Ian Rankin - The Naming of the Dead

Rebus shrugged. “This is between you and him.”

“I’m owed a favor…”

“You’re owed the square root of fuck-all. Good luck to him if he takes you out of the game.” Rebus flicked the remains of the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.

“You sure about that?” Cafferty asked quietly. “You sure you’d rather have him running the show? Man of the people…man with political clout? Think he’ll be an easier target than me? But then, you’re just shy of retirement…so maybe it’s Siobhan we should be thinking of. What is it they say?” Cafferty angled his head upward, as if the words were somewhere up there. “Better the devil you know,” he declared.

Rebus folded his arms. “You didn’t bring me here to show me Gareth Tench,” he said. “You did it to show me to him-the two of us side by side, you patting me on the back…a nice little portrait we must have made. You want him to think I’m in your pocket, and the rest of CID with me.”

Cafferty tried to look hurt by the accusation. “You overestimate me, Rebus.”

“I doubt that. You could have told me all this back in Arden Street.”

“But then you’d have missed the show.”

“Aye, and so would Councilman Tench. Tell me, how’s he going to finance this takeover? And where are the soldiers to back him up?”

Cafferty stretched his arms out again, this time spinning 360 degrees. “He owns this whole district-the bad as well as the good.”

“And the money?”

“He’ll talk his way into the money, Rebus. It’s what he does best.”

“I do talk a good game, it’s true.” Both men turned to see Gareth Tench standing in the doorway, illuminated from behind. “And I’m not easily scared, Cafferty-not by you, not by your friends.” Rebus was about to protest, but Tench hadn’t finished. “I’m cleaning up this area, no reason I can’t do the same job elsewhere in the city. If your pals in the force won’t put you out of business, the community might have to.”

Rebus noted the two thickset men standing farther back in the doorway, on either side of Tench. “Let’s go,” he suggested to Cafferty. Last thing he wanted was to step in between Cafferty and a beating.

All the same, he knew he’d have to step in.

His hand was on Cafferty’s arm. The gangster shrugged him off. “I’ve never fought a battle and lost,” Cafferty warned Tench. “Think about that before you start.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” Tench shot back. “Your little empire’s turning to dust. Time you woke up to the fact. Having trouble recruiting bouncers for your pubs? Can’t find tenants for your death-trap apartments? Taxi firm short a few drivers?” A smile was spreading across Tench’s face. “You’re in the twilight zone, Cafferty. Wake up and smell the coffin…”

Cafferty started to spring forward. Rebus grabbed him, just as Tench’s men pushed past their boss. Rebus turned Cafferty, so his own back was facing the door. He gave the gangster a shove toward the Bentley.

“Get in and get going,” he ordered.

“Never lost a battle!” Cafferty was raging, face puce. But he yanked open the door and dumped himself into the driver’s seat. As Rebus walked around to the passenger side, he looked toward the doorway. Tench was waving a gloating good-bye. Rebus wanted to say something, if only to let Tench know he wasn’t Cafferty’s man…but the councilman was already turning away, leaving his minions to monitor proceedings.

“I’m going to rip his fucking eyeballs out and make him suck them like jawbreakers,” Cafferty was snarling, flecks of saliva pocking the inside of the windshield. “And if he wants concrete fucking proposals, I’ll mix the cement myself before I whack him with the shovel-now that’s betterment of the community!”

Cafferty stopped talking as he maneuvered out of the lot. But his breathing remained fast and noisy. Eventually, he turned toward his passenger. “I swear to God, when I get my hands on that prick…” His knuckles were white as they wrapped themselves around the steering wheel.

“But if you do say anything,” Rebus intoned, “which may be used against you as evidence in a court of law…”

“They’d never convict,” Cafferty roared with a wild laugh. “Forensics will have to scoop up what’s left of him with a teaspoon.”

“But if you do say anything…” Rebus repeated.

“It started three years back,” Cafferty said, making an effort to control his breathing. “Gaming licenses refused, bar applications refused…I was even going to open a cab office on his turf, take a few of the locals off the dole. He made sure the council bounced me out every time.”

“So it’s not just that you’ve finally met someone with the guts to stand up to you?”

Cafferty glanced at Rebus. “I thought that was your job.”

“Maybe it is.”

Eventually, Cafferty broke the resulting silence. “I need a drink,” he said, licking his lips. The corners of his mouth were coated with white flecks.

“Good idea,” Rebus told him. “Like me, maybe you’ll drink to forget…”

He kept watching Cafferty during the rest of the silent ride back into town. The man had killed and gotten away with it-probably more times than Rebus knew. He’d fed victims to the hungry pigs on a Borders farm. He’d ruined countless lives, served four jail terms. He’d been a savage since his teenage years, served an apprenticeship as enforcer to the London mob…

So why the hell was Rebus feeling sorry for him?

“I’ve got some thirty-year-old malt at the house,” Cafferty was saying. “Butterscotch and heather and melted butter…”

“Drop me in Marchmont,” Rebus insisted.

“What about that drink?”

But Rebus shook his head. “I’m supposed to be renouncing it, remember?”

Cafferty snorted, but said nothing. All the same, Rebus could tell the man wanted him to change his mind. Wanted them to have that drink together, sitting opposite each other as the night circled them on tiptoe.

Cafferty wouldn’t insist though. Insisting would sound like begging.

He wouldn’t beg.

Not just yet.

It struck Rebus that what Cafferty feared was a loss of power. Tyrants and politicians alike feared the selfsame thing, whether they belonged to the underworld or the overworld. The day would come when no one listened to them anymore, their orders ignored, reputation diminished. New challenges, new rivals and predators. Cafferty probably had millions stashed away, but a whole fleet of luxury cars was no substitute for status and respect.

Edinburgh was a small city; easy for one man to exert control over the greater part of it. Tench or Cafferty? Cafferty or Tench?

Rebus couldn’t help wondering if he would have to choose…

The overworld.

Everyone from G8 leaders to Pennen and Steelforth. All of them driven by the will to power. A chain of command affecting every person on the planet. Rebus was still thinking about it as he watched the Bentley drive away. But then he became aware of a shadowy figure standing next to his tenement door. He clenched his fists and looked around, in case Jacko had brought his buddies. But it wasn’t Jacko who stepped forward. It was Hackman.

“Evening all,” he said.

“I nearly took a swing at you then,” Rebus replied, relaxing his shoulders. “How the hell did you find me?”

“Couple of phone calls is all it took. Very helpful, the local cops. Must say, though, I wouldn’t have thought a street like this was your style.”

“So where am I supposed to live?”

“Dockside condo,” Hackman stated.

“Is that right?”

“Nice young blond thing to cook you breakfast on weekends.”