The Sudden Arrival of Violence

by Malcolm Mackay

  He’s dropping into the back of the taxi.

  ‘East end, is it, mate?’ the driver’s asking him.

  A pause. This is the chance to change your mind. To leave William to his fate and go your own way. But he can’t. He might be selfish, but he’s still William’s brother. The least he owes William is to go to the garage and check. ‘That’s right,’ Calum’s saying. The car’s pulling out and getting to the end of the street. Calum’s looking back over his shoulder. There’s a car at the other end of the road. He can just see it as the taxi starts to turn. Its nose is edging out from its parking spot. The watcher, following. Calum’s making a point of not looking over his shoulder too often. Don’t spook the driver. Get to the garage; decide your next move from there. Another thought. They’re luring you to the garage. Hold the brother, so that the target comes looking. It’s a good place to carry out a hit. No. They would only know that Calum’s waiting for William if William told them so. And he wouldn’t tell. Not ever.

  Driving through the city. Occasional backward glances, making sure the following car is still there. Could be a gunman tracking him. Could just be a watcher, gathering information for the gunman. The gunman will be Hutton. Has to be. Calum’s thinking. Thinking that he’s tempted to go round to Barry Fairly’s house and punish him for his disloyalty. It must have been him. He grassed. You know what happens to a grass. So Jamieson and Young know the new ID. Can they find out what plane ticket he has booked in that name? Course they can. So they know when he plans to leave. They know his brother’s been helping him. Easy to guess that William’s going to take him to the airport. Lure him to the garage.

  Another look over his shoulder. Car’s still there, but it’s a long way back in the traffic. Can’t make out the driver from here. Doesn’t recognize the car. It’ll be a company car. Designed to be unrecognizable. Thinking again. They won’t be luring him to the garage, because they couldn’t rely on him to turn up. They know what sort of person he is. Or, they should. They must know that he would be prepared to leave his brother and run.

  They’re close now. Calum can recognize some of the buildings.

  ‘Next left,’ he’s telling the driver, ‘the garage is halfway along on the left-hand side.’ Make a judgement. Tell the driver to wait, or let him go. Might as well let him go. If William’s there and there’s nothing wrong, he can get a lift from his brother. If it’s a set-up, then the driver isn’t going to be any use. He’ll drive away at the first sign of trouble, preferably without Calum aboard. He’s pulling up outside the garage now. Calum’s looking up and down the street. He can see William’s car, parked right in front of the entrance. That looks like a lure. He’s fishing in his pocket, getting money out for the driver. Stepping out of the car, looking along the street again. Nobody parked there that he wouldn’t expect to see. Not a lot of action on the street. Never is. Few businesses left here. Little activity. Looking at the doors of the garage. Pulled tight shut. That’s not right. Obviously not right. If William was working in there, as his car suggests he was, then the doors should be open, at least a little.

  There are two ways of playing the situation that Calum’s in. The subtle way, and the sledgehammer way. From where Calum’s standing, the subtle way looks like a waste of time. They know he’s running and they’re making moves against him. They must know that he’ll work out what they’re up to. Playing subtle achieves nothing. Can’t trick them, when they know more than he does. So you go down the sledgehammer route. You go aggressive, confrontational, none too subtle. You let them know that they’re in a bloody great big fight. Let the bastards know that if they want to take you down, they’re going to have to work for it. Few people can play that part well. Most aren’t intimidating enough. Calum is one of the few who is. They know how dangerous he can be. They will fear him. And he will give them good reason to.

  Watching the blue car coming along the street. He’s hanging back beside William’s car, not letting the driver get a good look at him. Now he’s running. Out onto the street, into the path of the other car. He won’t give them time to run him over; the car’s still far enough away for Calum to pull back. But they will know that he’s spotted them. And he will see who the driver is. Know your enemy. Nothing more important than that. He’s expecting the car to accelerate, but it isn’t. It’s slowing down, the driver watching Calum. Fear, but friendship too. Calum’s staring at him. It’s George. Standing on the road in this quiet industrial area. Watching his friend follow him. His friend setting a trap. If George is following him, then surely Hutton’s inside. Waiting for the prey to turn up like a simple-minded weakling. Walking in and letting them kill him. He’s getting angry with George. He doesn’t expect much from his friends, not in this business. But he hoped for more than this. And as the car creeps forward, Calum isn’t moving. Too pissed off. Too defiant.

  George is pulling over to the side of the road. He’s not going to run Calum down. Knows better than to pick a fight with Calum MacLean. That’s not a fight George has any prospect of winning. Not that he couldn’t beat Calum up. Of course he could–that’s where George’s prowess lies. But he wouldn’t go any further than that. He would beat Calum, but he would never kill him. George isn’t naive. He knows that, if he had to, Calum would kill him and not give it a second thought. There’s a line in the sand that George is unwilling to cross. Calum has no lines; no moral boundaries. He can switch those thoughts and emotions off. Accordingly, he can always survive. George cannot. So George is pulling over and switching off the engine. Getting out of the car and taking a few steps towards Calum. Raising his hands. Calum will know that George isn’t armed. George can’t be so sure about Calum.

  ‘So what is this,’ Calum’s asking, ‘a set-up? You got Hutton in there waiting for me?’

  ‘No,’ George is saying, shaking his head. ‘This isn’t anything. I swear, Calum. I was sent to watch your brother’s house. I was told you were in there, and to report if you moved. That was it. I don’t know what else is going on. I wish I fucking did. I don’t even know what I’m following you for, but I know it’s serious. The hell is going on here, Cal?’

  Sounds genuine. Doesn’t mean this isn’t a set-up, just that George doesn’t know about it. That would be a smart move. Keep George in the dark. Too close to the target to be trusted with the truth. ‘I’m leaving,’ Calum’s saying. ‘They know. William’s been helping me, and now I can’t find him.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ George is saying. There’s real shock there. He understands what that means. Understands the consequences.

  Calum’s ignoring him. Walking to the door, pulling it slightly open and then stepping quickly back. No sound from inside. Stepping back to the door. George standing watching him, unsure what he should do.

  ‘I’ll go in first,’ he’s saying suddenly. Calum’s turning and looking at him. About to say something and stopping, because George is marching towards the door. No arguments, George is going in first. Stepping up to the door, glancing quickly in. Can’t see much in the gloom. Ducking inside, out of view. No movement. George knows what to look for. He’s stalked about in the darkness before. Don’t look for shapes. Look for movements and look for colours. Any movement is a threat. Any colour that stands out. Silver is usually a good one, but not so much in a garage. And listen. Always listen. Can’t see or hear anything that shouldn’t be there. Place seems empty. He can hear Calum step in behind him. The flick of a light switch and the place is transformed.

  ‘Oh Jesus, Calum, get over here.’

  34

  He had another phone call from Don Park about an hour ago. That was good. Calmed him a little. Shug’s been getting worried. Things aren’t happening. This needs to be fast or the chance passes him by. Don told him to stop worrying. Things are happening. They should have the info for a set-up on John Young in the next forty-eight hours. Takes a little time to get these things organized. Made Shug feel a little daft, if we’re being honest. He’s been worrying too much. Needs to cal
m down.

  He called Greig in yesterday morning and gave him a dressing-down. Taking too long to come up with details. Accused Greig of not trying. Told him there would be a price for his disloyalty. Meant it, too. Don calmed him down. That’s because he’s a pro. He and MacArthur have too much invested in this to back out now. Things always start slow as you gather info. But moves are being made against top people in the Jamieson organization. Greig’s different. He’s not pulling his weight. Chickening out. Or trying to switch sides. Either way, there will be a price to pay.

  Now Shug’s phone’s ringing again. Mobile this time. Looking at the screen. Tony O’Connor. Runs one of the garages on the south side. Good guy. Runs the garage well. This’ll be a call about something trivial. Tony might be good at what he does, but what he does doesn’t matter to Shug right now. He’s answering anyway. If he doesn’t deal with it now, Tony will keep calling.

  ‘Yeah, Tony,’ he’s saying. Sounding a little exasperated. Usually better at hiding it.

  ‘Hi, Shug. Listen, I just heard something that’s got me worried. Got a couple of the boys here worried, too. I called Fizzy, but his phone rang through to voicemail. Called his house and there was no one there. I don’t like to bother you, but…’

  ‘But?’ More exasperation. If this is a call about Fizzy being hard to find, then he will really lose his temper.

  Tony’s spotted the annoyance in Shug. Unusual and obvious. Going more carefully now. ‘Someone came into the garage talking about Richard Hardy. Said he’s gone missing. Said the police are treating it as possible murder. Been gone for days. Now I don’t know, might be bollocks. But the guy who told me’s mother is neighbour to some old bird who works across the hall from Hardy. Said the police have been all over the place. He hasn’t been seen for days. I know he does our books. See, thing is, I need my pay at the end of the month. I got bills, Shug.’

  Silence. Thoughts running through his head. If Hardy’s gone AWOL, then the boys won’t be paid on time. Hardy releases the money. Checks who’s been hired and fired. Who’s done what. It’s all in the records from the individual garages, but he’s the one who goes through them. Hides the discrepancies. No Hardy, no wages.

  ‘Yeah, listen, it’s not a big deal,’ Shug’s saying, pulling himself together after a brief delay. He has to send the right message here. Can’t have panic in the ranks. ‘I know where Hardy is. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it. But, Tony, keep it under your hat. I don’t want people pissing their pants for no reason, okay.’

  ‘Sure, sure, as long as you know what’s going on, Shug. I was just a bit concerned, that’s all. We all got mortgages and stuff, you know.’ Like Shug’s so detached from reality.

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Conversation over. Learned two things from it. One is that Tony has money troubles. Doesn’t much care about that. There was a day he would have cared. Tony’s a friend. A trusted guy. Good worker. In the past, Shug would have gone round to the garage and spoken to Tony. Got the truth from him and helped him out financially. Not now. Now Tony’s a part of the small-time past. Now he doesn’t matter.

  The second thing he learned from the conversation matters to him. Matters a lot. Hardy’s gone. Where the hell has Hardy gone? Gone for days. Treated as murder. Jamieson–has to be. Who else would target Shug’s moneyman? There’s no other logical answer. Jamieson’s gone after his moneyman. Waited till the end of the month. Killed him off and left Shug with a bunch of employees getting no pay. Shit! The police. They’ll be all over Hardy’s office. Old bastard had all the details there: every last trick he pulled to help Shug. If they’re half as smart as they think they are, the police will be able to unravel his entire business. He’s up and walking round in a circle. He needs help. Can’t handle this one alone. Calling Don Park. Waiting and waiting. Shit, can’t get through. Said he’d be busy for the rest of the day. Getting more things set up.

  Standing in the middle of the room and taking a deep breath. Okay. Priority: get information. The stuff that matters. Find out what the police know. How far along are they with their investigation? Find out if they have charges ready for anyone. Now he wishes he hadn’t shouted at Greig. Going to have to go to him. Doesn’t know any other coppers. Fizzy always said they should get another one. Someone more reliable. Someone they can trust. Well, Fizzy should have done that then, shouldn’t he? Second in command and he did fuck-all about it. Now all they have is Greig. Shug’s calling him. Gone straight through to voicemail. Bastard! Dodging calls. He’s chicken shit, that’s what it is. He took on the responsibility of working for Shug and now he can’t handle it. He’ll pay for it. He bloody will.

  Now where does he turn? Trying Don again. Still nothing. Not unexpected. He’s doing important work. Besides, might be wrong to call him. Makes it look like Shug can’t handle this sort of thing for himself. Makes him look incapable. A man who built the only meaningful car-ring in the city. Who has a large, legit business. Of course he can handle this himself. He just needs to think. Think–come on! It shouldn’t be this hard. And he’s lashing out. Kicking the couch, for all the good it does. Now stopping and thinking. If you can’t use Greig, who do you use? Maybe the police angle is the wrong way to go. Maybe the Jamieson angle is better. Who does he have that would know anything about Jamieson? Ha, that’s a laugh. Nobody. Not a soul. Don would, but he’s out of the picture today. Hutton maybe? No. Knows nothing, and he’s busy with Fizzy. Who knows about Hardy? Fizzy.

  Calling Fizzy’s mobile. It’s ringing and ringing before switching to voicemail. Calling the house. Ringing and ringing. Tony said he tried and couldn’t get through. So Fizzy isn’t answering to anyone. Could be dead already. Might be that Hutton’s got to him. That’s the risk you take when you move against an enemy–you get them too fast. Get them when they’re still useful to you. Or Fizzy could be in hiding. Ignoring calls from Shug, because he’s running. Running to whom? Might go to Jamieson. That makes getting rid of him all the more important. Maybe that’s who Greig’s running to as well. And Shug’s smiling, because this is starting to add up. Greig and Fizzy both running for cover. Weaklings, running to a big man to protect them. Well, they’ll both pay the price for that. He needs to find out if Hutton’s done the job yet. Needs to tell him what job is coming next.

  Calling Hutton. He should answer the phone to his boss. Even if it’s against protocol, he should answer. Straight through to voicemail. Oh, come on. Hutton too? That’s just too much. Way too much. No coincidence here. Not a chance. Hutton’s in on it. He’s a part of this. All of them crossing to Jamieson. A gunman–that makes matters much more dangerous than Shug anticipated. Calling Don again. Never mind how it looks, this is too important. Don Park is one of MacArthur’s main men. He can sort this out. He has the power and the connections. Ringing, but no answer. And now he’s realizing how big the problem could be. Don Park could be a part of it. Alex MacArthur. It’s not Jamieson they’ve run to, it’s MacArthur. Shug’s isolated. Completely alone against Jamieson. All because of MacArthur. Now he’s throwing the phone against the wall. Kicking the chair and the computer desk and the couch again. Wanting to lash out, because he wants to see someone else suffer as much as he’s suffering right now.

  35

  They’ve spent days on it, and they’re coming up short. Not on the money side. There will be a multitude of charges against many of Richard Hardy’s clients. Most of them don’t matter a bit to Fisher. Ragtag bunch of arseholes and no-hopers. The one who matters is Shug Francis. There will be charges against him, too, but the ones that matter aren’t among them. Charging him for financial crimes isn’t enough. Doesn’t send the right message. Might have seemed clever at one point, when Shug was smaller. Now Fisher wants murder charges. Doesn’t have them. He’s convinced that Shug killed Hardy. Convinced he killed Kenny McBride as well. You need more. You have to be able to prove beyond reasonable doubt. Show motive and opportunity. Show that there is no alternative. Plenty of motive. Plenty of opportuni
ty. There are alternatives, but they’re becoming less convincing. Peter Jamieson is the obvious one. No evidence there. Jesus, it just takes one clincher.

  The office is quiet around him. The evening shift has come in now. They were warned on their way in: Fisher’s in a foul mood. They knew his good mood wouldn’t last. The guy’s been losing it these last few months. Hasn’t closed a single case. People are starting to talk about him. I mean, he was always difficult to handle. Always bad-tempered, always snooty towards those he thinks below him. Which is most of them, for one reason or another. But the guy got results. Worked his fingers to the bone. Still puts the work in, just isn’t getting anywhere. This whole Shug Francis thing has got right up his nose. And the Scott and McClure case. Shit! Seemed like he just gave up on that one. A drug dealer and his mate, shot dead in Scott’s flat. It was closed as murder suicide, but there was more to it. Fisher suspected, but he didn’t push. It does happen to some cops–burnout. You push yourself harder and harder; always trying to go one better than your last result. You go off a cliff. That’s what they’re saying about Fisher now. But they’re working silently, not giving him anything to be extra pissed off about. He’s been here all day, working on this case. That’ll mean he’s wound up real tight.

  The double door on the far side of the room is swinging open. Higgins. One of Fisher’s little pet plods. Fisher won’t explode on him. Not unless pushed. Higgins is heading straight for Fisher. Hardly a glance at the rest of them. These plods know the route to the top. Get well in with the DI, and he’ll push you up the ladder. That was the case a year ago. Maybe not now. Not when the DI’s getting a reputation as a man who can’t close. Then you don’t want to be anywhere near him. He can hold you back rather than push you forward. There are a few in the station who would like to see Fisher become toxic. Fisher’s looking up from his desk. Less interested in Higgins than the folder he has in his hands. Fisher didn’t ask for anything. Must be something interesting. Actually, shouldn’t Higgins be at home? He was on the dayshift. Someone else putting in hours beyond contractual obligation. Good lad.