How a Gunman Says Goodbye (8 page)

They’re in the car. Kenny doesn’t know what to say, whether to say anything. He’s relaxed, he’d like to talk, but he’s not what counts. Whatever job this is, it’s obviously big and obviously hurried. He might never find out. You do the job and you don’t ask questions. You hope people recognize that you’ve shown restraint by not asking. It’s like that for most people in the business. If you’re not very near the top, then it’s hard to draw praise. If someone ever does praise your work, you’re not likely to hear it. Would be nice to get a few more compliments, a little recognition. Gunmen do. Importers do. People with stature. There aren’t many of them. Kenny just keeps on driving in silence. Some guys don’t like it when you make conversation, especially when they’re on a job. Calum seems like the sort who would resent someone else breaking his silence. He’s quiet even when there’s nothing going on. I’m just a glorified taxi driver, really, Kenny’s thinking. That’s how they all see him.

‘It’s up on the right here,’ Kenny’s saying as they approach the flats. ‘How close do you want me to get?’

‘Not too close. I need to get in unseen.’ Ideally he’d like to get in on the opposite side of the building from Scott’s flat, but neither of them knows which flat is his. Lack of preparation. Calum should know these things before he goes in to do a job. It’s going to be hard to creep up on the flat unseen, when you don’t know what you’re creeping up on. He might not actually need to creep. If Scott doesn’t know who he is, then there’s much less risk. If Scott doesn’t know what Shug’s gunman looks like, either, then he could get right inside the flat unchallenged. Too much to hope for.

‘I’ll go past the building so you can see it,’ Kenny’s saying. ‘See what lights are on, I mean.’

There are no lights visible on the second-from-top floor. Not on the side of the building they’re facing, anyway. Doesn’t mean much. If Scott has an ounce of sense, he’ll have made sure no lights are visible. Kenny’s pulling up at the side of the road, an equal distance between two lamp posts. It’s a good effort, but meaningless. The street is bright; anyone who chooses to look will see them. Now the balaclava question. Do you wear it from the moment you leave the car, or put it on outside the flat? In theory, he might not need it at all. If he can get in without bumping into anyone, get to the flat, kill Scott and his accomplice and get out with Frank, maybe nobody will see him. Nobody who’s going to live to tell the tale. Big maybe. There could be CCTV cameras around. The sort of place a local council would put them up, to look tough on crime. Put the balaclava on now.

He’s pulling it over his head. It always feels uncomfortable – an unnatural thing to have your face covered up. He’s feeling the shape of the gun in his pocket, and turning to Kenny. ‘Okay,’ is all he says, and he’s getting out of the car. As soon as he’s closed the door, Kenny is pulling away. He’ll have more work to do tonight. Take the car to a garage, have it made safe. They’ll change the colour and the plates anyway. Calum has to trust them that it was a safe car to begin with, that nobody can trace it back to them. They’re all forced to trust each other to do a good job. You trust that they wouldn’t have reached this far in the business if they weren’t reliable. Surely people further up the chain would have spotted the lucky but useless before now.

Across the road and down a small grass embankment. It’s slippery, the grass is wet and he has to be careful. Don’t fall on your arse – it’s embarrassing even when your face is covered up. Not a soul around, brightly lit and empty streets. He’s against the edge of the building now, walking briskly along the pavement towards the corner where the door is. A glance at his watch. It’s going on for two o’clock now. Another gunman on his way. This could be fun and games. Scott and his buddy will be work enough. Scott’s obviously more tuned-in than they realized, and he and his mate will outnumber Calum, no matter how hopeless the friend is. If both men have weapons, this goes beyond the usual risk of the job. You accept that the other man might get the better of you when it’s one on one. Two on one and you’re starting to look suicidal. If Shug’s gunman shows up in the middle of it all, then it will take a miracle to get out.

There’s one thought that’s been playing in his mind for the last few minutes. He’s thinking about it as he’s coming in the door of the building. The hallway is lit up and he can see two lifts on his left-hand side. The thought, as he’s walking across to the lifts, is that Frank may already be dead. Better than fifty–fifty chance that he is. Shug’s gunman sold them time, but no guarantee. There’s no guarantee that Scott hasn’t already done the job, and that the gunman is only heading here for a removal. Calum knows how these things go. Tense waiting. Someone snaps. Says or does something stupid. Scott reaches for the gun and puts a premature end to it. If he is dead? Calum goes up there and finds himself in a mess. He can kill Scott and his friend, but he doesn’t have the time or the ability to get Frank’s body out of the building. So he leaves him. What a confusing picture that leaves behind. Three bodies. Two young men who belong in the flat, one old man who doesn’t. Throw Shug’s gunman in there, and that’s four bodies for the police to play with.

The lift doors are sliding open. Calum’s watching, worrying. Nobody there. Thank the good Lord for that. Stepping inside, looking at the buttons. They go up to fourteen. He’s pressing thirteen, and hoping Jamieson’s information is sound. If he has to go searching for flat 34B, then he can forget about saving Frank in time. The doors are closing, the lift shudders and is starting to move up. It’s slow; not quiet, either. Maybe half the flats in the building are empty anyway, which is a bonus. The council is demolishing a lot of these tower blocks, getting rid of the eyesores. No new tenants coming in. Communities in the sky. A horrible place for a community. Even worse place for a job.

A ping and the doors start to slide open. The corridor in front of him is brightly lit, but thankfully empty. He’s stepping out of the lift, still nobody visible. He’s found the focus he needs. A shadow has fallen across the rest of the world. All that exists right now is this corridor, that flat, Scott, his mate and Frank. There is no Emma, no Jamieson, and no concern beyond this one challenge. Professionalism dictates. Walking along the corridor, not just looking, but listening. Any chattering voices, any doors creaking, any sound that doesn’t belong in the corridor of the thirteenth floor of a tower block at two o’clock in the morning. There’s no sound at all. He’s checking the door numbers as he’s walking, making sure he’s going the right way down the corridor. There’s a 33, but no sign of a 33B. Straight on to 34, then 34B.

The door to 34B is on his right, 35A is directly opposite on his left. Good place for an ambush – might be how they did it. If they’re still in there, still alive, then they’ll be waiting for a knock on the door. Probably nervous, ready to jump out of their skin. If they see something they don’t like, they’ll react hard and fast. It all comes down to them knowing what Shug’s gunman looks like. If they don’t, he gets inside without a fuss. If they do, this goes the ugly route fast. He’s lifting up his balaclava; Shug’s man wouldn’t wear one going into the flat. He has it on the top of his head, it looks non-threatening. He’s knocking on the door, two quiet taps. Nothing loud enough to wake the neighbours. Not yet. Loud enough to be heard by someone who’s listening. Now he’s turning to look the other way, making sure his face isn’t the first thing they see. It might buy him a few seconds.