William McIlvanney - The Papers of Tony Veitch

‘Who do they think they are? Where do they live? Whoever killed Paddy Collins I’m going to find. There won’t be enough of him left to make up a tin of Kennomeat.’

It was spoken quietly. Since he felt no doubts, the statement needed no force to assert itself. It occurred as evenly as breathing.

‘He was never able to tell me what happened. But somebody knows. Do you know anything, Hook?’

‘Wait a minute,’ John Rhodes said. ‘How wid he know anything?’

‘I’m asking him, John. I don’t want one of these fucking conversations by post.’ The pitch of his voice hadn’t changed. Only the swear-word was like an abstract signal of a quickening mood. ‘His mouth’s here. Let it answer.’

‘Aye, maybe,’ John said. ‘It depends whit the question means.’

‘John. What you do to Panda’s your affair. He’s not one of mine. He just happens to be with me. But don’t try to piss me about where I live. Somebody killed my brother-in-law. I didn’t choose him but that’s what he was. They’re going to have to join him. I’m asking a straight question. All it means is what it says. Does Hook get to answer?’

Macey felt the axis of the room tilt delicately in favour of Cam. He watched John Rhodes judge whether he was letting too much happen, smile easily and nod to Hook.

‘But how wid Ah know anything, Cam?’

Cam was watching Hook. ‘Tell him,’ he said to Panda.

‘Well, Ah’m livin’ quiet these days. But Ah do all right.’ He couldn’t resist tentatively trying to reinstate himself in their eyes a little, let them know he didn’t get his mouth punched every day. ‘We’ve got a few things goin’ for us.’

‘You’re not on This is Your Life ,’ Cam said. ‘Tell him about Paddy.’

‘Well, Ah’ve kept in touch with Paddy back and forward. Paddy was a friend of mine.’

He seemed to be offering loyalty as a compensatory quality.

‘Ye shouldny talk ill o’ the dead,’ John Rhodes said.

Panda was like a banana republic threatened by two contending major powers who don’t want direct conflict. He felt the pressure, began to speak in a deliberately neutral voice.

‘Last time Ah spoke to him, he was very chirpy. Reckoned he had money comin’. Somebody owed him. It was somebody he met in the Crib.’

The others waited but that was all Panda had to say. He sat like someone who can’t remember the punch-line.

‘That’s it?’ John Rhodes said.

‘Not quite,’ Cam said. ‘Mickey.’

Macey was interested in Mickey Ballater’s presence. Panda was a scavenger off other people’s reputations. It was easy to see why he was here. But Mickey Ballater was different. Macey was wondering about him.

‘Ah’m up here to see Paddy,’ Mickey said. ‘By the time Ah get up, he’s in the Vicky. There was somebody he talked about up here. Wis going to introduce me. Seemed a right oddity. Fella called Tony Veitch.’

Cam was still watching Hook.

‘That’s the only two things Ah’ve got to go on,’ Cam said. ‘The Crib and somebody called Tony Veitch. Hook?’

‘Ah’m sorry, Cam. Ah’d help ye if Ah could.’

‘A minder should mind. It’s your job to know everybody.’

‘How can ye do that, Cam? Come on. A place like the Crib has a name, gets tourists. What counts is they should know me. Know Ah’m around.’

‘I want this Tony Veitch. It seems to me it might be the same one he met in the Crib. Hook, you were still friendly enough with Paddy, were you? There was that bit of bother.’

‘Years ago, Cam. A daft fall-out over a wumman. We laughed about it after. He musta told ye.’

‘I probably wasn’t listening. Women. The bastard. Anyway. .’

A stranger had walked into the function suite. He was a fairly big man around whom middle-age had set like a podium. Not much had happened to detract from his sense of his own importance, or if it had he had managed to forget it. His mouth was open in one of those smiles that suggest the joke is private.

‘Oh-ho,’ he said as he came towards them. ‘Thought Ah heard voices. Ah wis at the lavvy there. A wee fly party, boays. Well, how’s about a ticket? Any chance of a drink?’

He had had enough already to suggest he should be taken into protective custody. It was Cam Colvin he had interrupted. John Rhodes was watching him without amusement. The others waited.

‘Cat got yer tongues? Any chance of a drink?’

‘Aye.’ Cam looked up at him. ‘How about a pint of blood? Siphoned off your face.’

The man started to sketch a laugh and erased it instantly. Losing its self-assurance, his face was clumsily rehearsing expressions as he looked round the table, slowly assimilating the drift of the plot from the appearance of the cast. It wasn’t a comedy. ‘Huh,’ he tried, to convince them he could take a role here. It was a bad audition.

‘Wait a minute. There’s no need-’

‘Fuck off,’ Cam said precisely, as if he was giving elocution lessons.

The man went out, his mouth bumbling a rearguard of aimless noise to cover the retreat of his self-esteem.

‘I must tell Dan Tomlinson,’ Cam said. ‘He’s not supposed to decorate the place with balloons till Christmas. Anyway. I think Hook should help me, John.’

‘How?’

‘He knows the people that go about the Crib. He can ask around. Just for starters, I’m going to find this Tony Veitch. Just for starters. If it’s him, he’s dead. And anybody that gets in my road’ll get hurt sore. I wouldn’t like to think Hook was being less than helpful.’

John Rhodes smiled. They were watching each other.

‘If anything happens to Hook or any of mine through you, Cam, ye better book a family plot. Paddy Collins’ll have a lot o’ company.’

The others were utterly still. Professional criminals are essentially conservative, perhaps because they have to take the law so seriously, can only operate effectively where rules are rules. They were all aware of how threatening to the tight order of things this confrontation was, like a nuclear standoff in the terms of their narrow lives.

Macey understood the tension. If you were choosing a winner out of such a conflict, it would have to be Cam. His interests were bigger and more varied and he was far more highly organised than John. But among several people who were in any organisational sense more powerful, John Rhodes still commanded a lot of respect.

There were sound reasons for it. Like a traditional family firm overtaken by pushy corporations, John Rhodes retained one quality which had so far guaranteed his survival: he dispensed a pure and undiluted product — 100 % proof violence. When he had to go, it would be to the death, preferably other people’s. Everybody knew that if you went against John Rhodes it was serious business. You weren’t going to conclude it by breaking a couple of knee-caps here and there.

Cam seemed to be contemplating that old-fashioned set of values that would let John make a bonfire of everything he had just to warm his sense of honour at it. Cam could deal with it if he had to, but he would rather not. You could never be sure what would be left.

When he spoke, his face had an expression almost of pleading but it was a complicated plea, including a desire not to have his own violence activated, since he couldn’t himself see the end of it.

‘John. You want trouble, your wish is granted. But does it have to be now? All I’m asking is for Hook to show willing. Show whose side he’s on. He can help. Is he going to?’

John Rhodes finished his port. ‘Doin’ what, like?’

‘Mickey here’s going to be asking around a bit. It’s handy. He’s handy. He’s not known about here the way he was. But he could use a guide. He thinks Hook could help him. Okay?’