The Night the Rich Men Burned (18 page)

‘I know the people around him. I made a point of finding out. He keeps some things close, does Patterson. But you can always find out when you’re in the company. They have to tell you something.’

‘The key men?’

‘He has it, like, I guess you would say a pyramid. It’s all very carefully put together, know what I mean. Conn Griffiths and Mikey Summers. Those two are high up the chain of command. Very high. They oversee a lot of stuff. Organizers. Collectors as well, but they’re more than that. They collect to make it look like they’re not that important. Tough guys, too, so they can do it. Real tough, actually. But they’re a lot more than collectors. Those two are important day-to-day. They’re who you go to if you have a problem. Who you go to if you need to find something out about a job, or to find out what the job is. People would notice if they weren’t there any more.’

Potty can sense the sting in the tail. Very clear from his tone that Holmes is building to something bigger, but that he wants Potty to ask him about it. Makes Holmes feel clever. Fine, we shall play the game, just this once. Only because these are good names. Griffiths was a name one of MacArthur’s boys brought them, but only as a collector. They didn’t know he was important. Summers is interesting. Potty remembers the name. Used to have a reputation as brutal muscle, one of the toughest in the city. Lot of people wanted to employ that boy, and then he went off the radar. Now he knows why. Anyway, back to the game.

‘So these are the two I should be concerning myself with, are they?’ Asked with an almost bored tone. Almost, but not quite. Don’t put Holmes off before he’s had the chance to show how clever and useful he is.

‘They’re important,’ Holmes is saying, ‘but they’re not the most important. If you want to get to Patterson, the man you want is Alan Bavidge. He’s the one guy with full access to Patterson. The one guy Patterson trusts with all his biggest stuff. That’s who he goes to, every time.’

Potty’s frowning a little. See, Potty had a good look at Holmes’s background. He knows who attacked Holmes that night three months ago. Cut his face. Cut his mouth. Norah Faulkner dropped the name of Alan Bavidge. Young Mr Bavidge has quite a reputation for being a ruthless bastard. Rather a good reputation to have in this business. A man that a lot of people, Holmes included, have good reason to hate.

‘I do hope you’re not giving me this name in some attempt at revenge,’ Potty is saying.

Holmes is frowning. Obviously didn’t expect Potty to know who cut him. His right hand starts to make its way up to his face to touch the scar. A long ugly line, barely perceptible to the touch but very visible. The beard covers it, but imperfectly. He’s realized what his hand is doing and he’s bringing it back down to his lap. ‘No. Not revenge. It’s the truth. Patterson doesn’t have a right-hand man. Not in the usual way. But Bavidge is the closest thing to it that he has. Bavidge still collects. Still goes out and does the shitty jobs. That’s a cover. He’s the one. He attacked Jamie Stamford because Bavidge is the key guy. He attacked me because of it. He’s the one Patterson uses on every big job. Just the big jobs. Takes his advice on every big move. All Patterson’s men know that. You get rid of Bavidge and Patterson’s weak.’

It’s not like this is the first time they’ve heard the name Alan Bavidge. They knew he attacked Holmes. There were suspicions he was the one who attacked Jamie Stamford. Stamford didn’t confirm it, said he wasn’t sure. Trying to cover his embarrassment. It was Bavidge. And now Potty’s hearing that Bavidge is the most important person in Patterson’s organization. He believes Holmes. Holmes has to be telling the truth, because he knows the price of a lie.

‘Okay, Mr Holmes,’ Potty is saying, and nodding. ‘I can accept that as a start. I want your contact details. I may be in touch with you again. I’ll pay for this. Half up, half when I know you’ve been honest with me.’

Holmes is pausing, but not for long. A man like Potty will pay. He might not be walking out of here with money, but he’ll get something. Potty will pay the upfront money in the next couple of days. The rest will come when Potty sees how much damage he can do Patterson with the info. Doesn’t serve Potty’s interests to stiff someone on a deal. Even someone like Holmes. So Holmes is shaking Potty’s fat hand and walking out to the front of the pub. Another drink or two before he leaves.

Potty’s watching him go. Desperate. Maybe they both are, but Potty’s hiding it better. This is what he was waiting for. Three names, all confirmed as senior movers. But it’s Bavidge he’ll go for. That’s the star prize. A man close enough to Patterson to make an impact on the whole organization. And a man Alex MacArthur will be very happy to see the back of. There’ll be no attempt to buy Bavidge. They will remove him instead.

2

He was in a hole. So he dug. Glass isn’t proud of himself. Isn’t proud of the situation he’s found himself in. When he borrowed that money from Jefferson, he had every intention of paying it back. Pay it. Pay the interest. Cut the rope that the collector would hang you with. Never go back. But you have to have work. He could raise some money, but never fast enough. He paid and paid, but there was always more interest than he could keep up with. And all the time he was worried about losing Ella.

She never demanded that he bring in more money. It was never like that. That makes her sound like she was pushing him into it. It wasn’t that. But there was a life she wanted for them both. Improvements to the flat. Even talking about finding a house. All these things that she wanted them to have, and she was the only one earning money to pay for them. She never pointed that out, but Glass knew, and it hurt. And he wanted to give her the lifestyle too. Parties, drink, drugs, fun. These things cost money, and he wanted her to have them. To have whatever made her happy. It was either that or lose her to someone who could pay for the life. See, she’s pretty and popular. She knows a lot of men. Some of whom would give her that lifestyle. Glass was convinced that she wanted all that. Convinced that he had to help pay for it. So he borrowed more.

He was paying just enough back for Jefferson to lend him more. So he borrowed more, and the interest climbed higher. But he was able to get the things Ella wanted. They got a tumble dryer. They got a new carpet for the living room. And they went out a few times. Couple of times to a club, which is what Glass thought she wanted. Then the third time he suggested it, she said they should go to a restaurant instead. That was even better. The money was to make her happy. To make sure that, at the end of the night, she went home with Glass. And it worked, for a while.

Money runs dry. If you don’t have work, it runs dry fast. So he couldn’t pay for the life. Ella had worked less when he had the money. The money went, so she started working more. They didn’t talk about it. She didn’t say anything, because she didn’t want to upset him. But she was working more, and he knew it. Glass begged for work but got none. So he borrowed a little more. But that was his last borrow. Hasn’t paid a penny back to Jefferson in over a month now. Jefferson, understandably, is not happy.

No point looking to Marty for work. He wasn’t interested before, and he sure as hell isn’t now. Being a friend of Peterkinney has suddenly made Glass’s name poison with Marty. That little falling-out makes Marty a no-go area for Glass. Peterkinney stabbing Marty in the back cost Glass work. So Glass looked to Peterkinney. But Peterkinney has bigger fish to fry now. Doesn’t need Glass any more. Oh no, no time at all for his friends. All Glass did was introduce him to the industry. Get him started with Marty. Set him off on the road he’s on now. Only has what he has because of Glass. You would think that would mean something. You would think being a friend meant something. Does it fuck. Not in Peterkinney’s new world. Nah, Glass is yesterday’s news. He tried getting in touch. Did everything he could to reach out to Peterkinney. Didn’t matter how often he called or went round to Peterkinney’s office though. He got nowhere.

So now he’s going to see Jefferson. Jefferson called the flat about eleven this morning. Ella was still crashed out in bed. She worked last night. Arrived home five hours after Glass. Collapsed silently into bed and fell asleep in her clothes. She’s been doing that more lately. Glass knows. He remembers that first night. Shit, that was more than five months ago. Feels like years to him. It was thrilling. It was fucking brilliant. Now other men are having their first night with Ella. Doesn’t matter that she always comes home to him.

He never told Ella that he’d borrowed money. She would only get pissed off about it. Say that he wasn’t earning proper money. She would start saying that he was making matters worse when she was working to make them better. It would push her away. So he didn’t tell her where he was going. Just went into the bedroom and told her he was going out. She grumbled something inaudible. Her mind was still lost in the mists of last night. It’ll take a good hour after waking to get her head together.

So he’s walking to Jefferson’s place, because he still doesn’t have a car. Couldn’t hope to get the cash for one of those. Couldn’t buy one, couldn’t fill it with petrol even if he could. Not going to spend the money for a bus fare when he’s not in a hurry. Takes him the best part of half an hour to get there. Not long enough. Hasn’t thought of anything to say. He needs to buy time, but he has nothing to buy with. Only way to buy time is to pay some money to Jefferson. Money Glass doesn’t have. Hasn’t had in an age. All he has is words. The poor man’s currency.

Through to the back office, sitting opposite Jefferson. Same as it was when he borrowed the first time. And the second, and third. Same as when he paid back. Plain little office, Jefferson behind the desk. This time the mood is different. Gone from friendly, to understanding, to weary, to angry. Jefferson looking across the desk at him, shaking his head before he says a word.

‘I’m hoping you’re here with money, Alex, but I doubt it.’

Glass is smiling a little bit. It’s an unconvincing attempt at charm. ‘Listen, thing is, I ran out of work. But I’m confident. I am, real confident. I have something lined up. Shouldn’t need more than a couple of weeks and I’ll be able to come up with something for you. Something substantial, you know. Not just pennies this time.’

Jefferson’s frowning. ‘Not the first time you’ve told me that. Said that last time and it turned out to be baloney. I don’t see why I should trust you this time. Do you even know how much you owe me, Alex?’ Asking just to put the pressure on. They never know. Not unless they have a head for figures and the fiscal discipline to work out their interest payments. People with a head for figures and fiscal discipline don’t borrow from Gary Jefferson. They never know, and Glass won’t either.

‘I know that I owe you a lot. I know . . .’

‘Do you know that you owe me six thousand two hundred pounds?’

A frown. But no arguments. He’s borrowed over a grand from Jefferson. Makes sense that it would be up to over six thousand. Actually, he thought it might be higher than that. He has paid back about eight hundred, but not fast enough. Yes, it’s a rip-off. He knew it would be when he came here the first time. Knew it would get worse with each visit. So six thousand isn’t a surprise.

‘Okay. I owe you six thousand two hundred. And I will pay you every penny of that. You know I will.’

‘Excuse me, I do not know that. You are a client who’s never paid a debt in full. Bits and pieces, but never in full. I do not know that you are capable of paying this.’

Another frown. This is moving into territory Glass is afraid of. The lender selling the debt to a collector. He has to make sure that doesn’t happen. He couldn’t cope with that. The beatings. The intimidation. The truth spilling out. It would ruin his relationship with Ella in a heartbeat. She’d be gone. They’d take everything from him. Just hang on to what you’ve got. This might be bad, but it’s the best he can do for now.

‘Listen, okay, listen. I have some things I can sell. I have a couple of favours I can call in. I swear to you. I will raise some money by the end of the week. Can you give me until the end of the week?’ Pleading, and trying to sound like the most reasonable man in the world while he does it.

A reluctant sigh. ‘Listen to me, Alex. If you don’t have at least five hundred by the end of the week, I run out of patience. I have a business to run here. This isn’t a charity.’ How often has he spoken these words?

‘Sure. I get that, I do. Trust me: I will have five hundred by the weekend. I swear on my life I will.’

Glass is up and shaking Jefferson by the hand. So enthusiastic, just because he thinks he’s bought himself a week. They all get like that. Thinking they’ve done something brilliant. The great negotiators. Thinking a week will be enough to pay off the debt they’ve been building for months. Always thinking that something will come along and rescue them.

By the time he gets back to the flat and Ella, Glass is feeling pretty good about things. He’s got five days to put something together. To come up with some real money. Right now he has thirty quid to his name. That’s everything he has in the world. Where to find work in five days. Where to find work that will pay him five hundred quid. Okay, that’s a tough one. Begging to Peterkinney again. That has to be the first port of call. After that, he’s out of options. Into desperation territory. Kind of territory where you don’t earn money, you just take it.

‘I’m going out tonight,’ Ella’s saying, sitting down beside him on the couch. ‘Work.’ Neatly dressed, made-up. Always ready to make a good impression.

‘I’ll come with,’ Glass is saying optimistically.

‘No, can’t. I’m going to Heavenly. Adam told me you’re not allowed. Marty’s orders.’

Well, that’s just fucking brilliant. Ella going to a private party and Glass isn’t even allowed in the door. And whose fault is that? Peterkinney’s. So he bloody well owes him a favour. A little work isn’t much to ask. Not with the money Peterkinney’s making these days.

3

There’s a pleasure waking up in your own place for the first time. Not his parents’ house. Not his grandfather’s flat. A flat of his own. Small, sure, but he’s the only one here. He doesn’t have to wait for someone else to get out of the bathroom, or rush because they’re waiting for him. He doesn’t have to shuffle sideways to get past his grandfather in the kitchen. It’s small, but it’s big enough for one. And his own. All his own. Oliver Peterkinney, with his own place. His own privacy. His own life, at last. That’s because he has the money for it. Because he’s raising the cash to pay for this. Moving up in the world costs.