The atmosphere in Moira’s office was tense. Carl and Kevin were in the process of loading their revolvers and stuffing their pockets with spare ammunition. Flintheart was standing at the window, keeping watch on the street through a crack in the curtains.
“Oy, oy, oy,” she muttered quietly. “We should never have burgled that gambling club! Tommy Tarantello will have put two and two together and now he’s coming to…”
Moira slapped her hand on the table.
“Calm down, Fiona,” she said between clenched teeth. “If Tommy had been intending to attack us, he wouldn’t have phoned and warned us he was on his way. Take your places now.”
Carl and Kevin took up position at the bar, their firearms ready but hidden behind the counter. Bernie and I were ordered to stand in a corner and look menacing. 275
“You and I will go and meet Tommy Tarantello and his mob down on the street,” Gordon said to Skinflint. “Do you have your gun with you?”
Skinflint leered unpleasantly as he opened his jacket: a sawn-off shotgun was hanging below his armpit.
He and Gordon left the room. As for the rest of us, we had to wait.
The small clock on Moira’s desk had just struck ten when Flintheart, voice hoarse with excitement, reported that a large, white Plymouth had pulled in at the kerb outside. A few minutes later, footsteps could be heard on the stairs and the door to the office opened.
Gordon was the first to enter. Then he stepped to one side and made room for a man to pass him—a man so broad across the shoulders that he had to turn slightly sideways so as not to get jammed in the doorframe. He had a gleaming white scar running from his forehead down across his face and all the way to the point of his chin. The eyes that peered out under the brim of his hat were watchful and he kept one hand inside his jacket, where he obviously had a weapon at the ready.
He was followed by a tall, erect woman in a long cape. Her face, stern and earnest, was shaded by a plain lady’s hat. My immediate thought was that there was something familiar about the woman. 276
A short, older man in a tailored woollen overcoat followed the woman in. He bowed and gave Moira’s hand a light kiss.
“You are very welcome, Mr Tarantello,” she said, managing to sound as if she meant it. “We’ve left it far too long since we last met.”
“Indeed, how time passes!” he said in the rasping voice of a chain smoker. “But you’re looking as wonderful as ever, Moira. Allow me to introduce my niece—she has come all the way from Salerno in Italy.”
The two women shook hands and, speaking with a heavy Italian accent, his niece said, “My name is Florenza Tarantello. I’m pleased to meet you.”
I jumped. I’d heard that voice somewhere before, I was sure I had.
Sounding full of pride, Tommy Tarantello said, “Florenza’s father was the head of the Tarantello family in Salerno. He was killed by the carabinieri a year ago. Florenza took her revenge by blowing up the nearest police station. After that, of course, she needed a change of air, so I invited her to come here. She left Italy on an emigrant ship and had a dreadful voyage as a result of diphtheria breaking out on board. But she got here in the end…”
Tommy Tarantello carried on talking, but I wasn’t listening any longer. I suddenly knew where I’d come across Florenza Tarantello before. 277
She and I had met on board the SS Campania in Lisbon. And now I knew why everyone on the ship had been so frightened of her: they knew she was a wanted mafiosa.
Moira gestured to the seats by the bar and Tommy Tarantello went over and sat down. Florenza remained standing. She had noticed me and we looked at one another in amazement. Then she went and took a seat beside her uncle.
Tommy Tarantello was sipping a whisky grog that Lucky Lucy had given him.
“My plan is for Florenza to be my successor when I retire,” he said to Moira. “And that day is not far off. I came to Glasgow as a young man without a penny in my pocket and I worked my way up. My first job was with a small family firm selling gelato. At that time there were many Italians working as glassmakers in Scotland. I saw the opportunities and started off by selling protection to my countrymen. Anyone who didn’t pay up would find their truckloads of glass shattered. The rules were simple and honourable and everyone could understand them. And with time, my little business grew.”
The only sound audible apart from Tommy Tarantello’s quiet, hoarse voice was the buzzing of a weary winter fly in the window facing Oswald Street.
“I’ve had many, many good days in this city,” Tarantello continued. “But recently I’ve started to feel old. And times are 278changing. There was a time when there was honour among thieves, but these days many of our kind don’t have a decent bone in their bodies. Just consider, for instance, the sordid tale of the burglary of the Greek’s gambling club in Maryhill…”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt electric. Tommy Tarantello gently spun his glass.
“Everyone in Glasgow knows that the Greek pays me for protection,” Tarantello said slowly. “And yet someone robbed him… Shameless… A serious insult to me.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” Moira enquired, no sign of a tremor in her voice.
Tommy Tarantello shook his head. “No, I don’t. But it seems the thieves made their way to Maryhill by boat. Along the canal, I mean. That’s the only clue I have.”
The gangster wrinkled up his grey eyebrows.
“This boat business, of course, made me wonder whether it might be one of the gangs from down by the waterfront. Dolan Duffy and his Queen’s Dock gang, perhaps? Or Willie Turnbull who controls the wharfs down in Govan? Or it could have been Alfie Cohen’s gang from Kingston Dock?…”
Tommy Tarantello leant in closer to Moira and looked her in the eye. “And then there’s you, Moira. You and your gang are based down here on the riverside. And you have your own boat… or so I’ve heard. Perhaps you know something about?…” 279
Moira shook her head firmly and said in a steady voice, “If I had any idea who hit the Greek, I’d have already told you, Mr Tarantello. My guess is that it’s an outsider. Someone who didn’t know that the Greek was under your protection. A mob from Dundee, perhaps. Or from Aberdeen. But not from Glasgow. There’s no one here who’d dare challenge you, Mr Tarantello.”
Tommy Tarantello and Moira measured one another up.
Then Tarantello leant back in his chair and nodded. “Maybe you’re right, Moira, and maybe not. We’ll find out soon enough.”
After a few more minutes of chit-chat, Tommy rose to his feet and thanked Moira for her hospitality. Moira, for her part, assured Tommy Tarantello that he was always welcome in her house. Both of them sounded sincere, but there was no hint of warmth in their eyes.
On their way out, Florenza stopped as she was passing me. She gave a short sharp nod, just as she’d done when we parted on board the Campania. And I nodded back.
For the rest of that day the atmosphere in the house was downcast. Every member of the gang seemed to have a personal little cloud of concern hanging over them. Moira did her best to lighten the mood. 280
“Tommy Tarantello is groping in the dark, like the short-sighted old man he is,” she sneered. “He has no idea who robbed the Greek, so he’s going round the city trying to frighten people into giving themselves away. There’s no need for us to be concerned!”
No one in the gang contradicted Moira, but nor did any of them seem convinced by what she said.