It’s the uncertainty, that’s what would do so much harm to her. Thinking that he might still be alive. That he might have run out and left her, his story about a dangerous job a lie to provide him with a route out of their relationship. That’s the last thing he would want her thinking. It’s felt as though they’ve been slipping apart lately. Not deliberately, neither of them seeking separation. Just the consequence of him working this job. A consequence of the decision that he would keep her in the dark.
Go back in time. Go back and tell her that he wants this to be a totally honest relationship, where nothing is kept a secret. He tells her about the attack on the bookies and how carrying that out brought him up against people like Nate Colgan. How being an enemy of Nate Colgan is the sort of thing that gets you killed in this city. She would have talked some sense into him then, would have made sure he didn’t get involved in anything even more dangerous. Or maybe she would have said nothing. Maybe she wanted to stay out of it and no amount of honesty would have changed that. Joanne might have let him go ahead with the job on the drug dealer.
That job on the dealer. He knew. At the time, he was certain there wouldn’t be a way of doing it that didn’t end with him, Usman or both of them paying a price for it. It was a good score, sure. They got away with a little over thirty-five grand each. That was a terrific score, the best Martin had ever made for a single job and easily the best of Usman’s life. Martin opened an account, filtered the money into it slowly, trying to keep it hidden. But it wasn’t about the money. That was always going to be there, whatever kind of job this was. He knew it was wrong, the way it played out.
They could have killed the guy at the handover point. Keep everything the same up until the point the woman left, they didn’t want any part of what she was carrying, too hard to sell all that stuff with Argyle and the Allens looking for it. Kill the dealer once he was alone, take the money and run. They couldn’t have known exactly how it would work out, that was why Martin didn’t say anything. They couldn’t have known in advance that she would leave first, and leave them alone with Comrie. Once they did, they should have reacted. Had multiple plans ready to put into action when the moment came. You don’t just stick to a single plan if something better comes along. They had the chance to go in there and kill him, leave themselves enough time to get away before Argyle’s men came rushing in looking for him. It was possible. Argyle’s men would have gotten rid of the body for them; they didn’t want a police investigation either.
It played out wrong. The nagging sense of a job that should have been done better. No gunman wants that. No gunman can go through a job feeling he’s botched it and not worry about it. He should have said something to Usman. Not at the time, on the job, that’s not the point where you open an intense discussion on strategy. Once the job was set in motion, there was no time to stop and chat about it. They went into that building and got Comrie out. Once he was in their possession there was no safe way to talk. After they’d killed him they needed to go their separate ways, so he still said nothing. He should have created a moment, later, to investigate, to discuss what had happened.
He had convinced himself it was just something else he needed to get used to. You work for an organization and you keep your distance from them. You know that things are going on in the background that don’t concern you. You learn to live with the unchangeable. When you’re working with one other person, it can’t be that way. There can’t be secrets, surely, or the whole thing falls apart. But he told himself he could put up with it. Let Usman live his life and Martin could build something with Joanne without the work intruding. They had done the job, and they had made good money from it. There was nothing else Martin needed.
There was the distraction of Joanne to occupy his mind. Finding a place for Skye, getting her out of the house. It felt like the most important thing in the world to Martin, having the house to themselves, being able to build their relationship in peace. He was thinking so much about Joanne and their happiness that he didn’t think about Usman. Didn’t worry about what he was getting up to. The feelings he had, the unease, that didn’t go away just because he was focusing on something else. Fine, just don’t do another job with Usman. Simple solution.
A simple solution he wasn’t able to follow. That’s why he’s strapped to this damn chair. Why he’s looking across at the door, trying to work out which way they’ll come in. The big door, probably. They’ll have a van, one large enough for them to move a body easily. There’ll be three of them. They’ll bring the van in and close the door. Move quickly; get the job done and the body out. Make sure no trace is left behind. It’ll be a few minutes from start to finish.
They should be here by now. Maybe . . . No, that’s not realistic. It will happen. It has to happen. Maybe if it was just up to Usman it wouldn’t happen. His bottle might crash when faced with a challenge as huge as this, something so much bigger than any he had encountered before. But it is really about Nate Colgan and Gully Fitzgerald. They decide whether this happens. They decide how and where. This is their job, nobody else’s. Or Colgan’s job, more to the point. He’s in charge of all this. He won’t let this opportunity for revenge slip away.
Martin’s groaning without realizing he’s doing it. Surprised by the sound of his own voice. It’s the first thing he’s heard since he scraped the chair back to stretch his legs. Pulling at the plastic cords on his legs again, just to see if anything’s changed. It hasn’t. Usman wouldn’t have dared to get that wrong. Terrified of what Colgan would do to him if they turned up at the warehouse and there was nobody there. No, he has to sit here and wait. They won’t be long.
1.32 a.m.
Nate’s walking up to the van. Dark blue, smaller than the one Usman used on the Comrie job. It’s parked at the side of the street. Usman’s looking around but there’s nobody here at this hour. Just a conspicuous group of three men getting into a van. Nate’s getting into the driver’s seat; Gully’s holding open the passenger-side door.
‘Jump in, squish across,’ he’s saying casually to Usman.
Usman’s doing as he’s told. Up into the van and watching Gully get in after him, struggling to fit. There’s only just enough room for the three of them in the front, Usman squashed in the middle. That’s no accident, he knows. He’s in the middle so that he can’t go jumping out into the street at traffic lights if he suddenly changes his little mind. He’ll sit there and they’ll drive to the warehouse and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.
‘Have we got a place lined up?’ Usman’s asking. ‘For the body, I mean.’
Nate’s starting the van, pulling out without even looking because there’s nothing else on the road. He’s ignoring Usman’s question, just concentrating on keeping his speed down and his vehicle anonymous. Do nothing to attract the interest of the speed cameras.
‘It’s all sorted out,’ Gully’s saying. He seems relaxed, and he’s always been friendlier than Nate anyway. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, Usman, my man. You get the target in place and you finish him off. We’ll handle all the spadework; it’s what we’re here for.’
Nate is silent, focusing on a drive that doesn’t need much of his attention. Usman’s between them, wanting to talk, wanting reassurance. He’s glancing at Nate, then at Gully. Gully’s turning and looking back at him, nodding a little.
‘Tough, I know,’ Gully’s saying with a shrug. ‘This business, you know, it’s full of dirty work. That’s the thing about it. You want to get to the good stuff, to the jobs that you got all planned out already, then you got to earn it. Got to do shit like this to get the chance to do the jobs you really care about. That’s this business for you. Not a lot of fun, huh?’
‘No,’ Usman’s saying, and nodding along. It helps to hear words like that coming out of the mouth of a man like Gully. Implying that he had to go through this sort of thing too, back when he was Usman’s age. Even if he’s not being entirely honest, even if he’s just trying to make Usman feel b
etter, it’s good to hear. Good that Gully is willing to make the effort to say it as well.
There’s silence in the van for another few minutes. It’s starting to feel uncomfortable again, Usman dwelling on things he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s taking a heavy breath and Gully’s looking at him, realizing that someone needs to fill the silence. You work with a man like Nate Colgan and you get used to hearing nothing more than the odd growl. The silence becomes routine, comfortable. Eventually you forget that it isn’t the same for other people, that a kid like Usman needs to hear any old noise that’ll take his mind away from his grim situation.
‘You’ve done a good job so far,’ Gully’s saying. ‘Wasn’t sure, when we started, that you had it in you, lad. Thought you might be a bit fly-by-night, but, no, credit where it’s due, you’ve worked this well, better than I ever predicted. Hasn’t he, Nate?’
Usman looked round at Nate. Warm words from Gully are pleasant, but Gully’s a man with a pleasant natural temperature. Nate, he’s different, ice cold. If he gives you a compliment then it’s not just empty flattery, it matters.
‘Yeah, he has,’ is as much as Nate’s saying, in his usual flat tone.
Usman’s glancing back at Gully and Gully’s rolling his eyes and smiling. Trying to make Nate’s coldness seem like it’s just typical old Nate, a man who doesn’t know how to say thank you when the world does him a favour. Usman’s smiling, because he wants to be reassured.
‘You made plans for the next job?’ Gully’s asking him. Keeping him talking, trying to get the kid to focus on the next positive thing on the horizon, instead of the dark stop they’ll arrive at first.
‘Yeah,’ Usman’s saying, eager to talk about it. ‘I might need some help with it. I mean, it’s more than a one-man job, so I’ll need a couple of pairs of hands to help me out.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Gully told him. ‘If the job’s good, you’ll get all the help you need. That’s how it’s going to work now, the organization will be able to provide you with the manpower and the equipment you need. Bit of funding as well, if the investment looks like it’ll pay off. Won’t be blank cheques or anything like that, and you’ll need to share the detail of the job first, mind you. We’ll sit down and have a talk about it afterwards, next couple of weeks or so. You give us the kind of detail you think we need to know, we’ll get you the people and the equipment to make sure it works.’
‘Should be a good score,’ Usman’s saying, reaching out to that distant, bright light of the future. ‘Will I be working with you guys on these jobs?’
Gully’s shaking his head, screwing up his mouth. ‘Doubt it. Don’t know, mind you, could be on some of them. Suppose it depends on what kind of help you need. If you’re looking for a couple of decrepit old shite-bags to help you out then we might just be perfect, eh? But I reckon the higher-ups will want you to have one or two people that you use on all the jobs. Your own wee crew, you know. It’ll be less experienced guys, but they’ll get their experience with you, and it’ll give you a regular crew of people you know and trust to work with. Always better that way, always better. Got to have people you’re comfortable with and that you trust. People that’ll know to keep themselves available for you.’
‘Sure, yeah, definitely,’ Usman’s saying.
That was the problem with Martin, you could never get comfortable with that bastard. He was so reluctant, always trying to find a reason not to work. You want to go into a dangerous job with someone loyal by your side, someone you like and someone you know will always be there to back you up. That wasn’t Martin. It wasn’t, and now it never would be. The thought of having his own crew, two or three guys that he always used, that he was in charge of and that he could trust. Maybe build it into a bigger group, Usman at the head of it. Man, that was a prize worth the pain of acquiring.
‘Nearly there,’ Gully’s saying. ‘You ready, lad?’
‘Yeah, sure, I’m ready.’ Usman doesn’t sound convincing, not even to himself.
‘Take your time with it, that’s the thing,’ Gully’s saying. ‘I see kids running into tough jobs and they want to get everything done right away, want everything over and done with as fast as possible. That ain’t the way to do it, not how a pro does it. You got to take your time, let your nerves settle, let your mind get used to the idea of what you’re doing. See, it’s about hours on the clock. You know what I mean by that?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, the longer you spend working each job, the more experience you have of being in that world, that – what’s the word? – environment. See, you rush in and just go boom, boom, boom, and you get every job finished in quick time. Problem is, you’re going to end up going on a job where you have to spend a long time on it, where you don’t have a choice, and you got to have the nerve for that. You got to be able to dwell on things, take it slow, make sure you pick the right option every time. That takes practice, and you won’t get that if you’re doing everything at a hundred miles per hour. Can’t afford to make mistakes, and rushing causes mistakes.’
‘Experience on the job,’ Usman’s saying, ‘yeah, I get it. I won’t rush it.’
‘Good lad,’ Gully’s saying, ‘good lad.’
19
He hadn’t seen Martin for a couple of months. Phoned him, tried to keep in touch, but the gunman wasn’t having it. No answer, no call back, just the two of them drifting apart. It wasn’t what Usman wanted, not when he had other jobs lined up. There was profitable work to do and that work couldn’t be done alone. But how do you persuade a man who doesn’t want to be persuaded?
Forget about it for a while, that was his attitude. Live your own life, give Martin the time he needs to wise up or run out of cash, then get back to work. Same as last time.
Usman spent some time with Alison, as unsure about her as he was about Martin. She had started work in the bar across the street from her old place. Alison was chuffed about it, but Usman didn’t like her working for Jones. He warned her to be careful there, but she was so sure that she was safe. Spent some time with his brother, doing some menial work he didn’t need to do. That was track-covering. Let the people who knew him think that he still had to work, let them think that he didn’t have much cash in his back pocket. Last thing he wanted was someone who knew him well enough to know where to look poking around to try and find out where he had gotten his money from.
That was the one downside to having a lot of money in a big, neat pile. Hadn’t happened for him before, not two big scores within a few months of each other. Now he had more money than he could reasonably explain to anyone, more than he knew how to easily hide.
‘You’re not very busy,’ Akram had said to him. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice, like he was 51 per cent sure that his brother was hiding something.
‘Yeah I am, I got a bunch of stuff on the go,’ Usman said with a shrug. ‘Loads of wee things though, nothing worth shouting about. Why, you need a hand with something?’ Asked as though he was eager to help, eager to get his hands on any extra cash that might be fluttering around his brother.
‘Nah, nothing yet. I’ll give you a shout if something comes up though,’ Akram had told him, the suspicious tone fading as the percentage dipped to 49.
That left Usman to go back home and sit in his bedroom, looking at the wads of cash that he’d stuffed into a slit in the mattress. Not even a good hiding place in a flat this small. He took the money out and looked at it every few days, just to see it and touch it. Sixteen grand from the bookies that he’d only shifted half of when he got his hands on thirty-five grand from the Comrie job. Too much to move in big lumps without inviting suspicion. He was filtering some into his bank account, but only a couple of hundred a week. Some he was spending, wiping out any bills he had with loose cash, cheerfully running up other bills to annihilate with stolen money. But there was still thousands left, and every time he looked at it he thought about the dead dealer and the threat that he would spend the re
st of his life living under.
It had been good, the last four months. Martin did no work, living off the money he’d made. Joanne liked the fact that he obviously wasn’t working any more, despite the fear of money running out, and they were happy. A few months where they were able to create normality for themselves. The cash was basically gone, much of it on the deposit for a flat, and the rate at which Skye paid rent, it wasn’t likely to make its way back to his pocket very quickly. He didn’t care, and he didn’t let Joanne pressure Skye much either. She wanted to, but in the back of Martin’s mind was the fear that Skye might move back in with them, proclaim herself unable to live in the little flat they’d got her, out of spite.
There had been a couple of people in touch with him in the last few months, looking to set him up with work. Przemek had called, offering him a gig working with some importers. Martin turned it down. He hadn’t heard of the people looking to employ him, didn’t know if they might be connected to Chris Argyle. Wasn’t worth the effort anyway.
‘I know they’re not paying great,’ Przemek told him, ‘but you need to make connections if you want to make a living round here.’
‘I’m doing fine,’ Martin had told him.
‘Living off the lover, eh?’
‘No,’ Martin told him, ‘living off my own money.’
But that couldn’t go on much longer, so he was going to have to pull in more cash from somewhere. Then Usman called.
Martin ignored him. Ignored the call and ignored the message that was left in its wake. Usman telling him that he had another job they could work, that there could be good money in it. Talking with the relaxed confidence of a man who couldn’t see the dangers coming. Asked Martin to call him back for the details. Martin didn’t. If he called Usman back and they worked another job, there would be an escalation. Bound to be, it was how these things worked. The job on the bookies had been fine, a little bit of violence but they got away with it. The job on the dealer had been dirty work, a killing that paid well. The next job wouldn’t be any better. These things always spiralled down until you reached the kind of pit he’d almost been trapped in back home. More money, more risk, more violence.
For Those Who Know the Ending Page 19
