Terms of Restitution

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘We’ve got to do something. We’ve got to get a hold of Zander!’

  *

  Amelia Langley opened her eyes with a start. ‘Fuck, how long have I been asleep for?’

  DS Dickie looked at his watch. ‘Just over twenty minutes, boss. You looked that knackered. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.’

  ‘Any sign of our man?’

  ‘No, and he’s not dodged out the back either.’

  ‘Right, send one of them in. And tell them to look as inconspicuous as possible.’

  Neil Dickie gave the order to unit one. In a couple of minutes, a tall man with a leather jacket appeared at the pub’s front door and entered.

  ‘Shit, he looks just like a cop with a leather jacket on. Finn will clock him in two seconds.’

  ‘Relax. He’ll be fine. And remember, big Zander’s had a few. He likely won’t be seeing straight.’

  ‘Oh, you think?’

  For Langley, the wait was excruciating. They couldn’t contact the officer inside the bar, for fear of breaking his cover. But as the seconds ticked by she began to feel more anxious. ‘Does this idiot know what he’s doing?’

  ‘Young Milroy? Aye, he’s a good lad – quick on the uptake. Keep calm.’

  A few more seconds passed. Langley looked at her watch. ‘Well, where is he?’

  As these words left her lips, Milroy walked out of the bar and looked in their direction. Once he spotted their car, he shrugged his shoulders, holding his arms out in an ‘I don’t know’ gesture.

  ‘Bastard!’ shouted Langley. ‘Come on, let’s get over there.’

  The pair left the car, crossing the busy road with care but as rapidly as they could.

  Langley was first through the door. This place was a very different prospect to Finn’s first port of call. The bar was old-fashioned, populated mainly by older men. It was dark, and a roaring fire added a feeling of claustrophobia rather than comfort. The barman was a silhouette against the bright gantry, the brightest source of light in the room.

  Langley flourished her warrant card, engendering a hush akin to that of a Western saloon when the gunslinger arrives.

  ‘Aye, what can I do for you?’ said the barman, laconically polishing a pint tumbler.

  ‘There was a man in here. He arrived over two hours ago. Tall, dark hair, with a white streak, just about here.’ She pointed to her own head to make the description clearer.

  The barman stroked his chin. ‘Wait a minute. You know, when you work in here, every bugger kind of looks the same. I’m just counting the minutes until I can go home and get my feet up.’

  Langley stepped closer to the bar. ‘Don’t play the old soldier with me. I’ll have my men pull this place apart if you don’t co-operate. Are you sure your books are up to date, or are you able to vouch for every item of stock you have on the premises?’

  ‘Okay, hold your horses. I said I was trying to remember, that’s all.’

  ‘I hate the fucking polis,’ said a voice from the back of the room. Langley looked round to see an elderly man with a white, balding head. He smiled back, revealing a brown, nicotine-stained set of teeth.

  ‘Do yourself a favour, sir,’ said Dickie.

  ‘Aye, what would that be?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, eh?’

  Langley looked back at the barman. ‘Well?’

  ‘Now you come to mention it, I do remember this guy. Tall, like – late forties, maybe.’

  ‘Yes, that’s him.’

  ‘He was feeling a bit squeamish. Your man’s had a good few, by the way.’

  ‘Is he in the toilet?’

  ‘No, he went out the fire doors for a breath of fresh air. Must have been about half an hour ago. Bugger never came back. I went out to check, and he was gone.’

  ‘Show me!’ said Langley emphatically.

  The barman led her and DS Dickie along a short corridor past doors marked out as ‘Ladies and Gents’. The third door had the tell-tale metal bar across it and was marked ‘Fire Exit’ in luminous green letters.

  ‘Open it,’ said Langley.

  The barman pushed and the door scraped open onto a narrow lane. Langley looked in both directions, then across to the neighbouring building. A fire escape zigzagged its way down its side, punctuated by fire doors similar to the one they had just stepped through on various floors.

  ‘Shite!’ exclaimed Neil Dickie.

  Langley turned to him, glaring at her detective sergeant angrily. She then turned her attention back to the barman. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Empty – used to be a carpet warehouse, but they’ve all gone online or out to the likes of Braehead.’

  Langley walked to the wall of the opposite building and leaned against it, arms outstretched against the slimy brick. A used condom was floating down a moss-encrusted gutter.

  ‘Fuck!’ she said, slapping the wall with both hands in frustration.

  46

  The barman watched the detectives run up the lane and back into the Glasgow traffic on the main road. DS Dickie just had time to look over his shoulder with a wink before the barman smiled and walked back through the fire doors, securing them from the short corridor. There was a quiet murmur of conversation as he made his way back behind the bar.

  ‘Is that the polis away, Willie?’ said the bald man.

  ‘Aye, not in very good humour, neither.’

  The toilet door opened and a head popped round it. ‘Good work, lads. I wasn’t sure you’d pull it off,’ said Zander Finn, taking his place back beside his bald friend.

  ‘Zander, I was running away from the cops when your mother was still a lassie.’

  ‘And that’s not today or yesterday, Jackie, eh?’

  ‘No, it is not. Anyway, they polis will be away scouting all over Glasgow for you now. This is the last place they’ll come back to, son.’

  ‘Aye, let’s hope you’re right because I’ve got more drinking to do. Drinks all round, Willie, and keep them coming.’

  The tiny bar settled back to business as Willie the barman catered for a sudden rush of customers.

  *

  The Finn sisters were busy collecting their things together, ready to leave the restaurant. Sandra was tired, so Kevin had agreed to take her home first, then leave Gillian back at her flat. They left a twenty-pound tip for the waiters, who had been friendly, attentive and kind.

  When the three of them stepped back into the grey light of Glasgow, Gillian felt disorientated. The same feeling she had whenever she left the cinema on a bright summer’s night. It was a sense of dislocation, of things not being quite right. She supposed the wine hadn’t helped, but she’d had such a good time. Sandra was always good company. Her sibling’s relationship with a Mannion had lessened the time she’d spent with her, even though she liked Kevin.

  She watched how attentive he was, as he helped Sandra across the road, fussing over her like an old mother hen. She could see the affection between them, even though Sandra bickered away. But that came from their grandmother, who Sandra was most like.

  Kevin had parked his BMW in a lane off Wilson Street. Crowds of smartly dressed office workers, bearded hipsters, chattering young couples, or just those looking for a change of scene, were making their way to the clubs and bars of the Merchant City. A tall, graceful woman dressed in a well-cut business suit swept past, ordering her phone to make appointments in her diary for the following day. Gillian watched them all as she headed for Kevin’s car. She often wondered what motivated people to be part of this rat race; the same thing every day. It was all a constant grind of commuting, office politics, banter and assessments. This was the reason she’d chosen acting. You just never knew what – if anything – would happen next. Former students had gone from the Conservatoire and ended up in Hollywood. Likewise, others had failed to attract work and had either abandoned the stage altogether or toiled away in restaurants, or call centres, waiting to be famous.

  Gillian wasn’t too bothered about the uncertain nat
ure of the profession she’d chosen. In fact, she was galvanised by the idea of the challenge; of meeting new people and working in new places. She knew, for her, money would never be an object. She reasoned that she was fortunate – she saw herself walking the tightrope with a large safety net beneath her. But hey, the way things were with her family, she reckoned that she more than deserved a break, some compensation for the stress and heartbreak of being one of the notorious Finn clan.

  ‘That’s us,’ said Kevin, as he pointed the key fob at his car. ‘Jump in, ladies.’

  Gillian heard the phone ring in her handbag.

  ‘Mum’s in one of her needy moods today, that’s for sure,’ Sandra observed.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll wait until I get home and have another glass of wine in my hand before I call her back.’

  ‘That’s big of you. I wouldn’t bother. I’m afraid her and I have little in common these days.’

  ‘Don’t cut her off, Sandra. She’ll always be our mum.’

  ‘And she’ll always behave like a randy teenager. We haven’t spoken in a while.’

  Gillian shrugged. There wasn’t much she could say in her mother’s defence on that score. But nonetheless, she still loved her.

  Soon they were back in the rush-hour traffic, heading for Sandra and Kevin’s flat.

  *

  ‘I’m his mother, not his keeper,’ said Maggie Finn, as she and Senga headed along the M8 in Senga’s SUV.

  ‘I’m his wife, and I’ve never known what the fuck he gets up to.’

  Maggie looked out of the window wistfully. ‘His father was just the same.’

  ‘I remember. Will you try Zander again? I know he just won’t pick up for me, anyway.’

  ‘There’s no point. If he’s off on a guilt trip, he won’t speak to anyone apart from the old worthies he enjoys the company of so much.’

  ‘And you’re sure he’s not in some dive in Paisley?’

  ‘Come on, Senga. He’s not going out in Paisley after something like this has happened – or Renfrew, Johnstone or Bridge of Weir. He used to go to some place, but I can’t remember where it is. If Malky was here, he’d know.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here.’

  That Maggie Finn didn’t get on with her daughter-in-law was a given. But she always admired the protectiveness she displayed when anything happened to her children. She supposed it was only natural, an instinct most parents could hardly avoid, though she knew a good few exceptions.

  She had seen straight away that Senga was worried – frightened, even. So she was doing her best to appear as calm as possible, despite the cold grip on her heart.

  ‘If anything else happens, I’ll never forgive myself.’ Tears were flowing down Senga’s cheeks now.

  ‘You’ve got to keep it together. We have to find the lassies and Zander, that’s all.’

  ‘All? If you could remember where his haunts in Glasgow are, we might stand a chance.’

  Maggie stared at her. ‘And you know there’s something else we have to do.’

  ‘But who can we trust now? I mean . . .’

  ‘We can trust ourselves, Senga! Fuck, I thought you’d been in charge for the last two years.’

  ‘I was kidding myself on. Sure, the money came in, but we know now that everything was a bloody mess – all fucking lies.’

  ‘We all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Huh! That’s the first time I’ve heard that.’

  ‘Well, you’re hearing it now. You concentrate on driving. I need to speak to somebody.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That’s my business. But if they can help, do you have an objection?’

  ‘No.’ Senga sounded weary and troubled. The traffic slowed again as they were snarled up in the thousands of cars making their way to and from the city.

  *

  Gillian Finn said goodbye to her sister and watched as Kevin helped her out of the car, then down the path to the flat they shared. This was Hyndland, the west of Glasgow, and everything was leafy and well kept, save for the odd gang tag on a wall here and there. It was a signal to the affluent that they should always look over their shoulders. After all, they might be rich, but this was Glasgow.

  Sandra had invited her up for a glass of wine, but Gillian felt she’d taken up enough of her sister’s time, and Kevin seemed anxious to get on.

  He returned to the car after a few minutes, a broad smile spread across his face. Gillian tried to picture a young Joe Mannion and reckoned that Kevin was a reasonable facsimile. He was tall, his hair receding – something of which he was very self-conscious. But though they looked the same, Kevin had none of his father’s bluster and bullying arrogance. If anything, he was withdrawn and rather shy. She liked these qualities. She had been unhappy that her family were unwilling to give him a chance, just because of who his father was. After all, she was in the same boat. Her recent experience with Kirsty proved that. Gillian hadn’t asked to be part of one of Scotland’s most notorious crime families, and neither had Kevin. She supposed they had a bond because of it.

  Then she thought how different their respective families were. Her father – even her mother, come to that – were determined that their children wouldn’t be tainted by the ‘family’ business. They’d encouraged all four of them to go and make their own lives. The fact that Sandra had struck up a relationship with the son of their father’s archenemy was another thing entirely. Also, the fact Danny had refused to do anything but join his father wasn’t really the fault of their parents. Then she thought of Robbie, and said a silent prayer that he would be okay.

  ‘Want to know a little secret?’ Kevin grinned at her.

  ‘As long as it’s a good one.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I want to show you something.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, it’s a pram.’

  ‘Not even close.’

  Gillian saw a bead of sweat on Kevin’s brow. ‘Are you feeling okay? You look hot.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, actually I think I might be coming down with something. I feel a bit fluey, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Man flu – you better tell Sandra, though. If you do have anything, it wouldn’t be good for her and the baby.’

  ‘Yeah, I will.’

  Gillian was sure she could detect nervousness in his smile. After all, she was being trained to portray emotion with a raised brow here and a turned-down mouth there. It was part and parcel of the acting trade. But something told her that Kevin was doing his best to hide his feelings rather than display them.

  ‘Is it our family? I wouldn’t blame you if you were getting cold feet, Kevin.’

  ‘No, nothing like that, honestly. Though it’s not been easy, you know that. I thought your father was going to set about me when we were at your gran’s the other day.’

  ‘He would never do that – well, at least not at my gran’s.’

  ‘Thanks, you’re really putting my mind at ease.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Gillian laughed, and some of the tension seemed to disappear from Kevin’s face. ‘So, this big secret, what is it?’

  ‘I’m just about to show you.’

  Kevin Mannion turned his car onto Great Western Road.

  47

  At last, Zander Finn was relaxed. The alcohol was having a soothing effect on his soul. Though he knew that tomorrow, along with a hangover, would come even more acute feelings of guilt and shame. It was a process he’d been dealing with for as long as he could remember. He’d fallen into this way of life when his father was murdered. And that murder had shaped him. The will to succeed, to be stronger than anyone else had, in his twenties, driven him to the kind of ruthless actions he’d ordered against the Albanians. But that act had in turn been driven by the murder of his friend Malky Maloney.

  It was a cycle of violence, and he was well aware of it. If you were a barber, you cut hair. If you were a lumberjack, you cut down trees. If you were a surgeon, you cut people open. If you were in his line of work . . . we
ll, you did what you had to do to prosper and survive.

  But Finn had promised himself something. Now he’d rid himself of the Albanians, and addressed the problems with Joe Mannion, that was it. He was going straight, legitimate. He could do it. With all the threats to his family and friends removed, he would concentrate on building up Chancellor Fabrications. The rest of the crew could go on as normal, but they could do so by themselves; he wanted no part of it.

  He remembered the feeling of having no pressure in his life for two years. It had been like being reborn. All he had to do was wake up in the morning, get himself out of the door, and help people. He’d amazed himself how quickly he’d adapted to driving the old people about. He’d made friends with them – well, most of them. Some were more challenging – like his mother, he supposed.

  Then he was caught up with the guilt of wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t returned, if he had refused to listen to Maloney’s pleas to come back to Paisley.

  Zander was aware of Jackie asking him a question. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘Aye, I could see that.’ The old man mashed his gums together. ‘You surprise me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘My boys, aye, and their weans too. Never have they phones out of their hands. I’ve not seen you look at one since you arrived.’

  ‘You know, you’re right. I better switch the bloody thing back on and see what I’ve been missing.’ Finn reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the smartphone. He realised he hadn’t switched it on since being released from custody earlier that morning.

  He chatted to his old friend as the phone booted up. As expected, the pings and bleeps of notifications sounded as the mobile came back to life. He ignored them as he listened to the end of a joke.

  ‘And the woman says, “Not with that horse in the room.”’ They both burst into fits of drunken laughter.

  Wiping tears from his eyes, Finn picked up the phone and stared at the screen. He had a lot of phone messages. He dialled the number to retrieve them.

  As he listened, his smile disappeared and his face became pale.

  ‘Willie, have you got a motor?’