Snow Storm (30 page)

“
I don’t know
that. I just know the lawyer said it would be bad for us if we
didn’t get it.”

“
What
lawyer?” Jones asked, watching Jamieson who had been on the verge
of sleeping come back to life.

“
Posh wanker,
expensive suit, called himself John Smith or Joe Bloggs or
something stupid like that.”

********************

Giles was not
a man accustomed to being taken or indeed held hostage. Was that
what he was? They’d knocked him around a bit. He’d complained, told
them to watch the suit, given them as good as he got, verbally if
not physically. The smack on the side of the head had put a stop to
that. Fucking barbarians, they should be in a salt mine somewhere
east of the back end of snow covered fucking nowhere, or better
still in a shallow grave, anywhere.

He was also quite
unaccustomed to losing control of his bowels, not that it seemed to
matter now that he was in a distinctly agricultural looking
building. Was this how long it took to reduce everyone to their
lowest ebb? Were they all animals not so very deep down after all?
This must be what the inevitable decline was like, sitting in the
dark with shitty trousers and the urge to cry, full circle right
back to where you started.

Oh how the mighty had
fallen. Now all he was concerned with was basic survival, never
mind which Rolex to wear to which event or which tie to wear on any
given day. Social niceties were out the window. Could he bargain
his way out of this one, grovel maybe? He doubted his client would
care much for that. He seemed a man of principle, fucked up and
misguided principle, but principle nonetheless. His moral compass
was pointing south or something.

What did it matter? He
would try anything. He should be angry. Who the hell had the right
to put him in a position like this anyway?

The kid was there he was
sure, behind him in the dark somewhere. Now the boot was on the
other foot. He didn’t feel guilty. You paid your money, you took
your chance. That was what his father always said. You couldn’t be
expected to look out for everyone else. It was a jungle out there,
more so than he’d ever imagined after all.

There must be a way out
of this was the thought that kept bouncing round his head like some
desperate mantra he couldn’t or wouldn’t shift. It was a survival
instinct but also one born of habit. He’d never been in this
situation, never felt close to the end and so he wasn’t equipped to
deal with it. His brain could not recognise or process
it.

He talked himself up. He
could do this. He could hustle his way out, like he’d seen his
father do all his life. Though he’d denied it many times, he was
sure the apple never fell that far from the tree. He must have it
in him.

The kid behind him
snuffled, presumably snoring in some way. Just as well considering
what was in store for him. He heard the footsteps outside, felt the
grumbling roar of the great steel door.

The client stood amongst
his mercenaries. His face was empty. The bolt cutters in his left
hand said more than any facial expression, body language or words
ever could. Giles felt his confidence drain. He was no longer a
hustler, probably never was. He knew that now.

********************

They were assembled at
the rugby ground as usual, for the twice weekly training version of
kicking the shit out of each other.

Davie hadn’t
been there in months. He was usually in some kind of pride related
dilemma he realised. It did seem to be his Achilles heel. He
watched from a distance at first, not that that made him seem any
less stupid. The car park was up on the hill above the pitch and
could be seen by anyone with functioning eyes and it wasn’t like he
could be here for any other reason than wanting to talk to his
former team mates.

He waited some more
though, inspecting his feet, like he was a kid again and his
parents had ordered him to apologise to someone for some perceived
misdemeanour, which seemed to happen a lot.

Eventually he realised
the training session was finishing up and made his approach. Graeme
and big Al were the first ones to spot him.

“
Training
must be over lads. There’s the fat lady and I think she’s about to
sing,” Graeme shouted.

“
I know for a
fact you’ve woken up with worse,” Davie replied.

“
He has
that,” Al agreed. “What brings you here anyway?”

“
Oh nothing
much. Just wondered if anyone fancied a beer.”

“
Sounds good
to me,” Al replied, some of the others nodding their approval along
with him. “I take it you’re buying?”

They headed into Wigtown
and made for the Grapes, thinking the pool table might be quiet. He
got in the first round in order to buy some good will and waited
until they were on drink number four to get down to
business.

“
You got
something on your mind?” Al asked, as he tried to figure out the
best way to broach the subject and gave himself away.

“
Kind of,
aye,” he replied. “Does your dad still do those stag
parties?”

********************

Campbell
appeared in the car park, after Jones had finished her fag and
headed inside, leaving Burke to stand in the icy December air,
trying to inhale as much as possible in a crude token attempt to
cool down his cardiovascular system.

“
Better watch
that one boss, she’ll have your job next,” he said, seemingly
watching Jones walk away.

“
Really?” was
all Burke could bring himself to say in response.

“
Oh yeah.
Ambitious one that one,” he confirmed.

“
I’m
wondering at what point that became a bad thing,” Burke replied,
“Or is that just something you reserve for female
officers?”

“
You ok
boss?”

“
Oh I’m
grand. Are you ok?”

“
Not too bad.
Could always be better, but that’s just the way it
goes.”

“
Is it?”
Burke asked, fixing the Detective Sergeant with glare.

“
Ehm, yeah,”
Campbell said, looking a little unsure of himself.

“
So what have
you got to say then?”

“
Sorry?”

“
Well you’ve
always got something to say for yourself haven’t you?”

“
Sir?”

“
Out with it
then?”

“
Well, I was
just going to say that a source of mine mentioned something about
the drug scene at the moment and a certain level of fear regarding
the possibility of losing their head, shall we say.”

“
Source.”
Burke began laughing. “Source.”

Campbell
smiled. “Wasn’t really sure if it was worth mentioning or not to be
honest.

“
And by
source I take it to mean dealer, I imagine.”

“
We have sources all over
sir
. You know that.”

“
Yes but we
don’t buy their products do we. That’s the thing. Because it
doesn’t really make us any good at our jobs or anything else for
that matter does it. In fact it tends to mess up our lives doesn’t
it?”

Campbell
shrugged. “You should probably think about the scene you’re in
danger of causing right now,” he said, with a wink.

Burke shot
forward, shoving his chest and slamming him into the wall, then
followed through with an uppercut just below the rib cage. He
pinned him by the throat with his right forearm as his body went
limp at the knees. “You should think more about the consequences of
your actions.”

Campbell laughed. “Says
you.”

Burke tightened his grip.
“I’ll kill you.”

Campbell gave him a
knowing look. “That seems unlikely.”

Burke punched him again
with his free hand, before releasing his grip. He moved away,
starting to turn but saw the smirking face and couldn’t resist
another blow, side on this time, directly at Campbell’s jaw, and
another and another, until everything became a blur.

When he became aware of
his surroundings Campbell was gone.

McKay stood
shivering outside the house in Morningside. Its manicured privet
hedges twinkled with fairy lights, which along with its Victorian
sandstone grandeur made it look like something off a Christmas
card. A very expensive Christmas card at that. Nothing came cheap
in this part of the city. If you were lucky you’d bought in the 80s
when the Capital was still known for being the heroin capital of
Europe and clung on for the property boom. If you weren’t you could
just about forget it.

The judge was unlikely to
have been happy at being woken at such an hour. If that was the
case it didn’t show though. He seemed a fairly jovial character in
his dressing gown. His white hair stood up off the sides of his
otherwise bald head and his colour suggested an eventful night may
have been had elsewhere earlier this evening. They’d been told he
could be found at the Whisky Society if not at home.

It was all very cloak and
dagger. The documents were signed and witnessed before being placed
in sealed documents ready for receipt by the DI. He wished he’d had
a cheeky swatch at them before they’d been sealed, but it was too
late now and no point knowing anything if you felt someone might
try to winkle it out of you. They were gossip hounds round the
station, particularly CID.

The judge had bid him
good evening, despite the fact it was well beyond that, maybe
tipsy, maybe this was exciting to him. It couldn’t be a regular
occurrence, getting dragged out of bed by the cops.

It had all
happened at once, as tended to be the way of things; spend days
doing heehaw, going through evidence, going through the motions,
waiting for something to happen and then the boss recoils in his
chair while reading the paper, like he’s spilled his coffee in his
lap and it all kicks off.

Strange
enough when he was wandering round talking to himself all the time.
A lot of people in CID thought he’d still to get over that shooting
business the year before, but that was just how things went. Bloody
tragedy that. Losing those two.

Burke had immediately
shot off rabbiting into his phone about something, before returning
to his own office and pacing around again. Muttering to
himself.

The next thing McKay knew
he was being despatched to the judge’s house with the
documents.

By the time he returned,
that Edwards eejit was assembling his troops and they looked like
they were tooling up for something big.

********************

Victor knew
things were getting complicated. Things were not to his liking at
this end of the operation. There were too many unresolved problems.
The kid was a waste management issue, nothing else for it. He’d
been stupid, crossed the wrong people. How could he be allowed to
go now? How could it be ensured that he wouldn’t say anything?
There was no way and as much as he hated to end a life needlessly
before its time he had to look after number one and of course
numbers two and three in the forms of Boris and Sacha.

Family was all. There was
no debate there. The kid should not have been so stupid. They all
were nowadays. Still, he should not be expected to pay for their
sins. He only had control over his world and he must do everything
to retain that control.

Alexei held
the blowtorch in one hand, his face glowing like some kind of
demonic gargoyle. He should really see a dentist if he survived
long enough, which, given his recent behaviour, seemed increasingly
unlikely. In his other hand he held the bolt cutters, which glowed
almost white at the end of their jaws. Occasional sparks drifted
off into the air as Alexei’s fascinated eyes followed
them.

He took too
much pleasure in this to maintain any professional detachment.
Victor could see that now. He took no such pleasure. Indeed it was
as though he was not there. He could ignore the screams and the
pleading, let it wash over him. He was nothing more than an
observer in someone else’s nightmare, watching a man who looked
like himself but registered no emotion, took no pain or pleasure
and recognised this was just his lot. It was a job that had to be
done in order to ensure the successful running of an
operation.

He heard his
voice address the lawyer with a kind of cold feigned empathy.
“Fire.” He motioned towards Alexei and his burner. “It purifies,
sanitises, cauterises.”

The lawyer pleaded with
his eyes, struggling almost involuntarily. He couldn’t make out the
moans of desperation from behind the gag but he could see the
anxious contortions of the face.

“
The jaws of
this implement will cut through fingers as if they are not there,
which of course they then won’t be.” He laughed at this, couldn’t
help it. It had been a long day

The lawyer’s
face ran with tears now as he contemplated this, undoubtedly
wondering in what way he had failed his client in order to deserve
such a fate.