by Tom Benson
The preparations were no different to what he would have done in a foreign city. In some ways, Glasgow had become alien to him. On the corner of Renfield Street, he dropped Kavanagh’s car keys into a large waste-bin.
Sauchiehall Street had long been a shopping street boasting big names in retail, but Phil remembered it as a multi-lane road. Lessons had been learned from major cities in mainland Europe. A large portion of Sauchiehall Street was now a traffic-free zone; complete with seating, trees and open space for pedestrians to wander between stores. An abundance of cafes and coffee shops with outside seating areas had been established.
In 1990 Glasgow was the European City of Culture. Phil wondered how many of these changes to the city’s appearance had been planned to win the votes, and how many had come afterwards. Every day he spent on the streets, he was impressed by the facade of the new Glasgow, but under the veneer, it was the same place—vibrant in ways other than the obvious. However the area was dressed-up, the indigenous people remained a genuine, forthright breed who were justifiably proud of their city.
A young woman stood outside a mini-market with a large pushchair. She was smoking and observing every passer-by. The continually shifting gaze caught Phil’s attention and he watched. Another young woman came out of the store with an arm full of groceries, dropped them in the pushchair, and covered them with the baby’s blanket.
When Phil heard the glass jars and cans of food clinking together he wondered about the comfort of the baby—until it struck him, there was no baby. The two women set off at a brisk pace to their next target. They laughed. Phil considered similar scenes across the country. The world was full of criminals.
It was 10:00 when the twenty-three-year-old woman entered the coffee shop. She paused to allow the glass door to swing back and she walked toward the rear and Phil’s table. Her pretty face was framed by long, naturally wavy brunette hair.
The woman’s choice of a white blouse, red tartan mini-skirt and three-inch heels gave her a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look. A small black bag hung from her right shoulder. Over her left arm, she carried her black coat. Her gaze was steady and confident as she appraised the man in the leather jacket. She stopped at the table, inclined her head and whispered.
“Hawk?”
“Yes,” Phil stood. “You must be Rachel.”
She nodded and smiled, they shook hands, and Rachel draped her jacket over the backrest of the chair before sitting.
“What would you like to drink?” Phil removed his jacket to hang it on his chair.
“A latte, please,” Rachel said and looked around the cafe when Phil left her.
At the next table were a rough, young couple who were arguing loud enough for all to hear. It was a defence created by appearing menacing.
The lad was wearing a green tracksuit, designer-label trainers, and a black NYC baseball cap on the back of his head, the peak pointing skyward. His nose and mouth were covered in a rash, which hinted at one of his pastimes.
The girlfriend was dressed in a white tracksuit and designer trainers. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her features were adorned with rings in her ears, nose, and brow. She was unattractive before the jewellery was attached to her face. It was a loud and aggressive attitude like hers which gave those with piercings a lousy reputation.
Phil returned, placed the latte on the table in front of Rachel, and his fresh coffee at his place before he sat. Before either spoke, their attention was captured.
Ponytail shouted, “What the fuck are you looking at her for?” She dragged her seat around and pushed it against the wall. She turned and glared at Phil and Rachel.
“Cos’ she’s a tidy looking tart,” Baseball Cap said, grinning.
“Yeah she is a tart, an’ he’ll be the next old punter paying for it,” Ponytail responded in a loud voice. She and her boyfriend both sniggered.
“Excuse me,” Phil whispered before he stood up. He noticed the assistant behind the counter lifting her telephone. He winked at her and gave a slight shake of his head.
The girl put down the phone.
In three strides, Phil reached the loudmouth with the baseball cap but stood in such a way to shield his actions. As the girlfriend looked on, Phil used his left hand to paralyse the lad using the pressure point in his left shoulder. At the same time, he removed the baseball cap. When the young man gasped, Phil stuffed the hat into its owner’s mouth.
Ponytail thrust a hand into her bag and produced a flick-knife.
Phil met her wild gaze and leant forward. “Put the blade away, or I’ll ram it up your arse.” He turned toward the boyfriend, whose eyes were bulging as he endured pain and discomfort.
“If you two get up now and leave,” Phil said in hushed tones, “I’ll resist the temptation to put both of you in the fucking hospital.” He smiled at the boyfriend. “If either of you does anything stupid, I promise you, you’ll share an ambulance.” He didn’t look back when he walked back to his table.
The girl at the counter remained beside her phone, continuing to observe.
Phil sat down and took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but it was necessary.”
“I’m impressed.”
The loud-mouthed pair got up to leave, but at the door, Baseball Cap stopped. “We’ll fucking get you, you old bastard!” he shouted. Old to Baseball Cap and his girlfriend was anybody over twenty-five. The girlfriend went outside, but the boyfriend tripped over a high-heeled boot which was sticking out from under a table. He glared at the wearer.
The woman inclined her head to look at him over her designer shades. Baseball Cap smiled when he saw how attractive she was, but she also had an air of confidence. Baseball Cap’s next decision was a good one—he apologised and left.
When the rowdy couple left, the woman in shades lifted her coffee and resumed her observation of Phil and Rachel.
“Thank you for making an effort,” Phil said when the atmosphere had calmed.
“For turning up, or with my appearance?”
“Both,” he said, after brief consideration.
“Thank you.” Rachel gave a smile which was as lovely as the rest of her.
Phil grinned as Annabel’s words came back to him. ‘I think you’ll be surprised’.
“Okay,” he said. “What makes you unique in your chosen activity?”
“Where would you like to start?”
Phil liked the contrast between the demure looks, and the confident, forthright delivery. “Tell me about your experience?”
“I won’t bore you with my earlier history.” Rachel’s lips curled into a smile. “I’ve moved booze, cigarettes, hash, and weapons. I’ve sometimes delivered vehicles in the past year.”
Phil could usually read people by their features and expression, but here was an enigma. Rachel’s smile said innocent, but her eyes said, adventurer.
He said, “We could discuss your suitability. Instead, I’ll ask you a couple of pertinent questions, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Fire away.”
“What’s been your most audacious vehicle theft?”
“I stole a police car earlier this year.”
“It doesn’t sound too audacious.”
“It was parked in a police station car park.”
Dimples appeared in Phil’s cheeks, but he stopped himself laughing. “Is there anything you’re unable to drive?”
“I’ve never attempted to steal a submarine, and helicopters are a bit specialised. Generally, if it has an engine, I’ll get it moving and deliver.”
“Are there any jobs you refuse to take?”
“I draw the line at hard drugs, or people trafficking.”
“I understand you were given a series of practical tasks by my associate. How do you think they went?”
“I didn’t meet the woman at first, but she used my regular method of contact, and I got paid in the usual way. I was happy to have a go.”
“What was involved?”
“Which make of vehicle did she request you to use?”
“Volkswagen Golf GTi—the latest model.”
“Was she there to watch?”
“It was one of the things which intrigued me,” Rachel said. “My briefing was to perform, which if I’m honest, I enjoyed, but I didn’t see her throughout.” She finished her latte and licked her lips.
“How were you to know how things had gone with the tests?”
“She stopped me at the location when I’d finished, which impressed me because she wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“What happened?” He wondered what she had been expecting to see.
“She questioned me on a few things and made notes.” Rachel grinned. “She wanted to check I didn’t have a criminal record.”
“Is there anything else which might convince me you’re right for the job?”
“Alpha, the name your colleague used, told me to return the Golf near to where I’d taken it from. I reported back to the old racetrack to demonstrate my skill on a motorbike.”
“It must have gone well.”
“It’s how I normally get around. My bike is a five-year-old Honda, but it’s fit for purpose.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I’ve passed the bike test, which means I’m legal to ride a powerful model.”
“I like it. It’s an important factor.”
“Alpha said if I were good enough I’d be interviewed by Hawk - and here we are.”
Phil explained about the work and the remuneration. He agreed to pay a bonus for exclusivity for a month. After they’d had the opportunity to see how things worked out, they would discuss the future.
“If I fit the profile for you Hawk, I’ll be reliable.”
He handed over a Motorola clamshell mobile phone. “This is your contact phone. You have two numbers on there right now. One is listed as Alpha, and the other is Hawk.”
“Is Alpha a deputy, organiser or something?”
“Yes, a deputy.”
“She’s a sexy one Hawk,” Rachel grinned. “Watch your step with her.”
He smiled as he stood and extended his right hand. As they shook hands, Phil was impressed to see he was openly appraised by his new recruit. She had spunk.
“I’ll await the call to duty.” Rachel lifted her coat and strode to the door.
A handful, Phil thought, but a likeable, attractive and useful handful.
Two minutes later, Phil left and set off to his apartment to get his car. He was going to check out a motorbike dealer in the east end, but he wanted to be mobile. The search might go on. He also wanted a van; something versatile, reliable and previously owned.
The woman who’d been sitting near the door observing finished her drink. As she slung her bag over her shoulder the tiny silver dog on the strap swung around; glittering. Annabel smiled as she walked from the coffee shop to her red VW Golf.
During his many walks and drives around the trading estates and back streets, Phil had spotted two places of interest. He had a bite to eat and set off by car to one of the sprawling industrial estates.
Plain buildings of various sizes were in abundance. Car and van rental, vehicle repair facilities, warehousing and distribution, cash and carry, and much more were at home here. Phil parked his car near his destination and assessed the place as he approached.
His phone buzzed. “Hi Dave,” he said. “Yes mate, 15:00 at The Scotia on Stockwell Street. I’ll see you guys there. Bye.” Phil put his phone away.
Outside Mike’s Bikes, four motorcycles stood on the forecourt in front of the open curtain door. On the left, were a metallic blue BMW, and a bright red Yamaha. To the right was a yellow Suzuki trail bike with distinctive high suspension and mudguards, parked beside a classic, Triumph Bonneville in black, with gold trim.
Inside the wide doorway was an office on the left. Through the large window could be seen walls covered in the usual plethora of stickers, advertising everything from spark plugs to the latest bikes. In the centre was the obligatory girlie calendar; Miss July was an Asian girl who was seductively draped over a big black Kawasaki. Next to the calendar was a photo of a small blue and white cruiser tied to a wooden pier. The vessel’s dark-haired, bearded skipper, was stood proudly onboard. The backdrop was a bay full of other small craft.
In the bike workshop which was open to view, two men worked on machines. At the rear was a well-built, fair-haired man of about twenty years old. The other man was near the front. He had long dark hair and a beard, was about thirty-five, five-foot-seven in height, and heavily muscled. The older man stopped working and sauntered out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Hi, I’m Mike,” he said, extending a freshly cleaned hand.
“Phil,” the visitor said during the firm handshake. “I’m on the lookout for a decent bike.” Phil noted the owner had hands like mechanical diggers, and he sported a tattoo on his upper right arm—a Commando dagger with the motto, ‘Per Mare, Per Terram’—the motto of the Royal Marines.
“By Sea, By Land,” Phil said, nodding to the tattoo which brought a wide grin from the mechanic.
“Which mob were you with?” Mike asked.
“Royal Engineers,” Phil said, figuring it would pay dividends to be friendly, and this guy had a good CV on his arm. It was characteristic of a Special Air Service soldier to use another regiment instead of the elite initials. As a pre-requisite, all SAS soldiers serve with a regular unit before attempting selection for The Regiment. Phil had been Royal Engineers, and it was a regiment which had gained much respect in its own right.
“D’ya fancy a coffee, and we’ll have a look around?”
“Great,” Phil said. “I’d appreciate it. Black, one sugar, please mate.”
Mike nodded towards Phil’s car. “Nice machine the Celica, if you prefer four wheels.”
“I’m at home on both, but four wheels have been more practical recently.”
As Mike showed Phil into the office, he stopped to call to his colleague. “Give me a shout if you get stuck, Colin.” He got a waved hand in response.
The two men went into the small office and discussed how life as a ‘Civvy’ could never compare to service life. As they talked, they sized each other up as men of their type do, but they got on well.
Phil explained he wanted a bike which would be capable and dependable. He said it was for someone else, but he wanted to see the availability, and he wanted a good source.
When Phil left the bike workshop-cum-showroom, he was pleased he had stopped by, and he’d picked up some useful contacts, including a place where he could buy a van. He drove straight to the garage suggested by Mike. He was at Tommy Somerville’s in less than ten minutes.
“Hi,” Phil said, “Mike recommended you.”
“You must be Phil,” the stocky ginger-haired man said, as they shook hands. “I’m Tommy. What was your mob?”
“Engineers—you?”
Tommy lifted the short sleeve up on his right arm uncovering a tattoo of wings with a small parachute between them.
“Para,” Phil said, “how long?”
“I served twenty years and no regrets.”
“Except the day you left, eh?” Phil said, remembering his own service, and his father had been Parachute Regiment.
“Aye,” Tommy -agreed, and laughed. “Well mate, let’s take a wander around, and we’ll discuss what you need.”
Following the chat with Tommy, Phil drove back as far as Southbank Street and parked the car. He would have lunch with Stella in the city and be meeting up with Dave and Viking at The Scotia. He took a shower and dressed in a shirt, chinos, and leather jacket. It had been bright all morning but was becoming overcast.
On the walk to the city, he pulled out the card Annabel had given him. He dialled the number, and it was an
swered after two rings. Phil kept it business-like.
“I need some merchandise, and I’ll be paying cash up front.” He listened to the response, gave a short list of requirements, and listened for confirmation. “Okay,” Phil said. “No tricks or the deal is off. I also don’t expect to see anyone else.” The meeting place sounded suspicious, but Phil would fit in an early recce beforehand.
Phil arrived at the offices of Kavanagh and Cooper at 12:50 and went inside. “Hi, Craig ... how is Stella today?”
“I think she’s excited about your lunch date.”
“Hello stranger,” Stella said as she closed her office door and gave a beaming smile. She was dressed in a black jacket, white blouse, and black mini-skirt. “Have you got somewhere in mind?”
“No,” Phil said, “but seeing how good you look, we should go somewhere special.” He lifted his right arm slightly to allow her to link with him. “I was hoping you’d have a favourite place.” He looked back and winked. “See you later, Craig.”
“See you, Phil,” Craig said. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“I’ll see you later, Craig,” Stella said, without turning.
They strolled to a restaurant, where they chose a cosy table in a booth. During their meal, Phil outlined the special favour he hoped Stella could do for him. He was stunned by her side of the bargain but agreed without hesitation. They enjoyed a coffee after eating, and Phil escorted Stella back to the office. He gave her one of his cards, but he’d written his number on it.
“If you ever need me—day or night, call me.”
“I will, and thank you for taking me seriously.”
“I’ll see you on Friday.”
“I look forward to it,” she replied and kissed him on the cheek.
After leaving Stella at the main door of her offices, Phil walked from the Trongate, back along Argyle Street. He could have crossed the street and been at The Scotia in five minutes, but it would make him an easy target for surveillance. It took a few minutes to reach the west entrance of the St Enoch Shopping Centre. Phil went to the upper level and turned to observe the lower levels of the shopping centre.
