After an hour or so of staring at concrete, watching weeds growing out of it, they decided to ‘use their own initiative’, as one of them put it in his report. They picked the roughest estate they’d heard of and drove down there, parked up, somehow avoided being lynched by the local plebs and waited for the first car that came past with a light out before pulling it over. Poor bloody Toddy wasn’t even arrested by a crack team from SOCA or the drug squad, just a couple of virgins in blue uniforms.
I knew Palmer had been thinking about Toddy. We all had. He’s a good bloke, and he did the right thing, he said nowt. And what did that mean for him? It meant he took the full brunt of a judge’s fury and was handed a sentence that made him out to be the drug lord of Sunnydale. The Chief Constable stood outside the court afterwards and praised his fearless young officers to the skies, the fucking hypocrite.
Once the press coverage has died down, all we will have left is Toddy, stuck inside for a long stretch, with plenty of time to wonder what he could have done differently that day that might not have involved him going to prison. He’ll be cursing his luck and thinking about his woman, knowing there is no way that any lass on this planet is going to stay faithful to a jailed drug dealer for fourteen years. Before too long, she’s going to be in another man’s bed. I mean, if she’s a good ‘un she might wait a while; six months, maybe even a year, but it’s going to happen eventually and he knows it. That’s just the way it is and there’s absolutely nothing Toddy can do about it, not when he’s on the inside.
Three days after Arthur Gladwell’s funeral, we had a sit-down. The atmosphere was no more respectful than normal.
‘You still here?’ Ray Fallon asked Kinane across the conference table of the Copthorne Hotel. ‘I heard you’d retired years ago.’ Fallon was Kinane’s opposite number and as legendary in Glasgow as our Joe was in Newcastle. The Gladwells didn’t do all of their own dirty work. They left some of it to the six-foot-four steroidal bouncer who was taunting Kinane. Fallon’s inky prison tats on his bulky forearms and biceps stretched as he jabbed his finger accusingly at my enforcer. Fallon’s nose had been broken so many times it was almost flat against his face and his eyes were filled with hate. He was baring his teeth like an attack dog, which was basically what he was.
‘I’ll retire you if you come a bit closer. I’ll tear your fucking arms off and beat you to death with them, you cunt,’ Kinane growled.
‘Maybe twenty years ago you could have,’ Fallon admitted, ‘but then I was only ten. What were you? Forty?’
‘Twenty years ago?’ Kinane pretended to ponder the question. ‘I was busy bitch-slapping benders from Glasgow with big mouths. It’s a hobby of mine.’
‘Alright you two,’ I interrupted them, ‘we’ll get a ruler out later and measure both of you to see who has the bigger cock, but right now put your handbags down and behave yourselves.’
I looked over at Alan Gladwell, who smiled to himself, then nodded at Fallon, who looked a bit aggrieved to have been silenced by me. We were here to discuss business, not start a brawl in one of Newcastle’s nicer hotels. The main players sat down, including Alan Gladwell, Fallon and the remaining Gladwell brothers, Malcolm and Andrew. Amrein was between us, acting as the chair of the meeting. His bodyguards lined the walls of the room to ensure the two sides couldn’t suddenly launch themselves at one another. ‘Shall we begin?’ he asked.
I looked at Alan Gladwell. He was watching me intently and I was struck by how much he resembled his old man, unlike his older brother Tommy. He had the same long nose as Arthur, eyes like a rodent and the coarse stubble of a five-o’clock shadow on his chin.
‘Amrein approached me about this meeting. He said you wanted to discuss some business with us and I agreed to hear you out. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but there’s something we need to do first.’
‘And what’s that?’ he asked.
‘Clear the air.’
‘Go on,’ he challenged me.
‘Your brother Tommy came down to Newcastle too, but he didn’t come to talk and he never went home. You and I both know that. We can pretend we don’t, but we’d be kidding ourselves. You know he tried to take over Bobby Mahoney’s territory and you know he failed. I am surprised you would want to do business with our firm, under the circumstances. There are some who would view that with suspicion.’
Alan Gladwell took a long while to answer. He bought time in fact, reaching for one of those heavy, glass bottles full of sparkling water and pouring himself a glass, then he settled back down in his seat and looked at me. It seemed like he was trying to contain his emotions.
‘Tommy was my older brother, and I loved him…’ he coughed, like he was attempting to prevent his voice from betraying his feelings, ‘and when he didn’t come back, we all grieved for him, me included.’
‘His…’ he was searching for the right word now, ‘…disappearance…caused my family a lot of pain. We had to take care of his children. I had to explain things to them, things no small child should ever have to hear. Losing Tommy took years off my father’s life.’ He was looking directly at me now. It was if there was nobody else in the room but us. ‘But I never lost sight of one thing,’ he coughed again, clearing his throat, ‘Tommy was bang out of order. What he tried to do was wrong. He was taking the piss and no one could say he didn’t pay a very big price for his ambitions.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
‘If I was going to go to war with you over something, it wouldn’t be that. Tommy did what he did and Bobby did what he felt he had to do. I don’t have to like that, and I don’t, but I understood why it happened. If we were going to come after you we’d have done it by now, but my Dad didn’t see any mileage in it for any of us. Feuds cost money and good people from both sides end up dead. What matters is staying one step ahead of the Polis and all the wankers out there who want a slice of what we’ve got. Am I right?’
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’
‘And there’s another thing,’ he told me, looking up at Amrein uncertainly. Amrein nodded reassuringly.
‘The room’s been swept,’ Amrein assured him, ‘you can talk freely.’
‘The killing,’ Gladwell said, ‘I want it to stop.’ I must have looked unconvinced, because he continued, ‘it was my Dad’s way. He thought it was the only way to stay in charge of a city like ours, and maybe it was, but times have changed. You can’t just go around murdering people and expect the Polis to turn a blind eye any more. I mean they’re not all bent, not these days. So where does it get you? My father stood trial for murder twice and missed a life sentence by the skin of his teeth. I don’t want that stress. My father killed people, and I did too, but I am saying there’s another way. We shouldn’t be so casual about it, taking a man’s life, I mean. It should be the last resort, know what I’m saying?’
I did, and was conflicted because he was echoing my own view, but was he just telling me what I wanted to hear?
‘I’d be happy if I never had to do it again. Sure, if someone steps out of line they get a beating, but that ought to be enough. Now, I think you, me and Amrein can agree to it and, more to the point, it will be good for business because the men in uniform and the politicians will leave us alone if they think we are policing our own patch.’
‘It makes sense,’ I admitted.
‘Then I suggest we talk about how we are going to work together on this Edinburgh thing because, if we don’t, then sure as hell someone else will come in and pick up where Dougie Reid left off. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a near neighbour of mine getting rich on Edinburgh’s heroin, eyeing up what I’ve got, then planning to take it off me. I know you will have had the same thought.’
‘I have.’
‘My father is dead but I don’t want anyone to be in any doubt about who is in charge. I’m the only one with the men, the muscle and the cash to control an operation the size of ours.’
He took another swig of water and I wondered if
he was nervous, or just thirsty. ‘In Edinburgh it’s different. The Polis got lucky up there and they took down some high-level players, so we now have something that looks a lot like anarchy. Wannabes dealing a bit of Blow here and a bit of H there and when a dealer crosses over a boundary, people start getting nailed to garage doors or thrown off bridges. The Polis don’t like that.’
‘You’ve had talks?’
‘Informal discussions, with senior men we’ve known for some time,’
Amrein interjected, ‘in meetings brokered by us,’ – as if I doubted it. He wanted to remind me how he earned the Drop.
‘They are not stupid men,’ Gladwell went on, ‘they know there’s a gap in the market and, if someone doesn’t fill it, Edinburgh will soon start to look like downtown Kabul. Last week a bullet went through the hood of a baby’s buggy, missed the little mite by inches. It ended up on the front page of all the tabloids. The Press are saying the Polis have lost control, there is no law or order in Edinburgh.’
It was a similar story in Newcastle, thanks to the attacks on me and my men, I thought, but I let him finish. ‘The Polis don’t like that kind of thing and I assured them I would do what I could to restore order, but I already have one city to run.’
‘So do we,’ I reminded him.
‘Yes but…between us…’ He didn’t have to elaborate. ‘I suggest you think about it. I’ll provide some people, you can do the same, we can agree a split but you already know it makes sense. We’ve practically got permission to go ahead.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll give it some thought,’ I assured him.
‘Do that,’ he urged me, ‘I can let you have some time, but not much. Amrein can set up another meeting for us and when I come back here I’ll need your answer.’
‘Fair enough.’
The deal made perfect sense to me except for one last lingering doubt. Could I really trust the man whose brother I’d sliced up with a machete? Did I honestly believe Alan Gladwell was a reformed character, or did I just really want to believe it?
I was sick of hotels and hotel food. I was tired of looking down corridors worried that someone was going to come at me from the shadows before I had a chance to turn the key in the lock. I didn’t want to bunk up at Palmer’s house or stay with my brother. I relished the prospect of being on my own, in fact. All I wanted to do was buy a few things and cook them myself, wash a meal down with a glass of wine and maybe watch an old movie. I was too weary for anything else.
When we finished the meeting with the Gladwells, I walked to my car with Palmer. ‘I’m going to use the town house tonight,’ I told him, ‘you can get me there if you need me.’
‘Okay,’ he said, but that was all he said, and there was something in the ensuing silence that alerted me.
‘It didn’t arrive did it?’
He shook his head slowly.
I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t believe this fucking guy. Who the fuck does he think we are? A bunch of amateurs selling a bit of puff to sixth-formers?’
‘I don’t reckon he does think that, no.’
‘Then why is he taking me for a mug? He’s been in business for years with a reputation for delivering, yet the minute he takes our money he’s incapable of dropping a consignment into Amsterdam. Come on, Palmer, this is his bread and butter.’
Palmer shrugged, ‘he says there’s a hitch getting the product out of the country. One of the officials he’s dealt with for a long while has just been lifted. He says it’s nothing he can’t fix.’
‘And you believe that?’
‘Why would he lie?’
‘Then tell him to fix it. You tell the Turk it’s very simple. Either he sends us our product or he gives us our million Euros back. There is a third way that we could conclude our business but I don’t think he would like that option.’
‘Careful,’ cautioned Palmer, ‘I told you he has a big operation. We don’t want to go to war with them.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘I know you’re not happy, but I think we should give him more time.’
‘Do we even have a choice?’ I asked. It was a rhetorical question.
*
I met Sharp in one of our city-centre flats.
‘You want me to do what?’ he asked, as if I’d suggested he should step off a high building. ‘Are you serious?’
‘What do you think?’
‘You want me to spy on Alan Gladwell? Have you got any idea how dangerous that is for me? You’ve heard the stories about him. Alan Gladwell has been the real force behind his father’s empire since Tommy died. And he doesn’t leave the dirty work to his hard men.’ I assumed that was a dig at me, but I didn’t react, ‘he does it all himself. He enjoys inflicting pain. He cuts people up, he sets them alight. He castrated one guy!’
‘Yeah, I heard that story.’
‘It’s not a story, it’s true. The last guy who tried to take Glasgow from Arthur Gladwell got his dick and balls cut off by Alan Gladwell, personally!’ I waited for him to calm down and carry on, ‘he’s a bloody psychopath. He doesn’t care if you’re a civilian, a villain or a cop.’
‘Then he’s a fool and it will bring him down in the end.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he told me, ‘I am not going to follow Alan Gladwell around Glasgow, his home patch, and wait for him to notice. I’ve seen the pictures of the guys he’s fucked with over the years and it’s not pretty, believe me. So no thanks, not this time.’
I could tell Sharp was shit scared of Alan Gladwell for real because he’d completely forgotten his place in the scheme of things. ‘First of all, Sharp, I am not asking, I’m telling.’ I told him through gritted teeth.
‘Now hang on…’
‘Shut up,’ I told him quietly and at least he had the good sense to fall silent. ‘You don’t have to drive round Glasgow tailgating Alan Gladwell’s car. I just want you to find out everything you can about him and report back to me.’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘sorry, it’s just I…’
‘But don’t go thinking you can get away with reading a few Police files and talking to a couple of bent coppers up there. I need you under his skin and you have to find something.’
‘Find what, exactly?’
‘Something I can use!’ I barked. ‘Right now Alan Gladwell holds all the cards north of the border. He owns Glasgow and, with or without us, he will soon be the main player in Edinburgh. So it would help my bargaining position if he had a weakness, but I won’t know what it is until you find it. Come on, you know what I’m talking about here. Lift up stones and tell me what crawls out from under them.’
‘Okay, I’ll do my best.’
I’d had about enough of dealing with all of the pressure on my own. I walked over to the chair Sharp was sitting on. I put my hands on the arms and leaned in close. I had to contain my anger because I felt like I was about to explode. Whatever he could see in my face seemed to alarm him. ‘Your best won’t do, Sharp. Get me something I can use, otherwise there’s no point keeping you. You’ll be just another expensive luxury I can’t afford, and I’ll cut you adrift. Got me?’
He nodded quickly, ‘I’m on it.’
‘You’d better be,’ I warned him.
26
.......................
Hunter turned the key in the front door but, before he opened it and stepped through, he glanced back behind him, squinting down the darkened driveway, certain he had seen something.
Nothing, and, even if there had been, what the hell could he have done about it? He paused for a moment, then started to feel foolish. This was ridiculous. Hunter was a veteran of the firm and here he was, standing on his doorstep like a frightened schoolboy, waiting for the Bogeyman to jump out and grab him.
‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers’ he said to himself as he opened the front door of the home he shared with his wife, the kids having both grown up and fled the nest. Mary was at her old mum’s house, cooking dinner and making sure she got t
o bed alright, a ritual she went through every evening. He turned on the hall light, then did the same in the lounge and the kitchen.
Mary would have left him something in the fridge to microwave, but he wasn’t hungry. Maybe it was the stress of seeing everyone in the firm permanently on red alert these days, or possibly it was the meeting with the Gladwells that had unsettled him. Perhaps he’d just pour himself a drink, relax with the paper for a few minutes, then get off to bed early. Going to the whisky bottle for a decent Malt was a routine move, done almost automatically.
Hunter poured a generous measure into a glass tumbler, flicked the light switch to illuminate the room and slid open the door. It moved smoothly to one side and Hunter stepped into the large conservatory that was tacked onto the back of his home. He placed the tumbler of whisky on the table in front of him, grabbed a cushion from the sofa and dropped it onto the armchair opposite the TV, though he didn’t turn it on. He’d had Sky TV for years now; the kids had wanted it for the music stations and American shows when they were younger, but the only thing he ever watched on it was the football. When Hunter had been a lad there were only three TV channels; BBC1, BBC2 and ITV. Try telling that to youngsters these days and they wouldn’t believe you. His own kids looked at him like he was a caveman when he tried to explain it. Hunter was dimly aware that he had a hundred channels to choose from today but there appeared to be fuck all on any of them. So he left the TV off and sat back, picked up the newspaper from the table in front of him and sipped his whisky. The drink warmed the back of his throat, but the newspaper failed to distract him. Instead he sat there, contemplating the situation he found himself in. Primarily he wondered if the siege mentality Blake seemed to be adopting had anything to do with the late, unlamented Tommy Gladwell.
It was Hunter to whom Blake had turned to dispose of the bodies of Tommy Gladwell, his wife and bodyguards. This he had done in the tried and trusted way, by taking them out to the farm and dumping them where the pigs could reach them. That was the great thing about pigs. They would get rid of everything for you, flesh, bones, cartilage, tendons, ligaments, the lot. If you wanted someone to disappear completely and forever, they wouldn’t leave a trace. But the experience of getting rid of a Gladwell had rattled Hunter, for he was well aware of the family’s reputation and he wondered at the time if this, far from being the end of things, might actually be the start of something. Now members of his firm were meeting with the Gladwells. Hunter didn’t believe in suddenly trusting your enemies.
The Damage (David Blake 2) Page 18
