Pay Off (12 page)

The two waiters stepped forward and picked me up and half led, half carried me to the manager's office where they wiped the blood from my mouth and told me that they wouldn't call the police this time, but I was never to darken their doorstep again and then they half carried, half pushed 95 me out of the front door and down the steps to Berkeley Square.

'Jesus, boss, what happened?' asked McKinley, as I opened the car door and lowered myself painfully into the passenger seat.

'Just take me home, Get-Up. Slowly and carefully.' I could just about breathe but it was an effort and my mouth and chin were on fire. Two of my front teeth felt loose, my lip was still bleeding and spots of blood fell onto my trousers until I held my handkerchief to my aching face.

'What about Miss Darvell?' he asked as he shoved the gear stick forward and hauled the steering wheel round. 'Are you sure you don't want me to deal with this, boss?' he said before I could answer his first question. 'It won't do your reputation any good letting somebody hit you and get away with it. Tell me who it was and let me sort them out for you.'

'It's all right, Get-Up, honestly. Miss Darvell and I have just decided to part company for a while, that's all. Take me home. And if you see an all-night chemist on the way, stop off and get me some antiseptic. And some aspirin.'

Then I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat and stretched my legs forward. McKinley muttered under his breath as the car picked up speed. I'm not sure what he said but it sounded like 'Jesus, she must pack a helluva punch.'

'So Laing doesn't do much inthe wayof drugs now?' I asked, lying back in the armchair and putting my feet on the glass coffee table between the chrome ice bucket and the threequarters empty bottle of malt that McKinley and I were working our way through.

It was one o'clock in the morning, two days after I'd 96 introduced Laing to Sammy, and we'd spent the evening at the Eve Club in Regent Street. The lip was healing nicely. If I was lucky it wouldn't leave a scar. I'd been plying McKinley with drink for more than five hours, and now his eyes were bleary and his voice slurred and I was once again asking him about his past. It was a bit like mining for gold, you had to sort through tens of tons of worthless crushed rock to come up with an ounce of the yellow stuff.

'Don't forget I haven't seen him for seven years or so, boss, but from what I hear he still does a bit to keep his hand in, but he's up against the big boys now,' McKinley said as he leant over for the bottle, shoulders straining through the dark blue suit I'd bought him two weeks earlier which was already. soiled and stained with everything from spirits to engine oil and a few other substances I couldn't have identified even if I'd wanted to. He emptied the bottle into the glass, splashed in a handful of melting ice cubes and drank noisily as he wiped his wet hand on his trouser leg.

'Why did you never go back and work for him when you came out?' I asked. 'You all went down quietly enough.'

'Jesus, boss, what do you expect? If we'd grassed we'd have lost our kneecaps, our balls and anything else that hadn't been nailed to the floor. That's why we kept our mouths shut. I tried to see him my second day out but the message passed to me was that he didn't want anyone with a record on the payroll, so thanks but no thanks. All I got was a lousy five-hundred pound pay off - for seven years. Bastard.' His glass was empty now and he looked at me expec- tantly, and I nodded towards the sideboard from where he liberated another bottle.

We drank in silence for a while, or at least McKinley drank while I remained almost horizontal and watched the brass light fitting in the centre of the plaster ceiling rose through half-closed eyes, making light patterns with my eyelashes as I listened to the sound of my own breathing.

'Do you think I'm stupid, boss?' he asked eventually.

'What?' I replied, openingmyeyesandraisingmyheadsoI could see him slumped in the chair opposite mine and running his hand through his unkempt hair.

'I said, do you think I'm stupid?'

I leant back and looked at theceiling again. 'That's atough one, Get-Up. I mean, if I were to ask you who Don Giovanni was, would you think that he was an Italian Godfather?'

His forehead creased in a frown but he saw by the look on my face that I wasn't taking him seriously and he didn't ask 'Don who?' Whatever had been irritating his scalp had now crawled down to his beard which he scratched vigorously like a dog worrying its nether regions. 'Don't take the piss, I'm serious, boss.'

'I can see that, Get-Up. Come on, get it off your chest. What'sworryingyou?'

The irritation had migrated to his right ear and he was wiggling his index finger up and down and in and out furiously, screwing his eyes up as he concentrated and spilling whisky over his knees as his glass trembled.

If I'd been a psychologist I would probably have marked it down as acute displacement behaviour, but knowing McKinley it was more likely something with six legs and dirty feet.

I was sitting up now, holding my glass with both hands and trying to read this strange, big and possibly dangerous man mountain because any problem he had could quite easily and quickly become my headache.

'Well, it's like this,' he said. 'You've given me a job, and you pay me well, and you treat me with respect, though sometimes I don't understand what you're saying to me and sometimes I think you're taking the Michael, but generally you're OK and I like working for you.'

'That's niceto know - if ever I need a reference I'llcometo you. What is it you're after, a raise?' I knew it wasn't money he was after, it was an explanation, but I had to let him ask for it in his own sweet time.

'No, it's not that, boss. It's just that, well, it's as if . . .' He fell silent, staring at my shoelaces like Sammy's cat, deep in thought. Then, as if he'd finally made up his mind about something, he raised his eyes sharply. 'It's all these questions you keep asking me. It's worse than being collared by the law. You keep pumping me about Ronnie Laing and his connections, how does he do this, how does he do that, who does he know, where does he live, where does he eat? Jesus, boss, I don't owe Laing no favours but I'd like to know what it is you're up to.'

He'd stopped fidgeting with his hands but he chewed his lower lip as he waited for my answer.

'Fair enough, Get-Up, but there's nothing sinister happening, believe me. I used to do a fair bit of drugs dealing up in Glasgow, mainly cocaine - I've told you that already. I had contacts going all the way from the ice-cream vans that tour the housing schemes up to the guys who service the universities and I made a good living out of it, but eventually I ran into the same problem as your ex-boss. A gang of neds who used to specialise in armed robbery decided to go into the drugs business in a big way at my expense. They didn't have my contacts but they found out where I was getting my supplies from and after a bit of persuasion those supplies dried up, and once I couldn't come up with the goods my customers moved on. That's why I moved to London.'

This was starting to sound like something Hans Christian Andersen might have written on an off day, but from the way McKinley was nodding his head it looked as if he believed me. I refilled his glass with whisky and leant back in the chair.

'I need a new supply of coke, Get-Up, and when I discovered you used to work for Laing I figured he might be able to help. But from what you've been saying that's a non-starter.'

'Too true,' he said. 'And anyway I'm yesterday's news as 99 far as that bastard's concerned. He wouldn't do me any favours.' He went quiet and looked at my shoelaces again. 'I might be able to put you in touch with someone who could help, though.'

I knew then how the Klondyke prospectors must have felt when they first found a small nugget of gold glinting in the dross, because at last I was going to get what I wanted from McKinley.

'I thought you'd be out of touch after seven years.'

'Most of the old faces are still in the business, give or take the few who've moved on or been sent down. What is it you want, exactly?'

'You sound like a genie from a bottle, Get-Up. OK, I'll tell you what I want. I've got �250,000 in cash that I want to turn into white powder. What I need is someone to arrange the deal for me, to fix up a time and a place where I can hand over the cash in exchange for the drugs. After what happened to me in Glasgow I want to keep as low a profile as possible, so whoever I get will have to have the right contacts and be the sort who'll keep his mouth shut about my involvement. I need a middle-man, not so close to the streets that he can't think bigger than a few grams, but not so big that he isn't hungry. Well genie, can you grant me this boon, or should I uncork another bottle?'

'I think I can help, boss,' he said. 'And, yes, I would like another drink.' I poured him a refill before he continued. 'One of the guys Laing used to arrange shipments through went down soon after me for a three-year stretch, Davie Read. When he came out he was in the same boat as me, Laing wouldn't give him the time of day, so he's been doing some freelance dealing. He's got the contacts but he doesn't have the money to set up anything big himself, he's strictly small time.

'I reckon he'd jump at the chance if you'd cut him in for a percentage. Do you want me to arrange a meet?'

'Sure, he sounds perfect. In fact he sounds too good to be true. Can you trust him?'

'I don't see why not, boss. I'll tell him you're the front man for some very heavy characters and that if he steps out of line you'll have both of his legs broken.'

'You mean you'll appeal to the more sensitive side of his nature?' At that McKinley roared with laughter, he tossed his head back and I could have counted the fillings in the teeth he had left if I'd wanted to get a bit closer to his open mouth, but that had about as much attraction as inspecting a blocked drain.

'I've got a better cover story, Get-Up. This is what I want you to tell him,' and I gave him a story on a par with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go.

Kyle's office was on the first floor of a refurbished building, in a narrow street a grapefruit's throw from Spitalfields Market. It was early evening and I waited near the carpark where Kyle's Mercedes was parked, sleek and shiny new and as green as the lettuce leaves blown up against the tyres by a light breeze.

The market had been closed for several hours and scavenging down and outs were sifting through the roadside rubbish, picking out bruised and rotting apples and potatoes and carefully placing them in old carrier bags or in the pockets of tired, worn overcoats.

Two rooks cawed and coughed and dived on a discarded banana, and pecked it apart until one of the last few delivery trucks roared round the corner and made them hop angrily on to the pavement. They were soon back in the 101 road, pulling and eating, feathers as black and glossy as the leather briefcase I was carrying, which along with the Burberry and dark pinstripe suit branded me as one of the many office workers who'd moved into the area around Liverpool Street station as the overcrowded City pushed relentlessly east, upgrading buildings and filling them full of word processors, designer furniture and anti-static carpet tiles.

I was sitting on the low, red railing which surrounded the carpark, briefcase balanced on my knees, and from there I could see the door to Kyle's office, though I was too far away to see the small brass plate which read 'Property and Financial Services'.

On either side of the black panelled door, fixed to the wall about ten feet above the cobbled pavement, were two wicker cages, each containing a single songbird singing its heart out.

Maybe they were singing because they were happy, maybe because they wouldn't.get fed if they didn't sing, maybe they were calling to each other and professing undying love, but I reckoned they were crying to be let out, to be allowed to fly free above the stonecleaned offices and restated roofs and join the crows and down and outs foraging for food instead of singing for their bird seed supper.

The door opened, and the birds redoubled their efforts as Kyle stepped onto the pavement and started walking towards the car. I was already up and moving quickly, anxiously looking at my watch, a man in a hurry with a train to catch. I crossed the road ahead of him, looked at my watch again, thirty feet, twenty feet, and then I was falling, tripping over my feet and losing the case as I pitched forward, hands outstretched to break my fall.

I hit the ground at the same time as the briefcase caught Kyle below the knees, scuffing my gloves on the cobbles and feeling my trousers tear. As I cursed and swore and pulled 102 myself to my feet Kyle picked up my briefcase by the handle, then held it by either end as he handed it back to me.

'Not hurt?' he asked and I said no, thanks for helping me and whose bloody idea was it to have a cobbled pavement in the first place? And then he was gone, on his way to the shiny green Mercedes leaving me with three perfect sets of fingerprints on the case, which I was careful not to smudge with my gloved hands and which was going straight into a polythene bag when I got back to the flat.

'I'd like to meet him,' Sammy had said, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that David would love to meet her. It was a nuisance to arrange, to explain to McKinley that I'd be out of circulation for a day, to fix up the Shuttle tickets and a hire car, to ring Shankland Hall and tell them I was taking David out.

It was a nuisance but it was worth it, worth it to see David hug Sammy and stroke her flowing hair, to see her talk to him and kiss him softly on the forehead. They clicked and I was overjoyed, she wasn't awkward with him, or pitying, she was just warm and tender, like a big sister. I loved her for it.

'The zoo,' I told David when he asked where we were going. I drove while he and Sammy sat in the back and we played word games, calling out animals in alphabetical order. Sammy made an appalling attempt to cheat by claiming that asparagus and aubergine were types of mammals and got a gentle cuff from David.

The Highland Wildlife Park, near Kincraig in Invernessshire, is about forty miles due north of Pitlochry, and though I'd told David we were going to the zoo, it wasn't to 103 see elephants, tigers and giraffes. All the animals there are native to Scotland, though many of them are long since extinct in the wild. Driving safari-park style along a wild and rugged road there are deer and cattle in something approaching their natural environment, and you can see brown bears, Iynxes and Scottish wild cats close up. David and I were regular visitors, mainly I guess because he loved the Pets Corner where he could touch and hold and feed and play with animals who didn't care who or what he was, just that he was gentle and had food for them.