‘Dunbar? Aye, I’ve heard the name.’
‘Tell me about him.’
‘I don’t know much. Except that the guy who dropped his name suggested Dunbar wasn’t the sort ye’d want to bump into.’
‘In what way?’
Shug shrugged.
‘Bad bastard is the vibe I got.’
‘Hardly anything new in that,’ Danny replied. ‘The place is full of them. Why’d he mention this guy?’
‘Like I said, he didn’t say much. Got the impression this guy was a new face and my man was wary of him.’
Danny nodded and supped on his Guinness, a foamy moustache forming on his grizzled features. He let Shug’s words settle on him, mulling them over.
‘Is your guy the sort that normally worries about new faces?’
Shug gave a short laugh. ‘No, he’s no. And just as well he’s no here if you’re going to be slagging him off for being scared.’
‘So why’s he worried about Dunbar?’
‘I didn’t say he was — not quite. Look, all he said was that there were some people running scared of this Sam Dunbar character. He didn’t say that he was. Said this Dunbar was making a bit of a rep for himself. I asked him what the guy had done but he just shook his head like I didn’t really want to know. “Mental” was all he’d say.’
‘So who is this guy who told you about him?’
‘Away ye go — like I’m going to tell ye that.’
‘Come on, Shug. I need to know who this guy is.’
Shug stared gravely into his pint, looking like a man who’d found a penny but lost a pint of blood.
‘Believe me, ye don’t need to, Mr Neilson. He’s not the sort that’s going to take too kindly to being asked that kind of question.’
‘Look, Shug. You tell me who he is and I’ll take my own chances talking to him. He’ll never know it came from you.’
Shug gave a despairing shake of his head and downed a huge mouthful of lager.
‘If this comes back to me, I’ll no be a happy man. I’m more likely to be a deid man.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Fucksake,’ Shug’s gruff voice got even lower. ‘It’s Glenn Paxton. He’s a debt collector for Terry Gilmartin. Ye know him?’
‘I know the name. Where will I find him?’
‘Christ, ye don’t ask much, do ye?’
‘Shug, you know you’re going to tell me and I’ll make it worth your while so just spit it out.’
‘He drinks in the Roadhouse on Gartloch Road.’
‘Aye, right, Shug. How fucking stupid do you think I am? The Roadhouse? I’d be as well going in with a uniform on and a target painted on my forehead.’
The Roadhouse was a windowless brick bungalow sitting back off the road behind Glasgow Fort with only a neighbouring Ladbrokes for company. It was strictly locals only and any strangers would have been seen coming from a mile away.
‘Where else does he drink?’
Shug sighed.
‘Wednesday nights you’ll get him in The Springcroft in Baillieston. It’s curry night. And he better never find out it was me that telt ye.’
‘Springcroft? That a Brewer’s Fayre?’
‘Used to be. Some other chain’s got it noo. I mean it, Mr Neilson. He cannae know it was me that telt ye.’
‘And I told you — he won’t.’
‘Well, ye better take someone with ye.’ Shug gave a withering sideways look at Winter. ‘Someone who can handle hisself.’
Danny laughed as Winter took offence. Okay, so he was a lover not a fighter but he was hardly useless either. Being reasonably tall in Glasgow, as he was, meant he’d lived his life having to fend off a succession of wee hard nuts who’d wanted to prove they could fight despite their stunted growth.
‘I’m sure we’ll be just fine, Shug. Tony isn’t as hopeless as he looks.’
Thanks, Uncle Danny, Winter thought. He saw Danny’s left hand slip casually under the table and Shug’s right hand do the same, neither men taking their eyes off their drinks. No one else in the room would have noticed a thing.
‘So what’s happening in the motor trade, Shug? Business good?’
‘No bad, Mr Neilson. No bad. It never changes whether there’s a recession on or no. People always need a motor and if they’ve got less money to spend, then all the more reason they don’t buy one aff the forecourt. Know what I mean? And wherever they buy them from, things always go wrong. Keeps me in beer money, you know?’
‘Oh, I know. A bit of cut and shut, remove the VIN number, scratch out engine and chassis numbers, give the engine a bit more va-va-voom and turn back the clock like there’s no tomorrow. All in an honest day’s work for a dodgy mechanic, eh, Shug?’
Shug’s pint had been halfway to his mouth but he carefully put it back on the ring-marked table with a look of righteous indignation on his face.
‘Now, haud your horses right there, Mr Neilson. While not acknowledging any of the actions you mentioned, I have to tell you that I take great exception to the phrase “dodgy mechanic”. Okay, you may well be using the word in the sense of it meaning illegal. And I’d grant you there may be a small element of truth in that. However… dodgy, in the motor business, also suggests incompetence — a cowboy, if ye will. And I’m no having that. I know my stuff. I prefer the term “black market mechanic”, if ye don’t mind.’
Danny laughed.
‘Well, Mr Shug, I apologise if I have offended your professional sensibilities. Heaven fucking forefend if anyone were to think I was suggesting you were in any way unskilled. Fucksake, Shug, half of Glasgow knows that if you weren’t a lazy wee shite and as bent as a six-pound coin, you could have been sorting cars for a Formula 1 team. A great loss to the world of Grand Prix racing but a gain for backstreet garages across Glesga.’
Shug puffed himself up, preening at the compliment, and dragged a hand through his extraordinary ginger locks.
‘Thank you, Mr Neilson. It’s always gratifying when a fellow professional such as yersel recognises the merits of one’s work.’
Danny smiled back and began to get up from the table, nodding to Winter that it was time to make a move. However, as he did so, Shug Brennan put a hand on Danny’s arm, leaned in towards him and whispered hoarsely.
‘Mr Neilson, you be careful with Paxton. The guy’s a sort of pal of mine but he cannae half be a fucking bad bastard when he’s got a drink in him. Terrible temper the man’s got. Call me sentimental but I wouldnae like to see ye get hurt.’
Danny roared with laughter.
‘Man of my age, you mean? Ha. I’m touched, Shug. Didn’t know you cared. Don’t you worry; I’ll be fine. I’ve got Tony here to look after me.’
Danny and Shug both laughed like a couple of fishwives. Winter wanted to smack their fucking heads together.
CHAPTER 27
Jordanhill College of Education had turned out most of the teachers, primary and secondary, in west and central Scotland for nearly a hundred years until it became part of the University of Strathclyde in the early nineties. Among the former students were the two that Narey was particularly interested in. She was on campus with an appointment to see one of the senior members of staff.
A receptionist directed her up one floor and along a corridor until she found the room she was looking for. The nameplate on the door read Dr Hilary Henderson, Vice Dean. Narey knocked and almost immediately a woman’s voice called out, urging her to enter.
A short, blonde woman in her late fifties was already bounding towards the door by the time Narey had opened it and stepped through. Casually dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and with a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose, she had her hand out in greeting.
‘Sergeant Narey? I’m Hilary. I see you managed to find your way here okay. How can I help you?’