The Long Glasgow Kiss

‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘here’s the way I see it: you, good old Uncle Bert, and young Collins here, are all under sentence of death. And death, though it’s bad enough, isn’t as scary as the kind of death you’ll have at the hands of the gypsies. Now I don’t know if Furie’s son carried out sentence on Small Change or not, but you fellas have a pretty good idea what’s ahead of you … unless, of course, you hand over a large glaba ransom.’

‘So what are we supposed to have done?’ asked Kirkcaldy.

‘Well, it’s pretty obvious at first sight. Uncle Bert here supplied that young pikey fighter for the bare-knuckle fight. Then he dies. So Soutar, Small Change and Collins are held responsible. Small Change meets a sticky end by having his skull pulped with a statue of his favourite greyhound, and you start getting traditional gypsy symbols of death dropped on your doorstep. I was supposed to work it all out. Well I have. But what I don’t get is why … the gypsy boy went into the fight of his own free will, knowing the risks, and took his chances. So why does his clan hold you responsible?’

‘You’re not as smart as you think you are, Lennox,’ sneered Jack Collins. His face was white and drawn. The coolness had gone. He was afraid. It was either what I had been saying, or he knew he was about to witness something unpleasant. I did my best to believe it was the power of my oratory.

‘Shut up, Collins,’ said Kirkcaldy. ‘Against the wall, Lennox. And keep your hands where I can see them.’

‘So this is it?’ I asked. I noticed I wasn’t breathing hard and I didn’t feel my heart pounding. That was what happened, I guessed, when you’d thought you were going to die so many times before. When you’d seen so many others go before you. ‘So you’re going to kill me over a gypsy curse and an amateurishly fixed fight? No … this doesn’t make sense. I’m missing something here. Who was it in Collins’s car outside your house? And why are the gyppos really after you?’

My back was to the wall now, but, as I’d backed up, I’d angled my steps so I ended up next to the scythe. A rusty garden implement against a gun and two experienced fist fighters. They don’t stand a chance, I thought to myself.

‘Show him …’ Kirkcaldy barked the order at Collins and indicated his car with a jerk of his head. Collins went over to the car and opened the trunk, lifting out something wrapped in a blanket. He carried it in his arms like it was a baby. He laid it on the floor and unwrapped it for me to see. It was the Ky-Lan demon statuette. It had been broken into two pieces. The fake jade was less than an inch thick. The contents spilled from the broken sculpture: tightly wrapped waxed paper bricks.

I sighed as something tied itself into a knot in my gut. I knew what Kirkcaldy having it meant. ‘Sammy Pollock?’

Kirkcaldy smiled, and it reminded me of the way Sneddon smiled. ‘Just like everything else in Glasgow, Lennox, the Clyde is unpredictable. You dump two bodies at the same time in the same place and one washes up and the other sinks without trace.’

‘He didn’t deserve that, Kirkcaldy. He was just a kid.’ I thought about how Sheila Gainsborough would take the news. I hadn’t earned my fee on that one, that was for sure. But, there again, it wouldn’t be me who’d be breaking the news to her. I gave a bitter laugh.

‘What’s so fucking funny?’ asked Kirkcaldy.

‘Just that I was working two cases that I never connected. I’m not as smart as I thought I was.’

‘You’re smart, Lennox. Too smart. But you should know by now that nothing happens in this city without it being tied into everything else. And before you get all huffy about Pollock, remember that he brought it on himself. He wanted to play with the big boys. He ended up way out of his depth.’

‘I don’t think you’re far behind him. You having that stuff means you don’t just have a bunch of irate gypsies after you. Have you heard of John Largo?’

‘I’ve heard. And I know this is his stuff. But he’s still looking for Pollock and Costello. We happened on this by chance. We’re in the clear.’

‘Not that in the clear. I found you.’

‘No you didn’t. All that you said to Collins here was smoke and mirrors. You were grouse-beating. Except now it’s the grouse with the gun on you. Anyway, you’re not going to be telling anyone anything.’

That’s that then, I thought. If there was one thing you couldn’t accuse Kirkcaldy of, it was ambiguity.

‘How did Costello and Pollock get their hands on the jade demon? There was no way they could have known what was in it.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Young master Pollock was a young man of cosmopolitan tastes. Bohemian, you might say. He was a bit of a hashish smoker and had experimented with opium. No other bastard in this city would have realized the value of refined heroin, but Pollock knew all right. But that was as smart as he got. He was no master criminal and he thought he was dealing with Al Capone when he got in tow with Paul Costello. But Costello was a wanker and as much out of his depth as Pollock was.’