Hutton’s arrived at the club. Been parked across the street from the entrance for about five minutes. Pretending to check messages on his phone. Doing no such thing. Gathering his nerves. Got the call from Young about half an hour ago. Shouldn’t be nervous. This will be the job against Calum. Punished the brother, now it’s finally time to move against the man who matters. This is what Hutton’s good at. There’s a part of him that’s looking forward to it–the part that wants to feel comfortable with his work again. So far, the crossover and a job he hasn’t liked. They must know that he hasn’t liked being muscle for them. He’s not being paranoid here, but he’s convinced they’re unhappy with the work he’s done. This will turn it around. They hired him as a gunman, and a good performance against a well-regarded target like Calum MacLean overshadows all past poor performances.
He’s across the street and heading to the entrance. Stopping as he sees John Young coming along the street. Young seems to be giving him a dirty look. That’s not good. Hutton’s nodding a hello.
‘Come on,’ Young’s saying, leading him into the club. They’re going up the stairs without saying a word. Young going faster than Hutton because he’s used to them.
‘Is this about Calum?’ Hutton’s asking. There’s nobody around. No reason not to ask that Hutton can see. Yet the question’s getting a dirty glance from Young.
‘You could say that.’ That’s all he’s saying, pushing open the doors to the snooker room. You don’t ask a business question anywhere other than the office. Certainly not on the stairs of the club, where anyone can come and go. But his annoyance runs deeper. Hutton made Young look bad. Hutton’s incompetence made Young’s judgement seem suspect. There are few worse mistakes for an employee to make.
They’re walking through the snooker room. Hutton knowing enough to know that he should walk behind. Along the corridor and knocking on the office. Inside, taking seats. They’re in their usual places. Young on the couch to the side, Jamieson behind the desk. Hutton’s sitting on the chair in front of Jamieson, stewing. The atmosphere is wrong. If this is a call for a job, then the mood should be different. There should be tension, of course, but it should be excited tension. There should be a sense of people being busy. People wanting to get you in and out quickly. Don’t ever be seen with the gunman.
Not this time. Languid and angry. A strange atmosphere, that doesn’t bode well. Jamieson’s sitting opposite, looking sulky. Not even glancing at Young. The atmosphere between those two is what worries Hutton. A bad feeling towards himself is scary, sure. Means they’re not happy with his performance and he has to step up his game. A bad feeling between Jamieson and Young could mean serious problems for the business. Could have consequences for everyone who works for them.
‘William MacLean’s dead,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. Looking at him accusingly. It’s taking Shaun Hutton a few seconds to remember the name.
‘Oh,’ he’s saying. Then saying nothing else, because what else do you say? Jamieson’s just told him that he botched a job. Worst kind of botch. Brought a murder investigation to their doorstep. Anything he says now will only antagonize.
‘Oh? Is that it? Oh? And that explains why you kicked the bugger to death, does it?’
Apparently saying nothing antagonizes as well. ‘I didn’t think I gave him that much of a kicking. I went, I isolated him, I did the job I was given. I didn’t mean for him to die. Look, that was muscle-work. I never said I knew muscle-work.’ Now he’s stopping, because his brain is catching up with his mouth. Brain isn’t happy with mouth’s performance. He’s just suggested that Young made the mistake by sending him to do the job. Just admitted that he can’t be trusted with muscle-work.
Jamieson’s glancing across at Young. He can see Young bristle, but Young won’t say anything. He’ll stick to protocol. Jamieson won’t. Not today. He has things he has to say. Dereliction of duty if he doesn’t. And he needs to vent.
‘So it’s someone else’s fault, because you don’t know how to kick the shit out of someone without killing them? Is that it?’
‘That’s not—’ Hutton’s starting, before being silenced by Jamieson’s growing rage.
‘It was a rhetorical question.’ He’s standing up now. ‘You fucked up. Badly. Worse than badly. You killed the wrong fucking brother. Now Calum’s out there somewhere, walking round with a grudge. How do you think that’s going to work out? That’s rhetorical, too,’ Jamieson’s shouting before anyone can open their mouth. ‘You had a very simple job to do. You failed, and failed badly. You’re finished with us.’
Hutton knows what that means. His name is about to become poison. He’s about to become unemployable in this city. Even as a freelancer, he’ll struggle for work. Might have to move away, but even that might not be all of it. He could become a target. The man who knows too much. He’s opening his mouth to say something, but Young’s beaten him to it.
‘Peter, come on.’ Looking across at Jamieson. Trying to talk him down, but knowing he may be wasting his breath. Jamieson’s anger isn’t out of control. On the contrary. He’s thought about this. He knows what he’s doing here. The cold anger. Seems like he’s lashing out, but he’s not. He’s plotted this, and is now delivering the message. It’s one that Young doesn’t think should be delivered to the guilty party. You don’t tell a man that he’s a potential target.
‘Get out,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. ‘Come on. Get up and get out. Don’t show your face here again. We’re done, you and me. Finished. Go on, piss off!’
Hutton’s getting slowly to his feet. Looking across at Young. Young’s giving him a little nod. A nod that tells him to do as he’s told. Leave, but Young will try to work on this. Might not be as bad as it looks. That’s what Hutton’s thinking. Hoping. Making his way to the door and out of the office. Praying that this is an elaborate warning. Good cop, bad cop. The boss fires you; his right-hand man calls you up a few hours later and tells you you’re back in the organization. Just keep your nose clean and standards high from now on. Makes sense to Hutton. The right-hand man’s the one you deal with most often. The one you need to like. Fear the boss, like his deputy. And Hutton can change things. There’s something he can do. First he needs a drink to kill his nerves. As he’s making his way down the stairs, he’s telling himself that this isn’t over. It just feels like it.
As soon as Hutton’s closed the door, Young’s turning on Jamieson. ‘That was stupid. Even if you want him out, you don’t tell him. There’s nobody else, for Christ’s sake. You get rid of him and we have no cover at all.’
‘Yeah,’ Jamieson’s saying quietly, ‘and whose fault is that?’ Letting it hang.
Young’s taking a deep breath. ‘Not my fault that Frank turned out the way he did. Not my fault that Calum wasn’t committed. He was Frank’s recommendation. Maybe Hutton isn’t the best choice, but he served us well in the past. He could serve us again. Look, we sort out this Calum thing…’
‘Hah, and how’s that coming along, John? Tell me. Have you solved that wee problem?’
Now he’s looking to create an argument. Young knows it. ‘I’m not going to fight with you, Peter. We’ll find Calum. This is a bump in the road.’
Jamieson’s reaching into his drawer, taking out a bottle and a small glass. ‘Yeah. A bump. Don’t come back until you’re over the bump. Now get out of my sight.’