Craig Russell - Lennox

‘What for?’

‘That I’m not entirely sure of. But I am sure it involves taking things in or out of the Middle East. Anyway, something goes wrong. Tam is targeted by someone who doesn’t like his enterprising spirit, so he fakes his own death by killing his brother. But his hunters aren’t convinced and they do both brothers. Tam exits stage left under his twin brother’s name. But Sally Blane, or Lillian Andrews as she now is, keeps the plan running. Part of that plan is to divert suspicion for the second McGahern death onto me, and then to frame me good and proper for the Parks murder.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Helena. She kept the lights out.

‘Maybe they fell out. Or maybe getting rid of Parks, just like getting rid of Frankie, was part of the plan from the start.’

‘I still don’t see what this has to do with me, Lennox.’

‘Parks wasn’t the only one supplying names and helping set up the West End operation. Parks didn’t have the style for it. I got chatting to one of McGahern’s former lackeys, a nobody called Bobby who tells me that McGahern was cracked up on the woman who ran the shop for him. Molly. To start with I think that’s Lillian, but there’s talk of a foreign woman.’

‘Me.’

‘That’s what I don’t know. I hope to God it’s not, Helena. Because if it is, you’ve got yourself into some serious trouble. Whoever did Tam is a serious outfit. And I don’t think we’re talking about gangsters.’

‘You don’t seem to know what you’re talking about, Lennox. There are things you don’t understand. Will never understand.’

‘Are you saying it wasn’t you?’

‘What I’m saying is you don’t know as much as you like to think you know. About me. About anything.’

‘Then enlighten me.’

‘I think you’d better go.’ She stood up and switched the table lamp on. I blinked in the sudden light. Then I saw her face. And I saw in it something I’d never seen before. She looked pale, sad and drawn. But there was something in her expression that was sad and hard and resolute. She handed me my hat.

‘For what it’s worth, Lennox, it’s not me. I told you the last time you were here that I only saw Sally’s Glaswegian thug boyfriend once. Don’t let tonight fool you: I’m usually particular whom I fuck.’

When I woke up the next day I felt pretty crap. I went to ’Pherson’s for a cut and shave and arranged for Twinkletoes to meet me there. Before I went to ’Pherson’s I ’phoned Hammer Murphy. I needed his okay for what I was about to do.

‘What’s to do?’ asked Twinkletoes cheerfully as he strained the suspension of my Atlantic climbing into the passenger seat. I smiled back, trying not to think of how easily he would just as cheerfully have used his bolt-cutters to take me down a shoe size.

‘Danny Dumfries. That’s what to do.’

‘What the fuck you want with him? He’s one of Murphy’s monkeys.’

‘I want to talk to him. More exactly I want him to talk to me. I need you to ease the conversation. And don’t worry, I’ve cleared it with Murphy.’

‘Okay. Just give me a minute.’ Twinkletoes got out of the car, went over to his Sunbeam and took a couple of things out of the boot. He squeezed back into my car even more awkwardly. There was something long and solid hidden in the folds of his raincoat.

The incongruous golden gleam of six hundred quid’s worth of Jowett Javelin parked outside the bleak facade of the club signalled that we would find Dumfries inside. Officially it was a working men’s club and run by a committee. That meant the police could only call by invitation, which in turn meant that regulated licensing hours was as alien a concept as men on Mars.

The reality was that Dumfries’s club was somewhere between a twenty-four-hour boozer and a brothel. There were a couple of rooms in the back that working girls could rent by the hour. The sexual endurance of Scotsmen meant you could squeeze a lot of business into an hour.

As soon as we entered the club we were plunged into dimly lit gloom. The unventilated room was dense with cigarette smoke, a fume of cheap whisky and the sweat of men engaged in the serious physical toil of around-the-clock drinking.

It was quiet as well as dark. When my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see Dumfries standing by the bar with a couple of toughs whom I guessed to be employees. There was a neglected snooker table at the back and five or six expert drinkers sat scattered around the place, oblivious to all but the glasses in front of them.

Danny Dumfries was a small, dark but good-looking man in his late thirties, dressed with impeccable taste. Dumfries and his clubs fell loosely into the orbit of Hammer Murphy’s empire, but Murphy allowed him a little more independence than he did his other ‘contractors’. If Dumfries had been fully part of the Murphy operation, I couldn’t have brought Twinkletoes into his club. As it was I had had to get clearance from Murphy before pulling a stunt like this.

Dumfries smiled when we entered, as much in amusement as welcome. My bringing along one of Sneddon’s heavies was making a statement; Dumfries’s smile was the arrogant sneer of someone who feels protected. But, there again, he wasn’t to know about the conversation I’d had with Murphy on the ’phone.

‘Lennox,’ he said, smugly. ‘Taking your pet out for a walk?’

‘Can we talk?’ I said, ignoring the fact that the two heavies had now appeared at our shoulders.

‘It’s a free country.’

‘I mean in private.’

‘I’m more comfortable here.’

‘This is serious stuff, Danny. And it’s as important to Mr Murphy as it is to Mr Sneddon. I’m just looking for some information, but we need to talk in private.’

‘Show the gentlemen the way out,’ Dumfries said wearily to one of his heavies.

Twinkletoes shoved me to one side as easily as if he were parting curtains. He pushed his face into Dumfries’s and pulled the bolt-cutters from inside his raincoat, slamming them down on the bar counter. Several glasses shattered. Suddenly the two heavies looked unsure as to what to do next.

‘Tell yer fuckin’ monkeys to fuck off, Dumfries, ya wee midget cunt. If you don’t, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill one of them, just to make a point. Then I’m goin’ to shove your fuckin’ toes up the other’s arse. After that I’ll start on yer fuckin’ fingers.’

I found myself thinking that if newly appointed General Secretary Dag Hammerskjold displayed similar diplomatic skills when he took office, the UN would resolve the Korean conflict overnight.

One of the heavies moved in on Twinkletoes, who swung the bolt-cutters backwards and slashed him across the temple. Dumfries’s man dropped like a stone while the other made a clumsy move forward. Twinkletoes turned to him and smashed his forehead into the man’s face. When he went down, Twinkletoes stamped on his head and put his lights right out.

‘Take it easy, for fuck’s sake,’ said Dumfries, backing away. Twinkletoes grabbed him by his expensive shirtfront and slapped him hard with the flat and then the back of his hand.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Twinkletoes.

‘Twinkletoes…’ I said. ‘We don’t want him to shut up. We want him to tell us what he knows.’

‘Oh,’ said Twinkletoes apologetically. ‘Sorry.’ He slapped Dumfries twice more. ‘Tell us what the fuck you know.’

‘About what?’ Dumfries yelled. A trickle of blood dribbled from his nostril.

‘Twinkletoes, give the guy a chance. He doesn’t know what we want,’ I said. I turned back to Dumfries. ‘But I’ll give you a clue or three. Blackmail. Tam McGahern. Trapping the great and the good with pussy mantraps.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’