It’s two hours later, just ticking into the afternoon. Deana’s got some shopping, got a coffee. Going to go see her friend Claire in the late afternoon. Claire has a little shop of her own, has given Deana a few hours’ work in the past. Going to need a few more now. Kenny didn’t have any great savings. Wasn’t like he earned that much. Good money for what he did, but not enough for her to live on now. She has his bank card in her pocket. Took two hundred out at the cash machine. Not sure what’ll happen to his money, now that he’s disappeared. The police might take it. She hears of that happening more and more. If they prove he got it for committing crimes, they might take it all. Better to get some of it out of the account and into her pocket.
She’s not dumb, and the guy following her isn’t subtle. Doesn’t seem like he’s trying to be subtle. He went round the block twice while she was standing at the bus stop. Now he’s in the traffic not far behind the bus. Slim chance that he’s following either of the two elderly women who got on the bus at the same stop as her. Cops don’t follow you like that. If they have something to say, they say it. If they follow you, it’s because they don’t want you to see. This guy wants her to see him. Which makes this a warning. Not hard to guess where that warning is coming from. She keeps looking behind her, and the car keeps following. No point in trying to escape it. No point in trying to be smart about this. Just go home. See what happens.
Getting off the bus. Watching the car go past. A man driving. Looks like he’s pushing middle age. Looks big. The car’s gone down the road and turned at the corner. Gone out of view. He’ll be back, she knows it. He’s going round the block again. She’s up the street and turning left. A short walk, crossing the road and turning right onto their street. Their street–that’s a laugh. The house is in Kenny’s name. Nothing to do with her, legally at least. Homeless and with no money. This is going to be fun. She’s stopping. Just for a second, now she’s moving again. It’s there. At the other end of the street, parked near the corner. The car, with the driver still in it. She can make him out. Sitting, watching her. Bold as you like. Expressionless, it looks like. She doesn’t recognize the face, not at this distance anyway. She’s turning into the front garden. Key in the door. Getting nervous now. Bag of shopping on the step. Door open, picking up the shopping, getting inside.
There are those few minutes of panic, when any nightmare scenario seems possible. Then the calm, and the logic. If he intended to harm her, he would not have gone for visibility. This guy wants her to know he’s there. This isn’t some kind of attack. This is just a warning. Letting her know they can get to her at any time. That they can follow her around and make things awkward for her. Right, good, so we can forget about dying today. He’ll sit out there like an idiot, and tomorrow he’ll be gone. A warning doesn’t last forever. They’ll have other people for him to be all big and scary to. A man like Peter Jamieson isn’t going to waste an employee on her for long. It’s a warning for her to keep her mouth shut about Kenny. A pause. How much do they know? Is this some sort of general warning? She should know he’s dead now, so they’re preaching the value of silence. Or do they know she’s spoken to the police? If it’s the latter… Oh, shit! A knock on the front door.
She’s considering not answering. Considering it long enough for him to knock a second time. What’s the point? A guy like that could get in here without her opening the door for him. She’s at the door. Pulling it ajar.
‘Yes?’
‘Deana Burke?’
‘Yes.’
‘You and I need to talk.’
He says it in a tone that doesn’t allow for disagreement. A tall man, broad. Younger than she thought at first. Might only be her own age, and handsome too. Has the sort of dark and slightly lined look that tells her he’ll age well. But that look isn’t appealing. Handsome, yes, but cold. He looks like a man who gets angry often and with meaning. Angry at the world, and willing to hurt everything in it.
‘You’d better come in,’ she’s saying. Saying it because she couldn’t stop him if she wanted to. And because everyone has a little streak of self-destruction in them, which pulls danger close rather than pushing it away.
He’s sitting on the chair in the living room. The one Kenny used to sit on to watch TV. God, he could be lazy sometimes. Deana’s sitting on the couch. Her usual place. Might as well be comfortable.
‘So, what do you want?’ she’s asking. This could go anywhere. A man like this, as cold as he is. You can’t read him. Can’t know what’s going through his head. This feels like a warning, he wouldn’t be so public otherwise, but it could be a brutal warning. There are men in the business who don’t know where to draw the line. Deana’s glancing at the living-room door. Nope, couldn’t make a run for the front door from here and get away.
‘I know that your boyfriend went out a couple of nights ago and didn’t come back,’ the man’s saying. Low, flat voice, like he’s bored with this already. ‘You’ve probably worked out that he’s not coming back. You need to learn to keep that to yourself.’
That’s it. A bored man telling her to forget about Kenny. Like this is going to be enough warning.
‘You’re telling me to just forget about him?’ she’s asking incredulously.
‘Can’t be that hard,’ he’s saying quietly.
Arrogant bastard. ‘You think you’re so tough and scary, don’t you? People like Peter Jamieson think they can just run over the top of people like Kenny. Throw them away, like they’re trash. Well, I’ll tell you…’ And she’s stopping. Stopping because this guy is smiling at her. The smile of a man who knows something she doesn’t. ‘Something amusing?’ she’s asking, just about ready to lose control.
He’s shrugging. ‘That’s your problem. Old-fashioned thinking. You think Peter Jamieson got rid of your man?’ Shrugging again. ‘Think what you like. If Jamieson’s the man you want to hate, then you can rest assured, his punishment is coming. Jamieson has enemies, and they’re coming for him.’ That irritating knowing smile again.
Now she’s stuck. All her rage directed at Peter Jamieson. Then this smug git comes into her house and tells her she’s aiming at the wrong target. It’s shut her up, which the man seems to appreciate. He’s getting up.
‘That’s supposed to convince me, is it?’ Deana’s saying. Getting her voice back. Her anger back. ‘You say it, so it must be true.’
The man’s pausing, looking down at her. Smart eyes. ‘You don’t know who I am?’
She’s shrugging.
‘My name’s Nate Colgan. I used to do some work for Jamieson. Not any more. I can see the change coming.’
Now she’s looking at him. Now she’s frightened. Nate Colgan.
‘I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re busy,’ he’s saying sarcastically. ‘You needn’t worry yourself, you’re under no threat. You’ll soon see this unpleasantness over. We’ll overlook you running to the police this time. We can be generous like that. Just make sure there isn’t a second time, okay.’ He’s making for the door, not even glancing back at her.
Deana’s listening to the door closing, then a pause, then the front gate banging shut. He’s gone. The infamous Nate Colgan. She’s heard the stories about him. Everyone in the business has. The man the scary people are scared of. She knows she should be scared of him, too.
But right now it’s not fear, it’s anger. The more she thinks, the angrier she gets; the more people she’s angry with. If Colgan isn’t working for Peter Jamieson, then he’s working for Shug Francis. Has to be. Kenny told her all about Shug’s attempts to muscle in on Jamieson’s market. Told her about Jamieson’s failure to deal with it. So Shug wants to hit someone close to Jamieson. Someone Jamieson will notice is gone. So he goes for the easy one first. The driver. That’s so cheap. Even Deana knows what the reaction will be. Everyone in the industry will just think Shug’s pathetic. Going for a driver? Fuck’s sake, they’re ten a penny. Kenny used to say it himself. You have to go after someone that matters if you want people to take you seriously. Maybe Jamieson can be an ally. That would be a relief. Then she would have more friends than she’d realized. More people with the ability to get things done.
Not like that prick Fisher. Another arrogant bastard. Is he any better than the one who just left? Someone else who thinks Kenny was trash. A pause. Remembering the words. ‘We’ll overlook you running to the police this time.’ That’s what Colgan said. Just about the last thing he said before he left. As if he was doing her a huge favour. He was, in a way. The moron. Told her that they know she’s gone to Fisher. It couldn’t be Fisher himself, could it? No, no way. Kenny talked a little about him. Told her the kind of cop he was. Tough, surly, but definitely honest. Everyone said so. Got a hard-on for gangland stuff. Just because people think he’s honest, doesn’t mean he is. She knows enough of the business to realize that there are many strings wound around places you wouldn’t expect. People entangled in dark corners. It’s a shock. In minutes, her enemy and her ally have swapped places.
It was never going to take long, and here it is. The shock replaced by more anger. An explosion of it. She’s off up the stairs, shoving open the bedroom door. Into the drawer of her bedside cabinet and pulling out the notebook. Flicking through the pages a little too fast, crumpling the corners. Finding the number and looking round for the phone. Where the hell is that phone? She wants to make this call right away. Needs to make it before her anger subsides. Might not be the smartest thing to do, but her anger will turn bitter and linger if she doesn’t. She’s found the phone. Shit! Pushing the buttons too fast, hit the wrong one. Button with the red phone logo to hang up, and trying again. This time she has it. This time it’s ringing. Come on, pick up. Don’t dodge this one. You haven’t earned the right to escape this wrath.