He’s been retired. It doesn’t matter how Jamieson dressed it up; fact is, he’s been retired. The old man on the outside. Frank knows what that makes him. Dangerous. That’s why Jamieson was talking about advisory roles. Complete bullshit. He doesn’t need advising. Not even when he’s going up against a big organization. Jamieson’s got this far precisely because he doesn’t need anyone’s advice. He knows what he’s doing. Instinct and intelligence. If you have those two, you don’t need much advising. The idea that he’d have Frank run around doing errands during a war is absurd. When the police know there’s a war on, you keep your big guns off the radar. The police know Frank. Can’t arrest him, he’s never left them evidence, but they know him. In a war, Jamieson would use him, but carefully. Only occasional contact. Give him a target and let him get on with it. A war is the most isolating time for a gunman, but also the most thrilling. You know there’ll be work. Challenges to overcome. It tests you. A good gunman thrives on it. Frank won’t even be involved.
He’s sitting in his kitchen, holding a cup of tea with both hands. Old hands, he’s thinking. Old hands that have done it all before, and done it well. He can tell himself that all he likes–it doesn’t matter. It’s not the hands that are at fault. It’s the hip. Actually there’s nothing wrong with the hip now. It feels much better than it did in the six months before he had it replaced. Yet, in those six months, Jamieson thought Frank was the bee’s knees. He respected and admired him. Trusted him. If Frank had botched a job in those six months, which he didn’t, when his hip actually did trouble him, he would have got a second chance. There’s no doubt in his mind. Jamieson would have been pissed off, sure. More so than he is now, in fact. Now he’s just sad. Anger would be better. But he would have let him go back to work. Instead, he thinks of Frank as an old man. Tired, decrepit and dangerously incompetent. All because of the hip. All because he got it fixed. If only he had just struggled on in pain.
Too late for that now. He has a sprightly new hip that nobody wants to play with. No more work. No more work that matters, anyway. Not with Jamieson. There could be work with someone else. That sends a shiver. Working with someone else means making an enemy of Jamieson. A good friend. A deadly enemy. Frank knows what would happen. He wouldn’t even do one job for a new employer before Jamieson found out he’d crossed. He wouldn’t get the chance to do one job. Jamieson isn’t stupid. He won’t let emotion conquer him. If he considers Frank a threat, he’ll remove the threat.
Taking a sip of tea. Considering his options. No longer on the inside. Doesn’t matter what Jamieson says–Frank’s not an insider now. Some guy who’s supposed to offer advice when he’s asked, which will be rarely. That’s not inside. That’s way out.
The thought of being an outsider. He’s been here before. He’s lived with the danger of it, and come through. Been a long time, though. Different circumstances. He worked for Donnie Maskell. How long ago was that? Jesus! Thirty years. Worked for him for seven years. Things started to fall apart for Maskell. Frank knew what was going on. Maskell had lost control; his business picked apart by supposed friends and definite enemies. Maskell put on a good face, but Frank knew he had to get out. He moved to the outside. Went off the radar. Did a couple of jobs freelance, but stayed low-key. Maskell wanted him dead. Dangerous times, you’re right, but by the time Frank resurfaced, Maskell didn’t have the ability to get rid of anyone. That was the last time Frank was on the outside.
Peter Jamieson is no Donnie Maskell. He’s in a much stronger position. He’s smarter. He has people around him who could easily make it happen. A late-night visit from Calum MacLean is a visit to avoid. Could Frank go up against Calum? He’s smiling. Never happened to him before. No gunman has ever gone after him. Partly because he’s been good at not making enemies. Partly because none would want to. He had too much respect. Admired as the best in the business. Nobody wanted to take him on. It’s not arrogance that makes him think that. It’s a fact. Most gunmen are smart enough to take on only a target they know they’ll beat. That’ll change now. An old man on the outside. Easy prey for a good gunman. There was a day when he wouldn’t have feared Calum. Wouldn’t have relished it, either, mind you. You never relish being the hunted. Now he would fear it. Calum’s good. Cold and smart. A good planner, who knows how to improvise. He’s what Frank used to be. What he thought he still was.
Nearly finished that cup now. So hard to be decisive. That might be the big failure in Frank’s career. He’s never made the difficult decisions. Okay, he’s had to decide who to work for. A couple of tough decisions about walking away from employers. But that’s it. He’s always been an organization man. Always letting other people make the tough decisions. You put yourself in an organization; you put yourself at their mercy. Their choices. You just follow orders. It’s reassuring, while it lasts. You don’t have to think about anything. You get a call. You go and find out who your target is. You do the job. If you’re good at the job, then the whole thing is simple. You rarely have to engage your brain. Go through the routine and everything’s fine. Comfortable and comforting. Now, suddenly, he has to think for himself. He has to make a difficult decision. The quicker, the better.
Standing over the sink now, rinsing out the cup. There are people he could go work for. Good people. Strong people. People he worked against in the past. There isn’t a major organization in the city that he hasn’t struck against at some point. Some of it’s ancient history. It would still be an issue. People have long memories. They might hire him, but they wouldn’t forget. They would never let a man like Frank hold responsibility. They would keep him at arm’s length. Maybe use him now and again. Give him basic protection in exchange for the information he has on Jamieson. Always at arm’s length. The only organization he could go into without baggage would be a new one. There are none local. There are people poking their noses in from outside. Organizations from other cities, looking for a cut. They work with freelancers, or bring in their own. Outsiders are especially hated by those in the business. The last meaningful organization to grow in this city was Jamieson’s. Freelance isn’t an option. No protection. Nothing to gain for a man in his position. It would have to be an established organization. He can’t think of any that would trust him. Can’t think of any he doesn’t actively dislike.
There is one more option. One more thing he might do. It repulses him to think of it. The indoctrination begins on day one. Taught that nothing could be worse. That nobody does it. Anyone who does must be punished with death. Enemy number one to everyone in the business. That’s all bullshit, of course. The concept of honour among thieves is moronic. These people make their living from lies and deceit. Far more people inside the business speak to the police than are ever caught. Okay, hands up, Frank doesn’t know that for sure. He’s guessing here. There are people out there who should be in jail. That’s obvious. People against whom the police have enough evidence to convict. People who are still on the outside. They have a form of protection that even an organization can’t guarantee. There’s plenty of them if you take a good look around. None on Frank’s level, though. The police can’t turn a blind eye to everything he’s done. Can they?