by Owen Mullen
Because he hadn’t slept.
Douglas pushed the door open and stood for a second, his eyes darting from me to Ritchie and back, curiosity mingling with annoyance. On the phone, Ritchie’s name hadn’t been mentioned and Douglas was wondering what he was doing here. He choked down whatever his feelings were, dropped his lean frame into the only other chair and waited for me to begin. In jeans and a black T-shirt, he seemed the opposite of his south side counterpart, rested and as fresh-faced as a shaving-foam model on his day off.
I brought him up to speed. ‘Glass Houses has lost three clients Nina says were keen. Best guess: her computer’s been hacked.’ Ritchie didn’t appreciate the look Douglas shot at him. I stepped in and explained. ‘Nine months ago, George hired a tech guy to install software protection. Given the nature of the business, it shouldn’t have been an issue.’
‘What happened?’
Ritchie answered. ‘Nina takes her independence seriously. She wouldn’t let him near her computers. Said she’d made her own arrangements.’
Douglas nodded. ‘I’ll get it checked out this afternoon and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Independence is fine, unless it’s a toss-up between it and your life.’
The right answer. My sister was about to meet her match.
‘And plant’s been vandalised on the building site.’
This time, he didn’t rush to volunteer a solution. Neither did Ritchie. Douglas folded his arms across his chest and sat back, making the point that what he’d just been told had nothing to do with him. Irritation rose in me and I made a mental note to bang their heads together if they started any bloody nonsense. We needed all hands to the pumps, not some stupid power struggle while some unknown bastards dismantled what I’d built.
Douglas sensed I wasn’t impressed and came in. ‘Any chance it’s a coincidence?’
‘There’s always a chance. Though it doesn’t feel like it.’
Until I knew him better, Douglas didn’t need to know about the copper I had in my pocket or the arrangements with my accountant.
Ritchie said, ‘It could just be kids messing around. I’ll put in a couple of the Newcastle guys and talk to the watchman. Find out if he really was sick when our machines were being crocked.’
This was the reaction I expected from these two.
The thought process of a Police Scotland fast-tracker revealed itself. Douglas said, ‘What you’ve described is low-level nuisance-value stuff, intended to disrupt rather than cripple us. Nobody hurt, nothing stolen.’
Ritchie said, ‘They’re reminding us they’re there and that it isn’t over.’
George wasn’t wrong. Douglas acknowledged it with a nod. ‘It all goes back to Friday night. We agree the hit on the club was brutal, more violent than it needed to be. What we haven’t got close to answering is why or who.’
Ritchie started to speak and changed his mind: Mark Douglas was on a roll, sifting the facts, searching for a breakthrough. He said, ‘I was there. I saw them. They weren’t kids. These guys were killers and I believe the damage was more important than the money. They already had that.’
‘Are you saying they would’ve gone upstairs if you hadn’t been there?’
‘No, when their business is with the club, they’ll go through the front door. So, let’s do the first thing first. Other than you and Jonas Small, who knew about it?’
The next words out of my mouth were aimed at Douglas but sounded like an excuse. ‘Paul Fallon, the head of security, insisted on bringing in his own men.’
‘So, how many?’
‘Me, six security people, two in the office, and Christ knows how many on Small’s end.’
Douglas scratched his cheek – he’d got my jibe; his lips parted in a grim smile. ‘You were wide open, and I’m going to take a wild guess you couldn’t vouch for any of Fallon’s guys. Were they on the payroll or was he handling them himself?’
‘On the payroll.’
‘Good. That gives us a chance to find out who they were connected to.’
Silence from me and George Ritchie.
Douglas said, ‘The woman—’
‘Rose.’
‘Was she addicted to online gambling?’
He wasn’t expecting an answer and didn’t get one. But he’d made his point. There was too much we didn’t know; we were wide open. His head bobbed thoughtfully. ‘And that’s before we get to Jonas Small. Who the fuck did he tell?’
Apart from his wife.
Douglas stood up and went walkabout. He stopped his tour of the office and turned towards me. ‘In terms of protecting ourselves, between Glass Gate and Glass Houses, we’re stretched. Add the club and the problem doubles. Throw in the cast of Ben Hur, large amounts of money arriving late at night, and we’re not exactly difficult to hurt, especially with help from the inside.’
I guessed George Ritchie wasn’t keen to hear any of this, neither was I, yet there was no denying it. I blamed myself for running before we could walk. Our businesses had grown; the security around them hadn’t.
Mark Douglas shared a stare between us. He’d told the truth, uncomfortable as it was. Only a fool would bury their head in the sand. He said, ‘I want your permission to make the necessary changes. As it stands, we’re in the dark on just about everything. We could be hit anywhere. From today, that won’t be the case.’
I said, ‘What do you want?’
‘The guys Paul Fallon brought are history. After tomorrow, they’ll no longer work at the club. We need better. As I said, the next assault could just as easily come through the front door.’ He caught the look on my face. ‘Only until this threat’s behind us. There are men in this city who understand what’s required without having it spelled out for them.’
‘What else?’
‘To begin with, let’s assume there was a leak and that it came from our end. My guys will have a look at who Fallon brought in and narrow it down. We can figure it out from there. Meantime, George is handling Glass Gate and I’ll deal with Nina.’
Under my breath I wished him luck.
Mark Douglas was a fox. ‘And we don’t ferry the cash. Not any more. It’s too dangerous. Nothing but downside in it for us. Your… associates… will deliver it.’
When he’d told me on the phone it had made sense. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the deal I had with Small and the others; they wouldn’t be best pleased. Douglas said, ‘We – you – can’t be expected to cover for them every time they put cash into the system. Again, at least until we’re swimming in clear water, the arrangement has to change. Will that be a problem?’
‘If it is, they can fuck off and find a better deal.’
The meeting had gone on longer than I’d imagined. Mark Douglas had taken charge and acquitted himself well. By comparison, Ritchie, taciturn on a good day, hadn’t contributed very much. Now, he said, ‘Can I remind you there’s been nothing on the south side?’
The old stag was making his presence felt, pawing the ground, telling us he was still a force. But his memory was selective – no mention of Lewisham or Lambeth.
‘And your point is, George?’
‘We’ve had no problem south of the river and haven’t had in the three years since Danny left.’
‘How is that relevant? Every major player in London stands to benefit from the club. Thanks to LBC, they’ll all do very nicely.’
Ritchie was working up to something. I wished he’d just come out with it. In the time I’d known him he’d been confident in his ability and his professionalism. Oblique references to his performance weren’t how he normally behaved. He’d been against LBC from the beginning – that was no secret – about the only thing him and Nina agreed on. At the door, he turned and sowed doubt on an already uncertain situation.
‘If it’s just about money, I believe you. What if it isn’t?’
20
I’d watched Danny deal with people and wondered why he was aggressive from the off, sometimes before they’d even opened their mo
uths. Now I got it. Holding onto what he’d built was as much about perception as anything. Now, I got that, too.
The man on the other end of the line could do surly for England; Colin Bishop had answered his cousin’s phone. Talking to him – about anything – was a waste of breath and I was tempted to end the call. But this was Monday afternoon. In two days, the Bishops were expecting their money to be picked up. They weren’t going to like what I had to tell them.
‘What?’
I didn’t introduce myself; the fewer words spent on this guy, the better.
‘Put Kenny on.’
He recognised my voice. ‘Am I not good enough for you, Glass?’
I resisted. ‘Just put Kenny on.’
‘Speak to me.’
It had taken less than twenty seconds to want to strangle the stroppy bastard with my bare hands. I said, ‘Put your cousin on and stop fucking about.’
‘He isn’t here.’
Colin Bishop was an arsehole with everybody – I didn’t take it to heart.
‘Tell you what, Colin, forget it. When it happens, you can explain it to him.’
That got his attention.
‘When what happens?’
‘Never mind. Tell Kenny I called.’
‘Hold it. He’s around somewhere.’
The conversation was childish, typical of Colin Bishop, though more than enough to confirm what I already knew: somebody motivated could neutralise the cousins’ power. North London looked like it belonged to them. In fact, it was ripe for a takeover; these clowns wouldn’t get their act together to resist a serious assault. It wasn’t in my plans. I had plenty to be getting on with. On another day, that might not be the case.
In the background, a bad-tempered exchange, like a couple of old queens in a 1960s Joe Orton play, ended with a door slamming. With these two, it never stopped.
Kenny Bishop was less of a wanker than his cousin. That said, he was still a knob. He came across, cheery and bright, as if we were pals who hadn’t seen each other in a while. Maybe he’d forgotten the meeting the day before in Little Venice – I certainly hadn’t: on the towpath, when his boozed-up partner had threatened me, he’d stood back and let him get on with it.
‘Luke. Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
‘We need a face-to-face.’
He laughed as if I’d said something funny. ‘We must stop meeting like this, people will talk, eh?’
I’d no idea who his godawful chat appealed to. It definitely wasn’t me.
‘Fancy another stroll along the canal? Sink a few in The Bridge House, maybe?’
‘No, you come to me. LBC at three.’
‘My, my, you are in a hurry.’
‘And before you get within a mile of the place, get your cousin to button it. He’s gone after me twice, Kenny. Three will be once too many.’
Nina looked around at what she’d created. A lot of money had been spent here and it showed. The office on the fifth floor was impressive: burgundy sofas and outsized coffee tables casually strewn with copies of this month’s Tatler, Elite Traveler, and Bespoke – a Middle Eastern magazine published in English aimed at high-net-worth individuals from the Arab world. Her eyes settled on the bank of screens, continuously showcasing houses and flats the company had brokered, and the reception desk – an eye-catching Perspex cuboid housing a scale model of Luke’s new luxury property development, Glass Gate. He was building it; her company would sell it.
When he’d come out of Wandsworth, Luke had told her he intended to leave London and start fresh somewhere new. If he had, everything she was seeing here would never have been born and she’d be the oldest rebel south of the river, working for Danny and hating every minute of it.
None of that had happened. Instead of turning his back on the whole bloody lot, Luke had taken over from their lunatic brother and discovered he was a natural. But he wasn’t the same man she’d visited twice a month for seven years – and maybe that was to be expected. Heading the family business demanded everything he had. There was a woman somewhere in the background, though he rarely spoke about her. Shelley… Kelly… something like that.
The thought hit home; her selfishness embarrassed her and she felt her face flush. Since Danny, she’d acted like a spoiled child, happy enough to spend the money, yet reluctant to take responsibility for anything beyond Glass Houses.
Ridiculous. Stupid. She was a partner, for Christ’s sake. It was her name on the licence.
The attack on Friday night was a tipping point. Just when Luke needed her, she’d left the club to meet Algernon Drake of all fucking people. That kind of behaviour had to stop. Someone was coming after them. Her brother couldn’t do it by himself.
Nina was at her desk when her mobile rang. Luke wasted no time on small talk and she realised he was still angry with her. She got in ahead of him. ‘You’re on to tell me our meeting’s cancelled, right?’
He ignored her friendly jibe. ‘Wrong. And don’t be late. It’s important.’
All her life Nina had baulked at admitting she was wrong; saying sorry didn’t come easily to her, but an apology was overdue. ‘Listen… about the weekend.’
Luke shied away from whatever she had to say; she heard the tiredness in his voice. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Nina. I really don’t.’
‘Please, listen. Let me get this out. You’re my brother. If you can’t depend on me, who can you depend on? And I haven’t been there for you. For the family. I’ve been out of it. But I want you to know that from now on, I’m all in – 100 per cent.’
The silence seemed to go on forever. She began to regret allowing him to see her vulnerability. Inside her, the old Nina rose to rail at him.
Luke beat her to it, speaking quietly, almost tenderly. ‘We’ve all been out of it, not just you. Even George Ritchie. We’ve had the south side to ourselves. It’s been too easy. We’ve got lazy and slow. Ripe. Somebody’s reminding us if we want to keep what’s ours, we have to fight for it. I’m ready for that fight.’
‘So am I.’
‘Good to know.’
Nina smiled down the line and whispered the words Danny had used whenever it had looked like he was losing them. ‘Team Glass?’
Luke laughed. ‘A step too far, maybe. If I ever pull that crap you have my permission to give me a slap. I’m just glad to have my sister back. Let’s quit while we’re ahead. I called to tell you Mark Douglas is on his way to you.’
‘Who?’
‘Mark Douglas. The guy who saved our arses on Friday night. I’ve hired him.’
Nina felt a thrill of excitement run through her. ‘Celebrity Security?’
‘The very same. Paul Fallon’s dead. Douglas proved he’s got the stuff, so he’s in. We’re being attacked on all fronts. Your cancelled clients are the tip of the iceberg. We have to establish how much damage has been done. Work with him, Nina. And when Douglas arrives remember he’s on our side and don’t fuck him about.’
Traffic made travelling any distance in London a nightmare. Mark Douglas edged through the capital, stopping and starting every few minutes. He’d spent most of the afternoon lining up a new security team to replace the jokes that poor bastard Paul Fallon had brought in. Nina Glass would be expecting him. He hadn’t forgotten her or their conversation, heavy with sensuality. In other circumstances his response would’ve been to take her up on her offer. Except Nina was Luke Glass’s sister.
The guy in the passenger seat held onto the strap of the canvas bag he always carried, his unkempt beard and wispy moustache giving him the look of a left-wing activist or, more accurately, a geek with a degree in computer science and the only guy Mark Douglas would let within a mile of this stuff.
His question was an attempt at conversation rather than a genuine enquiry.
‘We looking for anything in particular?’
Douglas kept his eyes on the road. ‘Somebody is noising us up, accessing confidential information. So, like I told you on the phone, we need every
thing checked and swept – offices, the staff, Luke and Nina’s flats.’
He almost added George Ritchie’s lair above the King of Mesopotamia pub and changed his mind – the old guy knew the score.
‘Paul Fallon was Head of Security. I want to find out how good a job he did.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s dead.’
He nodded and went back to staring out of the window.
Nina was in her office at the far end of the room, on the phone, pacing the floor, her head bobbing as she spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line. When she saw them coming towards her, she cut the call short and waved.
Mark Douglas was struck by how little she resembled the lady in the club. The provocative vamp had been remodelled. Her hair was swept up. She wore a cream blouse, a navy-blue two-piece suit and modest heels. Nina smiled and held out her hand. Douglas took it but caught a trace of wariness in the corners of her eyes. Understandable. Her business was under siege.
He said, ‘We met in LBC.’
‘Luke told me you were coming. How’s this going to work?’
It wasn’t just the outfit that had changed. There was no sign of the smouldering seductress.
Douglas turned to the techie. ‘You might as well get started.’
He closed the door and Nina asked, ‘What’s he going to do?’
