The Barbershop Seven (158 page)

'What did you say?' said Tony.

Luigi prodded Tony's arm. They weren't here to get into fights with morons in bars. They didn't have to keep entirely in the shadows but there was no need to attract attention to themselves any more than the fact of being two Italians in a small town in Scotland would anyway.

'Fuckin' Italian bampots,' said the guy. The barman glanced at him and wondered if it was too early to put a call through to Police Constable Gainsborough. It wasn't as if, after all, PC Gainsborough wasn't expecting the call. 'Did yese get intae a fight at home and yese had tae run away?' said the guy. 'Wis that it? Yese were prob'ly shaggin' some'dy's missus, knowin' you lot. Or maybe,' and he turned around fully to face them, to lay the accusation wholly on the table, 'you were shaggin' each other and had tae get away fi' the lynch mob.'

Straight over Luigi's head. Couldn't have cared less. Tony, being a simple man 'n all, was on the verge of crashing over the table and attacking him. Luigi put his hand on Tony's arm.

'Oh, very nice,' sneered Donaldinho from behind his pint. 'Yese'll be shaggin' each other up the arse next. Course, the minute you see someone's back you probably want to stab them in it.'

Tony made to move. Luigi grabbed his shoulder, pulled him back down into his seat. Luigi did not yet suspect that this was a set-up but only the simple man rises to simple bait.

'Tony, sit down, shut up. Barman, are you just going to let this guy talk to your other customers like this?'

Donaldinho took a long drink from the trough.

'He's got a point,' said Murray the barman. 'Tuck it in, mate. There's no need for that kind of thing in here.'

There were two other occupied tables. A bloke and his wife, who looked worried by the whole business and were on the point of leaving; and a couple of old women on their annual escape from Glasgow, who were excited by the thought of getting to watch an actual wrestling match, likely with real blood.

'Is that no' just typical,' said Donaldinho. 'Hidin' behind others. Fuckin' brave the pair o' ye. Fuckin' arse bandits.'

'Enough, mate, or I'll call the polis,' said the barkeep.

Donaldinho glanced at him, then turned back. Luigi was staring at the floor, concerned only that Tony did not do anything stupid. Tony was agitating to go on the rampage. He may have been an out and out idiot and he may have been much much smaller than his adversary but he was more than capable of killing him.

He had a gun in his jacket.

'Two bum-fluffs the gither,' said Donaldinho, 'too wee and scaredy tae dae anythin' but sit there. Nae wunner we shat a' o'er yese in the war.'

Luigi tugged at Tony's shoulder. Tony wriggled free and came at Donaldinho like a tank.

Donaldinho cracked his pint glass off the edge of the bar, spraying beer over the barman, the glass pinging around the room. He turned and met Tony full on. Fists and feet and glass met in a fantastic crunch. A looping parabola of blood spurted instantly into the air.

The couple, who had up until now been quietly enjoying their gin and tonics, left hurriedly. The old women leant forward, hands clapping with glee.

'My money's on the Italian lad, Marion,' said one.

'Ach, away and bile yer heid, Nella,' said the other.

Donaldinho and Tony's heads met with a crunch. Blood was everywhere, although it was impossible to see whose it was. The barkeep stood well clear. Luigi knew he could not get involved. At least one of them had to stay out of trouble. In any case, he knew that Tony would not need help.

And, as he took another sip of disgusting wine, the obviousness of the set-up finally hit him. He smacked his hand off his forehead, then he rose, pushed the table away from him and, avoiding the brawling couple in the middle of the bar, walked hurriedly up the stairs to get his things from the room.

––––––––

T
he sea front was quiet and although Barney was a good distance from the George Hotel, he was aware of the stramash as Tony, the Vatican's less than holy ambassador, was dragged out by Police Constable Gainsborough. Tony had been disarmed and Donaldinho had been allowed to skulk away into the shadows – or, more accurately, to skulk away to the hospital, as his broken beer glass had been turned against him by his more expertly brutal opponent. Tony had belatedly realised what had occurred earlier to Luigi but there was nothing to be done about it now other than sitting in his cell until the inevitable call came through from a higher authority to have him released.

Barney watched for a few seconds, vaguely curious, then turned back to the red door. Hesitated, then lifted the brass door knocker – a wonderfully hideous gargoyle with a double nose and a bit of a
Boris Johnson
– and let it drop. A moment's pause, then the sound of two pairs of scampering feet. The door was pulled open and Hoagy and Ella stood against the wall forming a line of two, backs straight, arms by their sides.

Hoagy saluted and said, 'You have permission to come aboard, sir!'

Barney smiled, returned the salute, then stooped to inspect the troops as he went by. He straightened Hoagy's shirt and tugged at Ella's collar, which had her in fits of giggles.

'All proper and correct,' said Barney. 'Stand down.'

They both saluted, Hoagy's accompanied by a lop-sided wink.

'Where's your mum?' asked Barney.

'Upstairs,' said Hoagy. 'In the bathroom doing girl's stuff. But there's no amount of make-up going to help her lose weight.'

Barney nodded. Five year-olds are bad enough, much worse when they're going on fifteen, as most of them seem to be now.

'I heard that!' shouted Garrett Carmichael from upstairs. 'I've had enough of your cheek.'

Hoagy looked innocent and shrugged his shoulders. Ella shook her head disapprovingly and said, 'He's just a little fuck.'

They're coming on faster these days, thought Barney.

Like the wind, Garrett Carmichael appeared at the top of the stairs. Towel wrapped turban-like around her hair, red trousers, nothing on top but a black bra. Barney turned away.

'What did you say?'

'I said he's a little fuck,' Ella replied. Very matter of fact.

Garrett came steaming down to the bottom of the stairs. Barney glanced at her, looked at Hoagy – who gave him a
you get everything in this house
look – then stared at the ceiling.

'That,' said Garrett, holding Ella's hand, 'was a very, very bad word to say. Don't let me ever hear that again. Where did you hear it? It's very, very naughty. Do you understand?'

Domestic bliss, thought Barney. Wherever you look in family life there's usually something to support the way of the wanderer.

Ella looked blameless and perplexed.

'I just said he was a little fuck,' she protested innocently.

'Right!' said Garrett angrily. 'I told you not to say it! It's bad! Go and stand in the bathroom until you're ready to say sorry.'

One and a half seconds, then the three year-old bottom lip appeared and she burst into tears. Garrett let out a huge exasperated and annoyed sigh, then looked at Barney.

'You deal with it,' she said, and stormed back up the stairs.

'Mummy!' wailed Ella, as her mother disappeared from view. 'Mummy!'

Barney looked down at this scene of child carnage and felt glad that these spawn were not, and never would be, his.

Hoagy shrugged his shoulders.

'Mum's on,' he said. 'That's what dad used to say. Not sure what it means.'

That, my grown up little friend, thought Barney, is something that will never change.

'Can you explain it to me?' he asked.

'Wee man,' said Barney, raising his voice over the general tumult of Ella's rejection issues, 'you must be joking.'

The front door was knocked and then Miranda Donaldson bustled in, looked at Barney with grave suspicion, ignored Hoagy and headed straight for the greeting wean.

'What's the matter with you, darlin'? she said, bending down next to Ella.

'Mum got mad, 'cause Ella called me a little fuck,' said Hoagy.

Miranda Donaldson turned and looked at her grandson, raised the old grandma eyebrow at him and then looked back at Ella.

'Well,' she said, voice very low and comforting, 'what was your mother thinking? It's not like you were wrong, now, is it, Ella?'

Barney surveyed the scene of domestic ecstasy, turned away, wandered into the sitting room, parked himself in a big comfy chair and began the long wait for Garrett Carmichael.

***

B
artholomew Ephesian twitched. Took another long drink of Lagavulin. Grip on the glass so tight it was in danger of breaking. Head full of the kind of bloody, dark thoughts that always came to him when things were not going according to plan.

Jacobs had passed onto him Ruth Harrison's reluctance to share the required information, as well as the unexpected intervention of the Barbershop Duet. He hadn't known Barney would be trouble the instant he'd arrived but any able-bodied man, when none was required, was liable to be a problem. That Igor had stood up for Ruth Harrison was a complete shock to him but that was because he expected little of Igor. What he did not need at this stage, however, were two more people to be dealt with.

Then there was the matter of the amateurish set-up at the George Hotel, leading to the incarceration of Tony Angelotti. He was incensed by the fact that Gainsborough had thought he could deal with any problem himself but much more concerned that there were Italians on the island. Ephesian did not doubt for one second where they had come from and who had sent them. And there was one of them at large, which meant that the necessary phone calls would be made and the one who was currently locked up in the tiny cell behind the police station would be out before Gainsborough had had time to write his stupid name in crayon across the top of the arrest report form.

There was also the matter of inducting his son into the brotherhood, something else which was getting him more agitated. As was the arrival of the corpulent Ping Phat.

'I can't trust Randolph to commit the murder,' said Ephesian suddenly, addressing the other problem that was aggravating him. 'I can barely trust him to go to the toilet when he needs to.'

'Don't worry,' said the voice behind him. 'I'll take care of it.'

Ephesian knew he could trust Jacobs with everything and when he was unable to achieve an objective, such as that afternoon at the house of Ruth Harrison, Ephesian would never blame him.

'Good,' said Ephesian. 'And perhaps it would be appropriate to take care of Randolph at the same time. He knows too much.'

'Yes, sir' said Jacobs.

Ephesian turned round, away from the dusk and the dying of the day over the islands to the west.

'Ping Phat,' he said, beginning to rattle off the list of problems, 'the item in the possession of Ruth Harrison, the two bloody barbers and the Italians. We can hardly just kill them all, however convenient it would be. I don't like mess,' he concluded.

'Yes, sir,' said Jacobs.

Ephesian drained his glass, held it out for Jacobs to take from him and refill with three fresh ice cubes.

'Tonight,' he said, 'we need to collect the item from the cathedral. No messing about, you go there, you remove it. We need to get it up here. The Italians will be all over the place. Take care of it.'

'Yes, sir,' he replied, handing over the refilled glass.

'Before that, though, you should see Ruth Harrison. Be brutal. Short, swift, vicious. Don't mess around. Thomson is seeing the lawyer tonight, so we need only worry about Igor. Just take him out. I'll have a word with Gainsborough in case anyone gives him a call.'

'Yes, sir,' said Jacobs, dutifully.

'We'll need to put the word round about the Italians. It'll almost be worthwhile releasing the one we have, as he'll lead us straight to the other one. It might be all right just to keep an eye on them, we can see how close they're getting. Make a few calls.'

'Yes, sir.'

Ephesian took a sip from his third whisky of the late afternoon and held his hands out to the side.

'Businesslike. We need to be businesslike. The problems are mounting, we need to address them and put them to bed.'

'Very good, sir.'

'Ping Phat will need to wait until tomorrow.'

'Very good, sir.'

'And the same for the small matter of the murder. Tomorrow night, but you know all about that.'

The two men stared across the room, wondering how bloody it was all going to become. It was always so much easier when you could take care of things through gentle persuasion. Money talked, of course, but Ephesian never liked to talk with money. A little intimidation was the best option and it was always regrettable when he had to go further.

Needs must, he thought to himself. The only way to deal with Ping Phat was violence. And a murder had to be committed for the ceremony to take place. They were the necessary acts of bloodshed. The other work could be kept low key but if that wasn't possible then Jacobs would do what he had to.

'It'll be a pleasure, sir,' said Jacobs.

Of that, at least, Ephesian was certain. Jacobs may have had the whole Jeeves vibe going but the man was a sadistic, callous bastard. Who could nail a Lagavulin with ice.

He took another long drink from the well and his head twitched involuntarily as his thoughts turned back to Gainsborough and his clumsy attempts to detain the Italians.

––––––––

'S
o, there are three things, not two.'

Barney forked another piece of
chicken in strawberry yogurt with a mythology of thyme
, took a sip of a curious Italian white with insinuations of lavender and an aura of Vatican II, and raised the universal eyebrow of curiosity.

'You see,' she said, finishing off a mouthful of
cretaceous beef on a platter of sangfroid
, 'the common philosophy is that there are two principles. Right wrong, yin yang, equal opposite, good evil, black white, you know how it is.'

He nodded. Amateur philosophy. Can't go five minutes in the world without coming across it. Everybody thinks, after all.