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Paisley, 1984
THE SMEARED GLASS REVERBERATED as he pulled on the rusted handle. Clearing the grime from the window, he scrutinised the office. It looked like the place had been abandoned in a hurry. Files lay strewn on a frayed carpet, cabinets were open and, tellingly, a bottle of Jameson was nestled at the base of an employee’s desk. That will have to change, he thought, though good taste in whiskey can’t be sniffed at.
He studied the grey outer facade of the terraced buildings that climbed the steep hill of West Brae. Fresh scents filled the autumn air emanating from the rich vegetation of Oakshaw that swept westward and clashed with the harsh urban face of the Wellmeadow.
Today had been twenty years in the making. What he had committed himself to would not only shape his future but also put to bed the demons of the past.
‘Thur no’ in. We watch the place fur thum, security ’n’ that,’ a child’s voice announced, the native West of Scotland brogue rolling in the rushed words. He turned swiftly to find two boys perched on the roof of his prized, jet-black BMW 3-Series car.
He had saved long and hard to acquire the German classic. He was inanely compulsive about two things: the car and his sharp appearance.
Soon other matters would occupy his time.
He frowned to express his displeasure; that and his impressive six-foot, two-inch muscular frame should be sufficient to make them reconsider their seating arrangements.
‘Just in case the junkies break in,’ advised the smaller of the two, his left foot, encased in a torn trainer, swinging repeatedly and connecting with the gleaming rear passenger window with each reverse movement.
‘Get off the car, please.’ The accent was not one that they were familiar with. Politely spoken, it carried a tone of authority and an assertiveness that assured listeners paid attention.
‘Apologies,’ the chubbier boy replied. Simultaneously, they jumped down and landed at his feet. ‘They’ll no’ be back tae two, twelve tae two,’ he added, steadying himself. His sharp blue eyes darted to capture every feature of the visitor.
‘Tell them,’ the man paused and rubbed his smoothly shaved chin. ‘Sorry, inform your client that I will return tomorrow morning, 8:30am.’
‘Yer no’ fae here, are ye?’ the smaller boy enquired, pushing away the light-brown hair that covered the upper part of his face. He had a look of innocence, with oval brown eyes and a cuteness that no doubt managed to get him out of trouble or punishment.
‘Why aren’t you two in school? Closed?’
‘Aye, shut,’ retorted the other boy, who looked like someone who frequently played truant from physical education lessons.
‘Teachers are oan strike again. Terrible.’
‘Please, pass on the message,’ the visitor reiterated, moving towards the car and wiping its roof to register his displeasure.
‘Err, scuse me, big man, but that sort of message could easily get forgotten or mis ... misinterrupted,’ replied the more presumptuous boy. He nodded and smirked at his partner as he stretched out an open palm towards his potential client. ‘Name?’
The stranger looked despairingly at the outstretched, oil-covered hand positioned under his chin, ominously close to his immaculate cream silk tie and bleach-white shirt.’
‘Apologies, we also dae scrap. It’s a good year fur lead ’n’ copper,’ the boy added, quickly substituting one filthy hand for another while pushing a frayed pilot jacket sleeve up towards his elbow.
‘Tell them, tell them...’ the man said as he slowly counted coins that he’d removed from his dapper suit trouser pocket ‘...their new boss, Cal Lynch, will be here to start work tomorrow morning.’
He slipped into the driver’s seat pausing prior to closing the door sensing four eyes straining to view the plush, bespoke interior. ‘Misinterpreted.’
‘Whit?’
‘The word you were looking for was mis-in-ter-preted.’
The roar of the precision engine reverberated between the tall sandstone buildings, the decibels competing for attention, as the wind directed the sound towards the steep West Brae.
‘Bye, boys.’
‘Whit was that aw about?’ asked the younger boy, locking eyes with his companion.
‘Not a clue, Shada. Aw’ Ah know is we’re a pound up. Fancy going up tae Leisureland for a game a’ pool?’ he smirked and placed his arm across his friend’s shoulders.
Cal Lynch had anticipated starting work that afternoon. If he were honest, though, he was apprehensive as to whether it would work out as he had so assiduously planned. He wasn’t in complete control of the outcome and that unnerved him. But he was determined to see this through. He had waited long enough; one more day wouldn’t stretch his patience.