Falling (26 page)
I’m ready.
Karen has answered the door. As I
descend the stairs I can hear voices. Something grabs a hold of my head and
says I’m a dumb shit.
I walk into the room. Karen is
standing by the fireplace. She looks good. This isn’t something I would have
thought forty eight hours earlier. Bally is on the mobile to someone - probably
Dumber. Sitting in my favourite armchair is Robin.
I greet him with a traditional
‘What the fuck are you doing here’ greeting. He simply smiles. The ‘I’m a dumb
shit’ button is still depressed in my head. I repeat the question and he says
nothing.
I think about crossing the room
and giving him a slap. The niggle in my head tells me I’m missing something big
time.
I look at Karen and she is
smiling at Robin. An industrial size penny drops. At least it starts to drop. I
try and catch it and put it back where it was. This is nuts. Robin plucks a
mobile from his pocket and hits a short dial. Seconds later my phone rings. He
points at it and nods as if to say pick up. I play along. I hit the receive
button and put it to my ear.
The world pulls a funny trick on
me. In my ear ‘the Voice’ says hello at exactly the same time as I hear the
same word from Robin wafting across my living room.
I watch the penny drop all the
way to the ground. I feel my head unravel. Robin and ‘the Voice’ are one and
the same person. This takes some time to sink in. This throws up some serious
questions.
Robin is still smiling. Karen is
still smiling. Sibling love at work no doubt. Bally has now joined the
Aquafresh brigade. I’m the one with the frown. Glass in hand I decide I need a
seat. I tumble into the two seater near the front window. The smiling game
continues.
It is hard to fathom where to
start. The idea that Robin has been my ‘fixer’ beggars belief. First and
foremost how the hell did he become a finder of hit men and thugs? When did it
start and why? To what end? With what purpose? Why in the hell…? The questions
turn my head into a merry-go-round. I want to get off.
There are times in your life when
you just don’t know what to do. I don’t mean when you can’t decide if you want
the Pepperoni Passion or the Vegetarian Supreme from Pizza Hut. I mean times
when you can’t see an answer. Times when you can’t even see the question that
will lead to the answer. Sometimes you can’t even see the colour of the
wallpaper.
Robin being ‘the Voice’ was so
far the wrong side of the goalmouth that it was blindingly obvious. Once you
thought about it that is. I mean how good can it be to get paid for fixing
problems from both ends. Problems that will help a company you have a third
share in.
Talk about eating your cake and
having it plus an extra slice. Shit I even paid ‘the Voice’ a twenty grand
bonus last year because he had served us well.
I look at Karen. The smiling
female at the fireplace does not seem in the slightest surprised.
She knows.
And that is the killer thought.
If she knew about Robin she knew
about ‘the Voice’. If she knew about ‘the Voice’ she was in on everything. She
was also…
Another fucking huge penny goes
into the slot.
I had been set up. Like a royal
fucking turkey at Christmas. I had been trussed and sent to the man with the
big knife for a throat shave. This had fuck all to do with documents. This had
fuck all to do with anything I knew about. This had a shit lot to do with
something else. Something that I was supposed to be the patsy for. The fall
guy. Lee Majors with no safety net.
The next half hour went past like
a ball of fire falling from a mountain.
I asked a shed load of questions.
Robin and Karen got busy with the answers. A brother and sister act that had me
wondering how I had been so blind.
They admitted everything and
denied nothing. The subtext was easy. I didn’t know jack shit about what was
going on in Retip. I thought we were on the dodgy end of wherever the dodgy end
is and I wasn’t even fucking close.
The money laundering that was so
profitable was in deep with some serious people - this I knew. What I didn’t
know, what I couldn’t know was how serious and how deep it all was. I knew we
had been on the receiving end of a good year. Cash had seemed to spring forth
with an amazing amount of ease. Cash that we were cleaning and making good for
Robin and Karen’s retirement fund.
However to make good their escape
there were some people that needed to take a permanent vacation under six feet
of soil. Leonard’s computer had been loaded with five names. Names of people
that Robin and Karen needed to take an early trip to the funeral parlour. Names
that would throw suspicion on me. I was in the frame for all the deaths.
Bally was still smiling. He had
no idea what was going on. He had also failed to figure out that his arse was
on the line. After all why would Robin and Karen need witnesses to the whole
shebang?
It looked like Leonard had
dropped us all in the crap when he had handed Charlie a hard copy of the
documents. Karen’s hysterics in the car were genuine. She actually cared about
me. But she knew she had to run.
And - and this was a big fucking
and - despite the crap that Robin and Karen have dropped on me I am no more in
a position to stop the documents being released than they are. Like it or not I
need to work with them to get the documents back.
Had their scheme worked I would
be the lead on the STV news. They would have been off into the wide blue yonder
- a Swiss bank style amount of cash to the better. Five dead bodies coming down
on me like rain in a monsoon. Followed by our clients.
I wanted to kick both of them
into a pile of mush. I wanted to kill them. Instead I sat quietly in the chair
and looked at them. Blood boiling.
It would take no effort to walk
over and spend the next half hour re-arranging their molecular biology with a
cricket bat.
I don’t.
I can’t.
I need their help to get out of
this mess.
Glasgow city centre was gearing
up for lunch. A quiet shopping morning was about to turn ugly as the workers
who swarmed into the city to work every morning cut loose from the shackles and
went on a food hunt.
I was standing next to Gregg’s
the baker on the south west corner of George Square ignoring a desire for a
quick cheese pasty and waiting for the Gary Cooper moment that was due soon.
It is hard not to be impressed by
Glasgow’s approach to life. I’d love to say it was unique but I’m fairly
certain that a washed up fishing village in Fiji could equally claim to be
unique. But Glasgow just does life in a different way. The people around me
have no interest in you, me or anyone else and at the same time this is
nonsense. You can try and impress the hell out of the throng around you and
you’ll get a big fat zero. You can do something disgustingly ordinary and find
you have adopted an audience. Glasgow is not a place you come to show off and I
have met endless people that live, work and love here and they don’t get it.
Loud mouths are a turn off,
unless of course they speak with a Billy Connolly wit and even then some people
will wish for your guts on a plate.
Not long ago I was a guest at a
black tie function or as is the norm in Scotland a kilted function. I don’t get
to go to too many but on this occasion my bosses had been looking for numbers
to make up a table at a Facility Management do.
As far as I could tell the
function was more a money making event for the organisers than a celebration of
the industry - but it was sold as an award ceremony and despite the crass
capitalism by the people in charge some notable and extremely worthy people
picked up some seriously poor plastic rewards for their efforts. Then, just as
the show was heading for its climax, a success story climbed the stage and gave
us ten minutes of his received wisdom.
Life was awful, the industry was
in the crapper, no one gave a damn, no one was doing anything about it - a
tirade that earned him less respect than a dog doing its business with a bitch
in heat. Did he get the vibe from the crowd? Did he heck. He ranted on as if the
world should hang on his every word and all that he achieved was an A+ in
showing yourself up as a loser.
Did he have a point? Absolutely.
But he still looked and sounded like an industrial fool. Did anyone tell him
this after? Of course not? Why should they? You can lead some horses to water,
you can grab their heads and stick them in the trough, you can even boot them
in the privates and wait for them to inhale but they still won’t drink -
Glasgow knows this.
People can live for a generation
and not figure out they are a prick. Some people live their lives and think
they are the mutt’s nuts and they just aren’t. Full stop. No discussion. And
that is why I live here. If you are a twat you can live in ignorance because
deep down the city prefers to let its arse-wipes keep entertaining it. Deep,
deep down the city is laughing all the way down the River Clyde and the best
bit, the absolute cream on the bun - the tossers don’t even know. Not a blind
clue. I love it.
A young office type’s cute rear
grabbed my attention and I realised I was supposed to be on watch. I hugged the
corner of the store and looked out onto the square. I was trying to keep a low
profile but I was hardly a professional at this game. Hiding was also a bit
redundant given the get up I was in.
Tina had suggested disguises and
I had gone along. I’d always fancied myself as a young rebel, even at my age
so, daft as it looks, I had pulled on a hoodie top and a pair of jeans that
were four inches too big round my waist. My trainers were new out of the box -
fresh from George at Asda. No Nike Airs for me - five quid and a bargain at
twice the price. Under the hoodie I sported a natty line in fake designer
t-shirts - Giorgio would not be a happy man if he saw the quality of the cloth
that bore his name.
I was the oldest chav in town and
only Tina had saved me from a Burberry baseball cap.
I could see Charlie sitting on a
bench. He was one of many sitting on the ring of benches that surround the west
end of the square.
The heat was kicking up a notch
and the square’s red concrete that had been laid by our friendly left wing
council was starting to bitch back.
I laughed at the red top when
they put it down. Left wing. Red flag. Red concrete. I was told that there was
no political end to the acres of poorly laid material. How thick do they think
we are?
This used to be a square with
character. Now it’s a square with the word cheap written across it. Scotland
with Style is the latest strapline for the city. Pity no-one told the planning
department.
Charlie was slumped a little and
with good reason. Tina’s friend had bandaged up the wounds and filled him with
as many Neurofen Extra Strength as she thought she could get away with.
As soon as the whole deal was
over Charlie was back to the Royal for a serious session with the doctors.
I couldn’t see Tina but I knew
she was at the far side of the square eyeballing Charlie.
The exchange was simple and
smart. As soon as Simon appeared I would keep my finger over the short dial to
the police. Tina would walk towards him with a video camera - doing the tourist
bit.
Simon would sit next to Charlie
and Charlie would open up the documents as if showing something to a friend.
Tina would video, up close. Charlie would close the documents and hand them to
Simon. Tina would keep videoing. Simon would get up and leave and we would all
live in happy land. Simon has the documents. We have a video of the
trade.
Deal done.
As my watch alarm bleeped to tell
me it was midday I kept my eyes on Charlie and waited for Simon to appear.
Ten minutes roll by and nothing.
Sweat is running down my neck and the top of the hoodie is damp where I am
using it to mop my brow.
Fifteen minutes and it is
starting to look like a bust. Charlie slumps a little more and the man next to
him gives a ‘sod off’ look and moves along a few inches.
Twenty minutes and I see Tina’s
number light up on my phone. I take the call and we agree to give it ten more
minutes.
Charlie does some more slumping
and the man, now more of a pillow than a neighbour gets up and lets him fall
over. As he falls Charlie’s hand clips the armrest.
I wait for him to pull himself
upright but after a few seconds it is clear that this isn’t going to happen.
Then there is a scream and all hell breaks loose.
A woman on the same bench had
leant over to see if Charlie was alright and she was the source of the scream.
She begins shouting but the traffic drowns out her words and I was on the move.
The traffic is heavy and I wait
for it to clear. I see Tina crossing the square towards Charlie. I spot a gap
in the cars and sprint through and onto the pavement. I round the chair Charlie
is on and almost send Tina spinning as she arrives at the same time.
By now there are four people
around Charlie and I have to push one aside to get to him.
‘Friend of yours?’
It doesn’t register the stranger
is talking to me. I fall to my knees.
‘Doesn’t look good.’
It still doesn’t register that I
am the intended recipient of his words.
Charlie has his face on the bench
seat. His body is twisted - his back to the sky and his legs still planted on
the ground. I see a pool of dark liquid under the seat and I know what it is
before my brain has time to decipher the scene.