Face in the Frame

by Heather Atkinson

  “I don’t have any on my computer,” said Pete.

  “Me neither,” said Weasel.

  “You’re both lying bastards. Every man does.”

  “Listen Brodie,” sighed Pete, massaging the bridge of his nose. “If there was something to find we would have found it. Now I know it’s not gone the way you would have liked but the man has no secrets. Can you please just let it go?”

  “This proves nothing. If he is murdering people then he’s not going to put it on his social media profile, is he?”

  The muscle in Pete’s jaw throbbed. “Speaking from my years of experience as a police officer I say there’s nothing to find. Leave the man alone.”

  Brodie looked at the Weasel. “What do you think?”

  “Me?” he said, surprised to be asked.

  “Aye. You’re used to snooping through people’s private stuff. What do you think?”

  “I think he’s okay.” He swallowed hard when Brodie looked furious. “But I might be wrong.”

  “Aye you are you silly wee sod. If that’s all the help you’re going to be then you can both bugger off.”

  “Charming,” said Pete. He scooped up the laptop in one meaty hand. “I’ll take that thank you.”

  “Oy, you cannae take that,” protested the Weasel. “It’s private property and you don’t have a warrant.”

  Pete thrust his face into his. “I can always get one. At the same time I can tell my colleagues that you get your jollies from hacking into people’s private accounts.”

  “Alright, keep the laptop,” he squeaked.

  “You’ll get it back once I’m certain it contains nothing that could be used in criminal activity and once I’m certain all Lucas Thorne’s information has been properly wiped.”

  “Fine,” mumbled the Weasel, getting to his feet. “You promised me cash.”

  “Here you go,” said Brodie, dumping two pounds in his hands.

  The Weasel gaped at him. “You promised me two hundred.”

  “Aye I did. Two hundred pence.”

  “Hey, you can’t do that.”

  “Did I sign a contract? Course not. Now do one before my friend here pulls out his handcuffs.”

  “I’m gone,” he said before running out the door.

  “You’re a sly bastard,” Pete told Brodie.

  “I prefer the word wily. You gonnae stand there all day with that nippy sweetie look on your ugly mug.”

  Pete unpursed his lips. “I turn a blind eye when you’re working for a good cause Brodie but I won’t let you sink yourself because of your crush. Pull yourself together for fuck’s sake or I’ll nick you myself.”

  With that Pete left too, trembling with indignity, leaving Brodie alone with his miserable thoughts.

  CHAPTER 8

  Robbie shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the high street. It was bloody chilly tonight and the cold was seeping through his sleeping bag and clothes and into his arse. He’d end up with piles again, he knew it.

  His insides twisted and his hands shook. It was time for his next hit but he didn’t have enough cash. After begging all day he’d managed to scrape together seven pounds and sixty eight pence. Not enough. Soon that horrible agony would start up again, the pull of his heroin habit, and he had no way to assuage it.

  Eventually he realised a shadow was looming over him. He looked up to see a hazy figure standing there. Robbie flinched when fingers touched his jaw. Was there really someone there or was it his imagination? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hallucinated while desperate for a hit. All he could do was sit there, rigid as those fingers continued to explore his jaw line, sliding up his cheek and along his forehead. Robbie was almost glad of the contact, it had been so long since anyone had touched him, except to hit him when they tried to steal his shoes.

  “I like your face,” said the voice. “I want it.”

  “You can have what you want. Just gie’ me the cash,” he replied, not thinking through the stranger’s words, not really hearing what he wanted from him.

  “I will. Come on,” said the stranger.

  Robbie quickly gathered up his meagre possessions and followed the stranger, not caring what he wanted or where he was taking him. All he could think about was the cash he’d soon have which he could use to buy his drugs.

  Brodie’s hands mashed themselves into fists when Cass entered the office the next morning with a soppy grin on her face.

  “I take it that face means you saw Lucas last night?” he said.

  “I did and we had a great time. He’s so sweet and clever, he’s unlike any man I’ve ever dated before. He’s such a gentleman but he had to go straight to work after our date, a problem came up at his exhibition.”

  “Yeah, that’s great,” he said to his desktop. Still, at least that meant they hadn’t had the chance to shag.

  The office door opened and a man with chin length black hair streaked with grey and matching beard walked in. His face was scarred, two thick lines extending out from either corner of his mouth, making it look like he was smiling when in fact he was doing just the opposite.

  “Hail Caesar,” grinned Brodie.

  “Yeah, like I’ve no’ heard that one before, ya prick,” spat Caesar, lieutenant in the infamous McVay clan, Glasgow’s most feared criminal family.

  “Oooh, someone climbed out from under his rock the wrong side this morning. What the fuck do you want?”

  “Toni wants a word with you. You’re lucky she’s fond of you otherwise I’d be throwing you out the bastarding window.”

  “You’re optimistic Caesar, I’ll give you that but just try it and see where it gets you. I’ll rip your fucking goatee off.”

  “Boys, please,” said a husky voice.

  A striking-looking woman emerged in the office draped in a floor length white fur coat, glossy curly black hair hanging down her back, a huge diamond necklace nestling in her impressive cleavage. Toni McVay was the head of the most powerful and violent crime family not only in Glasgow but in the whole of Scotland.

  “Toni,” smiled Brodie, leaning back in his seat. “Off to the opera?”

  “I love your wit Brodie, fortunately,” she replied.

  “And everyone says you don’t have a sense of humour. Why are you darkening my door?”

  “I have a little problem,” she began putting on her most flirtatious smile. She turned to Cass. “Hello Cassandra, you’re looking lovely as always,” she said, running her eyes over her appreciatively. “I don’t know how Brodie gets any work done with you hanging around.”

  “It’s simple Antoinette. He doesn’t,” she said wryly, making Brodie frown, using Toni’s full name on purpose. She hated being called Antoinette as much as Cass hated being called Cassandra.

  “Listen Toni,” said Brodie, drawing her attention back to himself. “I’m not interested in any problem your family has. I spent most of my police career trying to bring the lot of you down.”

  “Frankie found your attempts very entertaining but he respected you, said you were the only smart man he’d ever met, that is until he met someone in Manchester by the name of Ryan Law. Apparently he’s even smarter than you and I’m forced to agree. Unfortunately he’s not here. But you are.”

  “You never did get the hang of flattery, did you? Anyway you can bugger off, I don’t do favours for gangsters.”

  Toni’s black eyes turned cold. “I’m not a gangster, I’m a businesswoman.”

  “Save it doll, I know exactly what you are and I’m not interested.”

  “Do you want war on the streets of Glasgow?”

  “Let me guess, the Ferguson’s are having a go at you again? Well you can sod off. I want nothing to do with it.”

  “It’s not that pack of pathetic scavengers,” she hissed, black eyes gleaming. “It’s Big Malc.”

  “Your cousin? What’s that big thick bastard done?”

  “He’s been a very silly boy. I was perfectly happy to allow him to continue to deal his weed but
now he’s branched out into the harder drugs, going into direct competition with me. He needs putting in his place.”

  “So do it then.”

  “I would be very happy to punish him but my Uncle Tam is hesitant.” Uncle Tam was second-in-command of the McVay clan, brother to Toni’s mother and as big a lunatic as his niece. “He wants to encourage him to do the sensible thing and return to the fold, he did raise him for being a young child.”

  “And because I saved Malc’s life once and he feels he owes me you want me to try and keep the peace?”

  “I don’t need you to keep the peace, I’m going to crush Big Malc,” she scowled.

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to get your friend Detective Inspector McLaren to back off, just for a little while anyway, until this situation with Malc is resolved.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Everything’s in a delicate balance right now. One wrong move and the situation will explode and people will die.”

  “If it’s a bunch of lowlife gangsters dying, then good. For all I care the lot of you can kill each other.”

  “But it’s not just the guilty who get caught up in these wars, it’s the innocent too.”

  “Just who are you fucking threatening?” he demanded, amber eyes gleaming with anger.

  “No one, just a statement of fact,” she said sweetly. “Your intervention could save lives.”

  “Lives will be saved if the lot of you were rounded up and locked away for life.” His grin broadened. “This isn’t about Big Malc, is it? Pete’s getting close to you.”

  “I find your faith in your friend sweet but no, that’s not it. However he does keep my competitors busy, which makes me inclined to like him. Big Malc has got a high-ranking polis in his pocket.”

  “It’s not Pete,” he practically snarled.

  “I’m well aware of that and I’d hardly call a DI high-ranking, but Big Malc is putting pressure on his friend to put a stop to Pete’s clampdown on organised crime. However as yet his friend’s attempts have all failed because Pete is so wonderfully unrelenting. I expect he’s a wonder in bed.”

  “You’ve not seen his hair lately.”

  “And Big Malc isn’t taking kindly to the fact that his high-ranking friend is failing and it’s making him very angry.”

  “Are you saying Pete’s in danger?”

  “He could be, if he doesn’t back off.”

  “No, this doesn’t make sense. Why would you care what happens to Pete? And surely you have an even higher ranking polis in your pocket. Get them on it instead.”

  “I do but in order for this city to operate smoothly certain balances need to be maintained. Detective Inspector McLaren’s efforts have been interfering with my activities but they’ve been interfering with Malc’s much more and I want it to stay that way.”

  “So Malc’s kept too busy fending off the polis to mess with you?”

  “As always you’ve hit the nail on the head. Plus the death of a police officer does no one any good, it puts the spotlight on families like mine and Malc is reckless and stupid enough to kill a polis. In order to carry on the good work your friend needs to stay alive.”

  “Message received. You’ve said your piece now you can bugger off.”

  “I leave when I’m ready Brodie, you know that.”

  “There’s always a first. I’ve got a more direct route for you to take, head first out the fucking window.”

  “Don’t you speak to Ms McVay like that,” spat Caesar.

  “Hauld your wheesht ya dick,” yelled Brodie, jumping to his feet.

  When Caesar advanced on him Cass stood by Brodie’s side, both of them ready to take him on, which didn’t seem to perturb Caesar in the slightest.

  “Caesar, that’s enough,” said Toni. “Please stop winding him up Brodie, he’ll get all tense.” She eyed Caesar with a lascivious smile. “I’ll enjoy relaxing him when we get home.”

  “Urgh,” said Brodie. “I suggest you both do one, you’re not getting any help from me in your war against Big Malc McVay. Why don’t you get Ryan Law to help if he’s so smart?”

  “I don’t think that would be wise. I suspect he killed Frankie.”

  “I’d like to shake his hand.”

  “You’d better watch your fucking mouth,” she spat.

  “It doesn’t take much for the ladylike image to fall, does it Toni? Don’t get me wrong, I liked Frankie. At least I could have a laugh with him, even if he was a mincy-heid. If you think Ryan Law topped Frankie then why is he still breathing?”

  “I take it you’ve heard of Ryan?”

  Brodie nodded. “Ryan and Rachel are more infamous than you.”

  “I have certain interests in the north of England who would be upset if I had them killed and they make me a lot of money. Nothing can interfere with making money.”

  “Then ask your English friends to help. Now get out of my office.”

  “One day Brodie you’ll need me and I’ll tell you just what you’ve told me.”

  “The day I need someone like you is the day I sign myself into the loony bin. Do one.”

  Brodie was the only person in the whole of Glasgow with the guts to talk to Toni McVay like that and, strangely, she respected him for it. “It’s always a treat coming to see you Brodie but you’re making a mistake.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first. Go on, out, before someone realises you’re here.”

  At that point Ross and Christian entered, both yawning. They abruptly woke up when they saw Toni and Caesar standing in the office.

  “Hold the door open for Ms McVay will you Christian?” said Brodie. “I know she does like a man to act like a gentleman.”

  “How well you know me,” she purred at him. “Caesar, we’re leaving.”

  “About time too,” said Caesar and Brodie in unison, causing them to scowl at each other.

  They marched from the room, Christian slamming the door shut behind them.

  “Are you sure that was wise?” Cass said to Brodie. “One day you’re going to push her too far. She might act all civilised and ladylike but underneath she’s as big a loony as her brother.”

  “Wrong, she’s more of a loony than he was,” replied Brodie. “With Frankie what you saw was what you got but she’s better at hiding it, which makes her even more dangerous. It’s hard to know what’s going on in that curly heid of hers.”

  “Exactly. One day you might wake up to find she’s scooped out your eyeballs and added them to her collection. Maybe a bit of discretion will be called for next time?”

  “Discretion my arse. I don’t pussy-foot round scum like that. But I will call Pete. You two,” he said, jabbing a finger at Christian and Ross, who both rolled their eyes and yawned. “Get yourselves a coffee, you look knackered. It’s making me tired just looking at you.”

  “You have been working them hard lately,” said Cass, fussing over them with the coffee pot and a box of biscuits as Brodie made his call.

  He retreated into his office to speak to Pete, not wanting to get his colleagues caught up in this if he could help it. He looked up at the poster of Nicola Sturgeon on his wall and sighed. “I bet you don’t have to put up with shite like this hen.”

  “Who are you calling hen?” Pete’s voice said in his ear.

  “Nicola.”

  “Talking to your poster again?” he replied, a smile in his voice.

  “Sometimes it’s the only sensible conversation I get. Got time to talk?”

  “Not now Brodie, I’m going out on a shout.”

  “Alright but you call me back right away. It’s important.”

  “It’s not to do with Lucas sodding Thorne is it?”

  “No it’s not. It’s to do with a certain Mrs T who just paid me a visit.” This was their code for Toni McVay. “And you really want to hear what she had to say.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you back the second I get a chance,” he panted. Clearly he was runn
ing.

  “You’d better, as long as you don’t give me any more of your heavy breathing, it’s disturbing.”

  Brodie hung up, hoping he didn’t take too long about it. After perching on the edge of his desk for a few minutes to think he leapt to his feet and strode back into the main office. “I’m going to see Big Malc,” he announced.

  “Is that necessary?” said Cass.

  “Toni had a point. If it all kicks off between Big Malc and Toni then Glasgow’s mortuaries are going to be kept bloody busy.”

  “Let the police handle it. We have other cases to deal with.”

  “Pete’s my pal, if I can help him out I will. God knows he helps me out enough on cases.”

  “I don’t like you getting caught up in this. What if Toni does go running to her Mancunian friends? We’re going to have the Maguires and Laws thrown into the mix. You should stay well out of it.”

  “That might be more difficult than you think.”

  “No it’s not. Like you said, let the lot of them kill each other.”

  “Like Toni said, innocent people get caught up in gang wars.”

  “Well if you insist on seeing Big Malc I’m coming with you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes it is. No arguing,” she said determinedly.

  He loved it when she showed she cared about him. “Alright, I know it’s useless to argue with you when you’ve got your mind set on something. Let’s go.” He looked to Christian and Pete. “You two, try not to break anything while we’re gone.”

  Big Malc McVay’s name wasn’t an ironic one. The man stood at six foot five inches with thick arms, a bulging chest and a stomach you could crack nuts on. His head was massive and shaped like a watermelon, the fact he shaved off his hair - although he had a full head of it - making the oddity more pronounced. He regarded Brodie and Cass through mean piggy eyes as they were escorted into his office at the rear of the nightclub he owned.

  “What the fuck you wantin?” opened Big Malc.

  “I had a visitor earlier,” replied Brodie. “Toni McVay.”

  “She turning to an ex-polis now? She must be desperate,” he said before releasing a bark of laughter.