Crow Bait (13 page)

‘I know what you done. I know the Law’s still looking for you.’

A soft laugh rattled in McCall’s throat. ‘Liam, son, the Law’s forgotten all about me. And I’d suggest you forget what you’ve just said, too. I’m liable to take it personally.’

‘Ah, see, that wouldn’t be wise, Danny – can I call you Danny? Suits you better than that other name you gave me. You need me, mate…’

‘I could find another partner. Lots of guys out there with ambition, just like you, with connections to Rab.’

‘Aye, but I’ve set the ball in motion now and you need me to see it through. So what I think is, I should get a wee bit extra dosh, just so’s I don’t drop a word to the boys in blue about who you really are. Cos I don’t think they have forgotten.’ Liam leaned in closer, dropping his voice even lower. ‘ I don’t think they ever forget about murder.’

McCall considered this. Then he sighed. ‘Okay, Liam, fair enough. We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. Once we remove Rab and move in on his territory, we’re partners. Sound good?’

‘Aye, mate, sounds fantastic.’

‘Good. Let me know when Rab gets in touch. Make sure everything’s ready.’

The door closed, leaving Liam staring at the wood. He didn’t care. He was grinning. He turned away, headed back to his motor, thinking
this is a good deal… Seeing that bloke McCall and putting two and two together to make one happy family was a stroke of luck
.

*  *  *

Davie was quiet most of the way back to Glasgow. Bobby didn’t intrude, knowing that when Davie descended into that kind of silence, the best thing to do was leave him to it. Bobby didn’t feel like talking much anyway, truth be told. He had admitted to Davie he wanted out and that was the fact of it, but he hadn’t told him everything. It was true that things hadn’t been the same since Joe died, with Luca and Rab taking them further into the drug trade, but the reality for Bobby was that the world really turned sour the day Mouthy Grant was killed.

Bobby had never spoken to anyone about that day. He doubted if Davie even knew what happened. In all of Bobby’s visits to the Bar-L, Davie had never asked about it. Connie certainly didn’t know. He’d never be able to tell her about that. Never.

Bobby told himself that he hadn’t known what Rab was going to do with Mouthy. He told himself that he really believed Rab was simply going to give the boy a warning and then send him out of the city. As they sat in the car on the journey from Luca’s Duke Street café to the waste ground, he told himself that he had no idea this was to be Mouthy’s last trip. Deep down, though, he knew what was going to happen. It was inevitable. Mouthy had grassed.

Bobby walked with Mouthy across the waste ground, Rab bringing up the rear. Mouthy was quiet, which was unnatural for him, as he was able to keep up a seemingly non-stop stream of chatter. Hence his nickname. Bobby had wondered over the years if the wee guy knew what was going to happen, and that was what was keeping him silent, but doubted it. Rab had told him they were going to get his stuff and then see him out of Glasgow. Mouthy and Rab were mates. He trusted the big fella. There was no way Rab would do him harm.

The bullet crack was very loud, or maybe that was just the way it sounded to Bobby. Mouthy pitched forward, blood spraying into the dirt. None of it hit Bobby, not in the literal sense. But Bobby knew he had Mouthy Grant’s blood on him just the same.

When he saw the message painted on the broken-down wall telling the world MOUTHY GRANT IS A GRASS, Bobby told himself something else – that what had been done was the only thing that
could
be done. Mouthy had broken the code and there was a price to pay. The boy must’ve known that before he blabbed to the cops, before he helped put Davie away. Bobby continued to tell himself a lot about that day. And he almost believed it, until he met Connie. She was like no-one else he had ever met, and for the first time he felt he could put his old life behind him and start afresh. He wondered if that was how Davie had felt when he’d been going out with that reporter lassie.

There had been a lot of things he’d done of which he wasn’t proud. There had been slappings and there had been full-on kickings. But the only thing that shamed him was Mouthy Grant’s death.

Bobby Newman wanted no more blood on his hands.

15

DAVIE WATCHED
the man complete the paperwork. The guy had obviously done this a million times before and boredom swam around his eyes on the few occasions he looked directly at Davie. Maybe once he had been young and enthusiastic about his job, but not anymore. Maybe once he’d thought he was going to make a difference, that he was going to help people. But that, too, had died. Now he followed the routine and his words were lifeless, his movements listless. He was grey, too, but that fitted his environment because everything about this room was grey – the walls, the furniture, even the air. Bobby had told him to sign on as soon as possible, so he’d made his way to the ‘buroo’, the unemployment exchange. It was the civil service, so there was a pile of forms to be filled in, questions to be answered. Davie watched the man scribble in various boxes then glanced around the big room, where other guys just like him were sitting at identical desks with other form pushers. Davie knew he’d have to start earning. Or at least draw the dole. He didn’t need to worry about rent and Rab had given him a hundred quid to be getting on with, but the big man had been right – the cost of living was scary. When they came back from Girvan, Davie had asked Bobby to drop him off at a supermarket and he’d realised with a shock just how much prices had risen in ten years.

‘So what experience do you have?’

Davie returned his attention to the man opposite him, who was now staring at him with those disappointed eyes of his. ‘In what way?’

‘Well, what have you done in the past?’

He felt the hard cement scraping his flesh, felt the sweat soaking through his clothes, felt the hot breath of Clem Boyle on his face as they each struggled to reach the gun…

‘Not much,’ he said.

The man frowned. ‘You’ve never had a job?’

Davie jutted his head towards the from he’d filled in earlier. ‘Been away for the past ten years.’

The man scanned Davie’s handwriting, found the section that explained Davie’s absence from the work pool. He nodded and scribbled something down on his own form. ‘Do you have any skills?’

The ease with which he’d disarmed Harris. And Harris’ face contorted in agony as he twisted his arm from the socket…

‘Nothing to speak of,’ said Davie.

The man sighed. ‘So what kind of job would you be looking for, Mister McCall?’

Davie shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. Get signed on, Bobby had said. Get your Giro every two weeks.

‘I mean, you have no experience, you have no skills. The best you’re looking at is labouring, or menial work somewhere. And I’ll not kid you, your prison record will hold you back. Have you spoken to your probation officer? Maybe he can help.’

‘Not on probation.’

The man sighed again and looked around the office. ‘I’ll be honest, Mister McCall, I don’t know what to suggest. I know we have nothing to offer you right now. Look around you – there are lots of young men in the same position, and most of them have worked before.’

Davie knew what the man was telling him. He’d known it himself. Three years of working for Joe the Tailor and ten years banged up was no preparation for life as a straight arrow.

Even if his nature would let him.

*  *  *

Luca felt his body clench when Davie McCall walked into the café around tea-time. His eyes flitted around the café for a sight of Joe, but the old man wasn’t there, which was strange. He really thought he’d see him when Davie showed up for the first time. Luca knew it was bound to happen, knew Davie would come sooner or later. Even so, he was surprised and, if the tingle in his fingertips and the tightness at his throat was anything to go by, scared. He wondered what that was all about. Luca had killed men, he’d beaten them, he’d put the fear of God into them. He’d rubbed shoulders with mobbed-up psychos who’d kill you for just looking at them the wrong way.
But here’s Davie McCall, this boy, and all he’s done is walk into the café and I’m trembling like a virgin on a first date. Seriously,
he thought,
what’s up with that?

He plastered his biggest shit-eating grin across his face and moved out from behind the counter. ‘Davie,’ he said, and no-one would’ve known that this guy was the last person in the world he ever wanted to see. ‘What do ya hear, what do ya say?’ Jimmy Cagney,
Angels With Dirty Faces
. He’d watched the flick years ago with Joe and Davie and ever since then he’d used the greeting when he saw the kid. He relaxed considerably when Davie smiled at the memory and held out his hand.

‘Luca, good to see you,’ he said. His voice was different, Luca noted. Deeper. He’d grown up since he was away. Looked even more like his father now. Same blue eyes, same dark hair, same way of holding himself as he took note of his surroundings. Not for the first time, Luca wondered if that was what disturbed him about this kid – no, not a kid anymore, a man. A man like his pop.

Luca shook his hand and said, ‘Sorry I didn’t make the party, kid. Not got the patience for small talk no more, you know how it is.’

Davie nodded.
Yeah
, thought Luca,
he knows how it is
. Davie was never one for small talk – in that way he differed from his father, who could talk the legs off a donkey. Danny McCall was a charmer, sure, but he was a dangerous man. There was always something working away behind those blue peepers. Luca searched the eyes of the young man before him but saw nothing. He reckoned he was safe. Davie didn’t know what he had done.

Luca asked, ‘You wanna have something to eat maybe?’

Davie looked around and Luca followed his gaze. The café was quiet, only a mad old bat talking to her shopping bag at one table, and two kids nursing Cokes while they waited for their burger and chips.

Davie shrugged then nodded. He slid into a booth and settled himself into the faux leather bench in Joe’s favourite booth. Luca wondered if Davie chose it on purpose. He glanced around again, certain that Joe would appear, but still there was no sign. Davie plucked the plastic-covered menu from its slot in the wall and studied the food on offer. He selected a cheeseburger, chips and a glass of milk. Luca yelled the order to Enrico and took a seat opposite.

‘You’re lookin good, kid. Could do with some sun, though. You got the Barlinnie Tan, right enough.’

Davie smiled. ‘Not much sunshine in the halls, Luca.’

‘How’s freedom been so far?’

Luca saw Davie’s eyes cloud as if something dark had seeped into the irises and he knew something troubled the kid. He wanted to ask what it was, but was afraid what the answer might be. But all Davie said was, ‘It’s good to be out, that’s for sure.’

Luca nodded. Like Rab, he’d never done time, although that bastard cop Jack Bannatyne had sniffed around long enough, trying to root something out. It had taken all of Luca’s street smarts to keep himself distanced from the operational end of the business and keep Bannatyne off his trail. Bannatyne had planted the niggling thought that Davie would’ve worked some things out while he was away. He certainly seemed to have something on his mind. The question was, what did this kid know?

Luca decided to bite the bullet. ‘What’s up, kid? You look kinda blue.’

Davie’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes bored deeply into Luca’s own. ‘I’ve been thinking about Joe,’ he said, and Luca felt icy fingers clench inside his chest.

‘What about him?’

Davie sighed and leaned forward. ‘You really think Jazz killed him?’

Luca sat back and suddenly Joe was there, sitting beside Davie, smiling at him. ‘Why do you ask that?’ He struggled to keep his voice even.

‘I don’t know. Had lots of time to think in the jail. Nothing much else to do. It’s just… well, I can’t believe Joe would let a scroat like that get the better of him, that’s all.’

‘Joe got him.’

‘Yeah, but only after he’d let Jazz put a bullet in him. I don’t think that boy would’ve been able to get one over Joe.’

Luca swallowed and forced his mind to slow down. He had to be careful here. If Davie suspected his involvement, there was no way he would be here talking about it. Davie McCall had no guile. If he thought he’d killed Joe, he would be fighting for his life right now. No, the kid just had doubts and Luca had to deflect them. For now.

He leaned forward. ‘Listen, this ain’t gonna be easy to hear. Shit, it ain’t easy for me to say. But Joe was getting old, you know?’

‘He was fifty-five, Luca. Not that old.’

‘Yeah, but his life had taken its toll, y’unnerstand? He was tired, Davie, I know because he told me. And it was a tense time – all that killing, all that blood. Johnny Jones on the rampage. Joe knew he was next on the list.’

‘That’s my point. Joe was on his guard.’

‘Sometimes your guard slips, you know? He was weary, bone weary. He made a mistake.’

Luca watched as Davie processed this. The kid didn’t want to believe that Joe was fallible, was all. He didn’t want to believe that Joe was human. The fact was, Joe hadn’t let Jazz get the drop on him – he’d gutted the scroat before he knew what hit him. It was Luca who pulled the trigger, using Jazz’s gun, to put Joe down. His old buddy Luca. Luca saw the betrayal reflected in his old friend’s eyes as he died, but it had been necessary.