38

You always get a warm welcome. Everyone is treated as a friend. How much of that warmth is real, only Frank ever knows. He has a policy, though: welcome them in, treat them as friends and listen carefully. Might not sound like much, but it has helped keep him at the top of the game all these years. Everyone who knows what Frank does for a living also knows that he’s the best. Well, was the best. He isn’t anything any more. Now he’s an invalid. Temporary invalid. That’s what he keeps telling people. Had his hip done. Coming back stronger and better than ever before. He has to say that. He listens carefully. He can detect the doubt in others.

Calum is ringing the doorbell. He waits a while. How does a cripple answer the door? He doesn’t. The lady who’s been sent round to clean up for him does. She lets Calum in, without even asking who he is. Good God, woman. Calum’s shaking his head and smiling as he enters the living room, knowing that Frank’s going to be mortified. The idea that this stout little tyrant is going to let people in uninvited . . . A man who’s carried out as many jobs as Frank has over the years does have to be careful, and this isn’t careful. Still, how could she know?

‘Calum, good to see you, wee man,’ Frank’s saying, reaching out a hand and shaking his head at his help. He’s sitting in his comfy chair, with one leg resting up on a cushioned stool. The whole leg looks ramrod-straight, and Frank looks older than he ever did. Frank plays it like the jolly old man, happy to see a young colleague come and visit, but he’ll be on the alert already. He knows Calum isn’t the type for social calls. He’s here on business.

‘Thought I’d come round and see how you’re getting on.’ Calum is lying. This is just the typical preamble, making sure the woman is out of earshot before anything else is said. ‘You look . . . like a guy who just had his hip done.’

Frank’s laughing. ‘I feel like a guy who’s just had his hip done.’

The woman says a goodbye to Frank, tells him she’ll be in later to make his tea. She seems awfully rough, but when you’re in Frank’s position you must take what’s given.

‘So what’s happenin’, kid?’ the old man asks, reaching for a packet of sweets that have been placed out of view of the carer.

‘Maybe nothing. Maybe bad things.’ It’s a strange thing. You spend your whole life and career making sure that you never spill the beans about your work to anyone. You train yourself. You work hard to make sure you never talk. Yet there’s a person out there that you can’t help but talk to. Calum knows he can trust Frank. He knows there’s nothing he’s done that Frank didn’t do thirty years before him. Frank has that rare skill of being easy to talk to.

‘There’s always bad things goin’ on. What now?’

Calum pauses. He has to get the message to Jamieson. ‘I was sent on a job. Got the job done, nice and easy. No loose ends. Nothing that could come back on me. Then I get a phone call from Glen Davidson.’

Calum can see the look on Frank’s face. He hates Davidson. Hated his father before him. With good reason, although it’s never been entirely clear to Calum what that good reason is.

‘He calls me up this afternoon. He asks me if I’m busy. What can I say? I have to admit that I am. Then he plays nice, and that’s the end of it.’

Frank seems to have forgotten about the chocolate he’s holding. He’s staring off towards the window, contemplating things that he has no intention of sharing.

‘He wanted to know if you’d been working recently,’ Frank says in a low growl.

‘Aye. I figure he wouldn’t turn to me if he had a two-man job – way better options.’

‘Not better, cheaper. But you’re right; he wasn’t fishing for a friend. Looks like he’s fishing for info, and that ain’t a good thing.’ He’s nodding his head. Frank knows what he’s going to do. He’s going to make sure that Young finds out about this as soon as possible. He has that tingling feeling that he gets when big moves are afoot. The excitement starts to build. You know you’re going to be busy. You know there’s going to be a lot happening. The thrill of the job.

Sitting with his leg up. A cripple. This industry isn’t an equal-opportunities sort of a place. No room for elderly cripples. They only get in the way.

‘You know that Peter’s told me to take a few weeks in his villa in Spain when I’m able to get up and about,’ Frank’s saying now. Time to move the conversation along towards a friendly conclusion. The message has been given. Calum knows what he has to do. He’s a smart boy. Frank’s always respected him.

‘I didn’t know that. That’ll be nice – a bit of sun on your back for a wee while.’

‘Aye, air-sickness, sunburn, poofy drinks and a hairy wee lassie to keep me company, then back to work. I’m lookin’ forward to it.’

Back at the flat, Calum is riddled with paranoia again. There’s nothing more to do. Get a weapon? No, never. Don’t go down that road. Don’t ask for trouble. You don’t know there’s anything to be afraid of yet. You know what’s happening right now. Frank is calling up John Young and passing on the information about the Davidson phone call. He and Jamieson will better understand what the threat is. They might sort things out. Have a sit-down and talk with whoever is behind this. Get them to call off the dogs. We already killed one of your guys, don’t make us kill a whole lot more, that sort of conversation. It works, sometimes.

This could be the start of a war. The start of something big. Frank had that far-away look in his eyes, the sort that implies something impressive is on the horizon. The old guys like this sort of thing. It’s all they have left to live for. Not good if you want to live for a lot longer. Could be nothing. Could be a little flare-up between people testing each other out. Even if it is war, it may not have an awful lot to do with you. You’ve fired the first shot, now you stand back. Jamieson is smart enough not to overwork one of his better options. So you might have little to do. The threat right now is from Davidson. The next move for Jamieson and Young may be to get rid of Davidson. High-profile move. Comes with more risk than Winter. A well-connected man. Not well respected. Certainly not liked. Could be a good way of slapping down whoever’s standing up to them, though.

A dim light in the corner of the room. Curtains drawn. Keeping the volume of the TV down. He tries to play a game on the PS3, but his nerves won’t let him. Too much pausing every time he hears a distant sound. No way to play. Beginning to hate himself. He’s never been on the receiving end like this, but he’s dealt with threats before. You’ve been in the business long enough to handle this better. You know you’ve done what you can. You know there’s little else to do but go about your business as you normally would. Get rid of the clothing you used to hit Winter. Get some money back from your runner. Keep your head down. Play it straight.