CHAPTER 28
The Springcroft was six miles from the city centre, sitting just a few minutes from the M8, which thundered past on its way from Glasgow to Edinburgh. Despite having no shortage of thirsty would-be punters in the surrounding areas, pubs were pretty scarce on that side of the city. Nearby Easterhouse had been famously dry when the scheme was built in the late fifties and stayed that way for years. Baillieston wasn’t much better off for boozers and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
‘So what do you want me to do?’ Winter asked as they pulled into the car park, seeing snow piled up at the sides and several parking bays out of commission because of it.
‘Just follow my lead and try to look hard. You manage that?’
‘Fuck off, Uncle Danny.’
He grinned. ‘That’s my boy.’
It had been years since Winter had been inside The Springcroft and right away he saw that it had had a makeover. Glossy wooden flooring, pastel colours and partitions gave it a warm, welcoming look, which couldn’t be said for all pubs in the area. It billed itself as a family establishment but, as the saying goes, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. As soon as they were through the door, they recognised Glenn Paxton from Shug Brennan’s description.
The debt collector wore a blue New York Yankees baseball cap pulled low over his forehead and was heavily bearded. Even though he was sitting down, the man gave the impression of being as wide as he was tall and his broad forearms came straight out of a Popeye cartoon. The seat opposite him was empty but the wooden table still looked as if it had been laid out with enough food for a family of four. Winter spied two slabs of naan bread, a large bowl of rice, four separate curry dishes and a jug of lager. Paxton clearly had a healthy appetite.
From the other side of the room, Winter and Danny saw Paxton tear into the bread as if his fat life depended on it, then scoop up heaped forkfuls of curry and stuff them into his mouth. The man was a massive, bad-mannered eating machine with streaks of sauce on his cheeks and chin. He was attacking the meal but it was hard to say if he was enjoying it. His brooding demeanour didn’t exactly encourage approach and Winter instinctively let Danny lead the way to the guy’s table.
Paxton must have been aware of Danny’s imposing frame looming over him as he ate but he didn’t acknowledge that he had an audience.
‘Glenn Paxton?’ Danny asked.
The man didn’t look up from his plate.
‘Fuck off.’
Danny persisted. ‘Glenn Paxton?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I do.’
‘Fuck off.’
Danny pulled back the chair opposite Paxton and sat down, propping his elbows on the table and clasping his hands. At last he seemed to have Paxton’s attention and the peak of the baseball cap rose slowly until dark brown eyes glared at Danny.
‘I told ye tae fuck off.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. But I’d still like to ask you a couple of questions.’
The man’s eyes narrowed and the skin tightened across his face in an angry grimace. When he spoke, it was in a low, guttural growl.
‘I don’t answer questions. You better go away.’
Danny sat back in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest, an air of mock surprise on his face. He held Paxton’s gaze and smiled at the man, an action designed simply to irritate and it succeeded.
‘I fucking telt you tae fu—’
Paxton’s sentence went unfinished as Danny uncrossed his arms and swept the back of his right arm across the table, clearing away bread, rice, curry, plates, jug and pint glass in one motion, sending food, china and glass onto Paxton’s lap and the floor. The noise of the shattering plates reverberated round the pub and every head in the place turned towards them, although only for as long as it took to recognise the stature of the men at the table involved. Winter saw every man in the place turn quickly back to his own table. It was the acknowledged order of such things: heads down, eyes averted, doors located and exit points established. Wives and kids were told not to look; whatever it was, it wasn’t any of their business.
Paxton’s mouth hung open, disbelief all over his fat face and curry all over his T-shirt. He was a volcano about to erupt and his mouth began to stretch into the beginning of a manic shriek. Before he could speak or shout, Danny spoke quietly.
‘You’re right enough, Glenn. We should probably just go.’
Danny eased the chair back and stood up, seeing the inferno raging in Paxton’s eyes as the big man wiped furiously at his curry-splattered chest. His massive hands were going faster and faster as his temper rocketed to boiling point. It was tipped over the edge by the smirk on Danny’s face as he said goodbye and nodded at Winter to follow him out of the pub.
As Paxton, struggling to manoeuvre himself out from under the table, roared at them demanding to know where they thought they were fucking going, Danny offered an apology and cash to an anxious waitress. Winter, struggling to know whether to laugh or worry, followed close behind, copying Danny’s leisurely stroll out of the pub. He could hear the table and chair scraping behind him, the angry puff of the debt collector as he got to his feet. They were at the front door though, and Danny pushed it wide behind him so Winter could follow him through just before it closed.
Danny walked straight over to the biggest vehicle in the icy car park, a black Ford Galaxy with blacked-out windows that had gangster written all over it. He reached the car just as the enraged Paxton, his breath heavy in the frozen air, came through the pub door with his fists balled and charged towards them. Winter tactfully took a step back and let Paxton continue his rush towards Danny.
‘What are you doing beside my car? Yer a dead man, y’old bastard,’ he screamed as he swung back his meaty right arm to launch a punch at Danny. The blow never landed, as Danny quickly stepped in towards Paxton and grabbed his left arm, pulling it towards him and twisting as he crashed the man into the car. In an instant, Paxton’s arm was behind his back and his face was pressed hard against the metal. Paxton was a big man though and he struggled against Danny’s grip, stretching his other hand round to grab hold of his attacker’s clothes. Danny raised his eyebrows at Winter, wondering if he was just going to stand there or do something.
In response, Winter stamped down hard on the back of Paxton’s calf, causing his leg to collapse at the knee, bringing the big man to the ground with a belligerent groan. Danny smiled approvingly before knocking Paxton’s baseball cap off his head and grabbing a handful of his hair. He pulled the debt collector’s head back and slammed it towards the car, stopping just inches short of the metal.
‘This was all so unnecessary, Glenn. Don’t you think? All I wanted to do was ask you a couple of questions. You ready to answer them now?’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Is that all you can say, big man? I don’t think it is.’
Danny nodded towards Winter, who again put his foot to Paxton’s calf, this time pressing down steadily until the man yelped. Danny simultaneously knocked Paxton’s head against the side of the car.
‘What the fuck d’you want, granddad?’
‘That’s better. One simple question: who is Sam Dunbar?’
No answer came so Danny pulled Paxton’s head back from the car, tightening his grip on the hair and making it clear he was ready to crash it against the car again.