by A D Evans
Ann-Marie and Davie went home shortly after they had cleared the house. Before they left, Paul had thanked Davie, for all his help, and told him that if he could ever help him, it would be his pleasure. He also insisted that any money from the insurance and the sale of the house should go to his sister and her husband.
‘If there's any cash left in the will, I want you two to have that as well. I've more money than I’ll ever need. So my lawyer will be in touch to sort out all the details. I know it's a right few bob so keep it safe. Use as much of the money as you want, but put something away for a rainy day. Anne- Marie cuddled her brother and said,
‘Thanks Paul, how can we ever repay all your kindness to us?’
‘Just be there for me if I ever need you. I love you wee yin, and I just want you to have the best. Okay?’
When the couple departed, a very subdued Paul Lynch was left on his own contemplating on the why’s and wherefores of life.
‘Is it all worth it?’ He kept repeating to the four unheeding walls of his lonely house.
TWENTYSEVEN
Frankie Sutherland looked immaculate in his well-tailored three-piece suit, and black patent leather shoes.
His face was red with fury, and looked at the man facing him as if he were insane.
‘What do you mean it’s been stolen? How the fuck can it have disappeared?’
Geo White looked quite calm and although dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, the physical strength of the man could never be disguised. He towered over Frankie by at least eight inches. ‘We left it where you told us, but when we went back to get it the car was gone’
‘There’s every security device known to mankind on that car. How the fuck did they get into it?’
Geo hung his head and replied ‘I just don't know. They must have taken it away on a tow truck or the likes’
‘Do you know what this means? It means that we have taken a delivery that is unpaid for and lost it. We now owe those bastards a fortune with no way of paying them back. We're dead men walking.’
“WE” Frankie? No, I don't think so. You owe them a fortune not us. We only work for a wage; we don't even get a percentage. So you're on your own. Good-bye Frankie and Good luck you'll need it when they come looking for their cash’.
‘Okay get to fuck the lot of you, I should never have trusted you English mob’
Geo and his two associates quickly left the room. If he could have seen them as they entered the lift, he could not have failed to notice the cold smiles on their faces.
He wrestled with a cigarette packet and his hands shook as he tried to light one.
‘How the fuck am I going to get out of this one?’
An hour or so passed, and after much deliberation, he had come to only one conclusion. He was going to have to throw himself on the mercy of the drug syndicate. Carl would surely understand. My God, he was almost family anyway. Explain to them what had happened and ask for a way to repay his debit. It was all he could do because if he tried to run the chances were they would find him. If he ran and was caught then there would be no deals, no chances, just a bullet in the base of his skull. He made the phone call and waited for a reply.
On the other side of Manchester a group of men were discussing his frantic pleading phone call.
‘We have him where we want him, lifting the car was perfect. We can now start to apply the pressure’
‘Yep, it was a great plan Carl, Let the fun begin.’ Laughed Kenny Connolly.
TWENTYEIGHT
A few days later in a large villa near Rouken Glen Park, a meeting was just starting. Attending the meeting were three of the main families associated with the organised distribution of drugs.
First, to speak was Kenny Connelly, the boss of the biggest gang in Glasgow. He was six feet two inches tall, and had a shock of pure blond hair. His frame was muscular and he looked full of raw contained power. The face was not exactly good looking, it was long with sharp well-defined features, and his eyes were a very deep blue. He had a small scar on the left hand side of his chin that sometimes was a vivid purple colour. His voice was a deep bass as he addressed the assembly.
‘Well, you all know why were here, so I’ll cut right to the chase. The small problem of Mr. Paul Lynch and his plans to take over the universe'
A small burst of laughter followed.
He is becoming a major pain in the arse, and everywhere we turn his name seems to crop up. As you know, I am well acquainted with him and in fact know him quite well. At one time liked him a lot, and considered offering him a place within our organisation. When I broached the subject to him he laughed in my face, and said that he would take orders from no man alive. At that point I withdrew and decided to monitor him for future reference. This brings us up to the present
I admired the way he handled the situation with that mad bastard Canttani. He moved in straight for the kill, and before the Italians knew what had hit them it was all over with their family ruthlessly wiped out. I think it was because he had such an easy time eliminating the Canntannis that he thinks he is the anointed one. He thinks he can do just as he pleases with his business. However, he is now starting to interfere in things that are not his business, namely the drug scene in this side of the city. One of our regular deliveries refused their order last week because they had bought their gear cheaper from an undisclosed source. Now I can give you two guesses as to who supplied them. It obviously was Paul Lynch. So what do we do about it? If we do nothing the word will soon get round and the next thing every little shite will be trying to get their hands on some of our customers. One alternative is to have him eliminated; this would not be a problem to implement. We could have him lured away from his normal places and do the deed, but I do not want to take this alternative because there has been so much killing recently it is bound to draw a lot of attention to the drug scene even if the assassination took place in England. As you know in the last few years we have been trying to disassociate the leaders of our organisation from the violent side of our business. This aspect has been left in the hands of the local lieutenants. But we do have a man inside the Lynch gang. He is passing us some quite startling information, but it will be only a matter off time before he is uncovered, and obviously, for security reasons I cannot t disclose his name. The information we have received from him has been first class, but the problem with him was that he would only deal with me personally. I do not like that, and as soon as he has passed his usefulness, we will dispose of him. His position may even now have been compromised because we have had no communication from him in some time. This has happened before and then suddenly he is back on the scene. He has a drink problem and goes on mad benders. I am hoping this is the case because he could be the key to the door of the Maryhill mob.
So I am now going to throw the meeting open for suggestions as to how we can deal with our problem child. Would any of you like to speak on the subject concerning Mr. Lynch?’
A man stood up and faced the other people in the room. The man was of small stature with short wispy grey hair. The face was rather non- descript and covered in lines, caused by either frowning or worry. He started to speak.
‘My name is Walter Bain. I am the man who deals with the financial aspects of our business. I can tell you all now that things are not as good as they were this time last year. As K. C. suggested earlier, we could take him out. Have him eliminated, but that always brings the police poking about. We can all do without that. So where do we go? I suggest that we have a sort of debating session, brainstorming the professional people like to call it. See what ideas we can come up with between you all. None of us are typical gangsters. We are all intelligent men, and learned a long time ago that violence solves nothing, except perhaps at the low life end of our business. The old saying about there being more than one-way to skin a cat has never been truer than at this minute.
I will set the ball rolling by making the first suggestion in the issue relating to Mr. Paul Lynch. We ruin him financially.
There is no doubt in my mind that he could cause us problems if we were to go to war with him especially if he did decide to fight it out. We would be forced into calling in the Manchester outfit, but that’s the last thing we need or want on our patch. Lynch is at the end of the day just an out and out violent thug, and yes I realise that he is also quite a smart cookie. He knows of no other way to deal with troubles except by reverting to violence. He is at his most vulnerable now, due to the death of both his grandparents within a few weeks of each other. I have it on good authority that he was very close to them, and that he is floating about in a kind of dazed state of mind. He doesn't seem to be taking much interest in his business right now. His guard is down due to the mourning process so he will not be as suspicious or thorough as he normally would be. My suggestion is that we should strike while the iron is hot.
I have been in touch with an old friend of his in Manchester. He is sort of family connected with our own organisation down there. He has known Lynch since their schooldays, and the last time Lynch met this friend was last year. He is under the impression that his friend has done really well for himself. At the time that was indeed the case. At this precise moment his dear friend owes us £270,000 for a delivery that went wrong after he had taken possession of it. He owes us big time! The friend is prepared to do anything to get back on an even keel with us. He would even sell his own granny if that were what it took. I also took the liberty of throwing in an extra little sweetener. I told him if the plan works we would clear his debts and give him one-hundred grand on top. Cheap at the price, I hope you will all agree. This man can and will get close to Lynch. We can set him up for a massive blow to his finances and manpower, a blow so decisive that his business could never recover from it. I have a master plan that I can put before the meeting, I am positive it will work. I am prepared to stake my reputation on it being successful. Paul Lynch is like the majority of drug dealers. Maybe I should reclassify that and include the majority of human beings he is driven by greed, craves money and power. He is only interested in himself, and what can he get out of it? He will tell his fellow gang members that he has the good of the whole gang in mind. This of course is not true he is an egotistical bastard, and anyone who he thinks is trying to make a fool of him will pay dearly for it.
We were told by a source in the C. I. D. that they know of several people who have vanished or turned up dead, after having a joke at his expense. I promise you we will be able to use this to our advantage when it comes to the sting with him. If we just give him enough rope he will hang himself. His friend from Manchester has assured us that he can persuade him into following the path we wish him to take. He trusts this man and if he can’t do it I don't think anyone else could apart from his sidekick Willie Marshall.
Of course he is unapproachable as he is totally devoted to Lynch's well-being. Well I will leave it to the next speakers to put their points across. It goes without saying that I can’t give you all the details of my plan for the final solution to our problem. If you can except that in essence my plan will work that is all I will ask of you.
I thank you all for listening to me, and all I ask is that you consider what I have said, run it through your own mind and if you think it is feasible then let me know. Although plans have already been put in place they can be changed at any time if a better option should arise’
When the man sat down, many others wanted to speak. The debate ran for several more hours, but at the end of the day, nobody had come up with a better plan than Walter Bain. It was agreed by all that the plan should be continued and implemented as soon as possible to rid themselves of the pariah that Paul Lynch had become.
He went to his office to sit quietly, and began to formulate his plan to stop their rival dead in the water, although not literally dead as his gang members would be.
TWENTYNINE
He had started out as an accountant for a long established Glasgow firm; begun his career as an office junior, then went to college and university. When his training was complete had risen quickly through the ranks. He had been put in charge of a massive account that belonged to a rather shady, but well known Glasgow businessman. As the years passed he helped his client as much as he possibly could. His particular expertise was in tax evasion strategies. One day he came to his office in Renfield Street to find the police waiting for him. An audit was taking place on his client’s account, but he was not worried by any outcome the police would find. He was a past master at hiding any underhand methods of tax evasion. Something went seriously wrong and both he and his client were charged with a massive fraud, but while waiting to go to court he was offered the deal of a lifetime. It was suggested to him that he would take the blame. Do a short stretch, and come out to £1,000,000 sterling. In addition, they would make sure that he had a very easy time in prison. With anything, he wanted within reason. He appeared in court and took the wrap for everything, pleading guilty to all charges. The judge thanked him for not wasting court time, and public money. He considered this when passing sentence.
He was sent to prison for four years with a year of the sentence suspended, but he had three years left to do.
The first night in Glasgow's infamous Barlinnie prison was torture. The noises were unbelievable, and he was put in a cell with another person. He hesitatingly introduced himself to his cellmate.
‘So you’re Walter Bain. Pleased to meet you. I've never been dubbed up with a protected man before. I’ll tell you this Walter; it makes me feel a whole lot safer knowing that I’m sharing with you’
He asked the man what was the meaning of a protected man, and the man who was called Jimmy replied.
‘Nobody in this whole jail would lay a finger on you .The protection that you carry is the best in any prison. You could walk up to shooter McInnis and piss in his dinner and he would probably wipe your willie with a cloth. Then ask if sir would also like a shite’
He smiled at the uncouth way Jimmy described his protection, but inside himself, he began to feel a little bit calmer.
Lights out time came and when he heard all the cell doors closing with a slam felt the panic rising to his throat. He was stifled, claustrophobic and almost suicidal. What had he let himself in for, by accepting this jail time? Three years, he would spend living with the dregs off society. It only then occurred to him that he could be out in 18 months or less if, things went as they should, but would he be able to stand it?
‘You bet I will. For the money that's waiting for me, I will suffer it’
He met many hard cases in his short spell of prison life. He would see them swagger in as if they could not care less, but if you listened, closely after lights out you may hear the sound of muffled crying coming from the hard mans cell. Yes, the west of Scotland macho image is alive and well in places like Barlinnie prison.
He soon got used to prison life, and everything was provided for him. If he went over and asked about a game of pool or any other game, a place was made for him instantly. After a month, he was moved to an open prison down the west coast of Scotland. It was the same there. His time was easy time, and he actually started to enjoy himself going to art and pottery classes. he was allowed to take his visitors for a walk in the grounds of the prison. One or two very pretty girl visitors went for a walk with him to the secluded parts off the grounds. He never knew their names, just that they were very obliging.
He only served 14 months, and when he left, prison was given his promised payout money. He came out of prison to a job for life with the south-side Gangsters Incorporated as they jokingly called themselves.
Walter went on to handle all the financial aspects of the business. He knew enough about everything that went on within the drugs trade that his advice was the most sought after commodity in the gang.
THIRTY
Frankie Sutherland stretched his six-foot frame and loudly yawned. His long dark hair was damp with sweat as was his drooping moustache. He had consumed about five large whiskies in the bar before departur
e, so it was no surprise when he fell asleep as the train left Euston station.
He headed for the toilet, and washed his well-tanned handsome face.
‘I think a quick shave is in order Frankie boy,’ he said to the mirror.
Five minutes later, he was back in his compartment, and began pulling down his coat and hand luggage from the overhead rack in preparation to get off the train.
The train arrived at Glasgow Central Station at 11 o'clock on a Friday morning. He was very excited and nervous, because he had not been in Glasgow for about a year, and was looking forward to seeing his mother and father. He was also going to attempt to see his seven-year-old daughter, if his ex-wife would consent to a visit. Frankie could not understand why she was so bitter towards him; he sent regular money, birthday cards and presents for the wee one. The last time he had tried to see his daughter; his ex. had phoned the cops.
‘Fuck her! I will work something out; after all, it was nearly Christmas. Surely even she would have compassion for a suffering father at this time of year’
He had almost forgotten the real insidious reason for his Yuletide visit.
‘Merry Christmas Paul, my oldest and trusted friend. Oh! And by the way, I’m about to sell you down the river, for a few quid I owe to your rivals’
He felt sick about the act of betrayal that was to be his greeting card to his old pal. He had justified it a thousand times in his head, but at the end of the day, he was helping an enemy to rob a friend. My god Paul and I go back a long way together. Nursery school at Queens cross, St Charles Primary school, secondary school, our first robbery, even our first sexual experience with the same female. First Celtic game, first old firm match, first drink. Oh god! The things you have to do to get yourself out of bother. Another first suddenly occurred to Frankie. It was the first time he had ever committed treason.
