They asked for a cup of tea and I felt it would be a wise move to acquiesce and returned ten minutes latter with two brews and a plate of digestives. They sat and sipped the tea without a word.
I waited, assuming there was a point to the visit. I wasn’t unduly worried about the gun. If they had intended to kill me the job would have been done by now.
‘Do you enjoy working for Mr Read?’
The man with the gun’s accent was laced with a southern lilt.
I didn’t answer.
‘Smart kid,’ said the other. ‘Nice tea as well.’
The man with the gun leant forward.
‘We have a proposition but there’s no going back once you’ve heard it.’
Cryptic. My interest was piqued.
‘Do you want us to go on?’ said the gunman
‘Depends?’
‘It is in your interest,’ said the other.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yip,’ said the gunman.
‘Then proceed.’
‘Good,’ said the other.
A right Laurel and Hardy double act.
‘You’ll be aware of the little incident that took place recently in relation to some unwarranted activity in London by your Mr Read. Well we represent a business that is looking to expand into Scotland. We foresee a small opportunity in this neck of the woods and our clients feel that the recent unpleasantness could have been easily avoided. We are looking for bright capable people who could help us.’
It didn’t take Einstein to figure out what kind of business they represented.
‘We are aware of the standing of Mr Read, and his activities represent a bit of a barrier to our expansion plans. We know you are a loyal employee of Mr Read and…’
He looked around the room.
‘… you seem to be doing ok.’
He made the words ‘doing ok’ sound like ‘doing shite’.
‘Our client,’ he continued, ‘has given us permission to make an offer for you to join our firm. You would become our number two in Scotland and report to the new head of Scottish affairs. In return we will cut you in for a share of the total Scottish pie. Five percent to be exact. With a following wind we expect to clear one million in our first year.’
I did the maths as the gunman sat back to let me take this in. I had just been offered fifty thousand pounds a year as if it were a packet of soor plums from the corner store. I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. For all I knew this was some bizarre loyalty test by Mr Read.
‘We don’t expect an answer right away but it may help your decision to know that Mr Read will be heading for some choppy waters. He would have been well advised to stay clear of the capital. Our offer is valid for twenty four hours and you can get me on this number.’
He threw a card across the table. It was blank save for a Glasgow phone number.
‘We would also look upon any conversation with Mr Read or his associates about this meeting as an unwise act on your part.’
With that they got up and left. I stared at the card wondering what the hell that was all about.
Chapter 12
To say I was confused was a major understatement. I was hardly a king pin in Mr Read’s organisation and, as such, I suspected that the visit might indeed be a test of some sort.
I decided to phone Craig Laidlaw. I had no idea what I was going to say but I needed to start somewhere — you don’t turn down a fifty grand until you’re sure the offer is a turkey.
Craig was in a bad mood. That is to say his usual mood.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ he growled down the line.
I asked if there were any more jobs coming up as I was thinking of taking a short break. Craig laughed at this.
‘Off for a shag in Spain?’
I laughed back.
‘No jobs I know of but there is some weird shit going down.’
I asked what, but he wouldn’t elaborate.
‘Let me check with the boss before you start packing the condoms.’
The phone rang an hour later.
‘The boss said he wants no-one out of town for the next couple of weeks.’
I asked why?
‘Something is going down but that’s all I know.’
He was lying. Craig was Brutus to Caesar and knew a damn sight more than he let on.
‘What about a trip doon the watter?’ I asked.
‘Zip.’ he said. ‘Get the message. Nothing. Not even a night at the pictures. Stock up on art mags and curry, and stay put until I call.’
Things were looking interesting and I had no intention of staying in doors, so I set the answer machine and put on my jacket. The machine could be operated remotely from another phone. If Craig phoned I would know and could get back double quick.
I headed for the only person I could think of.
Martin Sketchmore’s face was a picture when I swanned up to his front door. He had only just returned after his forced absence of leave. One of Mr Read’s cronies had told me he was back home.
He slammed the door on me but I hung on to the doorbell like a leech until he gave in and let me in. I didn’t bother with small talk and told him what had happened (minus the monetary offer) and he looked at me with his head at an angle that must have hurt.
‘What the hell are you telling me for? Why would I give a rat’s shit?’
‘You want to get back at Read?’
He tilted his head the other way.
‘What kind of question is that? I’m not stupid. It’s taken me all this time to come home. Why would I want to screw it up again? Anyway why shouldn’t I go to him and tell him about our little chat. I’m sure he would be more than interested to find out why you haven’t told him?’
‘Because he won’t take a call from you,’ I said. ‘Because if this is true you’d be stupid not to be interested. Because I know he has your balls in a sling and is asking for fifty percent of your earnings in return for letting you live. Because he has lined up a world shattering set of crap jobs for you to do. Because if you were to get caught in any one of those jobs it is a minimum of two years in Bar L. Now what do you know about a new mob on the scene?’
Martin turned away and looked out the window. Things had been tough since his exile but I’d heard that he had started to run with a gang from London and I was betting there was some word on the street about a move north.
‘Rumours,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
‘I’m not sure. It started about a year ago. Rumours of a new boss on the scene. The guys I was working with put it down to the same old, same old. There’s always gossip on the go. Stories of some new king muscling in. Hot air and nonsense most of the time.’
‘So what changed?’
‘Eddie Haliburton.’
