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Authors: Malcolm Mackay

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Fiction

How a Gunman Says Goodbye (16 page)

BOOK: How a Gunman Says Goodbye
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30

It feels like a busy time. Yet, there’s nothing much to do. Young knows everything that needs to be done, and has it all in hand. Other people run around carrying out the orders he gives them. He sits back and waits to hear the results. Always safe. Never directly involved. There are so many people between Young and the person who carries out the order. Usually they have no idea who they’re working for. Young is the last in a long line of gatekeepers before you reach Jamieson. He’s never felt this bored by the job before.

In the old days, it was different. Old days. That’s a laugh. Young’s only forty-three, Jamieson a couple of years older. Nonetheless, they’ve been at this for nearly twenty-five years. They’ve always been good at it. Young’s strategic brain, Jamieson’s guts and personality. In the beginning Young thought his brain was their best asset. He learned different soon enough. Jamieson mattered most. People wanted to work for him. They wanted to be a part of the things he was doing. It’s still that way. No jealousy, though. Just a little disappointment that he doesn’t have a more exciting role to play right now.

It’s a curious time. This Shug thing is a drain. An annoyance. They need to deal with it, sure, but it isn’t exciting. It’s street stuff out of proportion. It’s just a matter of when they crush him, not if. If it wasn’t for the Frank issue, it would be done by now. Jamieson knows how to deal with it, but he needs a second gunman he can trust. Calum plus one. Then on to something bigger. That’s what Young’s looking forward to. It’s what he’s always lived for. The great leap forward. One after another. They’re due another one. They’ve been flatlining for a while. Working out of the club because it’s still the biggest business they have. Biggest legit business, anyway. That’ll change when they take another leap. They’ll find an opponent and go to war. They’ll take them down. It’ll be a constant struggle. Day after day. Always something happening. Always something that you need to do. News to react to. Waking every morning knowing something’s going to come out of the blue. Thinking on your feet. Young can’t wait. They just need to resolve this irritating Frank issue first, and then stamp on Shug.

He needs two gunmen. There are two people Young would like for the job. Trouble with both. The best candidate would be George Daly. He’s smart and tough, certainly not squeamish. He’s been loyal to them for years now. Started out as a teenager doing the crappiest of jobs. Never baulked. That was nine years ago. Now he’s the best muscle they have. Best by a considerable distance, it’s worth adding. A little bit of a playboy at times, but he knows where to draw the line. Throw in the fact that he’s about the only friend Calum has, and he’s perfect. Except he won’t do it. Not willing to take the responsibility. Not willing to accept the sacrifices. A great candidate who doesn’t want the job. That leaves one other person in Young’s mind. A good gunman. An awkward situation. Awkward timing, anyway. That’s for another day.

There’s something else to ponder. It’s Jamieson and his gut instincts. Still refuses to accept that Calum can be trusted. He’s convinced Calum’s going to do a runner or turn his back in some way. Young’s told him umpteen times that you have to be patient. It takes time to build trust in a business like this. Jamieson hasn’t known Calum long. So the boy doesn’t look happy. So what? Miserable sod never did. Not even when he was freelance. Okay, there’s a commitment issue there, but Young can work on that. In fact, that’s a little job to pass the time with, until something better comes along. He needs to put a little pressure on Calum. Not too much. Carrot and stick. They got him into the Davidson mess. Well, Young did. They cleaned it up, though. Looked after him, and looked after him well. Found him a new place to live. Did all they could to provide comfort. Let him take all the time he needed. First job back, he proves what a good investment that was. So now Young’s checking up, making sure there’s nothing else they can do for him.

Ringing his flat. Why shouldn’t he? They’re acquaintances, of sorts. The one worry is that the police might check the phone records of the club. That might lead them back to Calum. They’re going to find him eventually. If they haven’t already. Just a question of what they’re able to do with him when they do. Young will need to talk to Calum again about Frank. Let him know that Frank’s taking a backward step. That Frank might not like it. Gunmen are a tight group. They all know each other, or know of each other. Mostly all loners. Most don’t like people poking about in their business. Don’t like giving away detail. Frank won’t want anyone knowing that he’s being pushed aside. Not even the guy taking his place. It’s not a question of honour. Never is in this business. It’s a question of mentality. Someone’s going to have to keep an eye on Frank.

The phone’s ringing. Young’s waiting, expecting to hear the now almost familiar voice. Young but flat. Never betraying emotion. Always disinterested. But that’s not the voice that says hello. The voice that says hello is young, perky and female. The girlfriend. It could only be.

‘Hello, is Calum there, please?’ He’s being polite, not looking for general conversation. How much has Calum told her? Almost certainly nothing. He’ll be playing her along, giving nothing away. He’ll be safe when it comes to work. A smart gunman is always secretive. So she knows nothing. At least, very little. She won’t know who Young is.

‘No, he just went out. Can I take a message?’

Engage with her or not? It’s worth finding out how involved she is with Calum. Women were never an issue with Frank. By the time he came to work for them, Frank had resigned himself to isolation.

That’s what Calum should be doing now. This is the price of youthful talent, Young’s realizing. They’re still working out how they’re going to live the life. Still learning from their mistakes.

‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’ Young’s asking. Drag it out a little. Let’s hear how smart she is. She’s a student, he knows that. Doesn’t tell him anything. He’s seen some students being indescribably stupid in his time. There’s quite a difference between being well educated and being intelligent.

‘I’m Emma; I’m Calum’s . . . friend.’

Okay, so they’re not yet at the point where they’re declaring a relationship to all and sundry. That’s good. But the fact that she’s alone in his flat suggests they’re getting there.

‘Ah, Emma,’ he’s saying, as though he’s heard of her. Which he has, of course, but Calum doesn’t know that. ‘Just tell him John called. It’s not important. I’ll catch up with him in the next few days.’

He’s waiting for her to say okay and hang up. That would be the decent thing to do. She’s not, though. She has something she wants to ask.

‘Are you a friend of Calum’s?’

That’s a little forward. Well, of course he’s going to say yes. ‘That’s right.’

‘George’s too?’ she’s asking.

Now she’s interesting. She’s trying to plant him in the same circle as those two. So she knows something. Not everything, or she wouldn’t be fishing for info now.

‘I know George.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she’s saying, and she’s trying to sound knowing.

You know nothing, girl, he’s thinking. If you sound disapproving now, you wouldn’t be there at all if you knew the truth. That’s positive. She doesn’t know anything dangerous yet. Yet. ‘It was nice to talk to you,’ he’s saying. Just enough sarcasm to be noticeable, not so much that it provokes a response. ‘You’ll let Calum know I called.’

‘I will.’

He’s hung up the phone and he’s sitting back in the chair in his living room, smiling. This is something to do. Something that needs doing. Part of his responsibilities involves stopping problems before they appear. This girl Emma could be a problem. They have one gunman, and one young woman looking to lead him astray. A little game to play while passing the time. How to break up the happy couple. She must come to no harm, that’s obvious. The last thing he wants is this little project drawing police attention. Break them up without her feeling any need to make a noise. Probably won’t be able to do it on his own. Calum can never find out. There’s also the worry that a break-up will make the boy even more miserable and difficult to handle. It’s starting to sound less fun now. Still necessary, though.

31

He’s been retired. It doesn’t matter how Jamieson dressed it up; fact is, he’s been retired. The old man on the outside. Frank knows what that makes him. Dangerous. That’s why Jamieson was talking about advisory roles. Complete bullshit. He doesn’t need advising. Not even when he’s going up against a big organization. Jamieson’s got this far precisely because he doesn’t need anyone’s advice. He knows what he’s doing. Instinct and intelligence. If you have those two, you don’t need much advising. The idea that he’d have Frank run around doing errands during a war is absurd. When the police know there’s a war on, you keep your big guns off the radar. The police know Frank. Can’t arrest him, he’s never left them evidence, but they know him. In a war, Jamieson would use him, but carefully. Only occasional contact. Give him a target and let him get on with it. A war is the most isolating time for a gunman, but also the most thrilling. You know there’ll be work. Challenges to overcome. It tests you. A good gunman thrives on it. Frank won’t even be involved.

He’s sitting in his kitchen, holding a cup of tea with both hands. Old hands, he’s thinking. Old hands that have done it all before, and done it well. He can tell himself that all he likes – it doesn’t matter. It’s not the hands that are at fault. It’s the hip. Actually there’s nothing wrong with the hip now. It feels much better than it did in the six months before he had it replaced. Yet, in those six months, Jamieson thought Frank was the bee’s knees. He respected and admired him. Trusted him. If Frank had botched a job in those six months, which he didn’t, when his hip actually did trouble him, he would have got a second chance. There’s no doubt in his mind. Jamieson would have been pissed off, sure. More so than he is now, in fact. Now he’s just sad. Anger would be better. But he would have let him go back to work. Instead, he thinks of Frank as an old man. Tired, decrepit and dangerously incompetent. All because of the hip. All because he got it fixed. If only he had just struggled on in pain.

Too late for that now. He has a sprightly new hip that nobody wants to play with. No more work. No more work that matters, anyway. Not with Jamieson. There could be work with someone else. That sends a shiver. Working with someone else means making an enemy of Jamieson. A good friend. A deadly enemy. Frank knows what would happen. He wouldn’t even do one job for a new employer before Jamieson found out he’d crossed. He wouldn’t get the chance to do one job. Jamieson isn’t stupid. He won’t let emotion conquer him. If he considers Frank a threat, he’ll remove the threat.

Taking a sip of tea. Considering his options. No longer on the inside. Doesn’t matter what Jamieson says – Frank’s not an insider now. Some guy who’s supposed to offer advice when he’s asked, which will be rarely. That’s not inside. That’s way out.

The thought of being an outsider. He’s been here before. He’s lived with the danger of it, and come through. Been a long time, though. Different circumstances. He worked for Donnie Maskell. How long ago was that? Jesus! Thirty years. Worked for him for seven years. Things started to fall apart for Maskell. Frank knew what was going on. Maskell had lost control; his business picked apart by supposed friends and definite enemies. Maskell put on a good face, but Frank knew he had to get out. He moved to the outside. Went off the radar. Did a couple of jobs freelance, but stayed low-key. Maskell wanted him dead. Dangerous times, you’re right, but by the time Frank resurfaced, Maskell didn’t have the ability to get rid of anyone. That was the last time Frank was on the outside.

Peter Jamieson is no Donnie Maskell. He’s in a much stronger position. He’s smarter. He has people around him who could easily make it happen. A late-night visit from Calum MacLean is a visit to avoid. Could Frank go up against Calum? He’s smiling. Never happened to him before. No gunman has ever gone after him. Partly because he’s been good at not making enemies. Partly because none would want to. He had too much respect. Admired as the best in the business. Nobody wanted to take him on. It’s not arrogance that makes him think that. It’s a fact. Most gunmen are smart enough to take on only a target they know they’ll beat. That’ll change now. An old man on the outside. Easy prey for a good gunman. There was a day when he wouldn’t have feared Calum. Wouldn’t have relished it, either, mind you. You never relish being the hunted. Now he would fear it. Calum’s good. Cold and smart. A good planner, who knows how to improvise. He’s what Frank used to be. What he thought he still was.

Nearly finished that cup now. So hard to be decisive. That might be the big failure in Frank’s career. He’s never made the difficult decisions. Okay, he’s had to decide who to work for. A couple of tough decisions about walking away from employers. But that’s it. He’s always been an organization man. Always letting other people make the tough decisions. You put yourself in an organization; you put yourself at their mercy. Their choices. You just follow orders. It’s reassuring, while it lasts. You don’t have to think about anything. You get a call. You go and find out who your target is. You do the job. If you’re good at the job, then the whole thing is simple. You rarely have to engage your brain. Go through the routine and everything’s fine. Comfortable and comforting. Now, suddenly, he has to think for himself. He has to make a difficult decision. The quicker, the better.

Standing over the sink now, rinsing out the cup. There are people he could go work for. Good people. Strong people. People he worked against in the past. There isn’t a major organization in the city that he hasn’t struck against at some point. Some of it’s ancient history. It would still be an issue. People have long memories. They might hire him, but they wouldn’t forget. They would never let a man like Frank hold responsibility. They would keep him at arm’s length. Maybe use him now and again. Give him basic protection in exchange for the information he has on Jamieson. Always at arm’s length. The only organization he could go into without baggage would be a new one. There are none local. There are people poking their noses in from outside. Organizations from other cities, looking for a cut. They work with freelancers, or bring in their own. Outsiders are especially hated by those in the business. The last meaningful organization to grow in this city was Jamieson’s. Freelance isn’t an option. No protection. Nothing to gain for a man in his position. It would have to be an established organization. He can’t think of any that would trust him. Can’t think of any he doesn’t actively dislike.

There is one more option. One more thing he might do. It repulses him to think of it. The indoctrination begins on day one. Taught that nothing could be worse. That nobody does it. Anyone who does must be punished with death. Enemy number one to everyone in the business. That’s all bullshit, of course. The concept of honour among thieves is moronic. These people make their living from lies and deceit. Far more people inside the business speak to the police than are ever caught. Okay, hands up, Frank doesn’t know that for sure. He’s guessing here. There are people out there who should be in jail. That’s obvious. People against whom the police have enough evidence to convict. People who are still on the outside. They have a form of protection that even an organization can’t guarantee. There’s plenty of them if you take a good look around. None on Frank’s level, though. The police can’t turn a blind eye to everything he’s done. Can they?

BOOK: How a Gunman Says Goodbye
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