Shaun Hutton’s pulling up outside the tower block. What an ugly-looking building it is. Ugly-looking area. It says two twenty on the clock in the car he’s using. Almost exactly an hour since Shug called him. Not so long that he can’t justify the time taken; long enough to keep his word to John Young. Timing’s important to any gunman.
No activity around the building, which is a good thing. If Young got a man to the scene first, he might be in there now. If he’s been and gone, then the police might not be far away. Don’t get caught at the scene with a gun in your pocket. Whatever else happens, don’t get caught at the scene by the police. He’s moving fast, into the building and along to the lifts. If Young’s man hasn’t been yet, then he might be here soon. Could be a nasty encounter. Get this done quick. No sign of anyone yet. Going up, not sure what he’s going to find ahead of him. Uncertainty is always an enemy. The lift’s opening and he’s stepping out into an empty corridor.
There’s no sign from the corridor of anything having happened. No doors open, nobody gathering round a doorway to gawp at a bloody body. He’s standing at the door to Scott’s flat, listening. No sounds coming from within. If he could hear Jamieson’s man in there, then he’d happily leave him to it. Shug’s not paying quite enough for him to barge in and take on someone else’s man. No sound from inside. He’s knocking on the door. Waiting; still no response. Knocking again, louder this time. Don’t wake the neighbours. He’s starting to get impatient. He’s starting to realize he’s probably not the first, or even second, armed man to turn up at this flat tonight. He’s had his gloves on since he picked up the car, so he has no qualms about handling the letter box. He’s lifting it up, peeking inside.
Jamieson’s man left the dim light on in the corridor when he made his escape. The two bodies are easy to see. Hutton doesn’t know which is which–just two nondescript young men. One of them is close to the door, slumped sideways against the wall. There’s blood visible on the wall beside him, although Hutton can’t see how high up it goes. There could be a lot more, he knows, if the boy was standing when the gunman shot him. The other body’s further away, lying on his back by the door at the other end of the corridor. He can’t see the wound from here, but he can see a gun lying by the body’s right hand. The gunman left a weapon behind. Interesting. Playing games with the police. Dangerous game to play. He doesn’t know which body belongs to which person, but he knows neither of them belongs to Frank MacLeod. Both look much too young for that.
He’s walking back to the lift. Moving more quickly now. There have been at least two gunshots, a real chance the police are close. Hutton can’t help but smile to himself. They actually sent someone to rescue old Frank. Or maybe Frank found his own way out. That would be impressive, would prove the old boy still has sparkle. Either way, Shug’s going to be pissed, and Hutton’s going to have to handle this the right way. First priority is to get some distance between him and the building. He’s in the lift and making his way down. Right now there’s only the rumble of the old lift, then the ping and the sliding doors. As soon as they’ve shut behind him, it’s silence. No sirens, no cars pulling up outside the building. He’s out and across to the car. There isn’t a person stirring in the world around him.
Hutton’s long clear of the building now; he’s been driving for more than ten minutes. The cops aren’t going to surround him any more; he can relax. Time to play a part. He’s thinking about Shug, what his reaction’s going to be. You never know with an inexperienced boss. They’ll often look for someone to blame. Anyone other than themselves. They like others to see them lash out, to punish people they think have let them down. There are two dead guys lying in a grotty flat, whom Hutton will make sure take more than their fair share of the blame. He’s driving back to his own car, climbing into it and getting back to his house. Shug must think the job’s been done by now. Nice and simple. Kill an old man, weaken Peter Jamieson. This isn’t going to be the phone call he’s expecting.
‘Hi, Shug, it’s me. I wake you?’
‘No, go on.’ He sounds guarded already. His gunman shouldn’t be calling him straight after doing a job. It was Hutton who told him so.
‘Look, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but you have two dead bodies and no old man. I got there; there was no answer at the door. I looked in the letter box. Two dead guys in the corridor. Young guys. I’m guessing your guys. They ain’t Frank MacLeod anyway. He was nowhere. Must’ve got out. You got a problem.’
There’s silence on the other end. Shug’s nice and smiley, but he can be tough when he wants to be. Wouldn’t be here otherwise. ‘So they’re both dead?’
‘Looks a hell of a lot like it.’
Shug hasn’t said much, he’s thinking it all through. Hutton’s waiting, not going to press him.
‘What’s your opinion?’ Shug’s asking him. His tone is cold. It’s as if he’s telling him that he’s not beyond suspicion himself. Nobody should be. Fair enough.
‘I don’t know,’ Hutton’s saying with a sigh. ‘There was a gun still in there. Maybe Frank got the better of them. Unlikely, but not impossible. Not like your boys were the best in the business. Maybe he got a message out. Could have been a set-up from the start, but I doubt it, too much risk. My best guess? One of your men made a call or two to brag about their capture. Word got out. Peter Jamieson or one of his men found out and went straight round there. They did it in a hurry, left a gun behind. Wouldn’t be a surprise if the police find something interesting there. You do a job in a hurry, you make mistakes.’
More silence. Hutton can almost hear the wheels turning. ‘That would sound most likely,’ Shug’s saying now.
Hutton needs to go on the offensive, time it right. ‘Listen to me, Shug. You need to sort out who you have working for you. I went round there, put myself in the middle of it. I must have just missed the shooting. I mean, seriously, by a couple of fucking minutes. I get there after a shooting and the bloody cops could be there. I was lucky I didn’t walk into the middle of a dozen fucking detectives. Think about that. I turn up in that shit-storm with a gun in my pocket and I’m looking at twenty years, minimum. Seriously, I need to know you have reliable people working for you. I need to know that when I go to a job, you have good people there. I don’t know these kids, but they fucked up bad. Could’ve taken me down with them. Could’ve ended up taking you down too.’
‘I understand that,’ Shug’s saying. There’s sharpness in that voice. Sounds a little bitter, defensive. ‘You’re right; you shouldn’t have been put in that position. I’ll speak to you soon.’
Shug hangs up first. Hutton’s standing in his living room, in the darkness. He’s done his work for the night. Shug’s new, but he’s a smart one. People come into the business all the time, thinking they can get rich quick. People like Shug. They have legitimate money behind them, or they have some connection to the business that they think gives them a chance. Most don’t last. Some only do it because they’re in trouble. Get rich quick and get out. Doesn’t work that way. Most will lose more than they make.
Shug might be different. He’s not desperate, for a start. He seems to understand the business. He took on Peter Jamieson, and he hasn’t lost yet. That makes him dangerous. It takes a dangerous man to survive a battle with Jamieson this long. He may not win in the end, but he can cause a lot of damage before he departs. Damage to the people he thinks are against him. Hutton’s thinking about that as he undresses for bed.