It was true enough. We all thought we were wee hard men. Aged between fifteen and eighteen, me being the youngest but ironically, the biggest, we’d swaggered about the streets of Govan in Glasgow like we owned it. Unfortunately, there were other groups of youths who believed we were wrong.
One gang worked for the big man of Govan at the time, Frank Ricci, or Big Frank, as he was known then: drug dealer, racketeer, and car chop shop owner. He paid kids to infest the local schools with his product. His wee gangbangers thought we were trying to encroach on their territory, to take over their jobs for Big Frank, because one of my mates was stupid enough to take a meeting with him. From that moment on, we were at war with the fuckers.
Then one night, we spotted one of them on their own. Craig.
I thought Nairn, the eldest of our group and our leader of sorts, just wanted to scare him. But before we knew it, Craig was on the ground, and they were all beating the utter shit out of him. Billy and I tried to stop it. We even fought them, our own mates, but we were too late.
While we were preoccupied with the others, Nairn took out his pocketknife and gutted Craig.
We all fled.
Billy and I found a pay phone and made an anonymous emergency call.
But the shame of that night will never leave me.
A brave witness informed on us to the police, but it was also that witness who exonerated me and Billy by vouching that we attempted to stop the attack. Billy and I had little choice but to admit it was Nairn who’d done it because of the witness testimony. The police found Craig’s blood on Nairn’s clothes. It was enough to send him away for fifteen years. He died in prison six years later during a fight with another prisoner.
While Billy and I never faced formal charges, the whole ugly, horrific incident had scared my gran enough that she sent me to the States, to Boston, to live with my uncle. And I went willingly, desperate to get away from a life I knew deep down I did not want. Billy got into some trouble in his youth, but a short stint in prison set him straight, and he trained to become an electrician. He and his wife moved out of Govan to the other side of Glasgow. They’d never had kids, but he’d seemed happy with his lot in life.
“Ye cannae say it’s no fuckin’ weird Kenny died that way, Mac.”
“Aye, it’s strange,” I agreed.
“Twa months later, Wee Frickle wis stabbed ootside his local. Nae witnesses. They still havenae caught the bastard. New Year’s Eve, Jamie fell aff the roof o’ his tenement. There wis three times the legal limit o’ alcohol in his blood. Recorded as an accidental death. Then three weeks ago, I get a call from Bryan McNab’s mam. Deid. Hit by a car ootside his flat. It wisnae accidental because witnesses saw a car wi’ blacked-oot windaes reverse ‘er his body and then drive back ‘er him again tae make sure the job wis done.”
“Fuck,” I bit out, shock thrumming through me.
“Ye gonnae tell me that’s aw coincidental, Mac?”
Shaking my head, I looked out the shallow window of my office, seeing nothing but rain lashing the windows. “You came here to warn me?”
“Aye. Then I’m gettin’ the fuck oot o’ Scotland. I’m glad, being here, I can see how safe this place is. It’s a fortress. Maybe ye shouldnae leave the grounds for a while.”
No way would I wait like a sitting duck trapped on the estate. “I have means to look into their deaths.” I looked back at Billy. “Go to Australia. Stay safe. I’ll have my contacts dig into this. If this isn’t a strange bloody coincidence, then I’ll find out who’s behind it. How can I reach you so I can let you know what I uncover?”
Billy gave me his brother’s number, and we finished our coffees in strained conversation. The knowledge that someone might be after Craig’s attackers hung over us like an omen.
Before he left, Billy admitted gruffly, “I ken this isnae the kind o’ stuff we ever could get away wi’ talkin’ aboot back then, but I hud a hard time gettin’ ‘er it. Whit happened that night. Whit I didnae stop fae happenin’. I doubt I’ll ever really be ‘er it. But the wife made me talk tae someone, a professional like.” He shrugged, clearly a bit embarrassed. “It helped a lot, Mac.”
I knew what he was telling me. What he was recommending. “I’ll think about it. I’m glad for you, Bill.”
When he left, I was admittedly relieved to see him go. I told him to let me know when he arrived in Australia. I wanted to know that if we were in danger, he was somewhere someone was less likely to follow. Billy’s safety meant something to me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t glad to be rid of the messenger.
The Adairs had only just gotten over the last storm that tried to devastate their family.
I couldn’t bring more danger into their lives.
Into her life.
I could only hope we were being paranoid.
Determined to know for certain, I pulled out my phone as I marched down the corridor back to my office. Hitting the number in my contacts, I only had to wait a few rings before Lisa Renfrew answered. She was Assistant Chief Constable, Local Police West. Meaning she was one of the highest-ranking officers in Police Scotland, and the city of Glasgow was under her purview.
“Mac Galbraith, as I live and breathe,” Lisa answered. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Lisa and I met when she was a young police officer. She helped coordinate security measures at one of Lachlan’s only film premieres in Glasgow many moons ago. We’d had a fling but enjoyed each other’s company, so we stayed in touch over the years. Unsurprisingly, she’d risen through the ranks, which was extremely convenient for me right now.
“Sorry to cut past the pleasantries, Lise, but I might have a big problem on my hands. I need some information.”