The Damage (David Blake 2) (34 page)

‘I’m just here to give you a preview of a story that will break later in the week. All of the red tops will run with it on their front pages. That’s what you want isn’t it, you politicians, to be on the front pages? Not this time though.’

‘What are you banging on about?’

I handed him the file and he snorted, pretending not to care about its contents, but that didn’t stop him from opening and reading it. After the first page, the colour drained from his face and he started to leaf quickly through the supporting documents I’d thoughtfully provided. He examined them one after the other. When he finally glanced back up at me, he was already a beaten man.

‘Where did you…’ then he stopped. I knew he would be wondering how I could have seen these damning documents. Me? Just a small-time gangster from Newcastle, accessing confidential papers from a giant US conglomerate; all courtesy of Amrein, of course, and some of his tame journalists. They might have been on Amrein’s pay-role but they were bloody good at their jobs. What they’d unearthed was gold dust. Credit where credit was due, Amrein had finally come up trumps.

I’d just handed Ron Haydon the transcript of a story no newspaper could afford to turn down. It was a tale of corruption, and the headline was ‘Former Government Minister took massive bribe to change Iraq war vote.’

I nodded at the headline on the transcript he was holding, ‘Of course the red tops will be more creative than that. I wonder what they’ll come up with. Frankly, I’m disappointed. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys, the principled man-of-the-people who stands up for the working classes. Who’d have thought that Red Ronnie would have taken vast sums of money from a US company so right-wing even the Yanks are uneasy about them? You know they are being investigated by the CIA, the FBI and the NSA all at the same time? They’ve been out in Iraq for years with their own private army, shooting any bugger who steps within a hundred yards of their convoys. They’ve killed more civilians than the US Air Force and you took their money.’

‘It’s lies,’ but his voice was cracking so I knew the only lie here was his.

‘You know, it’s strange. When you changed your vote to support the war, after months of telling everyone who’d listen how illegal it was, we were all disgusted. I mean everyone up here was ashamed of you, but it was the oldest story in politics; politician sacrifices principles for political gain and self-interest. We figured you’d been got at by the Prime Minister. Now it turns out you were bought off with a bribe from a US construction company.’

‘It’s a mistake,’ he told me, ‘if anyone prints a word of this, I’ll sue.’

‘Then you’ll end up bankrupt, because they are all going to print it, and you will lose.’ I assured him. ‘The trouble with taking kickbacks from American companies is that they are too damned bureaucratic. They even keep records of transactions they don’t want anyone to know about. Your bribe was buried deep in the company accounts, but it was there. I mean they explained the payments to you as a consultancy or commission, they don’t actually use the word “bribe”, but that isn’t going to fool anyone. You won’t be able to provide an explanation for the work you supposedly did and you didn’t put any of it in the Register of Members’ Interests. It’s not as if anybody could forget sums this large, and they are all going to want to know why the money went into off-shore accounts.’

‘Alright,’ he held up a hand to stop me, ‘let’s just say…’ and he licked his lips nervously, ‘let’s say that I might struggle to prove that all of this is a lie, before the damage to my reputation is done. I mean people still believe what they read in the paper, even now, for Christ’s sake,’ and he rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it all, ‘so let’s say then that it would be in everyone’s best interests if this story was buried.’

‘Your interests, you mean?’

‘Everyone’s, bonny lad,’ he forced himself to laugh, even though he was terrified. Ever the politician, he even slapped a friendly hand onto my shoulder. ‘Yours too,’ he assured me.

‘Alright,’ I said, ‘what have you got in mind?’

He gave me his hundred-watt smile, ‘well, a new hobby for me, for starters,’ he laughed again, ‘you know, fly fishing or golf.’ I said nothing, letting him offer up more, ‘I’ll resign from the Police Authority; ill health, more time with the family, the usual shite.’

I frowned, ‘Is that all?’

‘I could be a good friend to you. I know stuff and I know people, important people. I’m well connected.’

‘Important friends?’

‘Important friends,’ he agreed and he had a hopeful look on his face like he was connecting with me.

‘But you wouldn’t want to introduce them to me. I’m a gangster, remember? A gangster in
your
city.’

‘Hey look, I got a bit carried away that night. I’d had a drink and I’d been doing my man-of-the-people act, so I gave you a speech to put the wind up you a bit, but I never meant any of it, not really. Look, I’m a realist, there’s no bigger realist than me in this city, son. I know it’s always gone on and always will do, long after you and me are both pushing up the daisies.’

‘So we can be friends then?’

‘That’s what I’m saying, man,’ he told me, throwing his arms wide and beaming at me like I was the prospective son-in-law he’d always secretly hoped for.

I stayed silent for a long while. He watched me expectantly, heart probably thumping somewhere near his tonsils.

‘No,’ I told him finally.

‘Listen son,’ he was pleading now, ‘listen to me. I’ve got a wife and kids, Christ I’ve got grand kids, don’t do this to me, don’t do it to them. Please son, I’m begging you.’

It was my turn to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Fuck you Ron,’ I told him, ‘you’re going to prison.’ I left him standing there in the bar. As I walked out there was another burst of laughter from his friends at the golf club. Someone must have told another off-colour joke, but Ron wasn’t laughing.

.......................

I
f Ray Fallon had worn a cap it would have been in his hands. For a gangland enforcer he looked pretty humble.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ demanded Kinane. He got to his feet and took a step towards the man who had appeared at the hotel without warning. I was next to Kinane and I raised my hand to prevent him from kicking off in the cocktail bar. Kinane stopped, and gave me a sour look, but I wasn’t about to let him start tearing the room up in front of me. Besides, the demeanour of the man put me at ease. He looked calm, humble even. What he didn’t look like was a man who had travelled all the way down here to start something.

‘I’m wanting a word,’ explained Fallon quietly, ‘if that’s alright with you?’ He directed the question at me, and I nodded. Fallon was alone, which was dangerous for him, but not as dangerous as coming to see me when witnesses could report our conversation back to Malcolm and Andrew Gladwell. They’d have cut him to pieces if they’d known he was talking to me.

‘Leave him be, Joe,’ I commanded, ‘we’re just talking here,’ I motioned Fallon over to a quiet corner of the bar which had no windows, safer for him and for us. We sat down and I offered him a drink.

‘You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here,’ Kinane told him, ‘after the stuff you said.’

‘Maybe so,’ admitted Fallon, ‘but that was just bluster. He knows that,’ he nodded at me, ‘and so should you. It comes with the turf.’

Kinane grunted as if he couldn’t really argue the point. Fallon was right. He and Kinane were like boxers during the pre-fight weigh-in, always sizing each other up and putting each other down, looking for an advantage.

‘So Fallon, why are you here?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ he looked a little uncomfortable, like he didn’t really know how to explain it. ‘It turns out I’ve had my money on the wrong horse.’

‘You can say that again,’ Kinane told him, but I knew they were talking about two different things. Kinane meant we would have won no matter what, and I admired his confidence. Fallon was talking about the character of the man he used to work for.

‘I assume it’s fair to say you had no idea?’ I asked him gently and he flared.

‘Christ, no,’ he glared angrily at me. Then, abruptly, the anger evaporated, to be replaced by something like incomprehension, ‘do you think we realised we were working for…for a nonce. I mean the man was married with three bairns for fuck’s sake,’ he shook his head, ‘…it just shows you can never really know anyone deep down. It turns out he’d been flying over there for years, raping little boys, then coming home again to the missus and his daughters. They never had an inkling. Arthur must be spinning in his grave. I mean,’ and he shook his head again, ‘old Arthur couldn’t even tolerate a bender, let alone a kiddie fiddler.’

‘I can understand your disgust,’ I told him, ‘but I’m not sure how it involves me.’

Fallon’s eyes narrowed and he looked directly at me. This was his big moment. He wouldn’t have put it like that, but Ray Fallon was about to cross the Rubicon. I knew it as soon as I watched him walk through the foyer of the hotel.

I figured I’d better encourage him, ‘what have you got in mind?’

‘I’m a loyal man,’ he began and I knew we were in for a speech, a little bit of self-justification before the knife went in. ‘I worked for Arthur Gladwell for years and I always knew where I stood with him. If he asked for someone to be sorted, I sorted ‘em, square-go. If you stepped out of line with Arthur you’d get filleted and you usually had it coming.’ I nodded like I understood and I supposed I did. ‘People said he was a grass,’ and he frowned like the very notion was an affront, ‘but I never heard anything’. I nodded again. Arthur Gladwell had been a grass for thirty years. It was how he made his way up the food chain, by shopping his competitors to bent coppers in return for them turning a blind eye while he raped Glasgow for three decades but I kept silent. Fallon had been disillusioned enough for one lifetime.

‘Tommy was meant to take over when Arthur died, but we all know what happened there,’ he said nothing further on the matter. I nodded again and let him continue, ‘Alan looked like a different matter. He was a chip off the old bloke, or so we thought,’ his eyes told me how conflicted he was about Alan. ‘What you said about the Sandyhills Sniper made me think. I didn’t want to believe it at first. When you are working for a man you don’t want to see the bad in him but now, I reckon you had him just about tagged. I reckon he paid someone to kill all those people, just so he could get at that copper.’

‘I know he did,’ I assured him. Fallon was like a man who has finally woken up one morning and realised his missus has been shagging all of his mates. Previously he had refused to acknowledge anything but good in Alan Gladwell, now though, he was looking back on every incident and noticing only the bad.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and now he won’t be coming back. Me and my lads, well, we’re all feeling like proper numpties.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘I mean just because Arthur was capable of running a city doesn’t necessarily mean his boys are up to it. Tommy wasn’t, Alan we know about, and the other two…’ he folded his arms, ‘well, I just can’t see it somehow,’ and he gave me a meaningful look. What interested me most was the way he had said ‘me and my lads’. He was speaking for the others, with authority.

‘Someone more experienced, perhaps?’ I offered, ‘someone who has been Arthur Gladwell’s right-hand man for fifteen years and knows how the city works?’

He snorted, ‘you don’t mess about do you? Trouble is, you need money,’ he continued, ‘for a takeover, and Arthur was tighter than a Gnat’s arsehole, God rest him. It’s all tied up so that only his boys can reach it. I mean we’ll get most of it…Eventually…’ Just then I wouldn’t have wanted to be the Gladwell brothers. They’d be given two choices, tell us how to get Arthur’s money and die quick – or die slow and tell us anyway, when you can’t take any more.

‘I’m sure you will need funds to tide you over,’ I said, anticipating his question. ‘There must be a large number of people on the payroll, suppliers who have to be paid?’

‘Yeah,’ he told me, ‘people who don’t like to wait for their money.’

‘Let’s call it a bridging loan,’ I told him, ‘or we could avoid calling it a loan at all.’

He smiled slightly. We both knew that was why he was here, ‘a partnership?’

‘A sleeping partner,’ I assured him, ‘I’ve enough on my plate down here.’

‘It isn’t just the money,’ he explained, ‘I can handle the boys, they can look after the streets, it’s that Amrein,’ he was frowning again like he didn’t really understand our mutual fixer, ‘I need someone to explain it all to him. I don’t want the Euro mafia trying to take control of my city.’

‘Leave it to me,’ I assured him, ‘you won’t have any problems from Amrein.’

Palmer and Kinane stayed silent while we went on to talk terms. There was a loose discussion about the level of funding I was prepared to provide, and the return I would expect on my investment. Fallon knew he was out on a limb, so I could get good terms, but not so brutal that he didn’t stand to gain a lot from this. It’s only ever a deal if both sides are happy. I didn’t want Fallon resenting me more and more over time and then finally coming after me years later when he eventually decided I’d shafted him.

In the end he just said, ‘Right enough’, nodded, and got to his feet. Then he shook my hand.