Craig Russell - The Deep Dark Sleep

‘So no choice, in other words.’

‘Instead of turning up at the usual intervals, we all go to the meet at the Railplane a full hour ahead of schedule, and together. We don’t have the weapons we had for the robbery ’cause Strachan was supposed to dump them in the Clyde after we split up, but Johnnie has a Great War Luger that he brings along and I have my own sawn-off. Strachan turns up half an hour after us and we get the drop on him. But there’s no money with him. We’ve got him at gunpoint and the bastard just laughs at us. He tells us that he knew we’d try to pull this so he’s stashed the cash where no one knows about it except him. Stalemate. Johnnie tells Strachan that he’s going to torture him, shoot his balls off one at a time, but Strachan knows we’re not made of the same as him. He could do that kind of thing, but not us. We’re fucked. We can’t kill Strachan because if we do, we’ll never get the money and, anyways, we’re all a bit squeamish about committing murder and Strachan knows that. The bastard knows everything.

‘So we’re just standing there shouting at each other ’cause no bastard knows what to do next when we realize that the Lad’ll be there at any moment. So Johnnie, who’s kind of taken everything over, sends me out with the shotgun to wait for him arriving. No squeamishness about killing now. We all know that the apprentice is an even greater danger than the master, if you know what I mean, so I’m ready to blow the fucker’s head off if he turns up. So I’m outside and don’t know what the fuck is happening in the hangar and by now it’s getting dark and there are no lights at the site. I’m standing there in the dark with the Bennie Railplane above me and only four shells for the shotgun.

‘I see the shape of someone coming my way from the main road. More of a silhouette than anything else but I can tell from his build that it’s the Lad. But I have to wait till he gets really close. A sawn-off is useless at anything more than a few feet. He’s still far too far away when all hell breaks loose inside the hangar. There are a whole load of shots fired and Johnnie and Ronnie come running out, shouting for me to make a run for it. Johnnie’s shouting “He’s dead, he’s fucking dead”, but I don’t know if he’s talking about Strachan or Mike Murphy. The Lad starts running away too and I chase, firing one barrel at a time, but just for show because there’s no way I could hit him, but I guess he’s unarmed and I don’t want the bastard coming after me.

‘End of story? Four men run off in opposite directions, never to meet again, without a penny from the robbery in their pockets. Three of them are going to have to keep running. Who’s dead in the Railplane hangar? It could be Joe Strachan, it could be Mike Murphy, it could be both. All I know is that years later I read that Johnnie Bentley and then Ronnie McCoy meet with tragic accidents.’

‘You never saw them again?’

‘Naw. We all did a disappearing act. I even used a fake name for a while, but after a time I thought it was safe and, anyway, I met the wife and had to get married under my legal name. But I never heard another word from the others and I didn’t go looking for them, so I’m stuck not knowing if it was Strachan or Mike who’d been killed.’

‘The body …’ I said. ‘Surely the police found a body?’

Provan shook his head. ‘Not that I heard about. And believe me, I checked. Every day, all the papers.’

We both fell silent for a moment.

‘And where did you get the money for this?’ I gestured vaguely to indicate the bungalow we sat in.

‘I pulled a few jobs on my own. A couple in Glasgow and a few in Edinburgh. I’d learned a lot from Gentleman Joe and I decided that all of my jobs would be big takes. Strachan always said that robbing fifty quid carries the same risk as fifty thousand. When I had enough to keep me going, I gave the business up. Went straight. Even got a job for appearances’ sake and actually did well for myself.’

‘That night, when the Lad approached the Railplane site … he won’t have had a balaclava on then. Did you get a look at him?’

‘No. Or not enough to ever recognize him again. Like I said, it was as dark as a coon’s arse that night and he didn’t get close enough for me to get a decent squizz at him. But he was young. Younger than I thought and a lot younger than me.’

I took another few sips of the whisky but decided not to drain the tumbler, unless I wanted to see dual carriageways through Glasgow again.

‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked.

‘Believe me, Lennox, I’m open to suggestions.’

‘Do you have a car?’

‘Aye. In the garage.’

‘Then I suggest you get packed. Right now. And get in your car and drive. Lock this place up, empty your bank account and drive. South. England. Don’t tell me where, just go. And I suggest you stay there for a few weeks, or until you hear that this is all over.’ I handed him a business card. ‘Telephone me every Monday morning at ten a.m. I’ll tell you what the state of play is. Call yourself Mr French when you call and if you hear anybody’s voice but mine, hang up. Got it?’

He nodded, but had a strange expression. Not suspicious, more confused.

‘Why are you helping me?’ he asked.

‘It’s Bob-a-Job week and I’m a Boy Scout. By the way, you owe me a shilling. I don’t know … I think you’ve been punished enough for your involvement in the robbery. You didn’t get anything out of it and you’ve spent the last eighteen years looking over your shoulder. And whether it’s Strachan or the Lad or someone else, whoever’s behind all of this mayhem has made it all very personal with me, like I told you.’

‘Well,’ said Provan. ‘It’s appreciated. Sorry about …’ He nodded to my blood-stained hand.

‘That’s okay. I don’t feel like I’m me if I’m not bleeding or bruised. Anyway, it’s a souvenir from my encounter with my commando window cleaner.’ I nodded to the kitchen sink. ‘Do you mind if I clean up?’

‘No problem. I’ve got a first aid kit if that helps.’

I took off my jacket and rolled my shirt sleeves up. My right sleeve was sodden with blood. I eased up the dressing and saw that two of the stitches had popped, as I’d suspected and the wound gaped slightly at one end. I took a fresh pad and bandage from the frowning Provan and patched myself up as well as I could.

While I cleaned up, Provan packed a couple of holdalls for himself. He saw me out, locked the bungalow’s door behind him and shook my hand.

‘Thanks again, Lennox,’ he said.

‘Don’t thank me yet. Like I said, keep driving until you’re the only one with a Scottish accent, then drive some more.’

‘Will do.’ He waved and headed into the green-painted wooden garage.

I sat in the Atlantic for a moment and considered my next move. I knew who I had to see. I’d known it for some time now. My guess was that if I didn’t see him, he’d come visit me. And there was Fraser, the solicitor, with whom I had an account to settle. But I decided that before I did anything, I’d have to visit the Casualty Department and get my wound stitched up again. Then I’d visit a sign painter and get the lettering on my office window changed to ‘Lennox. Enquiry Agent and Human Tapestry’.

I could have sworn the whole car shunted sideways. The blast sideswiped the Atlantic and I felt the same stunned paralysis that I’d got during the war every time a shell or a grenade had gone off that little bit too close to me. And as the scars on my face attested, they had gone off too close. I ducked down and hugged my knees and a shower of green painted wood clattered down on the car. After it subsided I turned and looked out of my cracked side window. The garage was gone, along with a lot of Provan’s car. And Provan. I could make out something barely recognizable as a human shape blazing like the rest of the car.