They’re sitting in silence. Not awkward silences any more, just silence. Brothers with nothing left to say. There are nerves there. Nerves and guilt and a whole load of other things. Plenty they could say, but don’t want to. Going through the motions. Calum’s watching TV. He knows that, months from now, when he’s settled somewhere else and can’t speak to William, he’ll regret this. Regret that he didn’t say any of the things that are going through his mind. But that regret won’t prompt him to say it now. Say that he loves his brother. Tell William how grateful he is for this. For all the support he’s got from him over the years. Tell him not to feel guilty. Nah, he’d never say that one. He knows that a lot of William’s fear for Calum comes from the guilt. Maybe William doesn’t even know it himself. So Calum won’t say anything about it.
Must be more than eleven years ago now. William had been working at the garage for about a year. Just a mechanic, learning his way. No ownership then. But he knew enough to know that his boss was a crook. A lot of shifty types hanging around. William didn’t make anything of it. No skin off his nose. He fixed cars. Occasionally sprayed them. Once in a blue moon he’d be given a car that needed a complete overhaul. Change every identifying feature. It’s a job. It pays. He asked no questions, so knew nothing incriminating. Now and again Calum would come down to the garage, pick William up from work. He’d hang around, chat to the people there. Didn’t bother William. So Calum talked to a bunch of scumbags. So what? He could do that anywhere. Not like he was all that close to his little brother at the time anyway.
It was a guy called Greg Lacock. Middle-aged guy. Chubby, but thought he was God’s gift. Anyway, he was hanging around the garage a lot back then. He and the owner, Alasdair Marston, were chummy. Used to go to a lot of the same parties. They liked the good life. So one time, driving home, Calum announces that Lacock’s offered him a job.
‘Crappy stuff, but it might lead to more,’ Calum said. William didn’t argue. Lacock was a dealer, everyone knew it. The jobs would be shitty stuff. Driving him around, that sort of thing. If Lacock was willing to pay Calum for it, so be it. If William had said something then. If he had objected. Well, you can’t see the future. You can’t know where these things will lead.
It started out menial. Driving. Picking things up. Then it started to get more serious. Gradually. Lacock was growing. A lot of people didn’t take him seriously, which was a mistake. A party boy with a big mouth. A guy in his forties who’d never amounted to anything. There was nothing to take seriously. But there was more to him than mouth. He was working away, keeping his movements quiet. And he grew. And he became serious. Calum saw it all close up. Mentioned it to William a couple of times. William took almost no notice. Then there was a guy called Stan Austin. William had known him since school. Austin did some work for Lacock. Hard to remember now what it was he did that pissed Lacock off. Didn’t steal from him. Just did some work for someone else to make a little extra cash. Something trivial like that. Lacock wasn’t having it. Seemed to think it was a matter of respect. He sent someone round to beat Austin up. They did a thorough job.
A couple of days after he got out of hospital, Austin went round to the garage to see William. Seemed like a social visit. It wasn’t. It was a warning. Get your little brother under control. He was the one who had beat up Austin. William didn’t believe it at first. Calum was never tough. Never a fighter.
‘He’s a cold bastard is what he is,’ Austin told him. ‘Get him sorted, or he’s gonna end up six feet under. Lacock’s nuts. Someone will put a stop to him real soon. He’ll drag everyone down with him.’
So William, having just moved out, went back to the family home to have a word with Calum. A warning. Calum was quiet. He denied it, but not with nearly enough vigour. William knew. His little brother was muscle. What a laugh! Calum wasn’t tough enough for muscle. William told him so. Told him he was biting off more than he could chew.
Then it was David Kirkpatrick. Calum remembers the night. Lacock calling him up, telling him to come round to his house. Telling him that Kirkpatrick was going to wipe them out. Put them all behind bars. Kirkpatrick was a dealer. Another scumbag.
‘He’s got us all in the shit. We have to stop him talking. You have to stop him, Calum. You’ll go down with me. You don’t want that. We have to get him.’
Calum sat there calmly. ‘Okay’ was all he said. He knew what Lacock was asking him to do. It didn’t seem like a particularly big step.
‘Good boy,’ Lacock grinned. He was relieved–you could see it written all over him. He was scared of Kirkpatrick. He was probably lying about the reason why, but he was honestly scared. He provided Calum with a knife. Told him where Kirkpatrick was. He was getting pissed in some shitty pub. Follow him. Do the job. Get it done that night. No messing around. Best way to do it, so Lacock said.
The area around the pub was quiet. Calum couldn’t go in. Couldn’t be seen close to Kirkpatrick on the night. So he stood outside. Across a little car park and behind a wall. Crouching down every time a car went past. It was pissing with rain, all night. Easy to remember those details. The wetness. Watching people come and go from the pub. Never Kirkpatrick. It was twenty past twelve when he came out. Calum always remembers that. Twenty past twelve. Kirkpatrick and two other guys. One of them said goodbye to the other two. Staggered off across the road and weaved his way along the pavement and out of sight. Kirkpatrick and the other fellow were making their way in the other direction. Calum watched them go. Waited. Nobody else on the street. Only the occasional car. Pick your moment. Follow Kirkpatrick until he’s alone. What if he’s not alone? Calum didn’t even know if Kirkpatrick was married. Where he lived. Who he lived with. He was starting to realize how dangerous his ignorance was. You should not be learning on the job.
He stepped out from behind the wall. Let them get just out of sight, then caught them up. They were talking loudly. He can still remember that. Couldn’t hear what they were saying. Just the voices. Two drunk men, talking merrily in the night. A taxi came along the street. The other guy waved it down. It stopped. Calum could see the other guy trying to persuade Kirkpatrick to get in with him. Kirkpatrick refusing. His mate got in, the taxi pulled away. Calum had to keep walking. Getting dangerously close to Kirkpatrick now. The taxi driver must have seen him as he pulled away and moved down the street. The mate was too pissed, but the driver must have seen. Kept it to himself, if he did. It was just Kirkpatrick and Calum on the street now. Hard to remember what buildings were around them. Closed shops. Brick walls. Dark and silent. No houses, he remembers that. Kirkpatrick slowing down. Making a sort of growling noise. Looking left and right. Seeing a wide alleyway between two buildings. Lurching sideways towards it. Kirkpatrick going too slow. Calum with no choice but to walk right past him.
Slowing and looking back over his shoulder. Kirkpatrick disappearing into the alleyway. Shit, what’s he up to? Calum wasn’t in control of the situation. Not at all. He reached into his pocket, felt the handle of the knife. Turning back. Nobody else on the street. No cars. Maybe Kirkpatrick isn’t that drunk after all. Maybe he’s lying in wait, a gun in his hand. Nope. Standing facing the wall. Fumbling with his trousers. Didn’t hear Calum approach behind him. Stood there, pissing happily against the wall. Calum walked silently up behind him. No hesitation. Get it done. Knife out of pocket. Almost slapping it into Kirkpatrick. A second time, into the back. Kirkpatrick slumped forward. Hit the wall. Fell forward. Ungainly. A mess of sodden limbs, crumpled against the wall. He has to be dead. Calum raising the knife. Into the side of the neck. If that’s not enough, too bad. A need to leave. A desire to run. But he didn’t. Knife back into the pocket. Walking out of the alleyway and along the street. Back to Lacock’s house, then home.
There was so much wrong with it. With the hit. With the situation. So many mistakes. It was luck alone that kept Calum safe. Luck and a little bit of judgement. That night he saw Lacock’s desperation. Saw him out of control. Never did another job for him. Went off the radar. A month later, Lacock was in jail. Charged with supplying class-A drugs. They figured him for the Kirkpatrick hit, but they couldn’t prove it. Lacock never spoke about it. He went away for six years anyway. William crossed his fingers and hoped that was the end of it. Because he knew. He knew Calum had murdered Kirkpatrick. It had to be him. Lacock had nobody else to do it for him. It was Calum. Time passed, and it seemed like Calum was out of the business. Then a few rumours. Calum was doing work for people. Freelance. Good at what he does. And William went back to worrying.
But the guilt was there. Calum met Lacock at the garage. William had multiple chances to warn Calum off. To force him to back out. Ignored all of them because he didn’t care enough. Didn’t see the trouble coming. Misjudged his brother. Thought he was too good a human being to be caught up in that sort of thing. And he still feels the guilt, because he never did anything about it. Let it go on for years. Now there’s a chance to help, and there’s nothing he won’t do for Calum. Nothing he won’t do to help him get away. William will never come straight out and say it. He’s sitting down opposite Calum with a cup of tea. Saying nothing at all. You don’t speak about these things. You keep it all to yourself. You hope that the other person is smart enough to work it out for themselves. And Calum is. He knows. It doesn’t need to be said. Should he say something to William? Tell him there’s nothing to be guilty about. They were all Calum’s choices. Nah. William’s smart enough to know that, too.