The Long Glasgow Kiss

‘I also know about the …’ Devereaux paused, looking somewhere in the park’s trees for the right word. ‘ … difficulties you got into towards the end of your war service. The accusations about black-market dealing. And I know all about your German associate ending up face down in Hamburg harbour.’ Devereaux stopped in the path and turned to me. ‘Do you know what I see, Lennox? I see a man who can be trusted for the best reason of them all. Money. I don’t know what schemes Ferguson has going. Maybe none. But it looks to me like every second cop in this city is on the take. I’d be pretty sure that Largo has a couple in his pocket. So here’s the deal: I’ll pay you for anything I can use to get Largo. You give me the goods that lead me to him and I’ll pay you a thousand dollars. That’s over and above anything you make on the side from the cases you’re investigating. It should also be enough to resolve any conflicts of interest, should they arise.’

‘That’s an interesting offer, Dex …’ All of a sudden I felt comfortable using his first name: promises of large sums of money tended to make me more amenable to widening my social circle. ‘But, to be honest, a lot of people have been paying me to find people. So far my batting average has been pretty lousy.’

‘You don’t need to find him, Lennox. Just get enough to point me in the right direction.’ He led on and I followed. A woman in a flared shirtwaister dress and winged sunglasses pushed a pram the size of a taxi past us. Devereaux lifted his hat to her and I followed suit. We were pretty elegant for a couple of New World Joes.

‘You still haven’t told me why he is so important,’ I said. ‘What did he do: steal George Washington’s wooden teeth from the Smithsonian?’

‘When we met at your apartment the other night, I told you how Largo has built up a chain of supply across three continents. It’s a very, very impressive operation. But what’s even more impressive is the vision behind it. You and I saw all kinds of hell in the war, I’d say, but John Largo has a vision of the future that would give us new nightmares. Have you heard of a narcotic called heroin?’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ I said. ‘It was used in the war instead of morphine. I’ve heard of people getting hooked on it, but it’s less addictive than morphine, I believe. That’s why they used it.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. That’s where everyone behind heroin got it wrong. It was created as a less addictive alternative but it actually creates a higher dependency among those who use it. That’s not been a problem. Here in England it’s still legal and a prescribed medicine. If your kid has a cough that won’t go away, the doctor will write you a script for a dose of heroin drops. In fact, the authorities here only started to keep a record of heroin addicts this year. There are just short of four hundred recorded addicts in Britain. Almost all are doctors or connected to the medical profession. You don’t have a problem here. But in the States we do, and it’s getting bigger. Heroin has been controlled since the Harrison Act and we made it completely illegal more than twenty years ago.’

He paused as a couple of young men in shabby business suits walked past.

‘I work out of the Bureau’s New York office. Last year, in Harlem, New York City, we saw a rapid spread of the illegal supply of heroin. This summer we have an epidemic on our hands … an epidemic of negroes injecting themselves with this stuff.’

‘So this is Largo’s business. He’s the one who’s supplying it to the blacks?’

Devereaux shook his head. ‘John Largo is supplying the people who supply the negroes. The Syndicate. But Largo’s not the only one supplying the Syndicate. Glasgow isn’t the main supply port, and Largo isn’t the only exporter.’

‘Who’s the competition?’ I asked.

‘Corsicans. Between you and me there’s a rumour that Uncle Sam did a deal with the Corsican Mafia to keep the commies out of Marseille. Uncle Sam in the form of the CIA. The flip-side of the deal is that the same Corsicans are running heroin from French Indochina to Turkey and into Marseille and supplying the stuff to the New York Syndicate. The story is that Largo uses a different route and the stuff ends up here in Glasgow. Then it’s shipped to the States.’

For a moment, I considered what Devereaux was saying. I leaned back on the bench, hooking my elbows over the back and tilting the brim of my Borsalino to let the sun bathe my face.

‘So why are you here and not in Marseille? Sounds to me like Largo is small fry in comparison to these Corsicans.’