Howard Linskey - The Drop

Arthur looked surprised to see us but he hid it well. He quietly instructed his eldest boy Tommy’s wife to look after the ladies at the bar while he walked over to greet us by the door, followed by his boys. They were frowning, our very presence on their patch was a massive affront to them.

There were five of them and four of us but I wasn’t in the same league as Bobby, Finney and Jerry Lemon. I was praying they wouldn’t want to start anything in a pub, even a dog-rough one with ancient wallpaper, and woodchip walls like this one. I sized up Arthur’s lads so I could pick the softest one to lamp if it did kick off, but they were all built like steroidal bouncers. Each of them looked like he’d grown up fighting every day, encouraged by his dad, and I didn’t like the odds. The eldest, Tommy, was sporting the remnants of a black eye and there was something about the way he carried himself, a little warily, that made me wonder if he might have been given it by his father.

‘Arthur,’ said Bobby.

‘Bobby,’ Arthur Gladwell nodded, ‘what brings you here? I’m not aware of a meeting. It’s my wife’s birthday.’

‘I know that,’ said Bobby, ‘this won’t take long.’

‘Fair enough.’

Bobby handed Arthur the rolled up picture of Andrew Stone. The big man unfurled it and looked at it, while we watched him for a trace of recognition. Instead he gave us a questioning look.

‘Someone’s coming after me and mine, Arthur,’ said Bobby, ‘and I need to know it’s not you, not over the phone but face-to-face, man-to-man. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me it’s not you Arthur. Or you can tell me that it is you, then we’ll both know where we stand.’

‘Tommy,’ said Arthur, ‘go to the bar and get me two glasses of that single malt from Oban.’ Tommy Gladwell looked less than thrilled to be fetching Bobby his drink but he went anyway. We watched him trudge over to the bar and order and we waited for Arthur to say something.

‘We’ve known each other for a long time Bobby,’ he said finally, ‘we’ve had our differences over the years, no one would deny that. I wouldn’t call us friends but I’d say we respect each other. I’ve heard about your troubles – but I’m not the cause of them.’

Gladwell junior returned with the glasses and handed one to Bobby who took it silently. Arthur raised his own glass to Bobby’s, they clinked them together and each took an appreciative sip, ‘I don’t want to go to war with you,’ said Arthur, ‘just as you don’t want to go to war with me. I’m too old and too busy with my own patch. This city is full of Jack-the-lads, all flexing their muscles because they want a piece of what I’ve got. They all want to be Top Boy and I get no rest ‘cos I’ve got to keep putting them back in their place. I think you understand that.’ Bobby’s eyes narrowed in recognition. Arthur took another sip of his malt, ‘I don’t have to swear on the lives of my grandchildren Bobby but I will if it will make you feel better.’

‘No Arthur, you’re telling me it isn’t so and that’s good enough for me.’

‘Good,’ said Arthur Gladwell, ‘now why don’t you join us for a drink, your boys too of course.’

‘Thanks Arthur. I appreciate the invitation but I’ll leave you to your family. It’s time we were heading back.’ And he drained the last dregs of the malt and handed the empty glass back to Tommy Gladwell, who took it meekly enough, though he looked like he’d rather have seen it hit the floor. Bobby and Arthur Gladwell shook hands and, at the last moment, Tommy Gladwell tried to shake Bobby’s hand but Bobby was already turning his back. I don’t think he was snubbing the bloke deliberately but Bobby was the kind of man who wouldn’t have given a toss either way. As Bobby turned away there was an awkward moment where Tommy had his hand outstretched and there was no one there to shake it. I didn’t want him to look like a complete tosser so I leaned forward, shook his hand and said, ‘hope your mother has a great night.’

When we were back in the train Bobby said, ‘how has he heard about my troubles?’

‘Eh?’ asked Finney.

‘I said, how does he know about my troubles?’

‘I dunno,’ answered Finney. He seemed a little perturbed to be asked the question. I kept silent, assuming it was rhetorical.

We had the first class carriage to ourselves, except for a business type who was busy reading his paper.

‘What did you think about that Davey?’ Bobby asked me.

‘Well, he’s saying it has nowt to do with him and I tend to believe it.’

‘You believe that fucking snake,’ said Jerry Lemon, ‘he’d grass on his own grandma if it suited him.’

‘And so would we,’ I reminded him, ‘I don’t know, I may be wrong but my instinct says it isn’t Arthur Gladwell. He doesn’t want a war right now. In fact it’s the last thing he needs, though… ’

‘What?’ asked Bobby

‘He didn’t say anything about Stone, when you showed him the picture. He didn’t say a word.’

‘Well, he would know him, a professional operator on his patch,’ said Bobby.

‘Yeah but he didn’t deny using him, he didn’t ask you what any of this had to do with him, he just didn’t say anything.’

‘So what you’re saying is, you don’t know if it’s him or not?’ challenged Jerry Lemon.

‘Yes, that’s right Jerry, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Then going up there was a complete waste of time,’ added Jerry.

‘No it wasn’t!’ snapped Bobby, ‘if it was him, he knows we are on to him and he’s been warned off. If it wasn’t, well he knows we don’t fuck about down here, we come up and confront people if we think they are taking the piss, so him and his boys will know that too, for future reference.’

‘Sorry Bobby,’ said Jerry Lemon, ‘I was only saying…’

‘Maybe you should do a bit less saying and a bit more thinking. Do you reckon word won’t get round that we went up there to have it out with Arthur Gladwell face to face on his own patch?’ Course it will. Every grass in the city will be onto it by now. We’ll have been picked up on CCTV arriving at the station. That shows we’ll stand, against anyone. Anyone,’ Bobby stared out of the train window and he carried on addressing Jerry without even looking at him, ‘why don’t you do something useful for a change. Go down to the buffet car and get us all a drink.’

I was beginning to think it was worth the journey to Glasgow just to see Jerry Lemon get slapped down like that.

We were back to square one. We had nothing; just a photofit of a petty criminal from Glasgow and a Russian connection we didn’t understand. It was doing my head in. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Bobby still didn’t have his money and, more importantly, I hadn’t found out who was behind his ‘troubles’, as Arthur Gladwell so tellingly referred to them.

I was at home watching the football when the phone rang. Out of the blue, Joe Kinane called me. His happiness was in direct contrast to my mood.

‘I just thought I’d give you a ring about my lad,’ he told me.

‘How’d he get on?’

‘Beat it,’ he said.

‘Really?’ this was more than I could have hoped for, ‘that’s brilliant. What happened?’

‘Self-defence,’ he said laughing, ‘which it was of course, kind of, but that lawyer of yours was the dog’s. She took the other guy apart.’

‘Told you,’ I said.

‘Aye, well, he got a more comprehensive beating from her than he ever did from my boy. It helped that she seemed to have a lot of information about his character, stuff he wouldn’t want a jury to hear. Turns out he wasn’t a very nice bloke,’ he said dryly.