Frank’s told him everything he can. Told it straight. Now he’s sitting in front of the desk, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for Jamieson to make the judgement that will shape the rest of his life. Jamieson’s tapping the desk with his forefinger; he does that whenever he’s thinking. Presumably does it when he’s nervous too, although he usually makes a point of keeping his nerves to himself. He’s looking at Frank, then sideways at Young.
‘John, could you leave us for a few minutes.’
Young doesn’t say anything, but Frank can see out of the corner of his eye that he’s already halfway to his feet. Young would have expected this. Jamieson doesn’t want anyone else around when he makes the difficult speech about how much they’ve appreciated everything Frank’s done for them. How much they’ll miss having him around. If there’s anything they can do for him, he need only ask. All the usual shit people tell you as they push you off a cliff.
The door closes quietly behind Young. Jamieson’s looking over Frank’s shoulder, making sure nobody can possibly hear them. Now he’s leaning back in his chair and sighing loudly.
‘What a fucking situation,’ he’s saying with a weary smile.
‘Sort of situation that’s only supposed to happen to other people.’
‘I seem to be getting a few of those lately.’ He’s looking at Frank. There’s no way out of this. He knew from the start it was going to have to be this way. He’s going to soften it as much as possible, but it’ll still feel hard to Frank. ‘I think we both know what has to happen now.’ Jamieson’s looking to Frank for a reaction. Please make this easy for me.
What happens now is you throw me overboard, Frank is thinking. He won’t come out and say it, but he’s not going to roll over, either. He hasn’t worked this long, done all that he’s done, just to walk away with a whimper. He deserves better, and he knows he’s still capable of better. No matter what other people might think.
‘I think I can guess where this is going to go,’ he’s saying. Frank doesn’t realize, but Jamieson can see the hard look in his eyes. The look of a man about to fight. The last look he wanted to see. ‘I know that I can still do this job. I can still do it better than ninety nine per cent of the other guys in this business. Maybe, a few years ago, I could do it better than a hundred per cent of the rest. That doesn’t make me useless. That doesn’t make me some old cripple who needs resting. I can still do this job, and I don’t want you, or anyone else, thinking otherwise. I made a mistake. I’m not stupid enough to think I earned the right to make a mistake. Nobody earns that right–we both know that. Mistakes are usually the end of it for people like me. But I earned the right to prove it was only once. That’s what I reckon.’
Jamieson’s nodding along politely. Heard it all before, old man. This salvo, uncharacteristically effusive from Frank, and sounding off-the-cuff, is so familiar. You hear it every time someone lets you down. The chance to prove it was all a one-off. Ignoring the fact that once is once too many.
You can sweeten a conversation like this all you want; a man like Frank will still see the truth of it. Jamieson understands that.
‘I’m not going to retire you,’ Jamieson’s saying, knowing that’s exactly what he’s about to do. ‘But I think we need to take a look at things. What happened with Scott,’ he’s saying, and pausing, ‘can’t happen again. Calum got you out once, but I won’t send him a second time. That wouldn’t be right.’
Frank’s nodding, he gets it. Jamieson’s admitting that he shouldn’t have sent him the first time. He should have left Frank to die.
‘We need to make sure you don’t get into those circumstances again,’ Jamieson’s saying. He’s talking slowly, and aware of it. Picking every word, sounding unlike himself. ‘I’m not saying that I won’t give you another job, but maybe we need to look at other things you can do. Just for now.’
Frank isn’t reacting. Isn’t saying anything, isn’t nodding along. Frank’s thinking: he’s throwing me overboard, but he’s tying a rope to me, so that I won’t drift far. Neither out nor in. No-man’s-land. Dangerous, but useless. They don’t want him wandering off into the darkness where they can’t see him, but they don’t want him doing any more jobs he might botch.
‘What sort of other things did you have in mind?’ he’s asking, after a ten-second pause that felt longer.
Jamieson’s shrugging a little. ‘There has to be plenty that a man with your talent and experience can bring. Advice, for one. Helping organize things, I guess. There’s plenty. If I take you off gun jobs, that leaves me with Calum. I don’t know how committed he is yet. You could play a part in helping me with that. I’ll also want someone else on board for cover. I’ll need to find someone worth recruiting. You can definitely help with that.’
Frank still hasn’t reacted. This is all beneath him, and they both know it. He doesn’t want to do the kind of work Jamieson’s suggesting. The kind of work other people can do. Might as well ask him to make cups of tea and wash his fucking car for him.
‘Listen, Frank,’ Jamieson’s saying, leaning across the desk. There’s a pleading tone to his voice. ‘I know things like recruiting are bullshit to you. John can do all that. But I will need you around. I got to stamp on Shug Francis; all this crap with him has gone on a lot longer than it should have. I should have wiped him out inside a month, instead it’s four months and growing. People are talking. I stamp him, and then I make a move. A big move. I need to show people that I still have strength. I need to step it up. I’ll need good people around for that. Hell of a lot of work. I’ll need experience around to help me through that. Key roles, no bullshit.’
He said more than he intended. Telling Frank his plans for the future wasn’t supposed to happen, but it’s out of the bag now. So Frank has to offer some sort of reaction. Jamieson’s said everything he can. It’s now either Frank or silence.
‘Smart move,’ Frank’s saying. ‘Good time to step it up, pick a fight with a bigger organization. Need to pick the right one. I’m sure you’ll have that worked out already, though.’ Agreeing with Jamieson, but not committing to helping him. His tone wasn’t just wary, it was almost dismissive. A tone that suggests he doesn’t want to be involved. Frank didn’t notice that he was giving that much away, but Jamieson did.
‘So what do you think?’ Jamieson’s asking anyway. ‘You think you might have a big role to play in that?’
Frank’s looking him in the eye for just about the first time in the conversation. ‘I suppose I could. The best work I could do would be the work I’ve always done. If that’s not available, then I’ll do the best I can.’
There were a few minutes of chit-chat–nothing either man will remember. Now Frank’s leaving the room. Jamieson’s watching the door close behind him, knowing that John Young will be opening it within the minute. He’ll want to know where they stand. Jamieson’s not in the mood. Young will be cold and analytical. He’ll want detail, he’ll want precision. Jamieson wants a whiskey. He’s opening his drawer, taking out a bottle and a glass. The door’s opening without a knock and Young’s walking across to his couch, noting the bottle and glass. Noting the glass filling three-quarters of the way up.
‘Went that badly, huh,’ he’s saying, after a respectful pause to let Jamieson drink.
‘Yep.’
‘So what now?’
He wants those details that he loves so much. Jamieson’s tapping the top of his desk. It’s not details that he has, it’s a sense. A horrible sense that things are going to change, and that he’s not going to like it.