Back in their Airbnb cottage in Dalkeith, eight or so miles outside Edinburgh, Ray had just finished shaving. He leaned his head back and tweezered out some hair from his nose, his eyes watering with the pain, then he checked his ears for unwanted fuzz. He nodded in satisfaction; he looked great. He had his best clothes laid out on the bed.
Dougie said, ‘What’s the special occasion?’
I’m dressed for my own funeral, Ray thought, but didn’t say. Last night with the bearded guy Griffiths, that had been goodbye sex. If he were still alive this coming evening he’d be surprised. I want to look my best on my big day – that was the thought paramount in his mind. He felt deep down they stood no chance against Millar; the man was invincibly evil. It was like taking on Satan himself. Millar had loomed so large in his life that the thought of challenging him was almost heretical. Ray had worked for him for twenty-five years. It might have been an overstatement to say that he was in awe of him, but not by much. Millar was like a savage divinity, indestructible, and, like the Old Testament God, jealous, vindictive and destructive, raining death and injury on all who crossed him.
They were on a suicide mission.
Ray didn’t rate his chances – there was an understatement – but he’d always been a fighter and he was not going to go quietly. Besides, what was the alternative? To skulk away somewhere and live the rest of his life in fear that Millar would track him down. Because he would. Millar never forgot and never forgave.
There was no alternative, then.
He also knew that he would much rather die than fall alive into Millar’s hands. He had seen what the man could do. Now came the hard part – Dougie would freak when he told them who they were going up against. Well, if the kid couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t blame him, he would handle things himself.
‘Dougie,’ he said quietly, ‘we’ve got to do something about Millar.’
Dougie sat upright. ‘Aye, I know,’ he said softly, ‘we’ve got no choice. How are we going to go about it?’
Ray thought he had never loved Dougie as much as when he heard him say that. Dougie knew Ray was probably leading him to his death and he was prepared to go along with him. To die with him.
‘How many guys do you think he’ll have with him the now?’ he asked Dougie. He had his own view, he just wanted it confirmed.
‘Here in Edinburgh?’ Dougie frowned, thinking. ‘Just a couple, Robbo for sure, Wee Dougie, not that fuckwit Calum, Stevie? But he’ll need to leave a couple of guys he can trust to mind things in Glasgow.’
‘Well, we’re going to take them out and then we’re going after Millar, so it’s just him we’ve got to worry about.’ Ray spoke quietly.
‘OK.’ Dougie grinned at him. ‘This’ll be fun…’ He stood up and walked over to Ray, bent over and kissed him on the lips. ‘I love you, Ray,’ he said softly.
Ray turned his head away and pretended to look at his phone. He didn’t want Dougie to see the tears in his eyes.
Millar was at the flat in Marchmont when his phone rang.
‘Aye, who’s this?’
Robbo and Calum looked at Millar with trepidation. The Big Man had been in a terrible mood. He’d drunk about a third of a bottle of Grouse and done a lot of coke between ranting about how Ray had shafted him and what he was going to do to him. Chop the fucker up. There had been a lot of wild talk like that. He was very volatile, and he was armed. To add to the mix, he was not happy that Hanlon had got away. Robbo couldn’t work out who he hated more, Hanlon or Ray. Probably Ray – he seemed to think Hanlon could help him track down some girl he was desperate to find. Millar, Robbo thought, was losing it.
‘Dave who? Junkie Dave? Oh aye, I ken you now, what do you want…? Really!’ Millar’s demeanour changed. ‘Text me the address… aye, the money’s yours.’
He ended the call and looked at Robbo and Calum.
‘That was Junkie Dave, do you know him?’
Calum spoke. ‘Aye, tall, lanky guy, he’s fae Gorgie, deals smack and Charlie, why?’
‘He’s just had an order from Ray. Ray needs ten grams of Charlie, and we’ve got an address. Somewhere in Dalkeith.’ He got his phone out and said as his thumbs worked, ‘Now, off you go… take this…’ He took the gun out of his jacket and handed it over to them. ‘I want them dead, nothing fancy, nothing clever.’
‘What about you, boss?’
‘I’m going to deal with Hanlon. I don’t need a gun. I’m going to cut her fucking head off.’ He glared at them. ‘Something you cunts seem to have been unable to do.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Well, go on, then, go and deal with Ray…’ As Robbo reached the door Millar said, ‘If you don’t kill him and his faggot pal, kill yourselves, it’ll save me the bother of doing it.’