‘Whisky.’
Costello nodded to my dark-haired abductor, who headed off through the fug and throng to the bar, leaving us alone. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the adventure I thought it would be. The singer over by the piano seemed to enter a paroxysm of passion. She was a thick-bodied woman in her fifties, about as curvaceous as a beer barrel, with a round, white face, small eyes, hair that was too dark and too long and lips that were too red. She was clearly a singer of the traditional sort, insofar as she was following the age-old Glasgow tradition of adding an extra syllable to every lyric and then singing them through her nose. A Glasgow pub is the place to be if you have an aversion to consonants. The singer informed me and anyone else within a five-mile radius that — apparently — the pipes, the pipes were calling Dhmnnaa-anny Bhee-hoy.
My escort arrived with two whiskies and a pint of stout, then left us alone again.
‘You gave my boy Paul a hiding,’ said Costello. No anger. He sipped his stout and looked at me with little interest.
‘He asked for it, Jimmy. He went for a blade. Is this what this is all about?’
‘No. And that’s not why I sent Tony and Joe to pick you up the other day either. All of that shite… it was unnecessary. ’
‘Like I told your monkeys, if you want to talk to me, pick up a ’phone.’
‘Listen, Lennox, don’t fuck about with me. I’m letting the thing with Paul go. I’m letting the thing with Tony and Joe go… and believe me, Tony and Joe don’t want it let go… So stop talking to me like I’m a piece of shite. You’ve made it clear what you think of me, but you’re on my ground now. I could hand you over to the boys and send you home with your nose out of joint.’
I was about to answer when the singer in the corner reached new heights of volume and tunelessness. ‘ Dhmnnaaany Beh-ho-oy… dnhe beh-ipes, dnhe beh-ipes harr caw-haw-hing… ’
‘You could try,’ I said. ‘I’m working for Willie Sneddon. And that’s one nose you don’t want to put out of joint. So let’s cut the crap. What do you want?’
‘Why did you beat up Paul?’
‘I thought this wasn’t about that.’
‘It isn’t. Not directly. I just need to know why you and him had words. Was it about this Gainsborough boy?’
‘Sammy Pollock is his real name. Yes it was, as a matter of fact.’
‘He’s missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘So’s Paul.’
There was a moment’s silence. Or there would have been if Govan’s answer to Maria Callas hadn’t continued to pipe up.
‘ Fuh-hum glemn to glemn… hend de-hown dnhe mowmn-teh-ain say-hide… dnhe suhmner his ge-hon, hend hall dnhe flouw-wurs fawhhaw-ing…’
‘What do you mean missing?’ I asked.
‘What the fuck do you think I mean? He’s missing. He’s not around and no one’s seen him for three days.’
‘And you think I’ve got something to do with that?’
‘No. That’s not why you’re here. I want you to find him.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Aye… and one of the things you is busy with is finding the Gainsborough boy. It’s all connected. Paul was going around with him. They had big ideas. Fuck knows what, but they had big ideas.’ Costello’s ugly mouth drooped even further beneath the moustache. ‘That’s all Paul has… is big ideas. No fucking guts or brains to make anything of them ideas.’
I sipped the whisky. In comparison, the stuff they had served at Sneddon’s pikey fight was nectar.
‘Diss heyoo, diss heyoo ewho mnuss ge-ho, hend heye mnuss stuhhay …’
‘And you have no idea where he’s disappeared to or why?’ I asked.
Costello shook a sullen, ugly head.
‘The two monkeys who brought me here… what are their names?’
‘What?’ Costello looked confused. ‘The dark-haired one is called Skelly. His pal is called Young. Why?’
‘Did you tell Skelly to stick a gun in my ribs to get me here? I take exception to people pointing guns at me.’
Costello looked at me dourly and shook his head. ‘He’s a fucking bampot. I told him to make sure you came here. None of my crew should have shooters unless I say so. I’ll sort him out.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll have a word with him. I think it’s better coming from me, if you know what I mean. But that’s not why I was asking about Skelly and Young. I was told they were hanging about Sammy Pollock before he went missing. If it wasn’t them, it was their twins, going by the description I got.’
‘They’re younger than the rest of my people. They hang around with Paul a lot. Maybe they think that he’s the future. Some fucking hope. But that’s all there is to it: Paul hung around Sammy, and Skelly and Young hung around Paul.’
I made to take another sip of the whisky, then put the glass back down again, deciding I’d rather keep my stomach lined. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ I said. ‘I’m still looking into this Sammy Pollock business. If I find out anything about Paul, I’ll let you know.’
‘I’ll pay you…’
‘No need. But you’ll owe me a favour. The other thing is I need you to forget about what happened between me and Paul. And with your other three monkeys.’
‘I already said…’
‘There’s more…’ I looked across at the bar where Skelly was talking to his sandy-haired chum. ‘I’m a man of principle, you could say. One of those principles is I don’t let people point guns at me.’
‘Aw… for fuck’s sake…’ Costello looked over to Skelly at the bar then back at me. ‘Couldn’t you let it go? I can’t have you slapping all of my people around.’
‘That’s the deal.’
Costello paused for the clapping and raucous cheering that accompanied the conclusion of Dhmnnaaany Beh-ho-oy. I felt like cheering myself. When the applause died down, Costello nodded, acquiescing in the only way he knew how: sullenly.
‘Now, back to young Paul,’ I said. ‘The first thing I would have thought you would have done is to speak to this guy Largo?’
‘What? Who the fuck is Largo?’
‘You don’t know anyone called Largo?’
‘Should I?’
I leaned back and sighed. ‘No reason you should. Everybody I’ve asked about Largo has never heard of him. When I came across Paul at Sammy’s flat, he started off thinking I was a copper.’
‘He took you for polis?’
‘Yeah… I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’m making a formal complaint to my tailor. Anyway, when he realized I wasn’t, he asked if Largo had sent me. When I asked him who Largo was, he gave me the brush-off, but he did say it was somebody he owed some money to.’
Costello looked at me. His was the expressionless kind of face that was difficult to read. ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ he said at last. ‘Why would Paul be borrowing money from someone? And if he did, how come I’ve never heard of this fucker Largo?’
‘I caught Paul on the hop. It could be that this thing about owing Largo money was just the best explanation he could think of on the spur. Anyway, like I said, I’m looking into who this Largo might be because he could be connected to this thing with Sammy Pollock. And Paul dropping out of sight is probably connected, as you’ve already guessed.’ I paused for a moment. ‘What about the “Poppy Club”… that mean anything to you?’
Costello shook his head. ‘Has that got something to do with Paul?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe to do with Sammy Pollock. Maybe nothing to do with anything.’ I stood up and picked up my hat. ‘Okay, would you tell your monkey to give me my keys back. I’ll be in touch if I find out anything about Paul.’
‘Tell me something, Lennox,’ said Costello. ‘This thing with Sammy Pollock… and now with Paul… are you looking for people or bodies. It doesn’t look good does it?’
I shrugged. ‘Them disappearing doesn’t mean they’re dead, Jimmy. I’m beginning to suspect they were doing a bit of business on the side, probably with this guy Largo who no one knows anything about. It could be that he’s after them for money and they’ve both had to take a powder for a while. Who knows.’
‘He’s my boy, Lennox. My son. He’s a waster and a wanker, but he’s my son. Find him for me. I don’t care what you say, I’ll make it worth your while.’