by Owen Mullen
He sipped the lager he was holding, stabbed a finger at its frosted neighbour on the table in front of me and explained his philosophy. ‘Nothing goes with an Indian like lager. Tried beer. And wine. No use. Took the liberty of ordering, hope you don’t mind, Lukie boy.’
He sat back in his chair and surveyed the room. ‘Been coming here every Saturday night for years. Haven’t had a dodgy curry yet. Why I bought the place.’
I nodded as if never having been poisoned was all the recommendation any reasonable person could ask. Now wasn’t the moment to tell him Indian wasn’t the same as Bangladeshi; he wouldn’t have appreciated it. The clue was subtle: Chittagong.
He smoothed the red-and-white-checked tablecloth lovingly. ‘Sometimes I just sit after the staff have gone home and breathe in the smells. You’re not vegetarian or anything weird, are you? No allergies? Nuts or nothin’? ʼCause what’s coming up wouldn’t do.’
I assured him I was okay and he pointed to the two men standing inside the door.
‘Old George Ritchie’s idea, I’m guessing. Look like a couple of his. Want us to feed them, as well?’
‘No, they’re fine.’
Waiters carrying metal trays piled with plates glided between noisy diners like ballet dancers at Covent Garden, while the scent of green cardamom, toasted cumin seeds and crushed fenugreek painted aromatic pictures of faraway places with strange-sounding names on the flock wallpaper.
Nina had gone crazy when I told her we were getting involved with Small. ‘Are you out of your skull? We shouldn’t go near that guy. He’s as unpredictable as a scorpion.’
He snapped a poppadom between his fingers and returned to my brother. ‘Queer though, wasn’t it? How he just upped and left like that.’
‘Maybe he got bored with the enemies you mentioned and he’s sunning himself somewhere, knee-deep in bronzed women with big tits.’
He turned his sharp eyes on me. ‘Ever get a postcard?’
‘Danny’s not a keep-in-touch kind of guy.’
‘See, if it was me, I’d want every bugger to know.’ Small drew his vision in the air with a crisp shard. ‘Copacabana on the front – beach, blue skies, all that. And “Wish you were here” smudged with suntan oil scrawled on the back. Yeah. That would do it.’ He paused. ‘Did he tell you he was for the off?’
I’d lost two hundred thousand pounds of his money; the advantage was with him. This was the only chance he’d get to quiz me and he was taking it. His questions were anything but innocent.
‘I mean, did he actually say to you he’d had it, or even hint about wanting out?’
I measured my reply. ‘We weren’t as close as we’d been. We weren’t communicating much. One day he was there, the next he wasn’t.’
Jonas pushed his luck. ‘What’s your theory? Think something occurred, do you?’
He’d had it his own way long enough. Time to push back. ‘Something occurred, all right. He fucked off and left me to deal with the lot of it.’
My phoney anger only half convinced him. ‘Big shoes. Couldn’t have been easy stepping into them.’
‘Didn’t have a choice, did I?’
‘Mmmm. Still, it’s an ill wind, eh? You’ve done well. Your name keeps coming up. Luke Glass this, Luke Glass that. Said to my wife, “Is he taking over the fucking world, or what?’’’. He smiled his crooked smile. ‘Lily said, “How can he, Jonas, when you own half of it?”’. He shook his head. ‘Thirty-five years and that girl still makes me laugh.’
‘The secret to a happy marriage.’
Small was reminding me how powerful he was, warning me not to mess him about. I hadn’t a clue if he’d ever met my brother. The Danny chat was him letting me know he didn’t trust me. The feeling was mutual and I remembered George Ritchie’s assessment after I’d spoken to Jonas for the first time, before we’d got into bed with him.
‘He’s a slippery bastard. Keep an eye on him.’
‘I intend to.’
‘I’m serious, Luke. If there’s money to be made – fine. Don’t let him near anything else. Jonas is a snake.’
‘Nobody’s perfect, George.’
‘Did he mention his wife?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because he always does. It’s one of his… quirks.’
‘Since when did talking about your wife become a quirk?’
Ritchie smiled and looked away.
There was enough grub to feed the Russian army. Small loosened his tie and lifted his cutlery, poised to begin. ‘Smell that. Great, isn’t it? Some men go down the boozer on a Saturday night, other guys have sex with their wife or, if their luck’s in, somebody else’s wife. Me, I like a curry. My Lily’s a great cook, nothing fancy mind, don’t get me wrong, but she can’t do spices. Never could. They go for her stomach, so I come here.’
He drew the watch from his waistcoat and weighed it in his hand, heavy, tarnished with age, then opened it and held it for me to see. A girl still in her teens smiled at me. The picture wasn’t recent, faded and worn at the edges. Jonas Small spoke with pride. ‘That’s her, that’s my Lily.’
‘You’re a lucky man.’
He was already digging in and didn’t comment.
For the next twenty-five minutes, he devoured everything in front of him, eyes darting from one dish to another, forking chicken and lamb, okra and onions and mixing them together. When he was done, he pushed his plate away, opened the bottom two buttons of the waistcoat and mopped his brow with the biggest hanky I’d ever seen.
‘Overdone it, as usual, haven’t I? Never learn. Pay for it in the morning, but what the hell? There’s always a downside. Can you live with it? That’s the question.’ He leaned towards me. ‘Now, speaking of living with things, what’s happened to my cash?’
It had taken a while but we were finally there.
Small was sly and straightforward at the same time.
I said, ‘Your cash is fine. You lost nothing last night.’
My reply pleased him. ‘Appreciated. Saves us getting into a scrap about it. Nobody wants that. But I like to stay ahead of the game and it raises the issue of security, doesn’t it?’
‘I had three armed men in the van and backup at the club.’
‘Except it wasn’t enough. Also, the word’s out all over the city. Questions will be asked. Unavoidable in the circumstances. Like: is Luke Glass up to it? Can he be depended on to deliver?’
I felt my hackles rise. ‘I said your money’s safe.’
He focused on something over my shoulder. ‘Yeah, this time. What if it goes off again? Cover that as well, will you?’
I laughed a brittle laugh. Small had annoyed me. ‘There won’t be a next time. Anybody keen to have another pop better be prepared for a fucking war, because I’ll come after them.’
‘Who’s “them”?’
‘Don’t know yet… but I’m working on finding that out.’
We stared at each other across the table. Small’s lip curled and I got a glimpse of his gold filling; it matched his timepiece. He spread his hands, palms up, and tutted. ‘Lily will be disappointed when I tell her. The money doesn’t bother me. I’m not worried about the money. I know you’ll make it good. In fact, if it’s tight for you right now, we’ll leave it till it’s more convenient. Can’t say fairer.’ He picked a forgotten scrap of onion bhaji off a side plate and put it in his mouth. ‘But that kind of cash… will always be a target. I was thinking along the lines of a partnership. Me and you. There isn’t a firm in London who’d dare go up against us. It was Lily’s idea. Makes sense, doesn’t it?’
To him, maybe, not to me.
‘Sorry, Jonas. You understand what happens if I open that door. The rest would want in. Kenny and Colin Bishop up in Chalk Farm, Bridie O’Shea out west. Besides, I already have a partner.’
‘Your sister.’
‘Right. My sister. Nina wants everything kept in the family. She wouldn’t go for it in a million years, no matter how much sense it ma
de.’
‘And she couldn’t be persuaded?’
‘She’s a woman, Jonas. You know what they’re like.’
He nodded as if some great truth had passed between us.
‘Indeed, I do, son. Indeed, I do.’
Off the top of my head I could think of three dozen things I’d rather do than spend Saturday night with Jonas Small, starting with sticking hot needles in my eyes. ‘Slippery bastard’ was bang on, though he’d been right about the curry. Very tasty. And, as it happened, Small was surprisingly relaxed about his 200 K, generously offering to defer repayment until it was convenient. But his enquiries about Danny’s abrupt departure, casually dropped into the conversation, told me he’d been ferreting away in the background since our first meeting to get to the bottom of my brother’s disappearing act. Clearly, he’d been unsuccessful. If he had proof, he’d have laid it on the table, flashed his gold-toothed grin, then blackmailed me. Becoming partners in the club wouldn’t have stayed a suggestion; he’d have me where he wanted me and my plans for LBC would be in the bin. Also, as I’d explained to him, Kenny and Colin Bishop and Bridie O’Shea would feel understandably slighted.
My life lacked many things, more enemies wasn’t one of them.
George Ritchie was never off duty but noise in the background threatened to make talking impossible. It stopped and I said, ‘Where are you?’
‘Outside a pub. Can hear bugger-all in there. Everything okay?’
‘Not exactly how I’d put it.’
‘How did you get on with Small?’
‘He’s all you said and more.’
I imagined him nodding grimly. ‘Oh, yeah? What’s he up to now?’
‘He’s suggested we go into business together.’
George’s opposition hissed down the line. ‘Bad idea, Luke. I mean, a really, really bad idea. The guy’s a fucking nutter.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s a non-starter. He doesn’t buy Danny just packed it in. Got close to coming right out and saying it. I had the impression he thinks it was him who hit us.’
‘He’s reaching. Sniffing around for something to give him an edge.’
‘I agree. Yet he was cool about the money.’
Ritchie laughed cynically. ‘Because he knows it’s as good as in the bank. When the dust settles, that bastard will have lost nothing.’
George was right. I changed the subject. ‘Anything at your end?’
I meant on the redhead claiming to be my sister.
‘Not yet.’
‘For Christ’s sake don’t mention her to Nina.’
‘That’s your job. The perks of being a brother.’
‘Believe me, there aren’t any. I’m expecting to hear from Mark Douglas. How’s he checking out?’
‘So far, okay. He left the Law School at Strathclyde with a degree and went straight into the force. Sometimes that means an educated dick the regular coppers hate and make jokes about behind their back. Not this guy. Word is, he was going places. Already had a couple of scalps to his name. Ever heard of Tommy Walsh?’
‘Should I? Who is he?’
Ritchie corrected me. ‘Who was he, you mean. Only the fourth biggest drug dealer in the West of Scotland. Died of a brain haemorrhage in Shotts prison. Douglas put him away.’
‘Impressive. So, what happened to his glittering career?’
‘It went off the rails when he did.’
‘How?’
‘Got caught with his hand in the till. Didn’t go quietly, either. Smacked a DCI on his way out the door. Not a good look for the boys in blue north of the border, so he wasn’t charged – the whole thing was swept under the carpet. Douglas washed up in London nine months ago, started working with a security firm in Barnet and moved on to the celebrity stuff. He’s impressed some famous faces; a couple offered to relocate him to Los Angeles and go full-time with them.’
‘And?’
‘He turned them down.’
‘Why?’
‘Word is he’s happy where he is.’
‘What about family?’
‘Parents both dead. Killed in a car accident when he was sixteen. Got an older sister in Cape Town he hasn’t seen since the funeral. No love interest, far as I can tell.’
Ritchie had unearthed a helluva lot in a short time; if there was more, he’d find it.
‘What do your instincts tell you?’
He inhaled deeply. ‘By all accounts he’s a bright boy. Handled himself great under pressure last night.’
Was it really only last night?
I heard the reservation in his tone. ‘I’m sensing a but coming on.’
‘You mean, apart from him being an ex-copper? Yeah, there’s something. Can’t put my finger on it.’
‘Once a policeman, always a policeman?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Could be somebody pushed him down a road he didn’t want to go. You have to give me more than that, George.’
He tried. ‘Okay – the hit on LBC goes off exactly when he’s around to save the day. Does that seem too convenient to you?’
‘It’s just how it happened.’
Ritchie’s legendary caution kicked in. ‘Mmmm. I don’t know. The only loyalty bent cops have is to themselves. Witness Stanford. We work with him, but we don’t trust him and never will.’
I said, ‘Have you considered that if Douglas hadn’t been where he was, they were going upstairs to the club?’
His silence told me he wasn’t convinced and I felt myself lose patience with him.
‘Anything else?’
Ritchie heard my frustration and qualified his opinion. ‘He’s hard. And he’s smart. But let’s not forget the only thing keeping him out of prison is that bringing his case to court would embarrass people who don’t appreciate being embarrassed. I’m seeing a guy who goes his own way and isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.’
‘That could be you and me you’re describing.’
He laughed. ‘Suppose you’re right. I’ll keep digging. When’s the next money due to arrive?’
‘Wednesday. Wouldn’t be surprised if the Bishops change their minds. I’ll meet them tomorrow, try to keep them on board, but I’m not hopeful.’
Ritchie said, ‘You’ll manage, it makes business sense. They’ll want assurances security has been beefed up, of course.’
‘That’s where Mark Douglas comes in. If he’s up for it, I’ll need him to start right away.’
‘He turned down the celebrity offers. He won’t be cheap.’
‘We can’t afford to let him go, George. There’s too much riding on this. On second thoughts, get a number for him, text it to me and I’ll call him myself.’
The air still held heat from the day, there were stars in the sky, and a breeze gently rustled the branches of the trees outside my flat. Further down the road, the men George Ritchie had on me pulled into the kerb and killed the headlights.
It had been a long day for me. It would be an even longer night for them.
Like it or not, having them there made sense.
Jonas Small was trying to get his head round the idea Danny might be staging a guerrilla assault on his old operation. He was wrong. Well wrong. Whoever had ordered the violence and stolen Small’s money was still out there.
I kicked off my shoes and poured three fingers of twelve-year-old Chivas Regal, cradling the glass in both hands; just holding it renewed my strength. The whisky was honeyed apples and butterscotch. I helped myself to a second glass, lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. A lot had happened. Too much to take in. Less than twenty-four hours earlier I’d tasted wine on Kelly’s breath as she matched my thrusts with her own. Though we hadn’t known it then, we were making love for the last time.
George Ritchie’s text arriving on my phone drew me back from the edge of sleep. I tapped the number he’d sent and listened to it ring. My timing was off. Vicky Messina was still in town. Douglas would be working and wouldn’t be doing his job if he allowed anything to come bet
ween him and the diva.
I called the club. ‘How’re we doing, Luigi?’
‘Very well, Mr Glass.’
‘Are we expecting Vicky Messina’s party tonight?’
‘No, though it’s still early.’
‘Okay. Let me talk to Nina.’
‘She isn’t here.’
I looked at my watch. ‘Has she left?’
He thought about how best to reply. ‘She hasn’t been in tonight. Not that I’ve seen.’
All I needed was Nina playing silly buggers. I called Ritchie again. ‘George, Nina didn’t show up at the club.’
He was relaxed. ‘She’s at home. Been there since this afternoon. She’s fine.’
‘Well, she won’t be when I catch up with her.’
Sometimes, the best you can hope for is to get through the day. I’d managed that – just. But it had drained me. In the bedroom, I lay down on top of the covers without bothering to undress and fell into a disturbed sleep filled with ugly images. When I woke it was still night and I’d missed a call. I returned it and heard it ring out somewhere in the London darkness.
Mark Douglas wasn’t answering.
12
Nina made coffee, black and sweet, and took it back to the bedroom. She pulled her Chinese silk dressing gown round her, lit a Gitanes from a fresh soft pack and drifted over to the window. The street outside was Sunday-morning quiet. Across the road, the two men in the car were still there. She drew hard on the cigarette and let the smoke out in a slow stream as her mouth tightened.
Nina had never trusted George Ritchie and believed Luke had given him too much power. His reputation as the Andersons’ enforcer for over two decades impressed her brother. It didn’t impress her; they’d had words about his goons following her before. Ritchie was paranoid. Seeing a threat around every corner. His claim that he was only doing what Luke wanted was partly true. But the old woman lifting her skirts and running if there was a mouse in the house was all him. She struggled to imagine anybody being frightened of George Ritchie. Once upon a time maybe, not now. He’d be more at home pruning roses in a garden on the south coast, bemoaning the effect of blackfly with his next-door neighbour, worrying about frost on the marrows he’d entered for the local show.
