You’re talking to me about age? Imagine, you and that old man – it’s disgusting.’
‘Mind your own business. Anyway, I heard you was having it away with wee Tam the baker from Causeyside Street. He wears a surgical support, everybody knows it.’
‘Does he fuck!’
‘Ha! Caught you. How would you know about that unless he’d been in about you?’
‘I’m being serious. You can help save us. I don’t care what you think about my son. Do you want Gillian or Sandra to go the same way as Danny?’
‘The drama, it never ends.’
‘You keep tabs on your decrepit boyfriend, you’ll see.’
Senga drained her glass. ‘Get the fuck out of my house.’
‘Don’t you mean get the fuck out of Zander’s house?’
‘Just go!’ Senga flung the empty wine glass to the floor, where instead of breaking it just bounced off the thick pile carpet.
Maggie picked up her handbag. ‘Same slapper you always were. But you’ll be the sorry one in the end.’ She shook her head at Senga. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
As Maggie stomped off, her daughter-in-law shouted in her wake, ‘Aye, and don’t find your way back in!’
Even so, once she heard the front door slam, Senga Finn bit her lip.
40
Ginerva de Lucca was sitting across the desk from Joe Mannion. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, she looked relaxed, to the extent that she seemed more at home than the bald man who was facing her.
‘Things are going well, no?’ she said. ‘We are definitely safe to speak?’
They were alone now. Sammy was in the room next door, with de Lucca’s minders.
‘Aye, don’t worry about a thing. The polis – the police, that is – don’t spend much time in this street, never mind trying to bug the place. I do my due diligence. We sweep it every morning. And have eyes everywhere.’
‘So, your community is loyal. That is a good thing. It’s the way we work in Italy.’
‘Treat folk right, and they treat you right. That’s always been my motto.’
‘A very noble one, Mr Mannion.’
‘Please, we’ve agreed, it’s Joe.’ He leaned across the desk and smiled broadly at her. ‘You know, I was thinking. I don’t know how long you’re here for – in Scotland, I mean. I thought maybe we could take some time out. I could show you the sights.’
Ginerva smiled back. ‘I’ve already sampled some of your “sights”: junkies and dogs shitting in the streets. It makes Napoli look like Disneyland.’
‘Oh, come on. You must admit, where you are on Loch Lomond is lovely. I can show you lots of great places. I’ve got a wee place on Mull. It’s a beautiful island. We could take a couple of days out, go up there and relax. There’s nothing like the view across Tobermory Bay on a nice night. My house is up on the hill.’
‘I can think of one problem with the view, Mr Mannion.’
‘What?’
‘You’d be in it.’
‘Charming.’
‘Our arrangement is strictly business. Do you really think you’re my type?’
‘You can’t blame a man for trying. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’
‘Do yourself a favour: stop asking. I’m not Senga Finn.’ She glared at him for a moment. ‘Such an ugly name.’
‘That’s my business.’
‘This is where you are wrong. As we have proved, you might think you have her where you want her, but she still has loyalties to her husband.’
‘She hates him!’
‘They have much in common – a family, for instance.’
‘Some family.’
‘Never underestimate the bonds of a family, Mr Mannion. Take the warning. Do something about it.’
Mannion shrugged. He knew he had a great deal to gain. Was the loss of Senga Finn a price worth paying? He considered it and decided, yes.
‘Everything else is going as we planned. Mr Finn obliged in every way.’
‘He did a good job. I’m quite impressed.’
‘It was on a plate for him. It was easy. The good thing is that now he thinks he is the big cheese – the grand fromage, as you’d say, eh?’
‘That’s French.’
‘Aye, right enough. But not far away, eh? You still understood it.’
Ginerva looked away and sighed.
‘One thing bothers me, though,’ said Mannion.
‘What?’
‘Okay, Zander got the men on the street. He didn’t get the big boss. No bugger knows who is in charge of the Albanians.’
‘I do.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I’m addressing that problem, as we speak. But we mustn’t make things too easy for Mr Finn. I have a plan. You will do as I say.’
Mannion sat back in his chair. ‘And what if I don’t want to play ball?’
‘Then your balls will be saying goodbye to the rest of you.’
‘Aye, fair enough.’ Mannion reached for a cigar. He hated being talked down to – especially by a woman, and a foreign one at that. But where there was money to be made, and lots of it, it paid to be pragmatic. His time would come.
‘Finn has taken all the risks and rid us of the Albanians on the ground. I don’t know why you found it so hard to do this yourself.’
‘The time wasn’t right,’ Mannion muttered.
‘I see. Well, Zander Finn succeeded where you failed.’
‘Thanks very much.’ Mannion’s tone was sarcastic. ‘If you’re that keen on Zander Finn, how come we’re sitting here discussing our partnership, eh?’
‘Partnership.’ Ginerva said the word slowly, as though savouring the sound on her tongue. ‘You’re right, of course, this is a partnership.’
‘Aye, too right.’
‘But you are very much the junior partner. I’m not sure Mr Finn could ever operate in such circumstances.’
Mannion’s mouth gaped and his cigar fell onto the desk. He wiped away the small flurry of burning ash and placed it firmly back between his teeth, staring at the woman opposite.
‘Before you have another cigar failure, I’ll answer the question you’re about to ask. Yes, we did consider working with Zander Finn instead of you and your organisation.’
‘Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. If you’re into boosting someone’s ego, it ain’t working, my dear.’
‘You are wise enough to know that we could have taken our pick from a handful of your crime gangs here in Scotland. We chose yours.’
‘And not Finn – why?’
‘It’s complicated. All you have to know is that the first phase of our work is done. Now, we take over.’
Mannion stared into her dark eyes. He’d made as much as he could of the fact that Finn had been overlooked – feigned surprise, even. But he knew that the Italians would have been thorough when looking for a partner in the UK. He knew he had to be pliant and subservient at times – so what? As Ginerva de Lucca used Glasgow as a base to take over the UK’s county lines drugs trade, he would become richer by the day. In any case, it was time he took a back seat. Everything was perfect.
Then Ginerva spoke again.
*
Finn blinked into the low sun as he stepped out of the custody suite at Gartcosh. Amelia Langley was at his side.
‘Nice to have a wee send-off, thank you.’
‘You’re not as clever as you think, Zander.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t think I’m clever at all. In fact, I’ve been the most stupid man on the planet in my time. But I’m making up for that – or trying to, at least.
‘Don’t leave the country.’
&n
bsp; ‘How could I? You’ve got my passport.’
‘How stupid do you think I am?’
‘I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.’
‘She’ll do anything to break you, Zan. And remember, that’s my job too.’
‘Green? Piece of shit. Why you let her get away with setting you up, I’ll never know.’
‘I’ll never know how my saviour arrived.’
Finn looked her up and down. ‘Things happen. You must know about most of the arseholes in my world. They can’t keep their mouths shut.’
‘And you listened – why?’
‘Would you rather I hadn’t?’
Amelia Langley smiled. ‘See you soon, Zander.’ She watched Finn walk away. But a memory returned like a horror story.
‘Langley, you’re on five beat tonight.’ The order was terse. There was no acknowledgement that the woman handing out the instruction knew the constable to whom she was allotting a nightshift beat.
‘Yes, sergeant,’ she said, wondering why she’d been removed from her usual beat. ‘Who’s my neighbour?’
‘Up there? You don’t need one.’
‘Hey, Langley,’ whispered one of her male colleagues sitting beside her in the muster room. ‘It’s all old warehouses and demolished houses. Easy night.’
As they broke up, each heading out into Glasgow’s East End, Constable Amelia Langley stared at Green. Almost exactly two years after their probation was over, she now wore a sergeant’s stripes. The pair who’d joined the Accelerated Promotion scheme together, now separated by rank.
Langley swallowed hard at the memory. It always left her feeling cold. She noticed her right hand was shaking, as she watched Finn climb into a taxi.
She’d heard nothing, not the pad of a footstep or the grind of rough ground under four pairs of stout boots. The first sensation was one of surprise as she was grabbed around the neck and pulled through an old doorway into a disused warehouse.
She kicked, punched, tried to scream. But her attackers were stronger. Almost immediately a gloved hand was clamped over her mouth, making her breathe desperately through her nose.
The rough floor hit her like a truck in the back, winding her, making her groan for air. Even in the half light of the warehouse, she could see the man in the mask as he forced himself on her, a heavy weight pressing down, almost crushing her.
Still she struggled.
Finn’s taxi was pulling away now.
He’d loosened his grip on her, as he’d tried to force up her skirt.
She made a grasp for the balaclava. It was a face she could never forget. She recognised it from the run-down bar, from so many mug shots.
Joe Mannion pulled off his disguise and punched her in the face. ‘So, you recognise me. Who cares? Where you’re going, folk don’t come back to tell tales.’
A bright light flashed in her eyes. For a moment, Langley thought she was dead.
‘Get off her!’ The voice was that of a young man, she remembered thinking.
‘Eh?’ Her attacker forced his crushing weight from her as he stood up.
Her head was still spinning from the blow and the shock of the attack. Langley tried to stand, but couldn’t.
‘You little shit. Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re dead, man!’ shouted Mannion.
‘Fuck off! Now! Before I change my mind.’
More words were exchanged; she couldn’t make them out.
Footsteps. Cursing. A figure leaned over her in the light of a bright torch. She recoiled, tried to shuffle away on the rough, damp floor.
‘It’s okay.’ Gently, he helped her to her feet. ‘You’ve been set up. Don’t trust anyone – and certainly not your colleagues.’
Amelia Langley remembered the first time she’d set eyes on Zander Finn. He was the man who’d saved her life . . .
*
High above, from her window on the top floor, ACC Green looked down. A scowl spread across her face. She took a sip of coffee as she stared into the middle distance. As Zander Finn disappeared into the taxi, she turned round and faced the man sitting on the other side of her large desk.
‘Nice view?’ said Donald Paton.
‘Not really. But it gives me time to think,’ said Green.
‘Not good for you, that. Thinking is overrated.’
‘Maybe, for once Langley is right. Who knows what Mr Finn will get up to next?’
‘You let people die. I told you what was happening, but you just let it go ahead.’
‘Why should I care if a significant number of very dangerous foreign criminals are taken off the streets?’
‘Innocent people could have been killed.’
‘Mr Paton, in your long years involved in organised crime, when did you ever worry about “innocent people”?’
‘I’ve always worked in a legitimate business. I never got my hands dirty that way, ever!’
‘But not so keen on paying your taxes.’
Paton shrugged and turned away from her gaze.
‘I could have you put away for a very long time, you know that. How fortunate that we struck up this little relationship last year. Before Zander Finn even reappeared. I’m so glad our paths crossed.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Well, you should be. I let you live in your nice house, with your lovely wife. I even let you go on holiday.’
‘To Devon. Very big of you.’
‘We couldn’t have you popping off abroad then deciding not to come back, could we? Anyway, your friends would have been suspicious if you hadn’t had a break. You know what you criminal types are like. It’s all about appearances.’
‘Yes,’ he replied wearily.
‘Anyway, you know what to do. I suggest you just go and do it.’
‘And what if Zander gets suspicious? He’s not stupid, you know. His father was, but he’s a very different person.’
‘Then you’ll just have to do what you’ve been doing all these years.’
‘What?’
‘Keep your head down, listen and learn, then hope for the best. Good day, Mr Paton.’
41
Zander Finn was experiencing the usual feeling when someone died at his hands: guilt.
He looked absently out of the window of the taxi he owned as it sped through the outskirts of Glasgow. He was back to protect his family, he kept telling himself, but this return had come at a cost. His best friend was already dead, and now he’d had to unleash murder and mayhem on the streets where he lived.
Murder and mayhem was never good for business, that he knew. But he’d had to act and the time had been right. The information he’d needed had fallen into his hands at just the right time.
For some reason, this thought began to trouble him.
Just at the right time.
The more Finn thought about it, the more convenient the revelation appeared. The red mist of revenge had consumed his attention. Now, though, everything seemed too convenient. But it had come from a trusted source, and he knew his blood had been running high following the death of Malky Maloney. Vengeance was the order of the day, and he had acted accordingly. After all, these were the men who might have killed Danny.
‘Drop me here,’ he said to the driver.
The car pulled up in a space on Glasgow’s Hope Street. Finn got out and tipped the man at the wheel. He needed head space, time to think, away from everyone.
He walked a few paces up the street and turned into a small bar. The sweet, warm waft of alcohol hit him as he opened the door. The place was quiet, apart from two young men who were noisily bantering at the far end of the long room. For a moment, Finn thought of finding somewhere else but reasoned that there would be few places to sit and have a quiet drink in this city without such annoyances. He nodded to the barmaid and ordered a large single malt.
The place was pleasantly old-fashioned. No blaring music, just quiet crooners and a rack of the day’s newspapers. He made to reach for one, then remembered that he knew exactly what wo
uld be in it. Instead, Finn sought out the solitude of a table by the window.
Pubs in Glasgow had – in the main – eschewed the dark windows, or no windows at all, that had once so marked out their presence on a street. Now, especially in the modern city centre, it was no longer an offence to the eye to look from the street upon people consuming alcohol. Likewise, customers inside could sit and people-watch. Finn had enjoyed people-watching all his life.
He looked at a smart man in a business suit and wondered what constituted his life, loves and loathing. Two teenage girls passed by the window arm-in-arm, high on nothing other than life and the joy of being young. The contrast between them and the old woman in the filthy, tattered raincoat tied with blue string could not have been more marked. The girls strode past her unconcerned, as she rummaged in a bin, fishing out a half-eaten burger bun.
He sighed at the sight. Life was unfair – unjust. That could just as easily have been his mother – himself, even. While the massacre of a few Albanian gangsters settled uneasily on his heart, the sight of the elderly woman now tucking into a meal served from a street bin really dragged him down.
He swallowed his whisky in one, then walked back to the bar for another. The barmaid was middle-aged, efficient and friendly, with dark, bobbed hair and a big smile.
‘You needed a drink, eh?’
‘Aye, you could say that. Another of the same, please,’ he said, as a heavy lorry thundered along Hope Street.
‘Listen, if you’re having a few, just give me a nod and I’ll bring them to your table. It’ll give me something to do. It’s always quiet at this time of day during the week. Apart from that pair.’ She gestured to the two youths at the end of the bar. One had spilled a drink down his shirt; both were the worse for wear.
‘Throw them out,’ said Finn.
‘I’d love to. But they’re friendly with the owner’s son. I need to keep this job, even though it’s shite.’ She served Finn the drink.
He walked back to his table and again stared idly out at passers-by. In a few moments he ceased to see individuals, just the hypnotic movement of people. Their ebb and flow made him think. He pictured his estranged wife, his troubled daughter, his dead son; the list went on. Though Finn tried hard to lift his spirits, no release would come.
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