‘Stands Scotland where it did, Lennox?’ He reached out his hand and I shook it.
‘Wrong character.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got the wrong Macbeth character. MacDuff asks Ross: “Stands Scotland where it did?” The character of Lennox doesn’t say anything much to anybody. Just sticks by his king and ends up getting killed for it.’
‘Is that the kind of Lennox you are? The question is which king would you stick by?’ Jonny didn’t wait for an answer and grinned. ‘You know what I like about you, Lennox? Talking to you is always an education.’
‘It’s the company I keep. I’ve been hanging around with Twinkletoes McBride. Sometimes it’s just like the Brains Trust when we get together. Anyway, I think it’s fair to say you and I have learned a few things from each other… about each other… don’t you, Jonny?’
Jonny’s smile stayed in place but changed a little, like a wisp of cloud passing across the sun. ‘What can I do for you, Lennox?’
‘Well, I’ve got two cases on at the moment and you’re involved in both, in a way.’
‘Oh? I take it one is the Bobby Kirkcaldy carry-on.’
‘Willie Sneddon has asked me to speak to Kirkcaldy. Looks like someone’s trying to spook your fighter.’
One of the staff started to vacuum and Jonny winced at the noise. He beckoned for me to follow him and we sat at a table right at the back of the club, on an elevated section that over-looked the small stage. It was odd seeing Handsome Jonny Cohen here: he could not have looked more out of place; which was even more odd because it was, after all, his place. If you had seen him here as a customer, with his looks and expensive haircuts and tailoring you paid for in guineas, not pounds, you would say to yourself: ‘That guy’s slumming it.’ But he wasn’t a Pacific Club customer: he was the owner. And Jonny the businessman knew that he didn’t need to lavish his good taste or better cash on the place.
I took my hat off and ran a smoothing hand through my ’Pherson’s cut. The finest one-and-sixpence could buy you in Glasgow. But it still wasn’t Hollywood.
‘Just a minute…’ He got up again and went across to one of the girls preparing the bar. He sat down again and once more hit me with his searchlight smile. ‘I’ve got a treat for you.’
The girl came back with a bottle and two glasses.
‘Thanks, Fran…’ he said and took the bottle from her and held it towards me, cradling it in both hands as if presenting me with an award.
‘All the way from Bardstown, Kentucky. Heaven Hill Bourbon. I know you prefer ryes to Scotches. Go on, try it.’ He poured me a glass and I took a sip.
‘Perfect…’ I said. And it was.
‘You know Sneddon and I both have a share in Kirkcaldy?’
‘Yeah. But Murphy hasn’t?’
Jonny shook his head as if I’d suggested he sell me his sister for sex. ‘Not likely. And it’s best he doesn’t know anything about this. He’s always moaning that we leave him out of stuff. Well, this time we did. He’d start throwing his weight about and there are other people involved with Kirkcaldy who’d run a mile if they took one look at Murphy.’
‘I know the feeling,’ I said.
‘Sneddon’s got this bee in his bonnet about Kirkcaldy being got at,’ Jonny said with an almost sigh.
‘I can see his point.’
Jonny shook his head. ‘Something’s not right about it, Lennox. It’s not just a spook job. All of this shite… nooses left on his doorstep.’
‘Nooses?’ I put my drink down. ‘Sneddon didn’t say anything about nooses. He said Kirkcaldy had had paint poured over his car and a dead bird put through his letterbox.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jonny. ‘Those too. But someone laid out a hangman’s noose on his doorstep. And did Sneddon tell you about the paint on the car? The colour, I mean?’
I shook my head.
‘Red. Blood red. And the dead bird wasn’t just a sparrow or shite like that. It was a dove. A white dove. Now what the fuck’s all that about?’
‘Put it all together and it looks like someone’s making some kind of death threat,’ I said. ‘I’d say that would fit with warning him off winning this fight.’
‘Naw… something doesn’t feel kosher about it all,’ said Jonny. ‘It was me who suggested to Sneddon that we put you on to it. There’s more to this than some kind of half-arsed attempt at fight fixing. You know what I mean?’
I shrugged. ‘I’ll explore every avenue, as they say in all the best cop movies.’
‘You said two.’
‘What?’
‘You said there were two cases you were looking into that I was involved in some way.’
‘Oh… yes. Well, not you so much as this place,’ I said, looking around me. ‘You know the singer Sheila Gainsborough?’
‘’Course. Glasgow girl made good. Nice singing voice.’
‘And the lungs to go with it,’ I said. ‘Anyway, her brother has gone missing.’
‘Oh yeah. Sammy Gainsborough.’
‘Sammy Pollock. Gainsborough is her stage name. She’s legally changed it now to Gainsborough but it was Pollock. Her brother is Sammy Pollock.’
‘I’ve got news for you. He goes by the name Gainsborough now, at least professionally. Cashing in on Big Sis’s success, I’d guess.’
‘So you do know him.’
‘Sure. He’s sung here a couple of times. He’s nothing to write home about. Okay voice, but he’s no match for his sister.’
‘When did he last sing here?’
‘About three weeks ago.’ Jonny took a cigarette case from his pocket and offered me one. We both lit up. ‘Sammy was filling in for a cancelled act. Last minute thing. He wasn’t a regular booking here. Haven’t seen him since, even as a customer.’
‘Was he a regular?’
‘Reasonably. That’s why we were able to get him to stand in for the act that cried off sick. He wasn’t just available: he was here.’
‘Did you know that he’s involved with Jimmy Costello’s son?’
‘Paul Costello?’ Jonny frowned. ‘No I didn’t. Now that is one greasy little shite. Now that you mention it, he’s been around the club a few times. I wouldn’t have linked him with Sammy though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them together. Not here. Do you think young Costello has something to do with Sammy Gainsborough’s disappearance?’
‘I don’t know, Jonny. He says he didn’t even know that Sammy was missing. Maybe he isn’t. Could be he’s off on a bender somewhere and he’ll wash up in a couple of days or so.’
‘If he is missing, I would take a long hard look at Costello. If he’s anything like his old man he’s a twisted wee bastard trying to squeeze cash from anything he can lay his hands on.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind. How well do you know Costello? I mean Costello senior?’
‘I haven’t had a lot of dealings with him. He runs a bookie and a pub in the East End. Pays tribute to Hammer Murphy and Murphy calls on him for stuff now and again. Borrows extra muscle, that kind of thing. Murphy really does run his patch as a kingdom. Or a fiefdom. Costello does as he’s told, pays what he’s told and is left to do his own thing so long as Murphy’s kept in the know.’
‘That’s pretty much what I thought. And is Costello Junior learning the trade from his old man?’
‘Costello has two sons. Paul and his older brother, Michael. I don’t think Costello has much time for either of them. Paul is a wanker and Michael turned out to be a real disappointment to his old man.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah… imagine the shame of your son turning out honest when you’ve devoted your life to thieving. Must have been a huge blow to Costello to see the fruit of his loins turn out to be law-abiding. Michael even considered the priesthood, apparently, but instead moved to Edinburgh and works as a civil servant.’
‘Shit…’ My tone and expression registered my sympathy for both father and son. ‘A civil servant in Edinburgh. No one deserves that. Do you know of a Frenchman called Barnier?’ I asked.