The Long Glasgow Kiss

His hand made for his pocket and whatever was in it, but his movements were sluggish and unfocussed. I snapped the sap at him hard. Twice. The first blow cracked something in his wrist and the second caught him on the nape of his neck. His lights went out and he went down, half in and half out of the door. I grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and dragged him back into the flat.

I turned to see Sheila standing halfway down the stairs, her eyes wide and a hand to her mouth.

‘Did you have to do that?’ she said, once she had recovered sufficiently.

‘He had a go,’ I said. ‘And he’s got some kind of weapon in his pocket. He was going for it.’ I bent down and pulled out a switchblade. I flicked the release and held the knife up for her to see. ‘See … self-defence.’

‘You seem to relish defending yourself, Mr Lennox.’

I shrugged and pulled the slumped figure to his feet. He was still groggy but looked at me maliciously. I didn’t like that so I gave him the back of my hand. Twice and hard across the uninjured side of his face. Setting boundaries.

‘For God’s sake, that’s enough, Lennox …’ Sheila stepped forward staring hard at me. She was right. It was enough. It was too much. I had that hot, tight feeling in my chest. The desire to hurt someone else that I learned during the war slept in me. I could see Sheila didn’t like the person she was looking at. At least we had that in common: I didn’t like me much either.

I steered our visitor back into the flat and dropped him into the armchair. Sheila followed us in and leaned against the wall. She lit a cigarette and smoked it urgently. Other than that she was calm and collected. Impressive. I gave the man in the chair the once-over: mid-twenties, the double-breasted blue pinstripe not cheap but not expensive, same for the shirt and tie. I noticed his shoes were not the newest and brown leather. I felt like giving him another slap just for that: black or burgundy shoes with blue pinstripe; not brown.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Fuck off,’ he said sullenly, cradling his injured wrist.

‘There’s a lady present,’ I said, grabbing a fistful of pinstripe Burton. Watch your mouth or you’ll get a little more pampering from me.’

He looked across at Sheila and muttered something apologetic.

‘So what’s your name?’

‘Costello.’

‘Very funny, I expect Bud Abbott is outside on lookout.’ I gave his mid-price tailoring a twist in my fist.

‘It’s true. Paul Costello. That’s my name.’

I let him go and straightened up. ‘You Jimmy Costello’s boy?’

‘Yeah. That’s me.’ He looked suddenly sure of himself. ‘You’ve heard of my Da? Then you’ll know that he won’t like it much when I tell him you did this to me …’ He held up his wrist and turned his cheek to me.

‘Why do you have a key to this flat?’ I asked.

‘Mind your own business. I’m going to ’phone my Da and he’s going to sort you out for this good and proper.’

I nodded. ‘Miss Gainsborough, could you wait for me in the car?’ I held out my car keys to her but she didn’t take them.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, her tone simultaneously injecting disapproval and suspicion.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Costello. ‘He’s not going to do anything. He didn’t know who he was dealing with. Now he does and he’s going to try and talk his way out of it. Except he won’t.’ He sneered at me.

‘Like Mr Costello says, we have a bit of a disagreement. I need to talk to him in private.’ I shook the car keys as if I was ringing a bell. ‘Please.’

She took the keys sullenly and left, slamming the door behind her. After she’d gone, Paul Costello glared at me maliciously.

‘Shiteing yourself now, aren’t you? You know who my Da is all right. You should check who you’re dealing with before you start throwing your weight about.’ He winced, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand. ‘I think you’ve fucking broken it.’

‘Let me look at it.’ I bent down and Costello looked at me suspiciously. ‘Seriously, let me look at it.’

He held out his hand and I gingerly felt the wrist joint. He yelled out.

‘It’s not that bad,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve cracked a couple of bones, that’s all.’

‘That’s all? Wait till my Da finds out.’

‘You’re right,’ I said, still examining the wrist. ‘You should always know who you’re dealing with before having a go. Take me …’

Costello winced again as I found a sensitive spot on his wrist. It was beginning to swell up. Maybe there was a more significant break after all.

‘As I was saying, take me … I do know who your father is.’ I dug my thumb hard into Costello’s swollen wrist. He screamed. ‘And I don’t give a crap. D’you think that your pig-arsed Mick father is someone I should be scared of?’

He tried to pull his hand away and I rewarded him with another vicious squeeze. More screaming.

‘Truth is, I work for the Three Kings. You know the Three Kings?’

Costello nodded, staring wildly at the wrist he could not free from my grip.