Crow Bait (7 page)

She knew she was going to see Davie again and didn’t know what kind of feelings that might revive. Her seduction scene tonight was a means of reassuring herself that she not only still wanted Les, but that she needed him. Now she was satisfied. She loved Les. They had their ups and downs, their fights, fall-outs. He didn’t like some of the stories she did and sometimes she didn’t like the way he thought, but they overcame those differences and made a life. He was a kind man, a good man, a dependable man. He was the man she wanted to grow old with.

But as she drifted off to sleep, it was Davie’s blue eyes she saw and his voice breathing her name that she heard.

9

DAVIE KNEW HE
wouldn’t sleep again that night, the dream had seen to that. He knew what had prompted it.

‘I knew your faither, you know that?’ Sammy had piped up that day as they walked round the exercise yard for the final time, each enjoying the weak sunlight.

The words always froze Davie’s blood, especially now, when his mind automatically flicked first to that face in the crowd then the photograph of his mother. But Davie liked Sammy – more than that, he respected him. He respected the way he held himself, the way he dealt with people. The only other man Davie had known who held himself in the same way, who dealt with people in the same way, was Joe Klein. Even so, he felt a tightening in his chest at the mention of Danny McCall and he did not know how to respond.

‘Didn’t know whether I should tell you, after what happened, like. With your maw. Wrestled with it all these years, whether to tell you.’

Davie kept walking, staring intently at the backs of two other inmates ahead of them, just to give his eyes a focus. He was aware Sammy was studying him carefully, looking for signs of encouragement, but Davie could not let his expression betray his feelings. A small, childlike part of him desperately wanted the older man to tell him about his father, but another part wanted to hear nothing more. Finally, Sammy decided to press on. ‘He wasn’t always like that, the way he was at the end there. You know that, don’t you?’

Davie gave a barely imperceptible nod. His dream of the day in the country was, in part, a reminder of the way Danny McCall used to be. There was another memory that Davie cherished: holidays on the Ayrshire coast, when Danny took them to a small house in Ballantrae. They were good times, happy times, bathed in Davie’s mind with the warm glow of summer. Other people saw the violent side of Danny McCall’s nature, for the work he did for Joe the Tailor was far from gentle, but in those days Mary McCall and Davie saw his loving side.

But that was then.

‘He was a good man to have at your back, was Danny McCall. And a good friend. I see those qualities in you, son. Oh, he was hard, no doubt about it, and he did things that straight arrows just don’t understand. But The Life is like that, you know, eh? Makes you do things you shouldn’t, things you know are wrong, but you do them all the same. Take me, I knew I shouldn’t’ve gone on that job with that bloke tooled up, but I did. Look what happened. It was my decision, nobody forced me, and a fella lost his life. And I ended up in here, away from my wife, away from my lassie. She was thirteen when I was banged up. Went off the rails a wee bit. She’s got two kids of her own now, had the first when she was sixteen. I missed all that. I shouldn’t have missed all that. Maybe her life wouldn’t have turned out that way if I’d been there, you know? I couldn’t accept it at first, which is why I was a fuckwit in here, but eventually I realised that it was all my own fault, you know? Danny, your da, chose The Life, chose to work for Joe Klein, chose to do the things he did. Nobody forced him.’

They walked in silence for a few moments and Davie sensed Sammy was struggling with himself over going further. Then…

‘And he loved your maw. Never seen a guy more loved up…’

Davie could contain himself no longer. ‘He killed her, Sammy.’

Sammy sighed. ‘Aye, he did. And it was terrible, we all thought so. I was inside by that time, but I read about it and guys talked about it. But see, here’s what I’m saying, or trying to say anyway – it wasn’t really him…’

‘It was the drink,’ said Davie, dully.

‘Aye, maybe. But something more, I think. Something else, deep inside him. I don’t know what you’d call it – rage, depression, evil maybe, I don’t know. I’d see it come over him, like something taking control, you know? A darkness. Don’t get me wrong, whatever it was came in handy in his work, ‘cos that’s what set him apart from the other hard men, the chib men, the gun men. And the more it took over, the stronger it got. See, when I knew your dad, he never drank, never touched a drop. Maybe a beer now and then, he wasn’t fuckin temperance, but the hard stuff wasn’t for him. So, what I think is, he drank to keep whatever it was inside him down, you know what I’m saying? Shit, it’s no like he was possessed or anything like that…’

But Davie thought differently. He had seen something inhuman in Danny McCall’s eyes the night he had beaten his mother to death. Something cold. Something not quite right. He was drunk, it seemed he had been drunk every night for weeks, but it wasn’t just the liquor. Something had taken hold of him that night and possession is as good a word as any, even if he wasn’t vomiting pea soup or spinning his head.

Sammy concluded, ‘… but I always knew there was something eating away at him. And the drink didn’t keep it down, didn’t help at all, just made it worse. Fed it. So sure, it was your dad that did it, that killed your maw, but it wasn’t really him, you know what I’m sayin? It was this dark thing that had finally taken over.’

Davie nodded. He agreed with Sammy, but it did not make him feel any better about it. ‘So why you telling me this, Sammy?’

Sammy stopped and shook a cigarette from a packet of Benson and Hedges. He struck a match against the stone wall beside him and cupped the flame in his hands as he lit up. Davie waited as Sammy took a deep drag and blew a cloud of smoke upwards. The older man looked at him then blinked, and Davie knew that though some of this was difficult for
him
to listen to, it wasn’t easy for Sammy to say either.

Sammy sucked at the cigarette once more. ‘Because I’ve been talking to some people about you, son, people that knew you, or knew of you, on the outside. You’re a good mate, a good man to have at your back, just like him. But you know what worries me? That you’ve got the dark thing inside you, too. I’ve spoken to boys that have seen you in action, son. They say that something happens to you, they saw it. And what they told me, I’ve seen, too. In your dad.’

‘I’m not like him. I’ll never be like him.’

‘I hope you’re right, Davie, I really do. That’s why I’m saying this. You need to watch out for it. It’s a sneaky bastard, this dark thing. You think it’s your pal, but it’s not. You think it’s a handy tool, but it’s not. It’s like fuckin heroin: once it gets a hold of you, you’re lost. Unless you’re stronger than it is. So here’s what I’m sayin. You’re getting out tomorrow and like as not you’ll go right back to your pals and The Life. And because you’re Danny McCall’s boy, they’ll find a use for you, just like Joe Klein did… oh, I know he was an okay guy and he taught you all they rules an’ that – don’t hurt women, or animals, don’t involve civilians – and they’re all well and good but see, it’s a different world out there now. Drugs have changed it. Used to be there was a focus to the violence, but now? Now anyone’s fair game. And a boy like you, with what I think is inside you? They’re going to want you, they’re gonnae want what’s inside you. And the more you tap into the darkness, the stronger it becomes. It happened to your dad, it can happen to you. Don’t let it. You have a choice, son. You’ve already lost that lassie to it, that one I hear you muttering about in your sleep. Don’t lose everything else.’

Sammy paused to let his words sink in, but he wasn’t finished. ‘When the devil comes knocking, you get two choices. You either let him in, or you tell that red-skinned, horned fucker to get the hell away.’

As Davie lay in his bunk on his last night inside, he thought about Sammy’s words. He knew the world had changed in the ten years he had been away. But he had not. He was still Danny McCall’s boy. And when the devil came knocking, he would have to deal with it.

10

RAB M
c
CLYMONT
pulled his thick coat tighter as he peered at the number on his pager’s small screen. A stiff breeze flooded through the broken glass pane of the phone box and chilled his body. He hated the cold, always had. Some day, if he worked everything correctly, he’d take Bernadette and little Joe and any other kids they had by then to a land where it was warm and sunny.  Even in November.

Cars roared past the box on Shettleston Road and further down he could see the Range Rover with two of his boys watching carefully. They didn’t know who he was calling and they never would. Even Luca had no idea who Rab’s connection was in Pitt Street. The only person who knew was Bernadette, for Rab told her almost everything. He and Knight had been using this system for years – pagers, registered in someone else’s name, of course, used to relay the number of a clean public phone. When the little plastic box bleeped and a number flashed up on the screen, it meant one of them had something to pass on and the other had to reach another public phone to call the number in the display. Rab was confident the phones in his home and the one in Luca’s café were clean – he paid a couple of British Telecom employees a hefty amount of cash to let him know if there was any undue interest in the lines. That wasn’t enough for Knight, though – Rab had learned long ago that if there was one species more paranoid than drug dealers, it was bent cops.

‘This better be fuckin good,’ said Rab when he heard Knight pick up at the other end.  ‘Freezing my bollocks off in this box.’

‘And good morning to you, mate,’ said Knight. 

Rab sighed. He was not a morning person. He didn’t come fully awake until he had at least two cups of coffee. ‘Spit it out, Knight.’

‘Just thought I’d let you know Liam Mulvey’s come into some cash.’

Rab said nothing as he processed the information. Liam Mulvey was a former Glasgow ned who moved to Ayrshire so his wife could be near her folks. He bought gear from Rab and punted it among the sheep and the associated shaggers down there in the country. And he owed Rab cash.

‘How the fuck do’you know these things, Knight?’

‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,’ said Knight, and Rab knew he was only half joking. They’d had a working relationship for ten years now and Rab knew the big cop was capable of many things. However, he also knew that wasn’t the only reason for the call. He wouldn’t say that he could read the Black Knight like a book – that would be like trying to do Braille wearing a boxing glove – but he knew there was more to come.

‘Your boy McCall’s getting out today, I hear.’

‘Aye,’ Rab said, wondering where this was leading.

‘Been a long time.’

‘Aye.’

‘He still not suss it was you who put him away?’

Rab fell silent again. So that’s what this was – a wind up call. Knight knew that Rab’s betrayal was a sore point, and he was never one to shy away from poking a wound. They had needed Davie McCall off the streets because he was a loose cannon in the wake of Joe the Tailor’s death and that would have been bad for business. Rab had provided the basic information to have the boy jailed, pinning the leak on that sucker Mouthy Grant. Naturally, Mouthy had to go away, something Rab dealt with in his usual direct manner. The big man never agonised over Grant’s death, but he suffered pangs of conscience over grassing his mate McCall. And, truth be told, he was a little afraid Davie would work it all out. The only other person who knew the truth was Bernadette. The question was, why was Knight bringing it all up now? Was he just doing it for fun, or was he reminding Rab that he should continue to play ball, and pay up, or he’d drop a word in McCall’s ear about who grassed him up?

‘Be good to have him back, eh?’ Knight said, filling the gap in the conversation. ‘Handy boy to have around.’

‘We finished here?’ The irritation in Rab’s voice was heavy.

‘That’s us, big man. You get somewhere warm, get yourself tucked in. Maybe a nice mug of cocoa and a tartan blankie.’

Rab dropped the phone back on its cradle without another word. Sometimes Knight really pissed him off.

11

FRANK DONOVAN WAS
running.

He didn’t like running.

He especially didn’t like running with two pockets filled with change, having won a jackpot on the puggy in the pub when the shout came in. It had been his plan to take the cash down the road to the bookies, put it on a nag and maybe claw back some of his losses, but events overtook him. He’d been having some lunch before he started the back shift and a veteran
DS
in for his midday tightener had his radio with him. When Donovan heard the name of the scroat the lads were after, he simply grabbed the coins from the slot and shoved them in his pockets as he dashed out. Now it was jingling down there like Santa Claus coming to town. He’d also had a couple of beers, which didn’t help matters, and as he pounded through the streets of Garthamlock he could feel it slopping around his guts.

The scroat he and another handful of officers were chasing was named Mo Morris. Mo for Maurice. Maurice Morris – how the hell did the poor bastard end up with that? His dad was a tea-leaf, currently doing time in Her Majesty’s Hotel Barlinnie, and wee Mo was a hopped-up wee shite with sticky fingers and a liking for relieving old people of their pensions. Donovan could see Mo haring down the street. He was a short-arse and short-arses could really move when they wanted to. They’d been looking for him for two weeks, ever since an old lady in Carntyne had been battered in her flat and her money nicked. That’s all the scroat got, that week’s pension and the old dear was still in a coma. Wee Mo was nippy on his feet but not too quick in the head, because he’d left his fingerprints all over the place. Even so, he’d managed to avoid being lifted, moving from place to place. The flat in Porchester Street was tenanted by a cousin and it had already been turned over, so Donovan assumed Mo had moved in only recently. But he must’ve been spotted by a concerned citizen who dialled 999. Unfortunately, he’d seen the uniforms heading into the close and skyed the pitch out the back window, jumping down onto the roof of some bin shelters, then away across the back court. The uniforms blew it in and, as Mo Morris was top of the Most Wanted list, any cop not involved in something else piled into the East End scheme, Frank Donovan among them.