The weather hadn’t kept people away. The German market was in full swing now that daylight had gone and darkness had fallen. The place had looked like a shanty town of wooden huts in the grey day. Now, all lit up, it made the area look festive and Christmassy. The mulled wine and beer stalls came into their own, as did the sausage stalls. People looked happy as they moved round the place.
All except Nadish Khan. He sat on the same bench he had occupied earlier. Stared down at his feet. He was cold and wet, tired and miserable. He felt like his life couldn’t get any worse.
Ron Parsons sat down next to him. And Khan felt like his life just got worse.
‘I want you to know,’ Khan said, not looking up, addressing his shoes and his clenched fingers, ‘that I’m doing this for my mum.’
‘Whatever works for you, son.’ Parsons lit a cigarette. Khan flinched from the smoke.
‘It’s not for me. I’m not my dad. Not like him at all. I’m better than that.’
‘Course you are, son. Now what’s happening?’
Khan told him. The killing of Scott Sheriff, the discovery of the body. Blaming him for the murder of Glenn McGowan and Keith and Kelly Burkiss. Then Trotter’s statement about the club. And the subsequent discovery of ownership. Finished, he sat back. He felt exhausted. Like he was a Catholic who had just undergone a long and arduous confession.
‘Right,’ said Parsons. ‘You’d better deal with it, then.’
Khan stared at him. ‘What? What d’you mean, I’d better deal with it?’
‘What I say.’
‘But…’ Khan looked away. Saw the shadow of the bearded, plaid-shirted henchman lurking behind him. Looked back at Parsons. ‘I told you. I found a connection between Burkiss and this university bloke. I’ve told them to work on that angle, forget the club.’
‘You’d best make sure they do, then.’
‘But…’ Khan couldn’t believe he was hearing this. In his mind, this wasn’t how it should go. He would tell Parsons what he wanted to know, take the money, and that would be that. Not this. Not at all. ‘What can I do? I’ve told you what’s happening. I’ve warned you. That was what we agreed. That was my part of the deal. I’m finished.’
He stood up. The bearded henchman moved closer. Towered over him.
‘Sit down,’ said Parsons.
Khan remained standing.
‘D’you want me to make you?’ Parsons looked up at him. And for the first time Khan saw in the other man’s eyes what must have made him such a feared gangster in his time. That mixture of anger, madness and the anticipation and uncaring consequence of violent action. It was still there.
Khan sat down.
‘That’s better.’ Parsons put his cigarette beneath the sole of his shoe. Ground it out. He turned to Khan. ‘Now. The investigation is still ongoing. I don’t want it to look at that club. Understand? And it’s your job to make sure it doesn’t.’
‘That wasn’t what we agreed.’
‘It was what I agreed. You do your part, you get paid.’
‘I want my money. My mother’s money. I’ve done my part. That was the deal.’
Parsons shrugged. ‘Only deal you’re going to get is the one I just offered you.’
Khan stared ahead once more. His heart was hammering in his chest. Everything around him was brightly lit and coloured. People going about their lives. Enjoying their lives. But not him. He was presiding over what felt like the end of his. Or at least his career. His dreams. Everything he had believed in or wanted for himself. He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
He stood up.
‘Sit down,’ said Parsons.
‘Fuck you,’ said Khan.
‘Sit down.’ Louder this time, with much more menace.
‘No,’ said Khan. ‘That’s it. I’m not throwing away my career over a piece of shit like you. A piece of old shit. That’s the end. We’re finished.’
‘We are not finished…’ Parsons was nearly shouting. He stared at Khan, the full beam of his mad, angry eyes on him. ‘We are finished when I say so.’
‘I think you’ll find,’ said a voice from behind them, ‘that you’re finished when I say so.’
They turned. There stood Ian Sperring.