Craig Russell - The Long Glasgow Kiss

‘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.

‘Well, I work for them all, on and off. I do know your father and he’s nothing in the scheme of things. A nobody. If Hammer Murphy decided to squash him he could, as easy as a bug. So you run to Pop with tales and I’ll do the same with Hammer Murphy. We understand each other?’ I punctuated my question with another vicious squeeze of his wrist. His face contorted and when I eased the pressure he nodded violently again.

‘Okay,’ I continued. ‘Now that we understand each other, I think we should have our little chat. Now… why do you have a key to this flat?’

‘Sammy gave me one.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re friends.’

‘What do you mean “friends”? Good-mate friends or knob-jockey friends?’

‘What the fu-’

I interrupted his profanity with a light squeeze.

‘I’m no poof,’ he protested when he got his breath back. ‘Sammy and me are just friends.’

‘Now you’re going to find this a tad difficult to believe,’ I said self-deprecatingly, ‘but I have a lot of friends myself, and none of them have a key to my place. Try again, Mr Costello… Junior.’

‘That’s the truth. Sammy lets me crash here every now and again. I work at the club too.’

‘What club? The Poppy Club?’

‘Poppy Club? I’ve never heard of it. I work at the Riviera… my Da’s place. Sammy sings there now and again.’

‘The Riviera?’ My laugh came out a snort. ‘Very glamorous. And on what particular part of the Ligurian coast does your father’s club reside?’

Costello looked at me as if I was talking Japanese. In Glasgow it paid to keep your cultural references simple. ‘Where’s the Riviera Club?’

‘Partick. Near the river,’ he said.

This time my snort came out a full-blown laugh.

Costello looked offended. ‘It’s a classy place.’

‘I’m sure it is. It must be high on every VIP’s itinerary. I would guess you see a lot of Princess Margaret.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Now, now, Junior. Don’t get tetchy or I’ll hold your hand again. Speaking of holding hands, why are you so cosy with Sammy Pollock? I wouldn’t have put you two together.’

‘We’ve got ideas. Business ideas. He’s fed up of just being Sheila Gainsborough’s brother and I’m fed up being thought of as just Jimmy Costello’s son.’

‘Please stop. I’m getting all teary. When did you last see Sammy?’

‘A couple of weeks ago. I was out of town.’

‘Where out of town?’

‘What’s it to you?’

I smiled and squeezed. He winced and glowered.

‘London…’ He strained it through his teeth. ‘I was down in London for a couple of weeks.’

‘So you didn’t know he was missing?’ I let go of his wrist and lit a cigarette.

‘You fucking enjoy this, don’t you?’ He smiled maliciously through his pain. ‘Hurting people. You really do enjoy it, don’t you?’

‘Oh, please don’t generalize…’ I looked offended, then smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I don’t enjoy hurting people, I enjoy hurting you. Let’s just say it’s our thing. Now…’ I let the smile drop as I leaned forward. ‘Did you know Sammy was missing?’

‘Missing? Is he missing? I know he’s not about. That doesn’t mean he’s missing. I tried to get him on the ’phone a couple of times from London. I just thought I’d missed him, been unlucky. That’s why I came around today.’

‘What kind of business?’ I blew smoke into his face.

‘What?’

‘What kind of business are you and Sammy thinking about getting involved in?’

‘Just… I don’t know… artist management. We were going to represent some of the musicians who work the pubs and clubs. The better musicians. We know a lot of them. So we thought we’d offer management.’