I took it and the ammo, put it in what passes for the trunk of the Lotus and drove the two of us back to Anstruther, for the weirdest family dinner I ever had. I couldn't take my eyes off Jonathan as we sat across the table from each other in the Craw's Nest dining room. He was paler than usual, and he didn't say much, but there was a quiet dignity about him.
And as I studied him, I thought of my own big problem, and I knew there was only one way for me to deal with it. I'd have come to that conclusion eventually anyway, but the example of the boy's unshakeable courage in defence of what he had thought was his grandfather's honour, left me, as I see it to this day, without any choice.
Forty-three.
I swung the BMW into the empty parking space. Saturday had come and gone, a day of golf in the morning, lazing in the afternoon and dinner in swank and splendour in the evening. Susie was still in St. Andrews, happily; she and Ellie have become almost as close as my sister was to my first, dead, wife, and that pleases me very much. I had told her I had left something at home that I needed, and she hadn't questioned me at all.
I was pleased that the parking spaces were empty. Almost certainly, it meant that he was alone, apart from the man mountain that is, if he counted as company.
Manolito answered my pressing of the buzzer. "Yesss?" he hissed. It was the first time I'd heard him speak, I realised.
"You know who this is," I said. "Put him on."
I didn't have to wait more than a second or two. "Yes, son," said Jack, metallically. "What can you do for me?"
"Deal," I told him.
"Sensible boy. Come on up."
"No bloody way am I stupid enough to come up there and be alone with you two. You come down and we go for a drive. Besides, I want it on my turf; I've got a reason."
I caught a moment's hesitation. "You realise Manolito will be coming with us?"
"Fine, as long as he doesn't overpower us with the intellectual purity of his discourse."
Jack cackled at that. "Don't worry, he won't say a word. Pull your car as close to the door as you can."
I did as he asked. There was nobody around when they emerged; that made me happy. Jack climbed in beside me and Manolito got in the back, blocking out most of the view in the mirror. I put the complex machine in Drive, and moved off.
Jack said nothing for a while. Instead he just looked out of the window, first to one side of the motorway, then to the other, gazing at the city, some of which he had helped to build, and over which he had presided, officially or unofficially, for years.
"Glasgow," I heard him whisper, as we passed under the sign for the airport turn-off.
"You're wise, boy," he said, finally, as we crossed the Erskine Bridge, deserted as always. "We both know you'd have been gubbed in court."
"That's my legal advice too," I admitted, seeing no reason to bullshit.
"How's Natalie?" I asked him. "Seen her since Mr. Perry met his end?"
"No. She called me when she heard about it. She was a bit upset, and more than a bit scared; she seemed to think I had something to do with it. Not that I had, of course." Hint then denial, I had learned that that was his way. It struck me also that he might suspect that the car was bugged.
"How about Kendall? He'll be working on your petition, I suppose."
"No. He'll be on his boat as usual, I suppose. I told him not to go any further at this stage. I was pretty certain I'd be hearing from you."
He didn't say any more; nor did I until we reached the estate. I didn't need to.
The gate opened automatically at the press of my remote control, and closed again after us. "Very nice," said Jack as we cruised up the drive and parked in front of the big house.
"It is," I agreed. "Let me show you around," I offered as the three of us stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine.
I gave him the complete guided tour of the house, including both conservatory wings, the office and the pool. He clucked and nodded all the way round.
"Very chic," he said as we finished.
"There's more," I told him. "The fun bits are outside." The buggy was parked at the back, not far from the area that Jay and I had chosen for the playground. One of the structures was in place, and the foundations were dug for another and part-filled with concrete. The cement mixer lay idle nearby.
With Manolito crouched on the golf bag platform, I drove us out and across the estate, until we came to the three-hole golf course. A bucket of balls lay on the ground and a set of clubs that I'd carelessly left out there. I took out a four iron and began hitting shots, aiming at the furthest green, and striking long and hard and straight. I noticed, though, that when I'd picked up the club, Manolito had positioned himself between me and his boss; sorry, his patient.
"What's the deal?" I asked quietly as I watched another Titleist arrowing towards the flag.
"Twenty pence a share, and that's pretty generous," said Jack.
"Have you any idea of current market value?"
"Of course I have. And are you familiar with the term "fuck all"? I'm sure you are. Well, that's the alternative."
"Elegantly put." I laid down the club and began to stroll across the grounds. "Now here's what I'd like." We were near the estate's high boundary wall and the trees that grew around it, planted to protect the owners' privacy still further. I threw out a hand in a sweeping gesture. "I'd like this place, and that's all. It belongs to the Gantry Group officially, but it's our home, and Susie and I love it."
The back gate lay open. I wandered towards and through it, Manolito a few paces behind, but Jack beside me, seeming to be considering what I'd said. "I can accommodate that," he announced, at last, 'if the value lies within the parameters of my offer. If it doesn't, you'll have to find some cash."
"Yeah, Jack?" I said, and I laughed. "Well, fuck you."
He stopped. "You think you can hard-ball me, son?" he exclaimed, sounding truly incredulous.
We had walked thirty yards or so down the path. "I think you're at it, old man," I told him.
He looked around. "You do, do you." He pointed to the marshy ground on either side of the track. "I may be a townie, but I know about these places, the bogs around Loch Lomondside. Have you any idea how deep they are?"
I shook my head.
"No," he said, almost greedily, 'and neither does anyone else. There's a right few of Glasgow's grimier citizens gone into these things, I'll tell you. Christ, you were feared to come up into the flat with us …"
A look of sheer mirth crossed his face '… and yet you were stupid enough to take us here."
He glanced over his shoulder, nodded towards me, and then towards the bog on our right. "Big fella," he called out. "Time to do some nursing."
I still hadn't seen Manolito smile, but there was a hint of one on his face as he started steadily towards me. I backed away from him, but then my foot seemed to catch on something. I fell backwards and rolled over.
The shotgun was there, where I'd planted it, hidden behind a log, partly wrapped in towels, to muffle the noise as best I could. It was in my hands as I spun and sprang to my feet.
I'd doctored the cartridges, putting extra pellets into each, but it wasn't until the third shot that Manolito stopped coming for me. That one went off with the barrel jammed into his throat, and it separated his head cleanly from his shoulders. He didn't drop right away, though; instead he stood for a few seconds, twitching, until the message, or rather the lack of a message, got through and he crumpled up.
Before he'd hit the ground, I'd hit Jack; in the belly with the butt of the gun, winding him and sending him back in a heap on the track.
"Stay there," I warned him. I laid the weapon on the ground, clean lifted the thing at my feet and tossed it into the bog. Actually, it wasn't as impressive a feat as it looked, since the foreshortened Manolito was about thirty pounds lighter than before. He landed with a soft 'splodge' and disappeared beneath the black, gluey surface almost at once.