Milligan was aware of the colour creeping up his face. He closed the folder again and sprang to his feet.
‘Can I take it we’re finished here?’ Mundell was trying not to smirk.
‘Not by a long chalk,’ Milligan retorted, making his exit.
There was just the faintest bonfire aroma in the snug of the Gay Laddie. John Rhodes had summoned his two wounded soldiers there for a post-mortem. Not that either of them could offer much that he didn’t already know. Their assailants had worn balaclavas, leaving only the eyes visible. Even then they’d picked their spot — a poorly lit street; a doorstep behind a tall hedge — leaving few if any possible witnesses. No words had been spoken at any point. The injuries sustained amounted to little more than bruising, a cracked rib and possible concussion. Rhodes hadn’t bothered offering them an alcoholic beverage.
‘Soft drinks are best for you boys,’ he had explained. A bottle of Lucozade had been unwrapped, uncapped and poured into half-pint glasses.
‘Sorry if we let you down,’ one of the men had felt it necessary to say.
‘You let your guard down, that’s all. But that should be a lesson to you. Game we’re in, it’s never only nine to five. Your defence mechanism should never, ever be switched off, understood?’
There were nods from both men. They didn’t even touch their drinks until a gesture from Rhodes told them they should. Their first sip was wary, as if they suspected poison of some sort.
‘I said we’re in a game,’ Rhodes went on, ‘and that means we’re a team. Someone hits us, we hit back. Don’t think that’s not coming. Don’t think you won’t be getting your revenge. But nothing rash, understood? It has to happen on my terms rather than yours, at a time of my choosing. I need you to know that I’ve not forgotten and I’m not ignoring you. It’s just that something bigger might be brewing and there are things that need to be cleared up first.’
‘Whatever you say, Mr Rhodes.’
‘We’re just—’
Rhodes’s right palm landed heavily on the table, causing both men to flinch.
‘No more apologies,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear them. I just want you to watch your backs in future, because this time you made it far too easy for whoever did this.’
‘It was Cam Colvin, surely.’
‘There’s no “surely” about it, son. Not in this business. Lazy thinking can lead you down any number of dead ends, and dead ends are where you’re most likely to get jumped. Now bugger off, the pair of you.’ Rhodes reached into his pocket and brought out a couple of notes, sliding them across the table. ‘Let’s call this sick pay,’ he said.
‘We’re not being given the boot?’
‘You’re on a warning, that’s all. If you’re savvy enough to learn from it, so much the better.’
‘On your way, lads,’ the scarred man said from behind them. They stood up, mumbling their thanks as they picked up the cash.
Once they’d gone, John Rhodes pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs.
‘Maybe put them on overnight guard duty outside here,’ he said to the man with the scars.
‘You think whoever hit the place will try again?’
‘No, but do it anyway. It might dawn on them that it’s by way of punishment. Then again it might not.’
‘The Lucozade was a nice touch.’
‘It’s not because I care about them, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s because I’d sometimes be better off employing convalescent schoolkids. Though again, they might be too thick for the insult to get through. Now, do you need me to repeat any of my instructions?’
‘Received and understood.’
‘Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go tell them!’
22
The Glasgow Press Club was on West George Street. A curving staircase — the bane of many an over-weight journalist’s life — led to a locked door behind which sat a bar and a separate snooker room. Eddie Devlin was already there. Devlin worked for the Glasgow Herald and had an archivist’s knowledge of the city. A quarter-gill measure of whisky was waiting for Laidlaw, along with a jug of water. A TV was on in a corner of the room, showing what looked like an Open University programme.
‘Barman’s studying structural mechanics,’ Devlin explained. He had a pint of Tennent’s in front of him, and would doubtless refer to his glass as half empty rather than half full.
‘Get you a top-up?’ Laidlaw asked, but the reporter shook his head. ‘I must be losing my hearing, Eddie,’ Laidlaw chided him.
‘Doctor’s orders. He wants me losing two stone. I did suggest he lop off a limb or two, but he advised against.’
‘What’s the diagnosis?’
‘You name it, I’ve got it. Diabetes, scarred lungs, coronary heart disease. Oh, and a touch of toothache too.’
‘Sounds like a full house to me. You’re still working, though?’
‘Crime never sleeps, Jack, and neither does the Herald’s chief reporter. Actually, I do snatch a few hours here and there, though I’m always fretting I might not wake up again. So fill me with good cheer — tell me you’re here to divulge rather than dig.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Eddie.’ Laidlaw opened his cigarettes and offered Devlin one.
‘I’m trying to quit.’ Which didn’t stop him gazing wistfully at Laidlaw as he placed one between his lips and lit it.
‘Willpower apart, what’s the secret?’
‘Polo mints and chewing gum.’
‘Explains the toothache, at any rate.’ In a small act of charity, Laidlaw blew some smoke his friend’s way, watching Devlin inhale it. Then: ‘You hearing anything from your sources, Eddie?’ He dragged the ashtray across the table towards him.
‘About last night, you mean? One petrol bombing, two doings?’
‘That and everything else. I’m sensing a pattern behind the chaos, but it’s not quite revealed itself to me yet.’
‘You and me both. You know Carter wasn’t the type to keep his nose clean? Had trouble keeping his trousers zipped, too.’
‘We’ve spoken to Jennifer Love. Are we missing any others?’
‘Probably a slew of one-night stands and afternoon assignations. He’d go to that casino on Ingram Street. They have a couple of bedrooms on the top floor, sometimes used by clients when they’re the worse for wear — I’m talking high-rollers the casino treats with kid gloves. That’s where Carter took at least some of his conquests.’
‘Seems like everybody knew except his wife and kids.’
‘Isn’t that always the way of it, though?’
‘Is the casino still run by Joey Frazer?’ ‘It’s his name on the paperwork, but Colvin owns the building and takes the lion’s share of the profits.’
‘So if Carter got in over his head...’
‘Carter never did bet much. He’d eat a meal, drink a bottle of champagne, try a few spins of the wheel or hands of blackjack. It was just a place where he could socialise and maybe play the big man for the benefit of a secretary or hairdresser from Maryhill.’
‘Or a dancer from Knightswood.’
Devlin’s mouth twitched. ‘You know she was seeing Chick McAllister before Carter?’
‘I’ve had a word with him.’
‘Then you’ll know McAllister works for John Rhodes?’
‘It’s a small city, Eddie.’
‘You could paint it in a day,’ Devlin agreed. ‘But by the time you were finishing, there’d already be graffiti on the first bit.’
The two men sat in silence for a moment, savouring their drinks. ‘Have you given any thought to Matt Mason?’ Devlin eventually asked, his voice dropping several notches. Laidlaw looked at the other tables, pairs of men busy trading their own battle stories and tales of woe. No one seemed to be listening, but then none of them were daft either. They all knew who Laidlaw was, or at least what he was. When he spoke, Laidlaw’s own voice had become a murmuring brook.