Joe Kinane wasn’t hard to spot. He was a massive bloke, about six-six with hands like shovels and a chest like the bonnet of a Transit van. He was in the ring, supervising a muscular heavy-weight who was pounding a bag being held by a little bloke who had to be in his mid sixties. Every punch landed with such force it threatened to lift the old trainer off his feet. It made me wince just watching it. Kinane glowered at me when I walked into the room. He broke away from his fighter, stepped out of the ring and crossed the floor to meet me.
‘David Blake, what the fuck do you want?’
‘It’s good to see you too Joe,’ I told him, ‘I need a word, if you could spare me a minute of your time.’
He said nothing to me just turned to the young boxer, ‘take a break,’ before adding, ‘five minutes.’ The big lad didn’t argue. The old guy looked mightily relieved.
We walked to a small office with a timber and glass front that seemed to have been added to an inside wall of the old gym as an afterthought.
‘He looks useful,’ I offered.
‘Know fighters do you?’ asked Kinane, knowing I didn’t.
‘Nope,’ I admitted, ‘but even I can see he was knocking seven shades of shite out of that bag.
‘That lad will be a British champion one day,’ he told me as if it was an undisputed fact.
We sat on stained office chairs that must have been bought from a liquidation sale or sold off by the police from their retrieved stolen goods stock. The place was a dump, and I could tell in his face Kinane knew this and was bothered by it now that I was here.
‘I take it you are still working for the old cunt.’
If anybody else had said that I would have had Finney break their arm on principle, but Kinane was a special case, so I confirmed I was still working for the “old cunt”, ‘you know I am.’
He nodded slowly, ‘so what brings you here? None of my business has anything to do with him. I’m legit. I train fighters, they box and sometimes they go on doors.’
‘Bobby knows how you make your living,’ I told him and I decided against telling Kinane that Bobby permitted him to earn that living, even though we both knew this was true. I could see no point in riling Kinane. Not when I needed his help. ‘He knows about your fighters and your doormen,’ I told him, ‘he also knows about the coke deals, the Es and the protection your boys have been offering the heroin dealers on the Sunnydale estate.’
Kinane looked a little pissed-off at this last nugget of information but it was my job to know these things. ‘Bobby’s got nowt to do with those high rises,’ he told me, ‘never has done.’
‘Which is why it doesn’t trouble him,’ I have had many a long discussion with Bobby about the potential gold mine in the Sunnydale estates, the most inaccurately named collection of high rises in Newcastle, provoking images of country fields and sunshine that are in stark contrast to its burned out cars, derelict flats and a dealer on every corner, but he has a real downer on the idea. He doesn’t like heroin. He thinks it’s risky and could end up putting him inside for life, which I understand and he doesn’t want to deal to the kids on those estates, which is noble enough. My argument is there’s always someone dealing there anyway, always has been, always will be, so it might as well be us. That way, it’s organised, there’s less anarchy, you know the purity level of the product on the streets and you don’t get users OD’ing all the time because someone didn’t know how to cut it right. There’d be no stupid feuds between rival dealers either, because they’d all be working for us and the income was about as regular as it gets. Anyway, he won’t have it.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Cartwright.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘people are talking about that.’
‘I’m sure they are,’
‘I did wonder if that was why you came,’ then he frowned, ‘Bobby doesn’t think that I…?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I lied. Bobby clearly did wonder if Kinane might be behind his problems and with some justification. They’d had a big tear-up, over lord knows what, about four, maybe five years ago now. To be honest I can barely remember the details myself after all this time but the hurt and the hate was still fresh on both sides. At the end of it all, Kinane was banished from the inner sanctum of our firm in disgrace, like Lancelot being kicked out of court by King Arthur for shagging Guinevere. Only he stuck around, stayed in the city and eked out a living in Newcastle. He could have made a big name in any other city in the country but he was one of those blokes who wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he didn’t live here.
‘I’m getting round everybody,’ I told him, ‘so I thought I may as well come and see a man who knows. You always knew everything that went on in this city Joe. We worked together often enough for me to realise that.’
‘When you were a snot-nosed kid you mean?’
‘When I was a snot-nosed kid,’ I agreed, not rising to it.
‘Well,’ he concluded, ‘you’re not a kid any more, one of Bobby’s main men, so I hear. I have heard that much.’
‘And what have you heard about Cartwright?’
‘Nowt, but I’d be surprised if he’s done a bunk. I’m assuming he’s not the only thing that’s gone missing or you wouldn’t be half so bothered.’ He’d obviously heard there was money involved but didn’t want to admit it. My silence told him everything he needed to know. He frowned, ‘Cartwright’s not the kind of bloke who would steal from a man like Mahoney, for what that’s worth, so I doubt he’s gone voluntary like.’
I took a risk then, without really knowing why.
‘He didn’t,’ I said, ‘he’s dead.’
‘Jesus,’ the big man seemed affected by that news. He would have known Cartwright well, ‘and you don’t know who’s done it?’
I shook my head and waited. The look on his face told me there was something.
‘It might be nowt.’
‘Go on.’ I urged him.
‘One of my boys was out a few weeks back and he saw Cartwright in a bar in the Bigg Market. He was talking to an Ivan.’ So someone else had seen them.
‘A Russian? Was he sure?’
‘Well my son doesn’t speak the language but yeah he reckoned it was a Russian. I s’pose he could have been from anywhere round there. Anyway he was a big fucker apparently, looked like he was in the business.’
What had George Cartwright been up to? ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘it might be something,’
‘Yeah, well, that’s for you. I wouldn’t tell Bobby fuck all but you were alright, even when me and Bobby had that row.’
‘That was between you two. It was none of my business.’
‘I know but the rest of the crew treated me like I’d shagged their sisters after that. And that cunt Finney… ’ he froze then as if he suddenly realised Bobby wouldn’t send me down here without some muscle to back me up, ‘he’s not out there is he?’ his eyes narrowed, ‘because if he is he can come in here now and I’ll show him who’s the real hard man.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said, ‘which is why I told him to wait in the car. Just leave it Joe. I know you hate him but I haven’t got time for that right now.’
Remember when you were a kid and you used to play that game with your mates where you’re wondering if Superman could fight Captain Marvel or who would win between Godzilla and King Kong? Well, there is not a man in Bobby’s firm who hasn’t silently wondered who would win if Finney and Kinane came to serious blows. I feel certain whoever finally lost that one would be a dead man and the other wouldn’t be fit for anything much afterwards.