by Tom Benson
“And here we are.”
“Did you know you were being followed today?”
“I do now.”
“I might be wrong, which isn’t often,” she flashed her smile. “I reckon you have at least two interested parties in the immediate area.”
“How close?”
“One is in here. I was watching him, as he was watching you. He’s short and stocky with dark hair, maybe in his late twenties.”
“What made you think he was interested in me?”
“He wasn’t taking any notice of the tropical trees and plants.”
“Has he been here long?”
“He was in here five minutes before you, standing at a window watching you walk through the park.”
Phil wished he had carried his weapon.
Annabel said, “He made a call on his mobile phone, and I looked around outside. A big blond guy, one hundred metres behind you, answered his phone. He stepped behind a tree right before you paused to take a look around.”
Phil lifted his coffee, casually looked around the other tables and took a drink.
Annabel said, “Since I sat down with you the short guy has been sitting on a bench a few metres along the path.” She lifted the menu card from the table and pretended to read. “He has enough space between the foliage to watch us, and he’s good.”
“I like your confidence. I find it inspiring.”
Annabel laughed. It was a natural reaction.
The dark-haired man leant out to get a better look and produced his mobile phone.
Annabel excused herself and stood to go to the Ladies’ toilets. She glanced along the path, and the man lowered his head and looked away.
Annabel returned a few minutes later. “Your shadow has gone from the bench.”
“Nobody’s gone out,” Phil said. “The main door is behind you, and we have two side exits, both of which make a squeaking noise when the doors are used.”
“In one way it isn’t good, because now I think he’ll be aware we’re onto him.”
“I don’t have a weapon with me,” Phil said. “Are you carrying?”
“I wouldn’t be without, and you’ll remember I’m pretty good.” She lifted her coffee to her lips and surveyed the area behind Phil. Although right-handed, Annabel was holding her coffee in her left hand.
“As I was saying,” Phil said, “I’d prefer a small team, recognised for their expertise, but nobody with a criminal record. Four more people would be good, but two would be enough for the trial run.”
“It sounds like a tall order, but I enjoy a challenge,” Annabel was looking over Phil’s shoulder as she slipped her right hand into her bag. Phil’s attention was drawn to the tiny silver dog swinging from the zipper.
Annabel was capable. Phil would hold station, and let her make the call on the situation. He was confident she’d send out the right message.
Annabel’s right hand slipped out of her bag and rested on the clasp. “I take it when we’re sure we have the right people, and they’ve proved themselves, we’ll give them training to raise their game?”
“It would be good when we’re certain of our team and beneficial if we could train them to operate as we do.”
“I’ve been watching the news. I take it you’ve got a personal weapon?”
“Yes, I’ve got a Browning 9mm with no serial numbers, but it’s back at my flat. I borrowed it from the Evidence Room before I left the Met’.”
“Our friend is now sitting ten metres behind you,” Annabel said. “The foliage is concealing his face, but I recognise his shoes.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tackle him when you’ve gone,” Phil said. “It already feels good to have you on the team.”
“I’ve seen your skills, and I’m looking forward to working with you.” She smiled. “You won’t be calling yourself Vigilante Incorporated. Do you have a name for the endeavour?”
“To draw attention away from a possible team, I’m using a solo name; Hawk.”
“I like it. Swift, powerful, and deadly efficient,” she nodded. “It sounds sexy.”
“Thank you,” he said. “It took me minutes to come up with it.”
“Have you established an underworld contact for obtaining weapons?”
“I haven’t yet, but it’s on my shortlist.”
“Reilly is an option.” She lifted a card from her handbag and wrote a phone number on it. “He’s capable of obtaining anything, but some of his previous clients have disappeared.”
“Thanks,” he said. “How much do you know about him?”
“Patrick Reilly has lived in Scotland for nineteen years. He’s a wiry little man with dark, curly hair and beady eyes. He was born to Catholic parents in East Belfast in 1955. By the time he was eighteen years old, he’d established himself as an arms supplier.”
“As a supplier in 1973, he would have been busy, and making a lot of cash.”
“He was, and he worked for both sides of the religious divide. In 1975, he was caught by the RUC, in possession of a loaded firearm. To avoid prison, he became a double agent.”
“If he was a snitch for the Royal Ulster Constabulary his nerves must have been stretched.”
“The pressure got too much, and he did a runner. He surfaced within the Irish community in Glasgow. He earned the trust of the underworld and re-established some of his old contacts in Northern Ireland. Like I said, he’s good but slippery.”
“I’ll tread carefully.” Phil went on to explain his intentions regarding vehicles and storage. The pair agreed when and where to meet again.
When they stood to say their farewells, they shook hands and Phil was more relaxed about the kissing on the cheeks. It was a warmer gesture than earlier.
“I enjoyed our chat,” he said and gave an imperceptible nod. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait here to see you haven’t got a tail, and I’ll introduce myself to our man on the bench.”
“You’re sure?”
“Go on,” he said, “I’m a big boy.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Annabel said, arching an eyebrow. She left via the main doors and walked around the building. Outside, she paused to observe when she arrived at the side of the massive glass structure.
Phil approached the dark-haired man. They both smiled. The two shook hands and embraced as close friends would.
Annabel walked on, nodding to a young woman sitting on a bench nearby as she left the park. The woman continued her surveillance task.
Dave Carter and Phil exchanged some banter and left the building via one of the side doors to be met outside by Joe Conroy. The big blond gave Phil a bear hug and held him by the shoulders.
“You’re looking good mate,” Viking said, “and you’re keeping tasty company.”
“Thanks, Viking,” Phil said. “You’re looking good yourself. I don’t suppose you two brought Pete up here with you?”
“Pete couldn’t be here mate,” Viking said, his expression clouding.
Phil said, “Do you have time for a beer, or were you checking up on me?”
“We’ve got a briefing in the city in twenty minutes, but we’ll be around tomorrow. We’ll also explain our reasons for being here to see you.”
Phil pulled a card from his pocket and wrote his number on it. “Call me tomorrow.”
He shook their hands and watched them hurry off to a black BMW parked nearby. As the car pulled away, Phil looked at the tinted windows and wondered who else was inside. For a moment, he felt a stab of envy, but he had his new life to consider.
Phil headed back to his flat via Trongate to visit the estate agent. He was fifty metres from the small offices when he heard shouting. The angry man ahead shouted one final obscenity, and released the door he was holding open. He leapt into a white Merc’ parked nearby on double yellow lines. The tyres screeched as the car pulled away from the kerbside. Phil noted the Merc’ driver had been visiting the offices of Kavanagh and Cooper.
When Phil arrived at the offices, he g
lanced through the large glass door to see a slim man in his mid-twenties, dressed in a blue shirt and grey trousers standing beside a desk. He was talking to somebody at the door of an inner office. The other person was Stella, and she was wiping her eyes with a tissue.
As Phil pushed the outer door, he made brief eye contact with Stella before she turned, and hurried into her office. Her face was pale and her eyes glistening. The smile Phil had witnessed a handful of times was replaced by trembling lips. Stella’s shoulders had been slumped forward when she’d stumbled into her office.
“Good morning, Sir,” the young man said. “Is there something I might—”
“I’d like to have a word with Mrs Kavanagh,” Phil interrupted.
“I’m afraid she’s a wee bit busy right now—”
“You mean she’s a wee bit upset,” Phil met the younger man’s unsteady gaze.
“Yes ... I mean upset. She’s had some bad news you see.”
“Does the bad news drive a white Mercedes?”
The youngster’s jaw dropped.
“What’s your name son?” Phil whispered.
“I’m Craig, the office manager, sir.”
“Who else is in today Craig?”
“Mrs Cooper is working, but she’s out showing property, sir.” He glanced from Phil to the two office doors at the back. “Would you like me to contact Mrs Cooper for you, sir?”
“No Craig, and stop trembling son. I feel as if I’ve missed a bloody earthquake.” Phil grinned. “While we’re at it, no more sir. My name is Phil.”
“Yes sir—” he said and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Phil.”
“Before I go in to see Mrs Kavanagh I want you to take any calls, and say she is unavailable. Likewise for anybody who comes in. Understood?”
“Understood ... Phil ....”
“Who was it in the white Merc’ a few minutes ago?”
“It was ....” Craig stared at Stella’s office door, “It was Mr Kavanagh.”
“It was her ex-husband?”
“Yes. We thought we’d seen the last of him after the last time,” Craig said and winced.
“What happened the last time?”
“When he turned up and grabbed Stella ... Mrs Kavanagh by the arms, and shook her. Mrs Cooper said she’d call the police.”
“Okay mate. Hold the fort until I come out. If Mrs Kavanagh asks later, I was asking about the job.”
“Got it,” Craig said with enthusiasm.
Phil strode across to Stella’s door and pushed.
“Hello,” he said and continued to enter without invitation. He closed the door behind him and remained standing.
Stella got up from her seat and went to stand by the window. She faced the mirrored glass, on the other side of which, passers-by went about their business. Her left hand went up to her face. She was holding a white tissue.
As he stood with his back to the door, Phil was struck by Stella’s excellent figure and good legs. His gaze wandered to the red and purple marks on her upper arms. She meant nothing to him on a personal basis, but he was seething. He hated injustice, and a man hurting an innocent woman was one of the worst examples.
As Phil gathered his thoughts to attempt a softly, softly approach he looked at the window where he could read the company name, although it was backwards from within. It was written in a gold Gothic style. He’d find Mr Kavanagh after this visit.
“I was dropping in to bring you the details for Flat Four,” Phil said. “If you’re too busy I’ll come back.”
“No,” she said. “Please give me a moment.” She turned from the window and dabbed at her eyes.
“I brought Mr Patterson’s details.” Phil stepped forward and dropped a passport and driving license on the desk.
Stella sat at her desk and lifted the identity papers. “My God, if it weren’t for the horn-rimmed glasses and the clean-shaven face he would pass for your twin.” She was focusing on the documents when Phil reached down and retrieved them.
“Would you like Craig to copy them for your records?”
“Yes please.”
Phil reached back and opened the office door. “Craig, one moment please.”
“Yes,” Craig said, on arrival at the doorway.
“Do the necessary with these, please mate, and let me have them back.”
“I will.” Craig glanced at his boss and the client. “I will certainly, Phil.”
“I see you’ve made a new friend.” Stella smiled as Craig hurried away.
Phil gazed down at Stella. He said nothing during the two minutes Craig was photocopying the documents.
“Thank you, Craig.” Phil closed the door.
“Now,” Stella said. “Was there something else?”
“Yes, I wanted to ask another favour. If you’d join me for lunch tomorrow, we could discuss my request.” He slipped the passport and license into a pocket.
“I don’t usually—”
Phil leant forward onto the desk with both hands. “I would consider it a privilege.”
“I’m in no fit state—”
“One o’clock sounds good to me.” He winked. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He opened the office door and called. “Mrs Kavanagh will have a lunch appointment tomorrow from one until two-thirty, Craig.”
“Got it,” Craig said and lifted his pen.
Phil turned to Stella. “See you tomorrow.” He left her office and closed the door. On the way out, he paused at Craig’s desk. “Is your boss looking out here right now?”
“No, she’s at the window.”
“Good. Do you know where Mr Kavanagh works these days?”
“It’s an office on the corner of Bath Street and Renfield Street.” He paused. “It’s the old block opposite the big British Home Stores department store.”
“Good,” Phil said. “Say nothing.”
“Got it,” Craig promised.
Phil briefly placed a strong hand on Craig’s shoulder before leaving. Instead of going to his flat, he headed farther into the city centre.
At 16:30 Phil arrived at the junction of Bath Street and Renfield Street, dominated as it was by the department store. The massive building had replaced tenements and offices in the late 1960s, but it was established and belonged in the corner position.
As he turned into Bath Street, Phil glanced into the entrance of the office block on the corner. Old Joe, the concierge, was standing beside the elevator in his black coat with fake brass buttons. Phil went inside and introduced himself as someone new to the issue of parking locally.
It took a few minutes of observation and idle conversation for Phil to gain the necessary information. Joe enjoyed a pint and wasn’t paid well for his years of service. He was happy to talk to the friendly new face for the price of a few beers. It took less than fifteen minutes for Phil to do a recce after the chat.
.
Wednesday 3rd July
Phil was in position at 07:25, and observed several city workers turning slowly into the narrow lane before parking. By 07:40, one vacant space remained.
At 07:45, Brian Kavanagh turned into Bath Lane as if he were on a racetrack. Had anyone been walking out of the lane, they would have been hit by the white Merc’. He manoeuvred into the remaining space, got out and operated the remote without looking back.
The bleeper on the car had barely sounded when his arm was thrust up his back. He was pushed between two vehicles and rammed face first into a recessed doorway. His face was pressed hard against the dirty, peeling paintwork.
Kavanagh half-turned and was punched hard in the solar plexus. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide, gasping. He dropped his key fob, fell back against the wall, and slid to a sitting position. His mouth was gaping. A foul-smelling hood was pulled over his head, and his hands moved up.
Phil whispered, “Remove the hood, and I’ll cut your fucking throat.”
Kavanagh’s hands both shot down to the cold, dirty cobbled ground where he sat.
Phil got up fro
m his squatting position to look through the windows of the parked cars along the lane. At one end, a blonde woman in parking attendant uniform was standing. When Phil squatted down in front of Kavanagh, he watched for the telltale sign of the canvas material moving in and out.
Kavanagh mumbled, “I don’t carry cash—”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want? What’s this about?”
“This is about you being an arsehole.”
“What?” The hood turned left and right.
“After this conversation, if you contact or visit your ex-wife, I’ll pay you another visit.”
“The fucking bit—”
The statement was terminated when Phil’s gloved right fist smashed into the centre of the already blood-stained material. A sickening crunch was followed by sobbing from within the hood. Kavanagh’s right hand came halfway up to the hood, but stopped and returned to the ground.
“If you make contact, or involve anybody else, you will live to regret it. My name is Hawk. Do not fuck with me.”
Brian Kavanagh sat in the dirty doorway between the cars, sobbing into the stinking hood for ten minutes. Tentatively he lifted his right hand up. He removed the hood and took several deep breaths. On the piece of canvas material, apart from blood stains was the name of a well-known Glasgow butcher.
The other strong aromas came from the urine stains around the doorway. Kavanagh was a businessman, a bully, a womaniser and terribly vain - and he was sitting in a pool of somebody else’s piss.
“Bastard!” he cried. “You are going to suffer for this Stella, my dear.” He touched his broken, bleeding nose until he smelled the urine on his fingers.
At one end of the alleyway, the blonde parking attendant made a brief call on her mobile and left the area.
5. Mobility
Having dealt with Brian Kavanagh early, Phil set off on a casual stroll, to get better acquainted with the route of the one-way system and the areas which had become traffic-free pedestrian zones.
