Afterwards, Mike had studied at college, found himself a flat on the edge of the New Town. And, a few brawls apart, he’d succeeded in leaving his upbringing far behind – parents dead, his only sister living in Canada. It interested him that Chib wasn’t merely about anger and the need to be the alpha male. There was intelligence in those piercing eyes, and a hunger for something – knowledge, perhaps. Maybe the gangster was beginning to realise just how narrow his world had become.
And just maybe, Mike conceded, the same thing was happening to him.
He watched as, without saying anything more, Chib got out of the car and walked to the edge of the car park, from where he could stare out across a nearby pond. Mike decided to follow, getting a cigarette lit as he exited the car. His hands were trembling, but only just. There was a small island in the middle of the pond, a swan nesting while its mate swam in protective circles. A woman had brought her toddler along so they could toss chunks of bread to a nearby cacophony of ducks, coots and moorhens. But it was the swans that interested Chib. He’d slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched them. Mike wished he knew what the man was thinking. Maybe he wanted the same sense of poise and certainty, the same equilibrium. Mike made the offer of a cigarette from his packet, but Chib shook his head. It was another minute or so before he spoke.
‘You lied to me, Mike, back in that gallery. Said you were in computers. I suppose it’s sort of true, but you didn’t want me to know all of it. Mr Success Story. Mr Millions in the Bank. A tenner to a kid in an internet café and I had more gen on you than I knew what to do with.’ He glanced towards Mike. ‘Scared I’d come calling on you one cold dark night, hand stretched out for a sub?’
Mike gave a shrug. ‘I didn’t want to look like I was showing off.’
‘We Scots are bad that way,’ Chib eventually acknowledged. ‘You ever been back to the school? Have they not invited you to hand out the prizes, inspire the kids with a few words of wisdom?’
‘No.’
‘Your old college gave you an honorary degree, though – was it the cash they were after?’
‘One day, I suppose,’ Mike conceded.
‘Kid says you’re not signed up to any of those sites that put you in touch with old pals.’
‘Like I told you, that’s because I don’t have any old pals.’
‘No, me neither…’ Chib leaned forward to spit on to the surface of the pond. ‘Doubt most of the folk I was at school with would give me the time of day. They organised some anniversary do last year for kids in our year – did you get an invite to that?’
‘I think so.’
‘You should’ve gone. Rented a Roller for the night and a couple of nice-looking escorts… rubbed all their noses in it.’
‘You could’ve done that, too,’ Mike offered, causing Chib to smile.
‘Don’t go thinking it didn’t cross my mind, but in the end… Well, fuck it.’ He made a little writhing motion, as though a cold wind were blowing. Then he turned his body so he was face to face with Mike. The hands stayed in their pockets. Mike was reminded of their meeting at the gallery and his fear that the gangster carried a gun or a knife. He doubted it now. But Calloway had worries in his life – maybe to do with ‘the Viking’. And Mike had given him something to take his mind off them – a fresh challenge. ‘You’ll need to be tooled up, Mike, you do realise that? You’re going to have to put the fear of God into everybody, make them think you’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘But the gun doesn’t need to be real, right?’
Chib shook his head. ‘Just needs to look real – if that’s what you want.’
‘That’s all we’ll need.’
‘Better be sure of that – just takes one of the guards to be ex-military… you poke an airgun in his face and he’s going to know it.’
‘Replicas, then.’
‘Even better is the real thing with the firing pin out.’
‘You’re the expert, Chib.’
‘Damned right I am.’ He was silent for a few more moments. ‘Four additional crew, I reckon. One apiece for the gatehouse and guardroom and two to keep the visitors quiet. That leaves the three of you clear to do the actual finding and fetching.’
‘Quicker we’re in and out, the better for all concerned.’
‘Still can’t see it, though, Mike – you and the old professor guy and that poofy-looking pal of yours? More I think about it, more I’m convinced it’s a wind-up.’
‘You don’t think it’ll work?’
‘Actually, it sounds all right. It’s the planners rather than the plan I’m thinking of…’
‘Needn’t concern you, Chib. If it falls apart, it’s our problem – you’ll still get your fee, and so will the four crew. Have you got anyone in mind?’
‘You want them young,’ Chib stated. ‘Means they’re hungry, on top of which there’s all that testosterone… makes them even scarier.’
‘How much will they want?’
But Chib shook his head. ‘Guns and bodies aren’t a problem. Crew don’t even need to be told who they’re working for – a word from me’ll be enough. All they’ll see is a warehouse, won’t know what’s being taken.’
‘They will if they’re in the back of the van. Speaking of which…’
‘Getting a van’s easy enough – maybe with faked number plates. Something plain, something like a Transit. Nobody looks twice at blacked-out windows in the back of one of those…’
‘Fair enough. So, really, we’re back to your fee…’
‘How does a hundred and fifty thou sound?’
Mike’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘Bit on the high side, actually,’ he was able to say eventually. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’
Chib barked out a laugh and slid a hand from his pocket so he could slap Mike on the arm with it. ‘Tell you what,’ he offered. ‘I’d be willing to take a painting off your hands, so long as it was worth that sort of money.’
‘What?’
‘Auctions don’t make much sense to me, Mike. You’re planning on lifting seven paintings… seems to me one extra won’t make much difference.’
‘You’d never be able to sell it… not on the open market.’
‘I’m not planning on selling it.’
‘If one forgery’s identified,’ Mike persisted, ‘the others won’t be far behind.’
Chib’s face hardened. ‘That’s my price, Mike. Unless you want to stump up the cash equivalent.’
Mike thought hard. ‘Our forger’s pushed as it is,’ was all he could manage.
‘Then we push him harder.’ Chib had leaned in towards Mike. Although the gangster was a good couple of inches shorter than him, Mike felt he was being towered over. The city he knew was no longer visible and the temperature had dropped. The bird-feeders had disappeared. No cars passed, no other humans within hailing distance. ‘Have we got a deal?’ Chib was intoning. ‘Or do I start to get narked again that you lied to me back in that gallery?’
One of the ducks had vanished beneath the surface of the pond. Mike was beginning to understand how it felt…
The oversized envelope had been left at reception by a courier. Allan opened it in his office, relieved afterwards that he hadn’t delegated the task to his secretary – a scale photocopy of Gissing’s drawing of the compound.