‘And why would you do that?’
‘Because we’ll do anything to help catch the bastards that did it,’ the taller, dark-haired one said. ‘Get it all in the papers and that.’
Most of the customers were ranged four deep at the bar. In Glasgow drinking was a business so serious you did it standing up. Or standing up till you fell down. It was mostly the older men who sat at the scattered, scratched tables.
‘Okay. Let’s sit down and talk.’ I pointed to an empty table. ‘First I’ll get a round in.’
I took their orders and went up to the bar. When I came back they broke up their huddled conference. The smiles were back in place. This was going to be fun. The youth with the dirty yellow hair introduced himself as Bobby. His friends were Dougie and Pete. We drank warm, sour stout and talked about the night of the killing. Bobby and his pals made a big show of being reluctant to go into detail in a public place.
‘We’ve got the keys to the flat upstairs. We could take you up there, pal. Show you where it all happened, like,’ said Bobby conspiratorially. No one had yet asked me what newspaper it was that I was supposed to work for. He glanced around the bar and paused as a man of about seventy staggered past. ‘We can’t talk here.’
‘Okay,’ I said and we made our way out the open side door of the pub and into an alley that stank of urine and worse. As soon as we were outside, the three thugs blocked my way. This was the move they had been telegraphing from our first encounter. I turned square on and looked down on them, my hand closing around the sap in my pocket.
‘You’re not a reporter,’ said Bobby. The smile was gone and his movements had the jerkiness of someone hyped up and ready for action. ‘You’re that Yank Lennox. You’re the one that killed Frankie.’
‘If you want to play, you wee shite,’ I said, moving towards him and forcing him to step back, ‘we’ll play. And it doesn’t matter how many of your little pals you’ve got with you; it’s you I’m going to hurt. Bad. You understand? I don’t like the way you look. And I don’t like the way you smell.’
I took the sap from my pocket and shoved him in the chest with my other hand. He staggered back another two paces. His back was against the alley wall and his confidence was gone. I could see the other two move in on me and I turned.
‘As for you two… I’m here working for Willie Sneddon. So back the fuck off or you’ll end up like your bosses.’
The small blond one narrowed his eyes at me, trying to regain some credibility. I slapped him. Hard. Strands of oily blond hair fell across his brow. A few flat caps inside the pub turned in our direction. ‘What you going to do now, shitface?’
The other two didn’t make their move. Instead they glared hatred at their colleague, who had lost face for them all.
‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,’ I continued. ‘Fuck all. Because that’s what you are… fuck all. Nothing. Your boss is dead. His brother is dead. You’re about to be eaten up by the big boys, so don’t pretend you’re here to defend anything.’
I waited for them to make their move. They didn’t. Instead they looked at each other indecisively. I was in charge now.
‘What you three wee poofs are going to do now is take me upstairs, just like you said, show me the flat and tell me everything I need to know. I mean everything. And there isn’t going to be any trouble and you’re not going to hold back on me. Because if you do, I’ll be back. And I won’t be alone. Willie Sneddon has given me a loan of Twinkletoes McBride if I feel you’re not cooperating.’
That would be the clincher.
‘We can talk upstairs,’ Bobby with the greasy blond hair and the slapped-red face said. ‘In the flat.’
I made the three would-be goons go ahead of me. We went out of the alley, into the street and through a door immediately next to the bar’s main entrance. It opened straight onto a hall so small it only just accommodated the arc of the opening door. A stairway led steeply up to an equally small landing and a door to the left. This was where Tam McGahern had taken it up the ass in the worst way. There were smeary hints of where someone had halfheartedly cleaned up the mess. As we climbed I could hear the noise and smell the smells of the pub. The three Neds were ahead of me and took the opportunity to exchange mumbled words. When we got to the top, Bobby opened the door.
‘This is it.’
‘You girls go first,’ I said.
As I stepped through the door I slammed my elbow into the face of the largest of the three, then swung my sap hard against the temple of the second. The biggest guy recovered enough to take a poke at me. It was a clumsy swing and I dodged it easily, using his momentum to drive him out of the still-open door, slam his face into the wall hard enough to leave a red smear and tip him sideways so that he fell all the way down the stairs. Bobby, the little blond guy, just stared at me. His pal was cupping his nose to try to stem the flow of blood. I swung a kick straight and hard into his groin and he stopped worrying about his nose. When he went down I kicked him in the side of the head and his lights went out. Bobby backed away from me.
‘What the fuck was that for?’ he wailed indignantly, but slipped his hand into the outside pocket of his bum- freezer jacket.
‘That was for whatever it was you were planning in the bar and on the stairs. It’s also to show you that I’m not here to play games.’
I took a step towards him and he pulled a razor from his pocket and slashed at the air in front of himself.
‘Stay back. I’ll fuckin’ cut you.’ His voice was shrill and shaky.
I looked around. There wasn’t much to choose from so I snapped up a wooden chair and swung it full force onto his arm. He dropped the razor and I jabbed the chair at him, hitting him below the eye with the end of one leg. He stumbled back and I threw the chair to one side. I punched him twice on the face where the chair leg had hit him and was already swelling up. He didn’t have the weight to stay on his feet and when he went down I dropped on him, my knee on his sternum, squeezing air from his narrow chest. I snatched up the open razor and held it to the eye that was still open, the blade almost kissing the white. He started to squeal.
‘You ever killed someone, Bobby?’ I hissed at him. ‘I mean really killed someone?’
He shook his head energetically, but in movements small enough that the blade of the razor, gleaming bright and sharp, didn’t cut him.
‘I have,’ I said. ‘Fucking dozens. In the war. Up close too. Like now. You understand?’
He croaked something which I took as agreement.
‘I could do you now, you wee shite. Or I’ll maybe just blind you. Pop your eye. It wouldn’t cost me a thought. You get used to killing, you see. To hurting people. Like a habit.’ I paused. ‘But I’ll tell you something now… I’ll tell you two people I didn’t kill: Tam and Frankie McGahern. And I’m getting really pissed with people saying that I did. You got it?’
‘Got it.’
I kept the blade to his eye for a second to punctuate my point then I stood up and slipped the razor into my pocket.
I took in the flat. We were in the main room which served as a living room and kitchen. The only other room was the bedroom. No bathroom or toilet. I guessed the facilities were out the back and shared with the bar. Romantic.
The greasy windows were half-covered with grime-grey lace. The wooden floor was bare, the furniture old and spartan. A pile of beer crates stood in one corner. When it came to picking a venue for seduction, it was clear Tam McGahern had been no George Sanders.
Bobby made a move to get up from the floor but I pushed him back down with my foot.
‘You’re not going to give me any more trouble, are you, Bobby?’
He shook his head vigorously.
‘Sit down over there.’ I indicated an old and worn club chair. ‘And stay.’
I went over to the door, where Bobby’s colleague was beginning to stir. I hoisted him to his feet, told him to pick up his friend at the bottom of the stairs and to fuck off. He nodded dully and slunk away.
After they had gone I went through to the bedroom. The bed was old and the iron bedhead was rusted, as if it had been reclaimed from a scrapyard, but the linen was reasonably clean. Again the floorboards were bare and
