Peter Jamieson’s been sitting in his office for the last couple of hours. The one point in a big job when there’s nothing he can do. You plan it. You deal with the aftermath. The job itself is for others. Calum and Kenny were sent to do a job that will never be spoken of. That shameless little bastard Kenny. Still makes Jamieson’s blood boil to think of it. Talking to the police and still turning up here every day, pretending to be a loyal employee. Telling tales to the enemy. Shit! Jamieson trusted Kenny. Thought he was a solid guy. Not too bright, not too impressive, but solid. You just don’t know. First Frank MacLeod, now this. As soon as John Young came to him with the revelation, Jamieson knew what he was going to do. Two birds with one stone. Kenny would pay the price; but he needs to put Kenny out of his mind for now. There are other things to deal with.
Jamieson’s behind his desk, as he always is. Young’s sitting on the couch to Jamieson’s left, where he always is. Just the two of them. The office is above Jamieson’s nightclub. Soundproofed, but imperfectly. You can still feel the little thumps of the music below. Usually ignorable, but annoying on a night like tonight. A night of action. A night when you need to be switched on. Things can, and do, go wrong. Have gone wrong recently. Tonight should change that. Tonight, and the next few days, should change it all.
‘We should have done this months ago,’ Jamieson’s saying to his right-hand man. ‘No matter the bullshit that was going on.’
Young’s nodding. ‘Maybe. Less risk now, though. Doing it now means doing it right. Doing it perfect. Couldn’t guarantee that before.’
Jamieson’s nodding, and tapping the desk with his forefinger. Glancing across at Young and suddenly laughing. This is it! This is what it’s all about. The action, the thrill, the risk. This is what they’re in it for.
‘I’ve set up a meeting with that goofy prick, Kirk,’ Young’s saying.
Jamieson’s frowning. There are plenty of goofy pricks to choose from, and this particular name doesn’t ring a bell. ‘Who?’
‘Fellow works for the phone company. I’ll get him to set up a few fake calls. Put them in the records. Shug to a gunman, gunman to Shug. I’ll use Des Collins as the gunman. He’s technically freelance. It’ll look legit.’
They’ve discussed this already. The phone calls are just a little extra. Jamieson doesn’t think they’re necessary, but Young likes this sort of thing. His chance to be nice and busy.
‘I still don’t think you should be meeting him. It’s a risk. He’ll blab. You should send someone else to do it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Young’s saying with a shrug. ‘The kid doesn’t know shit from chocolate. He can grass all he wants–I have deniability.’
Fine, the calls are a bonus. But the job is important. People will notice that Kenny’s gone. Not least the cop he was grassing to. Someone has to take the blame. For that and for Hardy. Shug is linked to Hardy. The police will check Shug’s phone records. They’ll find he made calls to a known gunman, Des Collins. Suddenly the police aren’t even considering Peter Jamieson for the crime any more. Shug’s link to Hardy would have set the police on that trail anyway. Still, you can never have too much evidence against your enemies. Collins does most of his work for Alex MacArthur. So the police start sniffing around old MacArthur. They won’t do anything, but sniffing around weakens him. Then things get interesting. Jamieson puts the Shug battle behind him. Victory achieved. A risk, but one every organization has to take if it wants to grow.
This is where John Young’s speciality really comes into play. The planning and scheming. Playing people along. Reading the movements of others before they make them. He loves it. Always has. Always where his strength lay. Young was the planner. Jamieson the man of action. Action gets you to the very top. Planning gets you second in command. They’re both comfortable with that.
‘Marty’s been sniffing around a lot as well,’ Young’s saying. An amused glance across the room to Jamieson. He knows what reaction this is going to get.
‘Tell him to fuck off. Tell him to make sure he pays me what I’m owed from him, the bastard.’
Young’s smiling. ‘I’ve told him that often enough. He’s trying to ingratiate himself. Get back in the good books. There’s nothing he won’t do to win you round.’
Jamieson shudders. ‘Tell him he’d be wise to keep his distance for now. He tried to rob me of my cut. If he didn’t make so much damn money, I would have dealt with him before now.’
Young’s smiling again. Marty Jones is a lot of things. He’s a pimp, for one thing. A loan-shark, too. Has his fingers in all sorts of pies, as it happens. Has a knack for making good money, fast. It’s the one thing that keeps him popular.
Jamieson’s sneaking a glance at his watch. The main job of the night should be done by now. He’s waiting for a phone call. Not from Calum. That won’t come. This is something else. Something separate. So much going on.
‘You know they arrested Potty Cruickshank,’ he says.
‘Good,’ Young’s saying with no interest. He heard this news a week ago. Cruickshank’s another loan-shark. Another scumbag. One of the very worst. No friend to the Jamieson organization.
‘I hear that Cruickshank has Paul Greig in his pocket. Then I hear that the evidence to arrest him can only have come from Greig.’
Young’s looking across the room. Frowning. ‘I know not to trust Greig. He’s not on anyone’s side. Cruickshank should have known that. One of the good things about Shug trusting him. Greig’s only on his own side. He still filters things back to his superiors. It’s why they put up with him.’
Jamieson’s sighing. They shouldn’t be anywhere near the likes of Greig. Too much risk.
The phone’s ringing. Jamieson looks at the display. Looks across to Young and nods his head. This is the call he’s been waiting for. As Jamieson says hello, Young’s getting up to leave. He could stay and listen, just doesn’t see the need. Jamieson will tell him everything he needs to know about the conversation. In the meantime there are other things to get along with. Meetings to arrange. There’s a little part of him, a tiny part, that wishes he could do some of the dirty work. Young thinks about men like Calum, and Frank MacLeod. Okay, Frank was a traitor. Nothing to be envious about there. But the life he lived. The thrills he had. Something you just can’t get by making phone calls. The sort of thrill that Calum MacLean is getting right now. That’s another one he’ll have to keep an eye on. Question marks about Calum’s commitment. Still. Shit, he likes a challenge, but it used to be easier than this.
Young has a little office downstairs that he almost never uses. The fact that it’s downstairs is one reason. The fact that it isn’t soundproofed is another. The racket tonight. Jesus, you can’t hear yourself think! Sounds like someone battering a dog with a bag of spanners. And they call it music. He was going to make a call, but now he won’t bother. Now he’s just killing ten minutes. Waiting until he knows that Jamieson’s finished on the phone. It irks a little. Just a little. Young does so much work to set these things up; Jamieson handles the key call. That means he gets all the credit for this. Not a problem. Not really. Young’s used to it. It’s fine, it’s just–it would be nice for him to be able to close out a job, not just plan it. Less than ten minutes. Fuck it, this music is giving him a headache. He’s going back upstairs. Through the snooker room and along the corridor to Jamieson’s office. Inside, and seeing that Jamieson’s finished his call. Young gives him a questioning nod.
‘Everything’s on,’ Jamieson’s saying. ‘As expected.’