To say I was confused was a major understatement. I was hardly a king pin in Mr Read’s organisation and, as such, I suspected that the visit might indeed be a test of some sort.
I decided to phone Craig Laidlaw. I had no idea what I was going to say but I needed to start somewhere – you don’t turn down a fifty grand until you’re sure the offer is a turkey.
Craig was in a bad mood. That is to say his usual mood.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ he growled down the line.
I asked if there were any more jobs coming up as I was thinking of taking a short break. Craig laughed at this.
‘Off for a shag in Spain?’
I laughed back.
‘No jobs I know of but there is some weird shit going down.’
I asked what, but he wouldn’t elaborate.
‘Let me check with the boss before you start packing the condoms.’
The phone rang an hour later.
‘The boss said he wants no-one out of town for the next couple of weeks.’
I asked why?
‘Something is going down but that’s all I know.’
He was lying. Craig was Brutus to Caesar and knew a damn sight more than he let on.
‘What about a trip doon the watter?’ I asked.
‘Zip.’ he said. ‘Get the message. Nothing. Not even a night at the pictures. Stock up on art mags and curry, and stay put until I call.’
Things were looking interesting and I had no intention of staying in doors, so I set the answer machine and put on my jacket. The machine could be operated remotely from another phone. If Craig phoned I would know and could get back double quick.
I headed for the only person I could think of.
Martin Sketchmore’s face was a picture when I swanned up to his front door. He had only just returned after his forced absence of leave. One of Mr Read’s cronies had told me he was back home.
He slammed the door on me but I hung on to the doorbell like a leech until he gave in and let me in. I didn’t bother with small talk and told him what had happened (minus the monetary offer) and he looked at me with his head at an angle that must have hurt.
‘What the hell are you telling me for? Why would I give a rat’s shit?’
‘You want to get back at Read?’
He tilted his head the other way.
‘What kind of question is that? I’m not stupid. It’s taken me all this time to come home. Why would I want to screw it up again? Anyway why shouldn’t I go to him and tell him about our little chat. I’m sure he would be more than interested to find out why you haven’t told him?’
‘Because he won’t take a call from you,’ I said. ‘Because if this is true you’d be stupid not to be interested. Because I know he has your balls in a sling and is asking for fifty percent of your earnings in return for letting you live. Because he has lined up a world shattering set of crap jobs for you to do. Because if you were to get caught in any one of those jobs it is a minimum of two years in Bar L. Now what do you know about a new mob on the scene?’
Martin turned away and looked out the window. Things had been tough since his exile but I’d heard that he had started to run with a gang from London and I was betting there was some word on the street about a move north.
‘Rumours,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
‘I’m not sure. It started about a year ago. Rumours of a new boss on the scene. The guys I was working with put it down to the same old, same old. There’s always gossip on the go. Stories of some new king muscling in. Hot air and nonsense most of the time.’
‘So what changed?’
‘Eddie Haliburton.’
I knew of Eddie. Most people in our game did. A major player down south. Old school. Friend of the Krays and all that.
‘He’d died a while back. Car crash somewhere in the sticks,’ I said.
‘Spot on. Only thing was that he was found with no head. Nothing to do with the crash. It would seem that Eddie got in the car – minus his head, which would make steering difficult, drove into a tree and the petrol tank exploded’
‘Anything else.’
‘Chuck Semple.’
Another name I knew and another dead man.
‘Went swimming in a DJ in St Catherine’s dock.’
‘And? Were they connected?’
‘Rumour mill says so. Add to that about half a dozen of both Eddie’s and Chuck’s senior crew going missing and you can see a pattern.’
‘Fuck. That’s serious shit.’
‘Could be. Might just be a turf war. I left London before Chuck went for a dip so I’m a little out of touch.’
I knew how hard it had been for Martin to come home. He’d offered up a raft of future favours to Mr Read before he was allowed back. Read had taken his offers and tripled them. Martin was in for a few years full of crap. No wonder he was opening up. I represented a way out.
‘So why would they approach me. I’m hardly in Read’s inner circle.’
‘Story goes,’ he says, ‘that this new mob don’t want the old guard when they move into an area. Too unreliable. Too likely to rebel. They don’t need thinkers, just doers. Foot soldiers they can mould. If they are coming to Scotland then you fit the bill.’
‘Me?’
‘Take Jack Rushent. He worked for Eddie. Low level but bright. A month after Eddie and his team vanish Jack suddenly has money on his hip and has moved up a social circle or two. He’s about your age and was about your level.’
I mulled this over.
‘Look,’ said Martin. ‘I think you’ve just been made an offer you can’t refuse.’
‘How do you figure? It could be Read checking me out.’
‘Could be - but unlikely. If someone is moving in, Read has far better things to do than check up on every grunt in the team. Besides what would he learn? That some of his trusted men were willing to jump sides for a wedge. Hardly a revelation is it? I think the offer is genuine.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘Why ask me?’
‘Because I think you know more than you are letting on.’
Martin closed his eyes and shook his head - loosing the cobwebs.
‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘You cut me in for a cut of your cut and I’ll help you out.’
‘What about Read?’
‘If this is really going down I’d rather be on the winning side. He was an idiot with the job in London. From what I hear he is history, with a motorway support as a grave in his near future. But you’re going to have to be plenty smart if you want to get through this intact. If Read gets wind you are on the flip he’ll nail your balls to the City Chambers.’
I wanted time to think but I knew my decision. Martin was right. Hobson’s choice.
A day later I offered him twenty percent of my cut and he agreed. I phoned the number on the piece of paper and was told to go to Tennents Bar in Byres Rd in the west end of Glasgow. I told them about Martin and was asked to bring him along. They didn’t seem bothered about him.
I was to meet a man carrying a copy of the Daily Telegraph. Brave man - that could get you killed in some pubs in Glasgow back then.
I turned up with Martin in tow and we were bundled into a car and driven to a small flat in Yoker. We were told to cool our heels in the flat for forty-eight hours and we would be contacted. We had no guards but it was clear what would happen if we stepped outside the door.
Two days later and David Read was headline news on Scotland Today when his body was found in a coalbunker behind a small hotel on the south side. We later found out that he had been discovered with a dick in his mouth. Not his own but Craig Laidlaw’s. Craig’s body was found on wasteland near the Clyde and three other known associates of Read’s were declared permanently AWOL.
On the third night the gunman and his mate reappeared and told us how it was going to be. We didn’t have much choice so went along for the ride.