4

Young waits three days before he calls Calum again. The current job can afford to wait three days. It’s also like dating – you mustn’t seem too desperate. If you give the impression of hurry, then people will demand more in return. With Calum, it could scare him off. The boy is clearly wary of commitment. That’s naive; Young’s experience tells him that. In a few years he will be craving it. The regularity, the comfort, the safety net. Doing a job in this business is like being fired from a cannon: doing it freelance is being fired without a net to land in. The big organization, it protects you, it has ways of keeping you safe. Eventually the pressure of the job will wear Calum down and make that safety attractive. But not yet.

Calum is back on his couch, playing video games. God of War III, if you’re interested. He finds it frustrating. The phone rings – mobile this time. He pauses, picks up the phone, looks at the screen. Young.

‘Hello.’

‘Calum, it’s John Young. How are you, busy?’

‘No, not busy at all.’

‘Good, come down the club. Me and Peter want to speak to you, okay?’

‘Right away?’

‘Right away.’

A job offer, obviously. Important? Maybe, but he’s waited three days, and that suggests not urgent. Perhaps that’s what it’s supposed to suggest. It’ll be temporary, but it could be designed to draw him into something longer. Frank MacLeod isn’t going to last forever. Nobody in this business does. Calum switches everything off, leaving nothing on standby. He gets a coat; it’s a colder day. Blustery outside. He picks his car keys from the top of the fridge in the kitchen, and leaves the flat.

There’s nothing in the flat that can tell you what he does for a living. There’s certainly no gun. No one who works with a gun and has any sense keeps a gun in their home. There’s no documentation. Keep no reminder. Some people keep souvenirs. Those people are stupid. Dangerously stupid. Maybe a bit sick. They will be caught. A police raid will tell nothing about Calum. No emails. No tweets. No text messages. Tracking phone calls would tell that he was in touch with people like Young, but you can’t go to jail for the friends you keep. Calum has never been arrested, no convictions, never seen the inside of a jail cell. He’s been in the business for ten years. He won’t gloat about avoiding arrest until he’s retired.

Avoiding arrest is not the same as avoiding suspicion. Not sure how he’s doing on that front. Do the police know that he exists? Surely. They must know about Jamieson; everyone else does. Jamieson is the up-and-coming figure. Calum has done work for Jamieson before. He’s done work for one or two more established figures as well. He’s not tied to any of them, though – that’s important. He’s a moving target. A chance that the police don’t know him. A chance they don’t know what he does. That’s what he wants for himself, and what Jamieson wants from an employee as well. Starting with a clean slate.

He goes into the club by the front door as he always does. No point sneaking in. If people are watching the club, then they’re watching the back as well as the front. Sneaking in the back only makes you look more suspicious. Up the stairs, through the door. The snooker hall is open to the public, the bar open. Six people using three different tables, another four people at the bar. One of the men at the tables is Kenny McBride, Jamieson’s driver. Driver is a broad description. Jamieson can drive himself most of the time. Kenny’s a taxi for the boss. He’s a driver on important jobs. He delivers things. He picks things up. Anything that needs a car. Calum nods hello, walks past.

Along the corridor, all the way to the end. Nobody outside the office door, no obvious security. Never is. No paranoia yet, although that will probably come. It does with most. Jamieson is mid-forties. Not old. More youthful than most people his age. Not big enough yet to be plotted against. So most people think. A hands-off approach to security. Ruthless, yes, but casual too. Calum knocks on the door three times and waits to be shouted in. He doesn’t have the sort of relationship that allows him to enter uninvited. Somebody calls for him to come in. He opens the door, steps inside and closes it behind him.

It’s just Jamieson and Young. The TVs are off, which means business. Jamieson is behind his desk. Is he trying to look like a businessman, trying to look respectable? Unlikely. He has bucketfuls of self-awareness, he doesn’t feel a need to try and look like the good guy. The desk isn’t to make him look respectable; it’s to let you know he’s in charge. Young’s sitting to the side on the couch, as always. Neither one of them is intimidating. But then neither one of them is trying to be. Young isn’t capable – too podgy and relaxed. Jamieson can do it. He can scare, when he wants to. His eyes, that’s what does it. It’s almost always about the eyes. If your eyes can’t do scary, then you can’t do scary. Jamieson could give a look when he chose.

‘Good to see you, Calum, been a while,’ Jamieson says, nodding for him to sit on the chair in front of the desk. ‘Take your coat off.’

Calum does as he’s told, because you do what you’re told. He places the coat over the back of the chair and sits in it. Now he’s facing Jamieson, and Young is only just out of view. That’s disconcerting, deliberately. You don’t know what Young is doing. You don’t know if he’s mouthing something to Jamieson. You don’t know if he’s made a gesture or not. You can’t see his reaction. You don’t even know if he’s paying attention. That’s the point. You will leave that office not knowing what at least one of them is thinking.

‘Let’s get down to business,’ Jamieson says, with that cold face that tells you to pay attention. ‘Have you been doing much work lately?’

He wants to know if Calum has killed many people lately. Kill too many in a short space of time and you will inevitably draw attention to yourself. Jamieson’s clever about that, good instinct. Don’t hire someone who’s been too busy. Don’t hire someone who hasn’t been working at all. Not too hot, not too cold, but just right. A Goldilocks employee. You answer because you have to, but it’s awkward. Nothing wrong with Calum’s answer, but you have to trust Jamieson with the answer. You have to trust that the only people who hear it are the people in the room. No bugs. They’re rare, but not impossible.

‘I’ve been keeping to a regular schedule,’ Calum answers. ‘I don’t like to overstretch.’

It’s the right answer. It means little, but it’s right enough for now. Jamieson knows Calum is smart. Calum knows what answer Jamieson wants to hear. In this case it’s true, and Jamieson believes him, but takes everything with a pinch of salt.

‘I might have a job for you, if you’re interested. You know we’re short.’

‘I heard. I might be interested. Depends, though.’

‘On?’ Jamieson’s frowning now. He doesn’t like conditions. He particularly doesn’t like guys who haven’t even hit thirty making demands, when people like Frank MacLeod rarely do.

‘The schedule I work is good for me. I don’t want to break that.’

Jamieson nods. Not unreasonable. Also fits with his own plan. No more relying on one man to do such important work. Frank was great, but now he’s broken and there’s nobody to step in. They have to recruit from outside. From now on, they always have at least two.