“Thought as much ya wee shite. Ye want tae pick yer fights a wee bit better pal. So, now that we have that straightened out, whit’s the problem Pete?”
“Dis no-mark low-life was trying to rip me off mate. He tried to double the price from last month. It happens from time to time with them yer know. ‘Cos am in this chair they think am an easy touch.” Pete spat on the prone figure. “Shite-bags.”
“Right, is that the way of it then.” said Kats. “You…” he prodded the pusher with his toe, “sit up and empty yer pockets.”
The pusher looked up at him, blood dripping from his nose, mouth and chin, with a feral fury in his eyes, but Kats could tell that any fight had gone from him. He pushed himself to a sitting position, wiped his nose on his sleeve and started to unpack the contents of his trackie pockets. Various chemical substances soon littered the floor, a Pandora’s box of illegal pleasures.
“Take yer pick, Pete.”
Pete’s eyes lit up at the prospect but he settled for, “Dat’s o’rite Kats, I only want the hash. Yer know fine that I don’t do smack or coke… but if dat’s the skunk der I’ll ‘ave that…”
The pusher looked at the wrapped bundle, nodding to signify that it was indeed the skunk.
Kats said, “Be my guest,” and scooped up the package of tightly wrapped weed, throwing it deftly at Pete. The pusher hastily retrieved the rest of his stash and looked at Kats warily to see what was coming next.
“Right, let’s finish this then.” He took a step towards the pusher who involuntarily shrank backwards, but not quick enough to avoid being grabbed by his combat jacket and hauled to his feet. Kats held him close and pushed his face forward until their foreheads touched. The pusher’s eyes were flicking from side to side, unsure of what to expect, but presuming the worst.
“Pay the man, Pete”
“You wot?”
“Ah said, pay the man.” Kats looked directly into the pusher’s eyes as he spoke. “This is so ye don’t think that ye got yer doin’ ‘cos we wanted tae rob ye. Awrite? Ye got yer doin’ ‘cos ye tried to pull a knife on me. Are we clear?” The pusher nodded quickly.
“Fookin’ hell Kats, this is mad. You’re fookin’ mad you. I’ve only got the same as I paid last week, he wants more dis week,” said Pete.
“Give him last weeks’ money then,” said Kats .“That okay with you pal?”
The pusher nodded vigourously and Pete handed over the cash. Kats released his grip and the pusher scarpered out of the living room and through the front door.
“I suppose ye’d best start lookin’ for a new supplier,” said Kats grinning.
Pete guffawed, “Yer not wrong der mate. I reckon he’ll need a plastic surgeon to fix that hooter of his now. Thanks mate, these tossers are always trying it on ‘cos am in this.” He vehemently slapped the arm of his wheelchair, “And I know I was a bit off there but you were right, it was best to pay the little gobshite. We can’t be ‘avin’ any more trouble now can we?”
“Aye, well, mibbe I was a bit hasty there. To be honest, if they don’t come back looking for me then I’d be surprised, never mind that he got his money.”
“So what you gonna do?”
“What are we gonna do more like? They’ll drag you into this as well you know.”
“Nah, I know that one. He was way down the ladder and he had it comin’. I can talk me way out of it no problem.”
“Aye, mibbe, provided I’m not here that is.”
They both looked at one another. There really wasn’t anything else to say. Kats knew he had to go, his position was compromised and Pete was giving him the out. Maybe it would go hard on Pete for him being there and the pusher getting smacked about in his house, but he understood Pete well enough to trust he knew what he was about.
“So, worra you gonna do man?”
“I reckon I’ll head back up the road. See if I can fix things out with them somehow. I need tae get back for Isa’s sake anyway.”
“Things still not any better there then?”
“Nah, Linda’s useless. She’s just not interested man. I need to get back to look out for her. She cannae look after herself any more Pete.”
They were both silent for a while, lost in their own thoughts of the ramifications of what had just occurred. Then Kats had an idea.
“D’ye think Carole would rent a car for me? If she did it as an any driver insurance I could just take it away with me. I mean I’d pay her and everything.”
“I dunno man, you know how she can be but all as we can do is ask her. Why do you want the car and why not rent it yerself?”
“I don’t want my license number coming up on anything now do I?” Pete made an ‘Oh’ shape with his mouth and nodded as Kats continued, “And if I have a set of wheels it gives me a lot more flexibility on where I pitch up in Scotland. I can make some calls, dig up some more old mates and lay low somewhere while I straighten things out.”
“O’rite mate, she’ll be back in an hour so we can ask her then. But I want some backbone in me before we try.” And with that he produced his Rizlas and set to building an enormous joint.
Chapter 14
“Great joab son,” he said as he looked at the photos. Boots visibly glowed with pride. “Wiz it hard?”
“Ah dunno boss,” said Boots. “I didnae see his dick.” He couldn’t resist the obvious gag, smirking at his rapier wit.
“Aye, very good.”
Boots immediately recognised the implied reprimand and went for a belated save. “Eh… naw… it was nae problem boss. She went intae Nico’s and ye know whit a meat-market that place is. We just followed her like ye said and she did the rest herself. Nae need tae drop anything in her drink or nuthin’. She was well up for it. Sorry we didnae git any shaggin’ shots but all the others should add up to enough mischief. She was definitely tickling his tonsils with her tongue. That one there...” he pointed to one of the photos, “shows her grabbin’ his knob on the dance floor. Lucky bastard so he is, she’s pretty tidy like. I widnae a minded slippin’ her a wee mickie then slippin’ her a big wullie…” he trailed off as he noticed the look on Big Davie’s face.
“Sorry boss, is this a job for a pal of yours? I didnae mean anything.”
“Boots; whin I want ye tae talk, I’ll tell ye tae talk. And whin ye do talk ye’ll tell me whit I want tae hear, an only whit I want tae hear. And ye’ll keep yer fuckin’ opinions tae yer fuckin’ self and whit I do and why I do it is none of your fuckin’ business! Your coat’s on a shaky nail son after what happened wi’ Coco. How the fuck could you let that wee stringy shite get away from you? And he goes and gets himself run down as well, wi’ a wummin and a wean in the back of the car, when you’re chasing him through the fuckin’ streets of Shettleston in broad fuckin’ daylight. As if I’m not laying out enough money as it is for DJ without having to cover for you and Squeak. You need to be watching yourself son. You’re turnin’ into a liability round here.”
Boots swallowed hard and was saved from further, perhaps more physical abuse, by his mobile ringing.
“Well? Are ye no’ gonnae take that?”
“Aye boss, right.”
“Take it out there then, I want tae think okay?”
Boots was right though, she was a wee bit of all right. Nicky boy had good taste. Mind you, someone of his age trying to hang onto a young thing like her was a bit desperate.
He was old enough to be the girl’s father and it was no wonder she was out on the pull when his back was turned. But then, love is blind but the cameras ain’t. These photos would give him the kind of leverage he needed over Crossan, get him back on-message as it were.
Nick was an ex-something in the city, Big Davie could never understand ex-what exactly, but it had been something to do with an Investment Bank. He’d made a tidy pile for himself in London and then decided to come North to work for RBS setting up a lot of their flashy investment portfolios and then branched out into a little investment and insurance company of his ow
n.
An Independent Financial Advisor was what he called himself now. He was a shrewd operator, was Nick, and as well as the main business he had a nice little side-line in discrete investing for a few, select, very private clients.
He’d come into Davie’s sphere of influence more by accident than recommendation. He’d been frequenting one of the clubs Davie owned and had gained a bit of a reputation as a big-spender.
Anyone spending big attracted Davie’s attention so he made it his business to find out why a wealthy cockney boy who lived in Edinburgh was coming through to Glasgow to get his jollies. Nick was separated, in the process of getting divorced, and in the manner of how these things usually go, was shagging his secretary and trying to keep it quiet.
Davie therefore took a little time to get properly acquainted with Mr Crossan. Any predator knows that the vulnerable are the easiest to overpower. A few conversations at the bar over double whiskies produced the nugget that Mr Crossan liked a wee hand at poker, and as chance would have it, Davie had a wee school going in the back of that very club.
Within three weeks he had him, balls and all. Nick might have liked a wee hand of cards but he was singularly unequipped to win at them, especially against Big Davie’s dealers. It was the usual classic sucker-shot: he was allowed to win a little, a little more, and then the big one. After that he went on an almighty losing streak which resulted in him going down for £150k.
On top of the divorce and legal fees, it was a killer blow and Big Davie knew it. So, in the time honoured fashion of all the best gangsters, the Big Man made Nick an offer he couldn’t refuse, involving a fire insurance claim on the nightclub where they played poker.
He’d picked the right man because the bold Mr Crossan had almost bitten his hand off at the chance to, if not clear, but at least ameliorate his debts, and mercifully, he proved to have not a shred of scruples about where the money came from or where it went to. And him a former banker with RBS too, who’d have thought it.
After the first wee bit of business was concluded successfully, he put Nick to work managing his inflows and outflows, squirrelling away the money and turning dirty cash into clean investments. He now had accounts set up all around the world with money flowing between them electronically and he could see everything from the computer terminal in the front room.
The alarm bells began to ring when Nick moved in with the secretary, buying her a flat in the process. His ex had become incensed at that and unleashed the dogs of law on him. She had a team of advocates crawling over his circumstances and desperately trying their best to drill him a new arsehole. Nick started making mistakes, little mistakes admittedly, but mistakes nevertheless.
Davie spotted a few of them himself and heard of others by default; money not being moved at the right times, payments to intermediaries not being processed. Little irritations but not the kind of thing he would normally let slip.
Nick’s increasingly chaotic private life was having a detrimental impact on business and that was becoming an intolerable situation.
But now he had these photos. He’d have to plan how and when to use them for maximum leverage.
“Boss, ye might want tae hear this,” said Boots, coming back into the room.
He looked up from the photos expectantly.
“Ye know the McGuires?”
“Whit – Danny and Pat? From Liverpool?”
“Aye that’s them.”
“Whit about them?”
“Well, it might be nuthin, but that was Danny on the phone. He was wantin’ tae buy some more stuff, and he just mentioned that one of his runners had came back from a local drop pretty smashed up. Some guy splattered his nose all over his face and almost burst his balls as well. Danny was fixin’ tae go round and sort out the guy that did it but he asked me if any of our guys were in town ‘cos the guy that knocked his runner about was Scottish.”
“Aye? So whit?”
“Well, I asked him if he’d been buyin’ from him before and the runner told him he wasn’t the buyer. The buyer was a cripple, ex-army, and the guy who done him in was just stayin’ in the house. Seems he was one of the cripple’s ex-army pals. Are you thinkin’ whit am thinkin’ boss?”
“Boots, the day I think whit you’re fuckin’ thinkin’ is the day that ma Mary will have a virgin birth. Mind you, it is a bit of a co-incidence isn’t it? Get Danny back on the phone.”
Chapter 15
Thankfully she’d agreed. Kats ran his fingers along the side of the brand new Renault van as he passed it on the way to the local shop and giggled involuntarily.
Carole had come back with it from Budget Rent A Car, and with a twinkle in her eye had thrown the keys to him as he stood in the kitchen.
“Yer wheels are outside Jensen.”
He took one look out of the window and got the joke immediately. Carole was having one last swipe at him but he didn’t mind. He would be just another White Van Man and that was cool by him. Hell, it might even make him blend in more.
There were, after all, so many white vans tearing up and down the motorways every day that no one would be likely to take any notice of one more. Not that he was overly worried about the police or whatever, but still, a nagging paranoia couldn’t be completely suppressed after recent events.
He arrived at the corner shop and picked up a bottle of vodka, a six pack of beer, and then got Pete his fags and roll-up papers at the counter. He would be setting off the next morning so this was a last little celebration with Pete before then, Carole being on a late shift at work.
Kats wondered if she’d wangled her shift specifically to avoid the inevitable last night blow out, but dismissed the notion. What did it matter now anyway? She looked after Pete great and they were clearly devoted to each other, he didn’t need to win any popularity contests with her, nor she with him.
He turned the corner into the cul-de-sac and smiled again at the sight of the white Renault van.
“Pete?” he called as he came in the door. “They only had Carlsberg mate but I got all the other stuff. Pete? You in the bog?”
He walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks. Boots was standing behind Pete holding a large knife under his throat, a wolfish grin on his face.
“Come away in Kats, take a wee seat mah man.”
Pete’s eyes flickered to a space by the door and Kats realised Boots wasn’t flying solo, there was someone behind him. He paused to see if he was going to get a crack over the head, and when it didn’t come he chanced a glance over his shoulder and confirmed someone behind him, standing by the wall.
The other ned pushed the door closed, saying, “Best tae do whit yer telt mate, were no’ wantin’ any accidents, at least no’ yet.”
Kats stepped deliberately into the room but didn’t sit down.
“Whit do ye want Boots? Ye come tae talk about auld times?”
“Ha ha ha, d’ye hear that John-Jo? Good yin Kats.”
He heard John-Jo yuk-yukking behind him.
“Aye, awrite Boots. I suppose I expected somethin’ like this and I guessed he’d send you. How did ye find me anyway?”
“That guy ye belted the other day? He buys his stuff from us. Ye made quite an impression on him so his boss was just checkin’ ye out and, naturally, he called me. It was only a matter of time anyway Kats, ye should have known that. Ye surely didnae think that Davie would let ye off with this did ye?”
“Just ‘Davie’ is it now? Youse two engaged or somethin’?”
“Fuckin’ smart-mouth still, eh? We’ll see how smart ye are when we get back up the road.”
“C’mon Boots, you know fine that DJ wasn’t the man tae send tae do the business with me that day. It was totally unnecessary whit happened. He was the one that started the shootin’, no’ me.”
“Aye, mibbes yer right and mibbes yer no’, but he’s the one that’s in the jail the now and the Big Man wants your blood. You’ve landed me in it as well. He is blamin’ me for this coz it was me t
hat brought ye in. Whit the fuck did ye think ye were doin’ Kats?”
“DJ is nothin’ but a wanker Boots, you’ve said it yourself loads a times.” He noticed Boots eyes flicker to John-Jo and realised he’d divulged a secret. “He was rantin’ on about wantin’ me tae give youse ma contacts. Whit contacts? You know fine well I’m no’ a dope head Boots. Whit the fuck did you tell them about me tae make them think I could help them?”
“C’mon Kats, all you squaddies out there know folk that can get gear. Whit did ye think I got ye the job in the first place for? Do I look like your fuckin’ social worker? All as the Big Man wanted was a couple a names, a couple a phone numbers. That was all. If you’d just kept the head and done like ye were asked there would have been nae problem. Now he wants yer balls mate and there’s fuck all I can do about it.”
“Even for auld time’s sakes?” Kats wasn’t being serious and Boots knew it.
They hadn’t exactly been best mates when they ran in The Young Team but they’d backed each other up in more than one rammy so they knew each other’s measure more or less. However, Kats knew that it was more than Boots’ life was worth to let him go now.
“No’ even for auld time’s sakes Kats. Ye never know, mibbe he’ll only break one of yer legs.”
John-Jo sniggered behind him again.
“Whit about him?” Kats nodded at Pete.
“Whit about him? I wasn’t told tae bring him with us.”
“So?”
“So he’s no’ needed.”
“Meanin’?”
“Meanin’ he’d better forget this ever happened or no’ havin’ legs will be the least of his worries.” He leaned over Pete’s shoulder and leered into his face, “That right ma man?”
Kats measured the options. He couldn’t be certain that Boots would just let Pete go; in fact he was pretty sure Pete would be in for a lot more trouble after this. He was also pretty sure Big Davie would not be exactly rolling out the red carpet for him either.
Waging War To Shake The Cold Page 9
