‘Tommy,’ said Arthur, ‘go to the bar and get me two glasses of that single malt from Oban.’ Tommy Gladwell looked less than thrilled to be fetching Bobby his drink but he went anyway. We watched him trudge over to the bar and order and we waited for Arthur to say something.
‘We’ve known each other for a long time Bobby,’ he said finally, ‘we’ve had our differences over the years, no one would deny that. I wouldn’t call us friends but I’d say we respect each other. I’ve heard about your troubles – but I’m not the cause of them.’
Gladwell junior returned with the glasses and handed one to Bobby who took it silently. Arthur raised his own glass to Bobby’s, they clinked them together and each took an appreciative sip, ‘I don’t want to go to war with you,’ said Arthur, ‘just as you don’t want to go to war with me. I’m too old and too busy with my own patch. This city is full of Jack-the-lads, all flexing their muscles because they want a piece of what I’ve got. They all want to be Top Boy and I get no rest ‘cos I’ve got to keep putting them back in their place. I think you understand that.’ Bobby’s eyes narrowed in recognition. Arthur took another sip of his malt, ‘I don’t have to swear on the lives of my grandchildren Bobby but I will if it will make you feel better.’
‘No Arthur, you’re telling me it isn’t so and that’s good enough for me.’
‘Good,’ said Arthur Gladwell, ‘now why don’t you join us for a drink, your boys too of course.’
‘Thanks Arthur. I appreciate the invitation but I’ll leave you to your family. It’s time we were heading back.’ And he drained the last dregs of the malt and handed the empty glass back to Tommy Gladwell, who took it meekly enough, though he looked like he’d rather have seen it hit the floor. Bobby and Arthur Gladwell shook hands and, at the last moment, Tommy Gladwell tried to shake Bobby’s hand but Bobby was already turning his back. I don’t think he was snubbing the bloke deliberately but Bobby was the kind of man who wouldn’t have given a toss either way. As Bobby turned away there was an awkward moment where Tommy had his hand outstretched and there was no one there to shake it. I didn’t want him to look like a complete tosser so I leaned forward, shook his hand and said, ‘hope your mother has a great night.’
When we were back in the train Bobby said, ‘how has he heard about my troubles?’
‘Eh?’ asked Finney.
‘I said, how does he know about my troubles?’
‘I dunno,’ answered Finney. He seemed a little perturbed to be asked the question. I kept silent, assuming it was rhetorical.
We had the first class carriage to ourselves, except for a business type who was busy reading his paper.
‘What did you think about that Davey?’ Bobby asked me.
‘Well, he’s saying it has nowt to do with him and I tend to believe it.’
‘You believe that fucking snake,’ said Jerry Lemon, ‘he’d grass on his own grandma if it suited him.’
‘And so would we,’ I reminded him, ‘I don’t know, I may be wrong but my instinct says it isn’t Arthur Gladwell. He doesn’t want a war right now. In fact it’s the last thing he needs, though… ’
‘What?’ asked Bobby
‘He didn’t say anything about Stone, when you showed him the picture. He didn’t say a word.’
‘Well, he would know him, a professional operator on his patch,’ said Bobby.
‘Yeah but he didn’t deny using him, he didn’t ask you what any of this had to do with him, he just didn’t say anything.’
‘So what you’re saying is, you don’t know if it’s him or not?’ challenged Jerry Lemon.
‘Yes, that’s right Jerry, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘Then going up there was a complete waste of time,’ added Jerry.
‘No it wasn’t!’ snapped Bobby, ‘if it was him, he knows we are on to him and he’s been warned off. If it wasn’t, well he knows we don’t fuck about down here, we come up and confront people if we think they are taking the piss, so him and his boys will know that too, for future reference.’
‘Sorry Bobby,’ said Jerry Lemon, ‘I was only saying…’
‘Maybe you should do a bit less saying and a bit more thinking. Do you reckon word won’t get round that we went up there to have it out with Arthur Gladwell face to face on his own patch?’ Course it will. Every grass in the city will be onto it by now. We’ll have been picked up on CCTV arriving at the station. That shows we’ll stand, against anyone. Anyone,’ Bobby stared out of the train window and he carried on addressing Jerry without even looking at him, ‘why don’t you do something useful for a change. Go down to the buffet car and get us all a drink.’
I was beginning to think it was worth the journey to Glasgow just to see Jerry Lemon get slapped down like that.
TWENTY-SEVEN
We were back to square one. We had nothing; just a photofit of a petty criminal from Glasgow and a Russian connection we didn’t understand. It was doing my head in. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Bobby still didn’t have his money and, more importantly, I hadn’t found out who was behind his ‘troubles’, as Arthur Gladwell so tellingly referred to them.
I was at home watching the football when the phone rang. Out of the blue, Joe Kinane called me. His happiness was in direct contrast to my mood.
‘I just thought I’d give you a ring about my lad,’ he told me.
‘How’d he get on?’
‘Beat it,’ he said.
‘Really?’ this was more than I could have hoped for, ‘that’s brilliant. What happened?’
‘Self-defence,’ he said laughing, ‘which it was of course, kind of, but that lawyer of yours was the dog’s. She took the other guy apart.’
‘Told you,’ I said.
‘Aye, well, he got a more comprehensive beating from her than he ever did from my boy. It helped that she seemed to have a lot of information about his character, stuff he wouldn’t want a jury to hear. Turns out he wasn’t a very nice bloke,’ he said dryly.
‘You don’t say? Amazing what a good lawyer can turn up.’
‘It is,’ and he laughed, ‘anyway, I just wanted to thank you for putting me onto her.’
‘My pleasure mate,’ I told him. I was glad he was expressing his gratitude discreetly. If anyone was listening into this, all they could accuse me of was knowing a good lawyer. ‘That’s in return for all the help and guidance you gave me when I was a snot-nosed kid.’
‘Aye, er sorry about that like,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry about it Joe.’
‘Well, I owe you one,’ he told me before he rang off, ‘if I hear anything about that other thing, anything at all, I’ll let you know.’
‘Cheers,’ I said. Maybe he would turn something up but somehow I doubted it. We had every man in our outfit on it permanently and not one of them had come up with anything worth a light.
I had never seen Sharp so rattled before. My tame DS was shitting it. It was not a good start.
‘I can’t meet you here,’ he hissed at me after I ordered a drink a few feet from him in Rosies.
‘I thought I was your major criminal source,’ I said, playing his game and not looking directly at him. Instead I stared at the mirror in front of me then up at the weird assortment of ghoulish mannequin heads that were arrayed on a ledge above the bar. They didn’t really fit in with all of the framed football shirts on the walls. The bar staff were busy bottling up and the pub was quiet so this nonsense was do-able but I seriously doubted if it would fool anyone for long.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘I never said it was,’ I assured him, ‘where then?’ I took a big gulp of my beer.
‘The Angel,’ he said, ‘one hour – but don’t be surprised if I don’t show.’
‘You’d better show,’ I warned him and I took another large swig of beer.
He turned to face me then and he looked wild eyed, ‘you don’t get it, you don’t know what’s going on. They’re everywhere, all over the station, asking questions, questions about me.’