Ian Rankin - Doors Open

To the man’s credit, it hadn’t taken Chib long to work things out.

By that time, they were sitting in a car park halfway round Arthur’s Seat in Holyrood Park. Mike seldom ventured up here: it was a place for dog-walkers and tourists. You rounded a bend and were met by incredible windswept panoramas of the city. But at other moments you felt surrounded by wilderness, the humped shape of Arthur’s Seat itself fooling you into imagining you were miles from civilisation. Yet Edinburgh surrounded you, the chimneypots, church spires and housing schemes just out of view.

‘Good for art,’ Chib said again, shaking his head. But then he sniffed and rubbed a finger across his nostrils and asked Mike to reprise the story. Only this time Chib had questions, concerns and ideas of his own. The ideas were too elaborate, but Mike listened patiently, his heart racing. He’d experienced a frisson from the moment he’d stepped into the car – actually, even before that. Waiting outside the pub as office workers and visitors hurried past, he’d wondered what they would say if he blurted out the identity of the man he was waiting for and the reason for their meeting.

I’m putting together a team…

I’m leading a gang…

The heist of the century…

And then the car had pulled up. He’d felt uneasy with those two gorillas hulking in the back, couldn’t help thinking of all the other people who, down the years, had taken a ride with Chib Calloway and his men, many of them fearful or plain petrified, some never seen again. But what Mike had felt chiefly was exhilaration. There was something feral about Chib. Mike’s first week in high school, the weakest newcomers had been selected and given a half-hearted kicking by the older boys. But Chib had been there, too, already accepted by his elders, his reputation preceding him. It hadn’t bothered Mike – better to be picked on than ignored completely. But afterwards, that was just what Chib had done – ignored him. And a couple of years later he was gone from the school, expelled after a headbutt on his chemistry teacher, leaving behind only the legend. There had still been bullies and gangs, but nothing like Chib. By fourth year, Mike had been the one laying into the new kids…

Afterwards, Mike had studied at college, found himself a flat on the edge of the New Town. And, a few brawls apart, he’d succeeded in leaving his upbringing far behind – parents dead, his only sister living in Canada. It interested him that Chib wasn’t merely about anger and the need to be the alpha male. There was intelligence in those piercing eyes, and a hunger for something – knowledge, perhaps. Maybe the gangster was beginning to realise just how narrow his world had become.

And just maybe, Mike conceded, the same thing was happening to him.

He watched as, without saying anything more, Chib got out of the car and walked to the edge of the car park, from where he could stare out across a nearby pond. Mike decided to follow, getting a cigarette lit as he exited the car. His hands were trembling, but only just. There was a small island in the middle of the pond, a swan nesting while its mate swam in protective circles. A woman had brought her toddler along so they could toss chunks of bread to a nearby cacophony of ducks, coots and moorhens. But it was the swans that interested Chib. He’d slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched them. Mike wished he knew what the man was thinking. Maybe he wanted the same sense of poise and certainty, the same equilibrium. Mike made the offer of a cigarette from his packet, but Chib shook his head. It was another minute or so before he spoke.

‘You lied to me, Mike, back in that gallery. Said you were in computers. I suppose it’s sort of true, but you didn’t want me to know all of it. Mr Success Story. Mr Millions in the Bank. A tenner to a kid in an internet café and I had more gen on you than I knew what to do with.’ He glanced towards Mike. ‘Scared I’d come calling on you one cold dark night, hand stretched out for a sub?’

Mike gave a shrug. ‘I didn’t want to look like I was showing off.’

‘We Scots are bad that way,’ Chib eventually acknowledged. ‘You ever been back to the school? Have they not invited you to hand out the prizes, inspire the kids with a few words of wisdom?’

‘No.’

‘Your old college gave you an honorary degree, though – was it the cash they were after?’

‘One day, I suppose,’ Mike conceded.

‘Kid says you’re not signed up to any of those sites that put you in touch with old pals.’

‘Like I told you, that’s because I don’t have any old pals.’

‘No, me neither…’ Chib leaned forward to spit on to the surface of the pond. ‘Doubt most of the folk I was at school with would give me the time of day. They organised some anniversary do last year for kids in our year – did you get an invite to that?’

‘I think so.’

‘You should’ve gone. Rented a Roller for the night and a couple of nice-looking escorts… rubbed all their noses in it.’

‘You could’ve done that, too,’ Mike offered, causing Chib to smile.

‘Don’t go thinking it didn’t cross my mind, but in the end… Well, fuck it.’ He made a little writhing motion, as though a cold wind were blowing. Then he turned his body so he was face to face with Mike. The hands stayed in their pockets. Mike was reminded of their meeting at the gallery and his fear that the gangster carried a gun or a knife. He doubted it now. But Calloway had worries in his life – maybe to do with ‘the Viking’. And Mike had given him something to take his mind off them – a fresh challenge. ‘You’ll need to be tooled up, Mike, you do realise that? You’re going to have to put the fear of God into everybody, make them think you’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘But the gun doesn’t need to be real, right?’

Chib shook his head. ‘Just needs to look real – if that’s what you want.’

‘That’s all we’ll need.’

‘Better be sure of that – just takes one of the guards to be ex-military… you poke an airgun in his face and he’s going to know it.’

‘Replicas, then.’

‘Even better is the real thing with the firing pin out.’

‘You’re the expert, Chib.’

‘Damned right I am.’ He was silent for a few more moments. ‘Four additional crew, I reckon. One apiece for the gatehouse and guardroom and two to keep the visitors quiet. That leaves the three of you clear to do the actual finding and fetching.’

‘Quicker we’re in and out, the better for all concerned.’

‘Still can’t see it, though, Mike – you and the old professor guy and that poofy-looking pal of yours? More I think about it, more I’m convinced it’s a wind-up.’

‘You don’t think it’ll work?’

‘Actually, it sounds all right. It’s the planners rather than the plan I’m thinking of…’

‘Needn’t concern you, Chib. If it falls apart, it’s our problem – you’ll still get your fee, and so will the four crew. Have you got anyone in mind?’

‘You want them young,’ Chib stated. ‘Means they’re hungry, on top of which there’s all that testosterone… makes them even scarier.’

‘How much will they want?’

But Chib shook his head. ‘Guns and bodies aren’t a problem. Crew don’t even need to be told who they’re working for – a word from me’ll be enough. All they’ll see is a warehouse, won’t know what’s being taken.’

‘They will if they’re in the back of the van. Speaking of which…’

‘Getting a van’s easy enough – maybe with faked number plates. Something plain, something like a Transit. Nobody looks twice at blacked-out windows in the back of one of those…’

‘Fair enough. So, really, we’re back to your fee…’