Betrayed (19 page)

‘So what is it then?’

‘Remember that night in the pub, big Farquhar came in and then Eddie left with his face like thunder?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, I think Eddie’s wife has been shagging this cunt in the boot, and big Farquhar told him about it that night.’

‘Christ! How the fuck do you know that?’

‘Because big Farquhar’s a complete tit and he got drunk and told one of my mates. That’s how thick he is. If Eddie finds out he’s blabbed, he’ll be next.’

‘So do you think it’s true, Eddie’s wife shagging this guy? Jesus. She must be brave.’

‘Yeah. Well I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but if Eddie’s brought Psycho in and told me it’s personal, then I think it’s probably true. Donna works at the bakery. Maybe she works beside this guy and that’s how it all started.’ He grinned at Jimmy. ‘She’s not a bad looking bird. I’d pump her, if she wasn’t who she is.’

‘Fuck!’ Jimmy stifled a laugh. ‘You’re nuts. I’m surprised Eddie’s not just getting him bumped off.’

‘Knowing Eddie, he’ll want to make the bastard suffer. Make sure he knows that he’ll not be sniffing around Donna any more. Not by the time big Psycho’s finished.’

‘Hurry up, guys, for fuck’s sake,’ Psycho said, pushing
some coke from a bag onto his tongue and up his nose. ‘I’ve got a bird to meet later.’

Mitch made eyes at Jimmy and they both tried to keep their faces straight.

‘Fuck me,’ Mitch said. ‘Open the boot. Let’s get this done.’

They all pulled on their balaclavas, as Jimmy pinged the boot open. The guy’s eyes were just about visible behind the bloodied face that had begun to balloon. He curled into a ball as Mitch reached in.

‘Stop fucking about. You’ll just make it harder for yourself.’ Mitch grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up.

Jimmy hauled his legs out and they got him to his feet, but his legs buckled as soon as he stood up.

‘Sit him on that chair.’ Psycho threw a piece of rope towards them. ‘Tie him up. And stuff something into his mouth. I don’t want anyone to hear the cunt screaming.’

Jimmy and Mitch did as he said, feeling the guy’s whole body trembling as they tied his hands and feet. Mitch pushed an oily rag into his mouth and he gagged and struggled.

Psycho stood with his arms folded, a glazed look in his eyes as he stared down at his victim. He scratched his chin, then put a sponge into the bucket of water.

‘Pull his trousers down a bit. I should have told you to do that before you tied him up. Just pull them down so I can see his tackle.’

The man writhed and struggled as they pulled him to his feet and Mitch pulled down his trousers and underpants. They pushed him back into the chair.

Psycho stepped towards him, then wrung out the wet sponge, soaking his naked genitals and thighs. Jimmy and Mitch stood back looking at each other, their faces twisted with the prospect of what was going to happen next.

‘You’ve been a bad boy, son.’ Psycho threw the sponge in the bucket. He turned to the box that was connected to the battery and turned the control up to medium. The clips on the sensors made a crackling noise, sparking when he put them together. He took one in each hand then approached the man.

‘Now this is going to hurt a bit.’ He gave a little snigger at his wit.

The man struggled and moved in the chair and Psycho snorted.

‘Hold him still, for fuck’s sake. Open his legs a bit.’

Jimmy and Mitch held his shoulders and each pulled a leg open.

Jimmy had looked away just as the electrodes were almost touching the man’s scrotum, but he could tell by the sudden thrashing and jerking that they were attached. He glanced down and said ‘oh fuck’ under his breath. Psycho went to the box and switched the control up until the needle was nudging high. It was probably only on for a few seconds but it seemed like an age and Jimmy smelled
singeing flesh. Muffled screams came from behind the rag and the man’s face looked fit to burst. Veins stood out on his head and neck as he screamed and jerked. Then he passed out, his head slumping on his chest.

Nobody spoke.

‘That’ll learn him,’ Psycho looked pleased with himself. He lifted the bucket of water and threw it over the chair, startling the man back to consciousness, the water washing away some of the blood from his face so that Jimmy could see the damage he’d done with his own fists. For a split second he felt ashamed of himself.

‘Right,’ Psycho said. ‘That takes care of that end. Untie his hands.’

Mitch looked at Jimmy and they both went behind him and undid the ropes. Psycho brought over a small table and sat it in front of the chair.

‘Spread his hands out on that.’

The man promptly pulled his hands off the table when Psycho approached him with the jemmy.

‘Fuck! Keep his hands straight on the table. Palms down.’

They held his arms stiff so his hands couldn’t move.

‘So you’re a master baker, are you?’ Again with the creepy smile. ‘Not any more, you’re not.’

Jimmy closed his eyes tight as he heard the gut-churning dull thud of the jemmy come down hard, and the smashing sound of bones. He opened one eye and saw the man’s right hand mutilated with one blow, bloody and torn. Again
the screams behind the rag, as the jemmy came down on the left hand so heavily that it burst open the thumb area, nearly slicing through it. Pieces of bone and flesh were splattered on the table. The man passed out again, his legs jerking violently. Then silence. They stood looking him.

‘Stand back,’ Psycho said, lifting the jemmy again.

‘Fuck’s sake, Johnny. I think he’s had enough,’ Mitch said.

‘No. Eddie says he’s to get one on the head too. For even thinking about messing him around.’

Before Mitch had a chance to protest that he was the senior man here, Psycho had already swung the jemmy, splitting the man’s head like a kipper.

‘Fuck me, man. You’re not supposed to kill him.’

‘He’s not dead,’ Psycho said. ‘He’ll just no’ be baking any cakes for a while. Or nobbing anybody’s wife.’ He put the jemmy back in the cupboard. ‘Right. Just take him and dump him somewhere.’ He looked at his watch, grinning. ‘But hurry up. I need to get home and changed before I meet this bird. I’m as horny as fuck after that.’

Jimmy lay on the top of his bed, one hand behind his head and the other in his underpants, as though he was never more grateful to feel his tackle still there. He couldn’t get the image out of his head of Psycho attaching the electrodes to the man. And the crunching and smashing of the bones in his hands. Jesus Christ! There was no need for that. Whatever the guy did, even with Eddie’s wife, all they had to do
surely was give him a warning, a sore face, and a threat that he’d get shot. But the torture? Something well sick about that. Jimmy even felt nauseous when he got into the house, and he was glad his father was in bed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This is what he was now, he told himself. This is how the UVF did business. He knew that long before he swore the oath. And somewhere, despite his niggling reservations after the brutality he’d seen tonight, there was something powerful about being able to have that much clout over people. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They’d been at least a day and a half ahead of the bus – time enough to hook up with Javier and Adrian and make some kind of plan. To Rosie’s surprise, big Eddie hadn’t been alone when he turned up for the supporters’ coach from the Tavern at five a.m. He had his wife in tow, tottering on high heels and tight jeans, her face like fizz. A two-day bus journey with a bus load of blootered, farting football fans was clearly not her idea of fun. Rosie and Matt had watched the bus wind its way out of the street, then they headed for Glasgow Airport for their flight to London and on to Seville, where they were now sitting.

‘This has to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world.’ Rosie looked out across the piazza at the imposing skyline as the sun slipped behind the mighty Giralda tower of Seville Cathedral.

‘Probably was until this bunch of knuckle-trailing arseholes invaded.’ Matt nodded at the posse of raucous Rangers
fans emerging from the meandering streets of the old town. ‘Christ! Listen to them. The folk here must think we’re a nation of pisshead thugs. It makes me affronted to be Scottish.’

Rosie glanced at Javier who was gazing wistfully at the sea of royal blue football jerseys. The gang of around thirty hooligans were led by a shaven-headed fan draped in the Union Flag, who stopped and turned towards his army to conduct the vile chants:

‘Hallo! Hallo! We are the Billy Boys,’ they all sang. ‘Hallo! Hallo! We’re out to make a noise … We’re up to our knees in Fenian blood, surrender or you’ll die … Cos we are the Bridgeton Billy Boys … Haaallo … Haaallo!’

They grew louder as they marched past the cathedral in the direction of a bar on the corner.

Javier shook his head in disgust. ‘You know, this city has had more than its share of invaders – none more violent than the Moors who came rampaging in, destroying and murdering everything in their wake. I think they would have made very short work of guys like them.’ He looked at Rosie and Matt. ‘You’re right though. They do embarrass your nation. I would be embarrassed if Spanish football fans behaved like that.’

‘It’s not all Scottish football fans.’ Rosie felt the need to defend her countrymen, even though she’d never been patriotic in her life. Of course, Javier was right, but insulting the Scots was like insulting who you were. Especially
coming from him, with that air of superiority that he seemed to have about being Spanish. ‘In any case, I’m sure there are plenty of hooligans among your own fans,’ she added petulantly.

‘You don’t have to be so defensive, Rosie.’ Javier gave her a wry smile.

He was digging her up. Worked every time.

Rosie emptied the last of the bottle into their glasses – except for Adrian who covered his glass with his hand, blinking his refusal in the minimalist way he had of expressing himself. He had an early drive to the Costa del Sol in the morning to pick up Wendy and Liz.

‘Anyway, Matt,’ Rosie said, shooting Javier a sarcastic look, ‘hooligans aside, talk us through what you saw of McGregor and co. earlier on.’

Matt and Adrian had been dispatched by Rosie to the hotel in the centre of Seville where the Rangers bus from the Tavern had pitched up. Young Declan had managed to find out from contacts in Glasgow which hotel the fans would be staying at.

‘It’s a surprise McGregor bringing his wife. I wouldn’t think many guys take their wives to matches like this. I always assumed most of the lads just got pissed and visited strip clubs and whorehouses. And especially bringing her on a drug run?’ Rosie said.

‘It’s a good cover.’ Javier sat back, stretching out his long
legs. ‘Everyone around him will think he’s on a little romantic break.’

‘To a football match? And they say romance is dead.’ Rosie rolled her eyes to the sky.

She waved the waiter over and Javier asked for another round of drinks, then ordered the restaurant’s house speciality of assorted starters with a mixed paella to share.

‘So how were the happy couple, Matt?’ Rosie asked. ‘Did big Eddie and his wife look all loved up?’

‘Well, everyone was mostly just listening while McGregor held court. The other two – Mad Mitch and Dunlop – were having a couple of beers, but McGregor and his wife were drinking champagne. She didn’t look a barrel of fun though. Looked like she was just laughing at the right bits, but as you’ll see from a couple of shots, she was a bit glum.’ He called up the pictures on his camera and handed it to her.

‘Hmmm. Looks miserable. No wonder. Tied to a pure bastard like him,’ Rosie said. ‘But I’m still surprised to see her on the trip at all. Something not right about it.’

Javier’s mobile rang and he spoke in Spanish for a couple of minutes as Rosie turned to Adrian.

‘So if you leave very early in the morning, you could be back here with the girls by lunchtime?’

He nodded. ‘The road is very good. Should be no problem. Maybe some fans coming up from the Costa del Sol for the football, but if we leave early enough we miss a lot of the traffic.’

‘Great.’

Rosie was looking forward to seeing Wendy and Liz again. Since she’d flown over to meet them last week, they had been feeding her more information about Flinty Jackson. As Liz had told her from the start, he was the biggest dealer in the Costa with several smaller fish working with him, making drops for customers all along the coast. He ran his operation between his Rangers pub – Blue Heaven – in Fuengirola, and the palatial villa he owned close to de la Puerto Duchesa further down the coast. In the few days before she arrived, Rosie had Javier and Adrian take a discreet look at his house and at de la Puerto Duchesa, and Javier reported that they’d seen him a couple of times in the port with various Moroccans and a couple of Dutchmen.

Javier came off the phone and sat forward, pushing his fingers through his lush, greying hair.

‘That was my
amigo
, the detective inspector I told you about. From the Guardia Civil.’

Rosie felt a little uneasy. They had discussed bringing in the cops and trying to make a deal that would allow the newspaper investigation to be part of the police operation, but Rosie knew it would be fraught with all sorts of problems. Dealing with any cops was hard enough when they were on a live operation. Expecting any serious cooperation with Spanish cops was just wishful thinking.

‘Javier … I …’

He put his hand up. ‘Before you ask, Rosie … No. I haven’t agreed to anything. You are the boss. It’s your call.’

Rosie almost smiled at his bullshit. He even managed to look like he believed she was the boss.

‘As you know,’ he said, straight-faced, ‘I have discussed the basics without going into any names or detail. But if you ask me, having the cops with us is our only way to nail your man. If we don’t involve the police this end, then you must do it at the Scottish or UK end when they land. But, by that time, anything could have happened to the stash of cocaine. That’s the risk. Once McGregor and his friends get on that bus and leave Seville we have no way of tracking them. How do we know, for example, that two of the guys are not going to get off in France and drive the stuff home? Or take a private boat? I think we have to involve the police now. But, Rosita, it is your call.’ He glanced at the others then back to Rosie.