Betrayed (7 page)

But much as he loved his mother, she was just wrong, Jimmy told himself. You were either a Billy or a Tim in Glasgow. It was as simple as that. You stuck to your own people, because the other side hated you as much as you
hated them. You joined a flute band and proudly marched, parading what you were. He remembered as a boy, the band practices in his local Orange hall, and always at the end of it a few of the older lads stayed behind for training. It was all kept hush-hush, but he later learned it was UVF weapons training. He dreamed of the day he would be one of these lads. This was about defending Queen and country. What had happened down the years in Northern Ireland, with the IRA bombing the fuck out of Belfast and the UK, had to be defended. It had to be financed. That’s what they were doing. He didn’t question it. Never had. They were fighting the fight, armed and ready.

Eventually, the door opened at the far side of the room and Eddie came in, followed by a couple of other UVF men who Jimmy knew to be platoon commanders.

‘All right, lads,’ Eddie said as he came towards them. ‘Everything go okay with the drop?’

‘Yeah, Eddie. Fine. No problem at all.’

‘Good bloke that. Knows what he’s doing.’

Jimmy and Mitch nodded.

‘Listen, boys. Leave your pints there for ten minutes. Follow me upstairs. I need a wee word.’

Jimmy’s stomach turned over. It flashed across his mind that Liz had opened her trap about Wendy’s phone call to him. He felt his palms sweat. He’d been in back rooms before when a guy had been brought in and beaten to a pulp
until he admitted whatever he was being accused of. Now he was terrified that this was his turn. They walked along the corridor until they came to a heavy padlocked door, which Eddie opened with a key. They went upstairs to the UVF function room, past the walls adorned with pictures of Rangers heroes down the years. Each print, Eddie explained, was sponsored by individuals who paid into the UVF coffers to have their names on a plaque below the photos for a year. There were hundreds of pictures and the sponsors changed every year, raking in a fortune. At the top of the hallway, they faced a door which Jimmy had never been through, even though he’d been in the main function hall many times. Eddie turned to them.

‘Nobody gets to go in here, unless by invitation.’ He gave them a look. ‘So you boys are getting a wee privilege here – for doing a good job the last few days. You’re shaping up well, lads.’

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped inside the room. It was a shrine with rows of glass cases full of memorabilia and handmade wall carvings by Loyalist prisoners in Belfast jails.

‘Come. Look at this.’ Eddie showed them a piece of twisted metal in a glass case. ‘Bit of a car,’ he said. ‘It’s from the explosion when the SAS boys got eight of them scum IRA pikeys back in eighty-seven. Fuckers didn’t know what hit them.’ He grinned proudly at both of them. ‘And look. These are the war medals of men, real men who fought and died
for the cause. They were British soldiers, the Thirty-Sixth Ulster Division, but they were UVF men first, right back to the First World War. That’s what you’re part of now, boys. A proud history.’

‘Amazing,’ Mitch said.

Eddie went behind a table. He motioned them to sit.

‘Right. Here’s the situation. We’re going to the matches – Eindhoven then Seville in Spain. I’ve got a pickup to do. I’ll be bringing back four kilos each time. Coke.’

Jimmy had never been on the coke run before with the Rangers buses, but he had heard about it.

‘Great,’ Mitch said. ‘We were just talking about going to the games, Eddie. We were looking at the Victoria Bar bus.’

‘No. Forget that. We’re going on the bus from here. One of the crowd. Just fans. We keep the bag with the money in with us all the time, then we come back with a holdall and the coke. There’s never a problem at the border. They don’t go on and search every bag on the bus. It’s a piece of piss. Been doing it for years. Deal with the same people.’ He sat back. ‘So that’s the job. You two will be with me at all times. My wingmen. It’s a big job for you.’ He looked at both of them. ‘You square with that, lads?’

Jimmy and Mitch nodded. They both knew they weren’t being asked for their opinion.

‘Definitely, boss.’

‘And don’t worry, Mitch. There’ll be time for a bit of
rumpy.’ He smirked towards Jimmy. ‘You too, Jimmy. A blow job by some foreign bird is just what you need.’

Jimmy managed a half smile.

‘Sure, boss. Sounds great.’

It was after ten by the time Jimmy got back to his house and he was surprised to find the living room almost in darkness, without the usual blare of the television. His father always had the sound up loud when he was watching. But tonight there was no sound, and Jimmy assumed he must have gone to bed early. He went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and stuck a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. The few pints had made him hungry, and he would polish off the remains of the chicken his da had made for dinner.

‘That you, Jimmy?’

Jimmy turned around, puzzled. His father’s voice was coming from the living room. He walked out of the kitchen and opened the living room door. He was sitting in the dark, staring into the fake flames flickering over artificial coals in the electric fire. Jimmy automatically pushed the light switch.

‘What you sitting in the dark for, Da?’ His stomach tightened. Something was wrong. ‘You all right? What’s wrong?’

‘I had enough of that film I was watching.’ He looked up. ‘Just waiting for you.’

Something was definitely wrong. His da had never waited up for him since he was at school. Fear swept over him.

‘Waiting for me? Christ, Da, I’m not fifteen.’ Jimmy tried to make light of it, but he could see his father’s face grey with worry.

‘I want to talk to you. Go and bring us a cup of tea.’

Jimmy went into the kitchen as the bread popped up on the toaster. He looked at it, but his hunger had suddenly vanished. He poured water into the teapot and filled two mugs with black tea and went back into the room. He sat down softly on the couch opposite his father, still staring at the fire.

‘What’s wrong, Da?’ Jimmy swallowed.

His father turned to him, his eyes fixing him.

‘I’m not well, Jimmy.’

‘Not well? Will I phone the doctor?’ Jimmy handed him a mug of tea.

‘Nah.’ He shook his head, looking at the carpet. ‘Done all that.’ He paused. ‘Listen. I was at the hospital today. I’m … I’m … Ach, fuck it! There’s no easy way to say it.’ He faced his son and their eyes met. ‘I’m dying, Jimmy.’

Jimmy felt as though he could hear the words in the distance. He looked back at his father, the muscles in his massive hand around the mug suddenly looking pale and ropy. He had never considered his father to be in old age, and though he was now well into his sixties, he’d always been a fit strong man and had worked up until the past two years. But the chiselled looks that made him handsome even as he was knocking on suddenly made him look older,
and for the first time in his life, Jimmy contemplated losing him. Even after his mother had died, the one constant in his life was the strength of his father. Sure, he could be a bastard. He was a hardman from Belfast. He had seen him lay two big men out with his bare fists. He was unbreakable, and Jimmy strived to be just like him. Everyone knew Jimmy as big Jack Dunlop’s boy, the bomb-maker who brought the explosives over and masterminded the bomb plot in Glasgow, and Jimmy had always been aware of what that meant in the world they lived in.

‘What is it?’ he managed to say.

‘Cancer. Stomach. You know how my gut has always bothered me. Thought it was my ulcer, so I never bothered with it. Then was doubled in two the last couple of months and I knew something wasn’t right. I went to the doc and he sent me down to the hospital. They gave me one of them ultrasound things. Massive tumour. And then blood tests. It’s been going on for over a week now. I’ve to go in for more tests. Maybe an operation. But it’s not looking good.’

‘Aw, but Da, they can’t just say that without having a real look. Don’t be so worried. It might be all right. I mean, there’s loads they can do nowadays …’ Jimmy’s voice was running away with him. He felt his chest tight with emotion. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What’s the point of that? It’s me who’s sick. You don’t need to worry about it. Listen, son.’ His eyes softened. ‘I’ve seen the specialist this afternoon. He’s told me they can
do more tests, but there’s no point opening me up because they can see from the scan and the blood tests that it’s an aggressive cancer and it’s already spread.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m fucked, Jimmy.’

‘Don’t say that, Da.’ Jimmy swallowed his tears. ‘Don’t say that.’

They looked at each other and Jimmy saw this big six foot man, who had been the world to him, suddenly vulnerable, his eyes shining as though he was going to cry. He watched as his father stood up.

‘I’m going to bed now, son.’

Jimmy felt his legs go weak as he got to his feet and they faced each other. For a moment, he thought his da was going to hug him and when he didn’t, he resisted the urge to throw his arms around him. They just stood there, the wall of silence between them.

‘I’m tired,’ his father sighed, as he walked out of the door, leaving Jimmy in the stillness of the room.

CHAPTER SIX

‘So what’s happening with our Billy Boy friends, Gilmour?’ McGuire studied his computer screen as Rosie walked into his office. ‘You’ve not called me for a couple of days.’

‘I know, Mick. I’ve missed you too.’ Rosie gave him a sarcastic smile as she sat down. ‘Actually, I’ve been out doing a bit of digging. Didn’t want to talk to you till I had something to tell you.’ She opened her notebook and flicked through pages. ‘Oh, before I say any more – about the Rangers Champions League matches. We need to get booked on ferries and stuff. I know what bus I’m watching and what ferry it’s on, so we need to get organised. And I also need to discuss the logistics of it with you.’ She looked up. ‘I might need some help.’

The thought of going undercover, tracking UVF drug dealers with just Matt, made Rosie a little nervous. She wanted to involve her Bosnian friend Adrian, and Javier
for the Spanish end, if he could be persuaded. She was considering bringing both of them on the two jobs.

‘But first … there’s been a pretty shit-hot development.’

She’d toyed with the idea of not telling Mick about the rape but she knew the consequences if it came out later.

‘You know Wendy’s pal Liz?’

‘Yeah, the barmaid with the big mouth,’ Mick said, deadpan.

‘Yes. Well. She called me the other night, and I had a meet with her yesterday. You’ll never guess what she said …’

Mick rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

‘Now let me think. No. You’re right, I’ll never guess. Just tell me, Rosie. I can tell from the look on your face I’m going to have trouble believing it.’

‘Mick. Liz’s all right. I had a long talk with her, and I like her. She does run off at the mouth a bit and I talked to her about that. But she seems to know the score.’

‘So what did she say?’

‘Well, she said that her and Jimmy were out getting pissed a couple of nights ago, and he told her that when Wendy phoned that night she disappeared, she was crying. Sobbing. Jimmy didn’t tell that to the cops.’

‘And?’ Mick was suddenly interested.

‘And, she said Wendy told Jimmy that Eddie McGregor raped her. In his car.’

McGuire was silent for a moment, then he put his head back and his hands went to his face.

‘Oh fuck! That’s all we need. Can you imagine what kind of shit will be flying around if we don’t report
that
to the cops and Wendy turns up dead?’

‘Yeah. But we can’t report it, Mick. That’s the problem. Neither could Liz, because she knows if she goes to the cops, she will have to bring Jimmy into it, and he can’t report it because of his connection with the UVF. They don’t go to the cops. They have their own people to investigate internal matters. He can’t go to the cops. And if Liz does, then she’s a dead woman.’

‘Christ! What if this is just a smokescreen by Jimmy, and he’s the one who’s done something to Wendy? He was the last to talk to her, according to what he’s told the cops.’

‘But he wasn’t the last to see her. Eddie was.’

‘Well, we don’t know that for sure.’ Mick paused. ‘Do you believe Liz? And more to the point, does she believe what Jimmy’s saying?’

‘Yes. To both those questions. Liz absolutely believes Jimmy. She says he was smitten with Wendy. We have to take that at face value. We can only work with what we’ve got.’

‘Christ. So where does this leave us?’

Rosie took a deep breath. ‘I think we just carry on with our investigation. See if we can get them in Holland and in Spain with the drugs, then get them busted. That’s what Liz wants to do. She is convinced Eddie has done Wendy in, and the only way she can get him busted is by getting him done for the drugs. She’s prepared to help us do it.’

McGuire stood up and walked towards the window, his back to Rosie for a moment.

‘I don’t like it, Rosie. I’m not comfortable with it.’

‘But what happens if I get the cops and we report a rape allegation? They’re going to ask who gave us the info, then we’re up to our armpits in the usual shit with them saying if we don’t give them the name we’re committing a criminal offence by withholding information.’

‘Which we are, Gilmour. We are withholding information. Crucial information.’

‘Christ, Mick. You’re sounding like that big DI who came in here trying to rough us up over the last investigation.’

‘I’m playing devil’s advocate. It’s well risky, not telling anyone. What if that bastard McGregor has killed the girl?’

‘I think he probably has. But we can’t do anything about that. As I say, we can only work with what we’ve got.’

‘Christ. I wish she hadn’t told you that, though.’

‘I know. I do too. But the thing is, Liz is well onside with us. She’s got an ex-boyfriend who she still sees sometimes and he can give her an inside track on the buses. I know what bus McGregor’s on. And I know what he looks like. And the Jimmy guy.’