Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6

by Anna Smith

  ‘Aye, of course, but that bloke. He was quite insulting to me and my son. Quite intimidating, actually.’

  Nikki cursed under her breath. Trust that big bastard to open his mouth and bully somebody. He couldn’t help being a complete arsehole. She bit her lip and prayed Julie would be able to think on her feet.

  ‘Oh him? He’s a bit of a cave-dweller sometimes. Sorry about that. He wouldn’t mean any harm by it. I’ll have a serious word with him.’ She grimaced. ‘Sometimes he just comes out with things and he doesn’t even engage his brain.’ She looked at the son, who stared back. ‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to apologise. It’s not as if he’s going to be a regular. Though he might back in the next few days, and then that will be it. I’ll make it clear to him that he can’t go around insulting people – especially yourselves. I’m very sorry.’

  O’Neill didn’t look like he was for shifting, and Nikki was beginning to get nervous.

  ‘Look,’ he finally said. ‘It’s none of our business. I mean, you’ve rented the house and it’s up to you what you do and who you have round here. But I just want to be clear. I don’t want any trouble here. That big bloke looked to me like a gangster or something.’

  The silence hung for two beats. Julie shifted her grip on the cake tray and raised her hand dismissively.

  ‘Listen, Mr O’Neill. Don’t worry. There will be no trouble. I promise you.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with us being here? We’re really happy. It’s a great house. But I mean . . . if there’s a problem . . .’

  Nikki saw the wife jab a not very subtle elbow into her man’s ribs.

  ‘No. There’s no problem,’ she said. ‘James was just a little annoyed at your visitor. His attitude. He was rude to Euan. But really, you’re fine here, and to be honest, it suits us to rent the house as it brings a bit more money in. With Euan not able to work now to the same extent, things can get a bit tight.’

  O’Neill glared at his wife.

  ‘Martha, don’t be telling people our life story, for Christ’s sake.’

  She looked at the ground, embarrassed.

  ‘Anyway,’ O’Neill said. ‘As long as everything’s alright, ladies, and you’re fine here, and you’re not in any trouble . . .’

  Nikki detected a look in his eye. He knew something.

  ‘No, thanks. We’re all good here.’

  Nikki could barely keep her face straight at Julie’s performance. She was so jovial, she could have been serving tea on the WRVS stall.

  ‘Oh well. Enjoy the cake!’

  ‘You bet. Thanks a million!’

  The two of them watched as the O’Neill’s headed across the yard and up the path. When they were out of earshot, Nikki nudged Julie.

  ‘That old bugger is suspicious. I told you. ‘

  ‘Nah, don’t worry. Let’s get our lunch and then we can get wired into this baby.’

  *

  James O’Neill cleared his plate and pushed it away from him. He gave his mouth a wipe with the square of kitchen roll his wife had left as a napkin and pushed his chair back.

  ‘Right. That’s me fed and watered. Now I’d better go and do the same for the pigs, before they start squealing.’

  ‘Will I help you, Da?’ Euan soaked the remains of the baked beans up with a chunk of crusty bread.

  ‘No, son. You just batter into those accounts this afternoon, so we can see where we are. I’ll manage myself. I need to go and check the silage tank as well.’

  ‘Alright.’

  James grabbed his padded jacket off the hook in the back porch, but he could still see Euan sitting staring down at the table. He could read his son’s mind and immediately felt a stab of guilt. Maybe he should have just told him to come out and help with feeding the pigs. But it was freezing outside, and Euan in the wheelchair was chilled to the bone within five minutes because he wasn’t able to move around the way he used to. Time was when he’d have been working in the dead of winter with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and wouldn’t even feel the cold because he was moving from one task to the other like a machine. It broke his heart to look at him now, a broken man and not yet thirty. He would never stride in from the fields on a Friday afternoon and head for the shower, then come back out looking like a strapping film star ready for action. A handsome and talented rugby player whose name was first on the team sheet every Saturday, Euan was the glint in the eye of every eager girl at the Young Farmers’ nights. But look at him now. At least he was alive, James had to keep reminding himself in his darker moments. But it killed him to watch his brain-damaged son struggling to form certain words. One time he’d seen him in tears with frustration when he’d watched through Euan’s bedroom door as he’d tried time and again to stand up, each time falling on the floor. He didn’t even have the heart to go in and pick him up, because he knew it would make him feel worse.

  But at least Euan had survived the awful night when the thugs nearly kicked him to death outside some club in Glasgow where he and his mates had gone while out on the town for a stag party. For three months, Martha had more or less lived at the hospital at his bedside, willing him to come out of the coma. His teammates and farmer pals all rallied round and visited every day. But in time the visits trailed off and it was just him and Martha. When their son woke up, Martha claimed it was a miracle and that her prayers to some saint or other had been answered. But what they got back was what was left of Euan. The brain damage had affected the nerves that operated his legs. He would never walk again. That was how the surgeon had put it, in stark simple terms. His son’s life as he knew it was over. He had had to learn to speak again, and even now, four years on, he still had difficulty. His mind was sharp as a tack, but the communication was sometimes a problem. Any girlfriends who visited initially had come and gone, because the big lad they all fancied wasn’t there any more. He was now a weaker, thinner version, losing his hair, forever dependent on his parents. And money was tighter too. James couldn’t afford to take on another farmhand so he doubled his own work, but had to leave a couple of fields just for silage and cattle feed. Even the pigs, which didn’t seem such hard work before, were now more difficult to deal with. The machine ground down all the waste so it was just a matter of feeding them, but it was time-consuming, as it used to be Euan who went out with the van, picking up all the discarded foodstuff and waste from various shops, restaurants and houses.

  James went into the pig yard, then through into the back of the building where the machine was. The pigs followed him, bumping into him, nipping at his wellies and he jerked his feet, kicking them out of the way. He switched on the lever and collected some food, then scattered it into the troughs, watching them. When he came outside to the yard he stood gazing across at the afternoon growing greyer, the sky full of rain. He saw the girls switch on the light on the cottage. They seemed nice enough. Euan had stayed there before the attack, but it was more convenient with his disability for him to move back to the house with his parents. He pondered, not for the first time, who the women were. They didn’t seem to go to work. He’d wondered at first if they were a couple of lesbians who wanted to be away from everyone. Or maybe they were shady characters in hiding? But he told himself couldn’t be thinking of all sorts of crap like that. Live and let live – though he was seriously raging at that big bastard who pushed him around the other day. Who did he think he was? Some slimy fucker in a shiny suit and a big car coming onto his property and sneering at him! If Euan had been fit he’d have decked him straight away, and a few years ago James might have knocked him out himself for his cheek. But he had to stand there and take it now. Shame washed over him. That’s what was burning his gut more than anything since yesterday. Then, a thought came to him. That girl Nikki with the half arm all bandaged. It must have been some kind of accident, he’d assumed when he first saw her. But something was at the back of his mind about a girl with an arm cut off, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Now he remembered. There had been a story in the Post a few weeks
ago about some girl found on the motorway near Glasgow with her arm cut off. She’d nearly died. Could that be her? He remembered the police saying they were trying to identify her. Perhaps it was just his vivid imagination, but with that big guy turning up yesterday . . . He walked towards his house. Maybe he should phone the cops anonymously and ask if they’d found the girl yet. Just out of curiosity.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ezra Berkley’s shop was tucked away at the far end of Glasgow’s Argyle Arcade, the last in a line of jewellers whose windows sparkled with glittering promises. Diamond engagement rings – solitaires, two-and-a-twist or three-in-a-straight – twinkled under the lights alongside eternity rings declaring that love would never die. Ezra Berkley’s shop wouldn’t be the place where eager young girls dragged their boyfriends to savour the delights in the window, though – there were many other shopfronts that looked more attractive than his little place. But Gordy MacLean knew that Ezra’s customers were not the kind who browsed for gifts. Ezra was a fence who could shift a gold Rolex watch or a diamond ring before its rightful owner even noticed it was missing. It was a family dynasty for the portly little man. They used to say that Ezra’s father, Ave, had moved more stolen jewellery than any of the Nazis had plundered from Jewish homes in the bad old days. Ave Berkley was a Holocaust survivor who saw his family perish in the concentration camp at Treblinka, and anyone who got close enough to call him a friend would listen respectfully as he re-lived his darkest days. He never forgot them, and he made sure his son Ezra didn’t either. Gordy remembered his father taking him into the shop when he was only nine years old. Ave had told him that he was his age when the Nazis took him and his family from the ghetto where they’d been living in squalor. Gordy had sat wide-eyed, enthralled, listening along with Ezra, a couple of years older than him. Ezra used to nod gravely, proud that this was who they were, and this was why they were the chosen people. At his young age, Gordy had never quite understood that part. Gordy’s father used to bring Ave the proceeds of armed robberies – rings, bracelets and watches – and he would examine them, and pay whatever sum they agreed. By the time the police had come to investigate, the place was clean as a whistle and Ave would be hunched over his table, eyeglass fixed to his face, as if he’d been born that way. Gordy’s father had always told him that the old Jew would never sell him down the river at any price, but he had to remember: Ave wasn’t in this to make friends. He was a fence, and a good one, and money was his only game. As long as he never forgot that.

  Now as Gordy slipped into the shop, he could see through to the back office where Ezra was sitting in exactly the same way his father had. The teenage boy at the counter nodded to Gordy and disappeared into the back.

  ‘Gordy, ma boy. Come in.’ Ezra’s husky, jovial voice came through from the office.

  Gordy lifted the clip on the underside of the counter and went behind.

  ‘Daniel,’ Ezra said to his son, without even looking up. ‘Make us some tea, boy.’

  Ezra turned around, taking his eyeglass out. His heavy features crinkled into a smile. His silver hair was slicked back in waves, his widow’s peak cutting into his deep furrowed forehead and leathery complexion from long holidays in Tel Aviv.

  ‘How are you, Gordy? It’s been a while.’ Ezra cleared a leather chair piled with papers and boxes so he could sit down.

  ‘I know, Ezra. I’ve been so busy with the club and stuff. Few wee business deals here and there – and the property stuff is building up well.’

  ‘You’ll soon be for the easy life on the Costa then, my friend.’

  ‘Yeah. One of these fine days. If I’m honest, I’m ready for it sooner rather than later. I’m puffed out with all this shit now. Too many pricks around – Turks, Albanians and all these fuckers from Eastern Europe. They want a slice of everything nowadays.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve had a couple of Russians in here looking to buy, but I won’t deal with them. I don’t know who these people are. I don’t need to do business with men who might get me killed. I’m ready to retire too. Soon, I hope.’

  Daniel came in and put the mugs of coffee on the table, along with a small jug of milk. Ezra reached up to a shelf and brought down a small white bowl of sugar.

  ‘I’m supposed to be off it.’ He put his finger to his lips. ‘Rina . . . She’s always at me to lose the stomach.’ He patted his round belly. ‘So. Tell me your story, Gordy. What you got for me? I’m looking forward to this. You were so vague on the phone.’

  ‘I know, mate. But you never know who’s listening.’

  Ezra nodded.

  ‘I hate to talk on the phone about business.’

  Gordy went into his pocket and pulled out the small envelope and reached inside to bring out the handkerchief. He unfolded it and placed it on the table.

  Ezra looked at the small whiteish lump, squinting, but didn’t touch it. He took a sip of his coffee. Then he reached for his eyeglass, glancing across to Gordy before he put it in. He pursed his lips.

  ‘My, my . . . What kind of people are you dancing with these days, Gordy?’

  Gordy didn’t answer for a moment, but Ezra waited.

  ‘I acquired it,’ he eventually said. ‘There’s more of them. Rough diamonds.’

  Ezra gave a wry smile.

  ‘I know what it is. But what I don’t know, is why? Why do you have this? Or these, if, as you say, there are more.’

  ‘There are more. Quite a lot more, I think.’

  ‘Are you in the smuggling game these days?’

  ‘No.’ Gordy shifted in his seat. ‘Come on, Ezra. Just look at the fucking thing. Put me out of my misery here.’

  Ezra snorted, his lips curling. He leaned over his table.

  ‘I know before I even lift it that it looks good.’

  Gordy felt a little glow in his gut.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Let me have a look.’

  Ezra picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, then placed it in the palm of his hand and rolled it over a few times with his finger. Then he lifted it again and put it close to his eye. Gordy was barely breathing as he watched him in anticipation. Ezra said nothing, just kept turning it around, making little noises through his nose as he concentrated. Then he lifted a small blade next to him and scraped the stone a little, then polished it. All the time, Gordy sat like an expectant father. He fought the urge to get up and pace the room. He’d no idea really how many more of these there were, because Vanner had been vague about it, but there were obviously more than half a dozen if he was in this much of a lather to get them back.

  Eventually, Ezra put the diamond back down and sat back. He let out a soft whistle.

  ‘She’s a little beauty. She will either make you happy, or put a nail in your coffin.’

  Gordy looked at him, surprised.

  ‘What you saying that for, man?’

  ‘Because, unless you are in the smuggling business, then I can guarantee that someone is looking for this – and the others.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Gordy said shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Word gets around. Something valuable goes missing, it’s not just the cops who come here looking for it. The victim sometimes comes too, to give me a message.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Johnny Vanner.’

  Gordy felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. He could feel his whole body deflating. Surely he hadn’t walked into a fucking trap here?

  ‘Fuck me!’

  ‘Oh, I think so, Gordy. But not in a good way.’

  ‘So. How do you know? Has Vanner been in touch?’

  ‘Not him. Not personally. That piece of shit knows better than that. But, let’s just say I got the gypsy warning from one of his people. I got a phone call a few days ago, saying that some goods belonging to one of his associates had gone missing. Stolen, he said. And now there is all sorts of heat on Vanner.’ He shrugged. ‘Like I bloody care about him.’

  Gordy felt a little relieved
. Even if Ezra’s life depended on it, he would never do a deal with Johnny Vanner. Ezra hadn’t forgiven him for the day he’d walked in here fifteen years ago and slapped his father up and down the room, calling him an ugly little Yid who should have been gassed by the Nazis. Vanner had been chasing some stolen jewellery then too, that had been robbed from him, even though it was he who did the initial armed robbery, leaving a man and a woman to die of dehydration after being tied up in their bedroom for two weeks. Someone must have told him that the jewels had been moved to the fence in Glasgow, and Vanner didn’t even stop to ask or reason. As it happened, Ave had never even seen the haul. But Ezra had never forgotten the humiliation and how his father couldn’t fight back. He had fought so long in the concentration camps that he was too tired to fight any more.

  ‘So,’ Gordy said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Well. I will give you my professional assessment first. You probably won’t understand it, so let me explain. A rough diamond this size, as you see, looks like nothing. But a lot of it is in the colour. They come in brown, sandy-coloured and white. Like this. White is the most valuable. I have to cut and examine it to see how deep it is, look at the facets. But from what I can see here, you have at least one clean carat in here. And once I get to that and shape it, it will be worth about twenty to twenty-five thousand alone.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘What do the others look like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen them.’

  ‘So you don’t have them.’

  ‘No. Not yet. But I’m getting them in the next couple of days.’

  Ezra breathed in and sat back, clasping his hands across his stomach, steepling his two forefingers.

  ‘Its not my business, but who has them?’

  ‘Don’t ask. It’s irrelevant. I’m getting them. That’s all that matters. So what was the message? I mean, what did Vanner’s man say?’ Gordy knew he sounded anxious.