‘Then I need to know what his work for the union entailed. Without that, no deal.’
Lynch looked to Connelly for guidance. The union boss gave a curt nod.
‘Lang is an ex-merchant navy man,’ said Lynch. ‘A member of the seaman’s union and active in a number of areas. I have to admit that he had some kind of shady past, but we didn’t ask too many questions about that.’
‘I see…’ I said, and wondered if I should apply for a fulltime job with the union. ‘What’s he got on you?’
‘What?’ asked Lynch irritably.
‘All of this discretion is one thing,’ I said, ‘but thirty-five-thousand is a lot to be discreet about. So what has he got on you? Is Lang blackmailing the union?’
‘No.’ Connelly sighed impatiently. ‘But if Lang hands the ledger over to the wrong hands, then people are going to suffer. Mr Lennox, will you take this job on?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Connelly. This sounds all very political and, like I say, politics aren’t my thing.’
‘The politics don’t concern you, Lennox,’ said Lynch. ‘This is a simple theft and recovery case, as far as you’re concerned.’
‘I have to tell you that I don’t charge union rates…’
Connelly took an envelope from his drawer and held it out to me. I left it hanging in his hand.
‘There is a hundred and fifty pounds in there. In advance. This also contains all of the information you will need.’
A hundred and fifty pounds. I suddenly became filled with the warm glow of solidarity with the working man. Deciding the weight of the package was causing Connelly discomfort, I reached across the desk and relieved him of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
I spent the next couple of days getting stuff sorted out. I had taken on two jobs, both of which would need a lot of man hours. And if the Ellis job became a full-blown divorce case, it would involve a lot of paperwork. The problem I had was the Friday bank run. It was a two-man job and Archie always rode shotgun for me. Or at least he sat in the van’s passenger seat with a fifteen-inch police truncheon on his lap. I decided that I would need to take on some extra casual help; someone handy enough with their fists, or a police truncheon, to sit in the van next to Archie and ensure the wages run was completed without incident.
It said a lot about my life up till then that finding someone with those skills would not present much of a problem.
Twinkletoes McBride showed up at my office on the Tuesday morning at eleven a.m. sharp, just as I had asked him to. I told him to take a seat. Twinkletoes was someone you wanted to sit, because when he stood he filled the room and made the furniture look like it belonged in a doll’s house. He certainly had a primeval, backward-evolved sort of presence about him. If Charles Darwin had ever met Twinkle, he probably would have tossed the manuscript of On the Origin of Species into the fire. Twinkle was a big lad — he would have made it to six-foot-six if he hadn’t wanted for a forehead — and he was as bulky as he was tall. Sadly, his physical presence was not, it had to be said, matched by much of an intellectual one. More like an absence.
‘I brung them letters of reference you asked for, Mr Lennox,’ Twinkletoes said in a polite baritone that made the floor vibrate. He handed me two envelopes as he sat down and I half expected to hear the splintering of wood.
‘Thanks, Twinkle,’ I said, and read through them.
‘They okay, Mr Lennox?’ he asked earnestly, frowning as much as his lack of forehead would allow.
‘Twinkle, you know these are for me to show the bank?’
‘Yes, Mr Lennox.’
‘Well, the one from Willie Sneddon is fine, but the other one is no good.’
‘That’s from Mr Frazer, what used to be my manager when I was in the fight game, like. He says I was a good employee with a lot of heart, he says.’
‘I can see that, Twinkle. It’s a glowing reference and it would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s written it on paper that’s headed HM Prison Barlinnie.’
‘Mr Frazer’s had some bad luck,’ said Twinkletoes dolefully.
‘Yeah… I heard,’ I said, but didn’t mention that the three men he’d had beaten into comas had been a tad unluckier.
‘I think we’ll shelve this one, Twinkle. Like I said, Mr Sneddon’s should be fine.’ Willie Sneddon was still one of the Three Kings, but he’d worked a public relations miracle and become a reasonably respected figure in the world of legitimate Glasgow business, if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms.
‘Now, you do understand that you’re there to make sure nobody robs the van, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, Mr L. I app-ree-shee-ate that,’ he said with syllabic precision. Twinkletoes might not have been one of Nature’s great thinkers or scholars but he had to be commended on his efforts to improve his mind — and there was immense room for improvement. McBride devoted hours each day to reading. Sometimes as many as two pages in one day. The Reader’s Digest, Boy’s Own and The Hotspur were his favoured tomes from the literary canon. He had once confided in me that he sought to learn a new word every day.
‘This is a great pre-village for me. It being a straight job, and that. I hope them bank people know that I’ll not let any bastard put a finger on their money when I’m looking after it. Nobody’s gonna be better than me at spotting a robbery about to kick off… you know, with me knowing what it’s like from the other — ’
‘I think we should keep details of your relevant experience to ourselves,’ I said, cutting him off. He nodded gravely.
I had known Twinkletoes on and off for the last five years and, apart from one painful run-in for which he had apologized profusely, I had not been on the receiving end of his professional abilities. Especially those abilities that had earned him his nickname. ‘Twinkletoes’ derived from his means — his very effective means — of extracting either information or unpaid debts from the recalcitrant on behalf of Willie Sneddon. It was a method that involved bolt cutters and Twinkle’s recitation of This little Piggy…
‘And remember that your gaffer on this job is Archie McClelland,’ I said. ‘And Archie is ex-police. It would not be a good idea for you to share camp-fire stories.’ Twinkle attempted a frown again and I could see he was trying to work out where camp fires fitted into the job. ‘What I mean is don’t talk about the stuff you’ve done for Willie Sneddon. A copper is a copper. Ex or not.’
‘Got you, Mr L.’
I smiled, but somehow did not feel reassured. When Sneddon had switched to using a five-iron for its intended purpose on a golf course, rather than as a weapon, it had left Twinkletoes and Singer, his fellow thug, at something of a loose end. Sneddon kept them around and on the payroll, but more to keep them out of sight than anything, so I had had to clear it with Sneddon first before approaching Twinkletoes about the job. It would only be once a week, after all, and it would leave me free to pursue other work.
Employing a hardened thug with a criminal record as a security guard on a wages run may have been a risk, but anyone in Glasgow who ever sawed off the barrels of a shotgun or pulled a stocking over their heads would know who Twinkletoes was. And that he was connected to Willie Sneddon. My logic was that that would be enough to set toes itching before anyone thought about holding up my wages run.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself as I sent a happy and gainfully employed Twinkletoes McBride on his way.
I read through the information that Connelly and Lynch had given me on their missing comrade. Frank Lang had been a cook and union shop steward, working on cargo ships. He was a member of all the right associations and labour bodies. There wasn’t a lot of background in the information, but enough for me to feel the draught of a red flag being vigorously waved.
The supplied picture of Lang was some kind of official photograph taken for records. From the picture it looked to me like Lang was in his middle thirties, with a long narrow face and a round chin. Even in the black-and- white photograph it was clear that the hair was a very light blond and the eyes were a very pale shade of grey or blue. He wasn’t particularly handsome, or otherwise remarkable-looking, but there was something about his face that looked vaguely aristocratic. For no good reason, I found myself taking out the picture Pamela Ellis had given me
