‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He must have taken more than his fair share of beatings in the ring.’
‘That’s got fuck all to do with boxing. Bert Soutar was too light on his feet to get battered like that in the ring or in a bare-knuckle fight. No, that was the fucking polis that did that to him. They half-killed him. Took fucking turns with him. You see, it was a message… you don’t cut a Cossack.’ MacSherry referred to the Sillitoe Cossacks, the gang-busting mounted police squad set up by the then Chief Constable of Glasgow, Percy Sillitoe. ‘When Soutar came out of prison he gave up the Billy Boys. Apparently he was a model prisoner inside and got out after six years. And he came out with big ideas. He said he wasn’t interested in the Billy Boys any more. He said there was no money in it. And he was finished as a boxer. The beatings he took in prison fucked up his face. He couldn’t take any more damage, and couldn’t get a licence ’cause of his face and ’cause he was an ex-con. It was about then that he started hanging around with some Flash Harry who filled his head with all kinds of money-making schemes.’
‘Who was the Flash Harry?’
‘I didn’t know him at the time. He wasn’t from Bridgeton and I think he was younger than us. Quite a bit younger. But, like I say, flash as fuck. Soutar and this bloke got into the boxing game for a while. Fixing up fights, in more ways than one if you get my fucking drift. Never saw him after that, but I don’t think the partnership lasted. Soutar just disappeared and MacFarlane became a big fucking success.’
‘MacFarlane?’
‘Aye. Small Change MacFarlane. That was the Flash Harry. Became a big-time bookie. Fuck all good it did him considering he ended up having his coupon smashed to fuck.’
I sat and nodded as if I had been processing the information, hiding the fact that a dozen possible combinations of people and events were now running through my head. The flat door was still open and I heard voices out on the hall. The old fat woman and a male voice. Time to go. I stood up and handed MacSherry the other five pounds.
‘It’s not enough,’ he said.
‘What?’ I put on my best confused expression. I wasn’t confused at all.
‘Another ten.’
‘You’ve been paid for your time, Mr MacSherry. More than adequately paid.’
He stood up. I heard a sound behind me and turned to see the collarless sentinel had been the voice out on the landing and was now blocking my exit through the hallway. He smiled maliciously at me.
‘Another ten. Hand it over. In fact, let me save you a lot of trouble. Just hand over your fucking wallet.’
I weighed up the situation. Sticky. The old guy would have been tough enough to deal with on his own, but the younger man tipped the scales well and truly against me.
I shrugged.
‘Okay. I’ll give you all the money in my wallet. It’s nothing to me. I just claim it back from the investors I was telling you about.’ I frowned pensively then made out as if an idea had suddenly struck me. ‘Why don’t I just get them to come and see you in person. You can sort out remuneration with them. Mr William Sneddon is my employer. Mr Jonathan Cohen is the other investor.’ I kept my tone friendly, as if I really didn’t mean it as the threat it was. ‘I know Mr Sneddon is very angry about people interfering in his business arrangements. So I’m sure he’ll take your request for more payment seriously. Very seriously.’
MacSherry looked over my shoulder at the younger guy and then back at me. ‘Why didn’t you say you worked for Mr Sneddon? Maybe you’re just pissing down my back and telling me it’s raining.’
‘If there’s a working callbox anywhere in this shithole, then we can take a wander to it and you can ask him yourself. Or I could simply ask for Twinkletoes McBride to come down here and convince you of my credentials.’ I dropped the friendly tone. It was a careful balancing act. Some people don’t have the sense to know when to be scared. I’d have bet my last penny on MacSherry being one of them.
He gave a jerk of his head in a signal for the younger man to let me past.
‘Thanks for your help, Mr MacSherry.’ I turned and walked out of the flat casually and unhurriedly.
But I didn’t take my hand from the sap in my pocket until I was out on the street and around the first corner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time I had waited for a tram it was nearly six before I got back to my office. It was turning into another oppressive evening, the air clinging, humid and heavy, and I felt my shirt collar damp at the nape of my neck again. Davey Wallace called me at six on the dot, as agreed. Davey couldn’t drive and I told him to stay put and wait in the Atlantic until I came up. I decided I’d probably take a taxi up to Blanefield and get it to take Davey back home. Riding in a taxi was one of the luxuries in life most Glaswegians only ever experienced on special occasions. Before I went up to Blanefield, I ’phoned Sneddon. I told him what had happened at MacSherry’s place.
‘He knew you was there for me?’ he asked.
‘Not to start with. But I told him later.’
‘Fucking slum rats. I’ll arrange a lesson in respect.’
‘You better send a mob, then. From what I can see, the old guy still has a crew of sorts. And he has a reputation that must have been earned.’ I neglected to tell Sneddon that MacSherry had backed down at the first mention of his name. I was pissed because the old man had tried to turn out my pockets. A lesson in respect, as Sneddon said.
‘Aye? Well, I’ll arrange a change of scenery for him. I bet he doesn’t get out of Bridgeton much,’ said Sneddon, reminding me of the promise Superintendent McNab had made me. There was so much local colour here; maybe ‘fucking off back to Canada’ would do my health a bit of good.
‘I did get something interesting out of the whole encounter,’ I said. ‘Did you know that Bert Soutar went into business with Small Change MacFarlane? Some time around the start of the war?’
‘No…’ I could tell Sneddon was doing the same jigsaw puzzle in his head that I had done in Bridgeton. ‘No, I didn’t. Do you think it’s significant?’
‘Well, this hot deal that turned into a fairy story about boxing academies… it could be that Small Change was covering up the detail and not the principals. Maybe it was something to do with Bobby Kirkcaldy. And maybe the deal was brokered through MacFarlane’s old chum Soutar.’
‘But MacFarlane was going to broker the deal to me.’ I could tell that Sneddon was laying down the fact to see what I would do with it.
‘Let’s not forget Small Change had his skull cracked like an egg,’ I said. ‘My guess is it was all about this deal. He was at the heart of it and was playing for the big money, not for some commission. And I suspect Uncle Bert is involved some way.’
‘You think he battered Small Change’s coupon in?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t see why he would, unless something went pear-shaped with the deal, whatever it was. But maybe it was whoever’s been leaving warning messages for Kirkcaldy. One thing I’m sure of is that Kirkcaldy doesn’t appreciate the attention we’ve been giving him. Speaking of which, can I borrow a couple of bodies to take turns watching Kirkcaldy’s place. I’ve just got the one guy and me.’
‘Okay,’ said Sneddon. ‘You can have Twinkletoes. You two seem to get on.’
‘Yeah…’ I said. ‘Like a house on fire… Thanks. I’ll let you know when I need him.’
After I hung up I locked the office and took a taxi down to the Pacific Club. Like the last time I had been here they were just starting to get the place ready for the evening’s trade. The manager Jonny Cohen had running the place was a small handsome Jew in his early forties called Larry Franks. I’d never met Franks before but he seemed to recognize me; he came over and introduced himself as soon as I arrived. He had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up.