Like everyone else he’d learned to just suck it up when DJ thought he was being funny, secure in the knowledge that if DJ ever completely over-stepped the mark then The Boss would step in and sort it out.
He might be protective of his son, but he was still The Boss, and he was as like to smack DJ as anyone else when things were getting out of hand and affecting operations in any way. Minor jibes, though, had to be tolerated, so he concentrated on the road and held his peace.
“Ye got any gear man; I’m gaggin’ for a hit.”
Boots opened the glove compartment and indicated. DJ took out a bag of white powder, measured some out onto the armrest, cut it with the plastic card from the bag, and snorted it with the handily provided straw. Boots had come well prepared - he knew his man.
“Fuck that’s better.” His eyes rolled in their sockets as the crystal took immediate effect. “I don't know why ma da’ fucks about with smack. It costs a fuckin’ fortune tae bring in and tae look after whilst you’ve got it. I keep telling him: ‘Da’, meth is the answer tae our problems. It’s cheap, it’s easy tae make from stuff ye can buy in Boots the Chemist, it’s fuckin’ top gear, and best of all, they only need one hit and they’re fuckin’ hooked!’ But he wullnae listen. Tell ye somethin’ Boots, when it’s ma turn at the drivin’ we’ll no’ be fuckin’ about wi’ a bunch of crooks waitin’ tae get a load of gear brought in frae the Middle East. We’ll be in the production business. This is the gear for us.”
Boots stole a glance at him, the man who would be his future boss, and thought, not for the first time, that he wasn’t a patch on his father. Big Davie might be a ruthless gangster who trafficked in hard drugs but he never touched the stuff himself. He hardly even drank.
DJ on the other hand was a toxic mess. He’d stuff Windolene up his nose if he reckoned it would get him high, and he spent the majority of the day in a meth-induced hallucinogenic fog. It affected everything and everyone around him with extremes of violence and lunatic mood swings the norm. Methamphetamine did that to people.
Meth wasn’t like other hard drugs such as heroin or cocaine: meth slashed and burned its way through the brain, destroying ninety percent of the natural dopamine in the first soul-consuming hit, making users forever dependent and requiring more and more in order to recreate the effect of that first hit. They never could.
The fact it could be readily made from over-the-counter branded medications like Sudafed had made it the drug of choice for urban America where it was wreaking havoc among the young, the disenfranchised, and the poor. And now it was in Glasgow and set to do the same thing in the schemes and tower blocks.
Meth feeds on deprivation and hopelessness: delivering a fast track to chemical oblivion and a shortened life of dependency. Meth users weren’t normally long for this world. DJ was a meth user so his reign as King, if and when it happened, would be short-lived but spectacularly erratic and violent.
“Yer da’ says we’ve tae work together as well funnily enough,” he said, snapping himself away from dangerous thoughts.
“Aye?”
“Aye – he wants us to trail that bawbag Crossan. He’s into us for big money and yer da’ thinks he’s gonnae do a runner, at least that’s whit I took from the conversation. Ye know yer da’, every bit of information is a prisoner. Anyway, he said we’ve not to touch him but if we see him with a bag or a case headed for the airport, train station or motorway, we’ve to grab him up and take him to yer da’.”
“When do we start then?”
“Now. I was just gonnae head over there and get our bearings. Thought we’d book into a Travel Lodge or something so we’d be based there just in case.”
“Nah – I want tae see ma maw. Take me hame first Boots.”
“But...”
“But fuck all Boots. I’m going hame tae see ma mammy first and that’s that. If he has anythin’ tae say about it he can take it up wi’ her.”
Boots sighed carefully and indicated to come off the M8, heading towards Shettleston.
Chapter 35
Nick looked in the rear view mirror. That old blue Ford Mondeo was there again, two cars back. It had been there when he went to work that morning and it was there when he came out the office to go to a lunch meeting in Musselburgh.
At first he thought he was being a little paranoid, but when he saw it pull out behind him again as he left the meeting he was pretty sure: someone was tailing him.
The problem was, who?
He could make out two figures in the car, but they were always at a far enough distance so he couldn’t be sure if it was Big Davie’s lot (prime suspects), the FSA (unusual but possible), or perhaps even the cops (if Georgina had called them in and blabbed a bit).
Glancing again in his mirror, he indicated to go into the left lane as he approached the traffic lights. The Mondeo did the same, now just one car behind. He slowed his Porsche down deliberately as he approached the lights on green and got lucky; just as he arrived, the light changed to amber. He made to brake, forcing the car immediately behind him to come to a stop, but then he hit the gas and the 911 roared through the lights, the tail just stepping out characteristically as he made the hard left. He couldn’t see the Mondeo anymore but he was certain they would have seen him take off.
That sealed it – he couldn’t wait any longer. A change of plan was needed now and he had to get away, to hell with the FSA. He’d already made up a grab bag with the barest essentials: passport; credit card in a false name; $5000 in cash and the same in pounds; change of clothes; driver’s license; toiletries. It was small enough to fit into his briefcase, so it never left his side, and was therefore inconspicuous to anyone around him. He’d hoped never to need it, but now he knew he had no choice.
The only thing missing was the replacement Codemaster from the bank in Grand Cayman. Without that he had no access to the funds he’d need to transfer, and every second’s delay now could jeopardise everything.
When he realised the jogger made it away with that as well as his keys, he immediately called the bank who confirmed no transactions were made and nor had the account been accessed since the last time he himself was online. That, at least, was something.
Whoever it was that turned him over hadn’t the wit to figure out just what he had gotten his hands on, or perhaps he hadn’t handed it over to Sophie yet.
The bank agreed to disable the old one and FedEx a replacement one out to him. It was due today and the online tracking confirmed it would be at his door later that afternoon.
He couldn’t go straight to the flat though, not now. That was the first place they would look for him. He picked up his mobile and called a directory service.
“Hi – can you put me through to the Federal Express depot in...” he rummaged among the papers on his passenger seat and read out the address. The operator confirmed the address and soon the number was ringing.
“Hi – this is Nick Crossan and I am waiting on a consignment number F2981098 being delivered this afternoon. Is there any chance I could pick that up or meet the driver somewhere? It’s just I really need the package and I can’t get to my address.”
“Okay, let me look at the system and see what’s what then sir.” There was a pause and Nick could hear the disembodied tap tap on a keyboard. “Yes, it is out for delivery but I’m afraid the driver can’t change his route and he wouldn’t be authorised to make any unscheduled stops at this late stage. Can you come by the depot tomorrow when he has returned the package as undelivered?”
“No no, that won’t work for me. I need it today but I just can’t get to the flat easily.”
“I see. I mean I can call the driver and see where he is and get a pretty accurate time for when he would be there if that would help you? He needs the signature and he’d need to deliver it to your door, if there was anyone who could be at your house to accept it that would be fine, but that's the best I can do I’m afraid.”
“Okay, okay. If that’s what it needs to be then that’
s what it needs to be. When will he be there?”
“Okay sir, hold on and I will check for you.”
There was the muffled sound of a conversation after a few seconds wait and then the FedEx guy came back on. “Sir, he said he can make your drop the last one on his route so giving you as much time to get home as possible. He’ll be there at 5.30 or as near as he can. If he’s early he’s agreed to wait, but his shift finishes at 5.30 so please be there on time. If you can’t meet him then he’ll return the package to the depot and you can either pick it up or request a delivery for the day after. That okay?”
“Not really, but it will just have to bloody do.” He hung up, chewing his lip in thought.
He looked at his watch. It was only 1.30 p.m. He couldn’t go to the flat now as they would look for him there and he wasn’t going back to the office either, that would be the other place they’d look. He needed a place to think and plan, somewhere unobtrusive and out of the way where he could dump the car and vanish for an hour or two.
“Got it. Daddy’s taking us to the zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow...”
Chapter 36
“Ya fuckin’ tool! You lost him.”
“Aye awrite DJ, whit the fuck was I supposed to do? There was a car in the outside lane and the one in front stopped at the lights. Was I supposed to ram him out the way? So he jumped a light, that disnae mean he’s made us or nuthin’. We’ll just head back to his office and see if he’s there, if he’s no’ then we’ll go to his flat. Where’s he gonnae go?”
“Boots, don’t fuckin’ talk down to me like that. Am no’ Squeak. He better show up ‘cos if he disnae then you can tell ma faither that YOU lost him in traffic. In fact, you’d better phone it in the now. He’ll be wanting to know.” He handed Boots the mobile. It wasn’t a request.
Boots punched the call button and waited for the answer.
“Boss... aye it’s me... we were tailing him like ye said but he ran a light and got away from us... Naw... I don’t think so... that’s what I was gonnae do... whit if I see him then? Okay... fine... I’ll let you know...”
“Whit’s the plan then?”
“We’ve to go hunting for him at the office and then at his flat like I said.”
“And?”
“And when we find him he wants him grabbed and brung in.”
“Haw haw, now we’re talkin’. Some fuckin’ action at last Bootsy boy.”
Much as he loathed DJ, Boots couldn’t help but feel the thrill of the impending violence. DJ was a dickhead but he was no coward, and was usually first into the action when things got rough. Mind you, things usually got rough because it was DJ that was inciting it, but you had to give the man his due, he never backed away from a battle.
Not that this was in any way a battle; that soft shite Crossan would give it up easy, but they’d have to smack him about a wee bit to make sure he wasn’t going to be any trouble. The boss understood that was a necessary part of the process and there would be no comeback about that for sure.
The only problem could be getting DJ to stop once he started. If Crossan was smart he’d just roll into a ball and take a few kicks and then do as he was told. If he fought back, or, probably worse, gave DJ any snash, then anything could happen. DJ was a borderline rocket, even without the addition of methamphetamine, and when he was confronted he always overreacted.
“Ye got another line in there Boots?”
“Aye... eh... d’ye no’ want to go a wee bit easy on it until we get the bastard?”
“What are you now Boots, ma mammy?”
“Aw c’mon DJ, you know how important this is to your dad. If we fuck this up we’ll both be in the shite so it’s no’ just me. All as am saying is we should mibbe grab him first, get him in the motor and then ye can enjoy yerself. That’s all.”
DJ looked at Boots but didn’t say anything for a while. He could feel the gaze but chose not to make eye contact; that would just spell trouble.
“Ye know Boots, that’s your problem. Ye worry too much about the stupid wee things. Whit the fuck trouble dae ye think this plank is gonnae give us? Eh? He’s an English fanny. The minute he sees us he’s gonnae fill his nappy. Noo stop behavin’ like a fuckin’ wummin and gie’s a hit!”
Boots sighed. It was useless. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the junkie kit, handing it silently to DJ.
“That’s better. Eyes on the road big man, time for DJ’s medicine and he disnae want tae spill any.”
Chapter 37
It was unbelievable but it was also undeniable. There was no mistaking the skinhead-baldy heads of Boots and DJ in the blue Ford. He could even make out Boots driving from a distance because of the visible bruising on his face. He smiled with grim satisfaction at his handiwork.
But why would they be trying to tail Nick Crossan? That made no sense to him. Trying to tail him was the operative phrase – they were useless at it and it was no surprise to Kats that Nick had obviously seen them and run the light.
Luckily Kats was more experienced at surveillance and was in front of Nick at the time, and so had observed the whole incident. Being in front was a much better option: few people ever thought they were being followed when they were the ones physically doing the following, especially when they were following a white van, the most common vehicle on the road.
The only problem with the process was, of course, anticipating turns and traffic lights, but even those could be judged by watching the indicators or where the car was positioned and the speed it was going: what you might call ‘road language’.
A junction ahead meant Kats having to watch the mirrors carefully for where Nick’s car was placed in the road, or for a flash of an indicator. It didn’t mean mistakes couldn’t be made, but as long as he kept his cool, Kats found that he got it right more often than he got it wrong. And if he got it wrong he just made a U-turn, or went round the block till he picked Nick up again, and followed him in the conventional way.
He’d seen Boots and DJ parked up in the car park when he’d driven past Nick’s office, but they were so busy rubber-necking the front door they hadn’t noticed him driving past.
Waiting round the corner until Nick came out, he pulled out in front of him as, on cue, Boots and DJ pulled out behind. He’d been ahead of the Porsche without incident all the way into Musselburgh and went round the block as Nick turned into an office car park.
When he came back round the block, the blue Ford was parked in the street, so he passed it again and parked further up the road. He waited until he saw Nick leave and pulled out again in front of him, carefully watching for signs of his intended direction and noting the Mondeo still at Nick’s back.
He’d made it through the light and hung a left on Nick’s indicator, expecting to have to wait further along the road for him to clear the impending red light, but then he saw in surprise that the Porsche had run the light and shaken its shadow. He pulled over anyway to let Nick pass and then, after he had gone a hundred yards or so, he took up the position formerly occupied by the Ford.
The Porsche threaded its way through the city centre and then out towards the West. He expected Nick to be headed for the M8 and possibly Glasgow, but to his surprise he turned into the car park at Edinburgh Zoo, took a ticket from the attendant and parked up by the wall at the far end, well away from the rest of the vehicles. Kats quickly switched direction into the adjacent hotel car park and watched as Nick got out of the Porsche with his briefcase and headed for the zoo entrance.
What the fuck is he up to now?
It didn't seem sensible to risk following him on foot, after all he had mugged the man fairly recently, so Kats headed into the hotel, bought himself a pint, and sat at a table with a view of the car park where he could watch the Porsche.
Two hours passed and there was still no sign of him returning. Kats came to a decision: being followed had obviously spooked Nick, and if he didn't move now then the risk was high that Nick might do a disappearing act com
pletely.
A brief moment of panic gripped him as he suddenly realised he could have done the runner already. After all, the only thing Kats could see was the car, and it was entirely possible Nick had simply dumped it and taken off on foot. It wasn’t as if his car could blend into the background after all.
Kats got up and headed down to the hotel car park at a jog where he recovered the van and headed into the zoo car park proper. He slowly cruised up to the Porsche and parked next to the driver’s door, reversing in so his door was so tight to it there was no possibility of Nick being able to get into the Porsche unless the van was moved.
“If you’re no away yet, that will slow you up for a while pal.”
He flipped open the glove compartment on the passenger side and retrieved the Berretta, couldn’t hurt to be prepared after all, then got out the passenger door and headed towards the zoo entrance to do a recce.
Being mid-week, the zoo was relatively quiet with only a few school parties traipsing through the entrance and running in and out of the zoo shop. The zoo was a big place, it would be stupid to go in and look for Nick. Where would he start?
What the fuck was Nick doing here anyway, apart of course from lying low that is. The art of vanishing by being conspicuous; the oldest trick in the book.
Like most tourist places, entrance to the shop was free, so Kats wandered in and browsed the stock. He had a good view of the ticket and entrance area while scanning around for signs of Nick.
If he’d actually gone into the zoo he’d have to come this way to get out, and if not, it was only an hour maximum till the zoo closed. It was worth sticking it out to at least prove or disprove whether he had made a break for it or not.
After about half an hour he was starting to notice the shop assistants eyeing him curiously. They were clearly wondering if he was casing the joint, or maybe he was even a paedo’ since the place was now rammed with primary school kids.
Waging War To Shake The Cold Page 18
