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642 lines
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<h1>17</h1>
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<p>She hit him such a punch he landed on his backside with a jolt that shunted up his spine and rattled his teeth. It
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took him completely by surprise.</p>
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<p>"You are a lying, cheating, deceiving <em>shit</em>, Jack Lorne."</p>
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<p>He sat on the grass, rubbing his chin, while tiny points of light spangled in peripheral vision. Kate waded in and
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took another swing at him, clipping his ear with a sharp knuckle.</p>
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<p>"Ow! Cut it out." It really stung.</p>
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<p>"I'll cut out your black heart," she said, green eyes narrowed, hair like smouldering coal, temper several degrees
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hotter still.</p>
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<p>She jabbed another fast punch and he caught her by the wrist, trying to keep her off without hurting her. She pulled
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against him, stronger than he'd have thought..</p>
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<p>"Come on Kate. Stop that before you do me a damage." He could feel the skin begin to swell and his ear was ringing
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hot. He held her and grabbed the other wrist and then used her to get to his feet. He had been strolling down the
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lane from his uncle's house and she had turned the corner, walking fast, taken one look at him and hit without any
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explanation.</p>
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<p>"I'll do you a damage Jack Lorne. Helping the protest indeed! You <em>lied</em> to me. You deceived me. And you've
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dragged me into whatever daft scheme you've hatched up, haven't you?"</p>
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<p>"I don't know what you're talking about!"</p>
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<p>"Oh no? Did you see the news at teatime? You can't have missed it. I didn't." She tried to pull out of his grasp, but
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he knew she'd only have another go at him. She could really do him a bit of damage if she put her mind to it, and he
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guessed rightly that her mind was made up.</p>
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<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
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<p>"You know exactly what I mean. Getting me to do some artwork indeed. Trying to help those Dunvegan boys get their
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jobs back? The next thing I know it's on television, shown in every home in the country."</p>
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<p>"Oh, <em>that</em>," he said.</p>
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<p>Blair Bryden had got the story into the Gazette and then freelanced it across the news bulletins. The banner headline
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was big and black and the story spared no detail. </p>
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<div class='block'>Twenty five thousand gallons of vintage Scotch whisky which vanished from Aitkenbar Distillery was
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stolen in
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a daring raid, police confirmed today.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>What was at first believed to have been a freak accident when the 25-year-old special malt whisky
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disappeared from the distillery's decant tank, was in fact a highly organised theft.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>The thieves are believed to have got away with exclusive vintage scotch worth upwards of three
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million
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pounds.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>The theft was uncovered by Detective Inspector Angus Baxter of Levenford CID after customs officials
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and
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company management insisted that the spirits had been accidentally flushed down a drain and into the river.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>The thieves had laid a decoy trail of dead fish in the polluted water, in an attempt to lead
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investigators
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to believe they had been killed by the powerful ethanol pollution but DI Baxter proved yesterday that the fish had
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been planted as a ruse.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>It is understood that the professional gang used a pump and a tanker disguised as a council drainage
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vehicle
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to siphon off the huge haul of Scotch.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>It is believed they had painted the tanker in council colours.</div>
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<div class='block'>Gazette sources reveal a complex operation which must have taken months of careful planning. Inside
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sources
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say the thieves welded a section of pipe to a bottling line filling pipe and connected it to a fire hydrant inlet on
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the outside wall. They then used two of the distillery's own fire hoses to drain the huge haul of whisky into the
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tanker and vanished in the small hours of the morning.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>It is not clear how the raiders managed to sneak past the famous geese which guard the distillery
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from
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intruders, but police are working on the theory that they must have had an inside accomplice. They are now
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interviewing staff at the distillery.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>Mr Alistair Sproat, Aitkenbar Distillery chairman, whose family have owned the business for several
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generations, refused to comment. Only three weeks ago he announced to the workforce that he planned to close the
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complex which has produced malt and grain spirits for more than two centuries. The proposal includes the dumping of
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the existing building into the river harbour basin and selling all the present and reclaimed land to a property
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developer who plans a new shopping mall. The deal also means the closure of the adjacent dairy, which occupies
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Aitkenbar land, with the loss of forty jobs.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>Inspector Baxter said: "I think we are dealing with a professional gang of criminals here. But no
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matter how
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clever they are, or think they are, we will do everything in our power to bring them to justice."
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</div>
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<p>Jack had read the piece in clenched silence when Sandy had brought the paper in along with the morning rolls.</p>
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<p>"What are you going to do now," Sandy asked, genuinely concerned.</p>
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<p>"Sit tight. Pray. Nothing else for it."</p>
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<p>"Too many people know."</p>
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<p>"The only ones who know are involved."</p>
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<p>Sandy shook his head. "Three people can keep a secret only if two of them are dead.</p>
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<p>You've got a lot of nerve Jake, I'll give you that. But, like I said, that big highlander, he's no fool."</p>
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<p>"Just a couple of days and it'll be gone. Sproat's going to need a deal and quick."</p>
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<p> He sounded more confident than he felt, but now was the time to hold it together, hold himself together. "He'll be
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worried the cops think he was involved, but he's now got a three million pound cash flow problem, and he's going to
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have a few more worries very soon. I'm going to force him out of his corner and catch him on the move."</p>
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<p>"You really think this is a board game, don't you?"</p>
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<p>"Come on, Sandy, it's just juggling. He's had the ball so long it's about time he dropped it. What did he ever do
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that he deserved to have so much control over people's lives? He's got no talent and no brains and no sense of
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social responsibility, just Daddy's money that was made on the backs of our family and everybody else's."</p>
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<p>"What I want to know is how you plan to get rid of the stuff."</p>
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<p>Jack smiled. He trusted his uncle implicitly, but he himself had already made a couple of mistakes. One of them was
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trusting Donny, and the other was humiliating him. God love that ginger haired cretin, he thought, you should keep
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your friends in the pub and out of business altogether. Family? You kept them away if you could, but old Sandy, he
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was still razor sharp, and could put it on when he wanted. </p>
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<p>"Don't you worry about that. I've fixed up an appointment for you. Have you read the papers?"</p>
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<p>"Sure I have. Child's play. We used to run a few good scams in National Service. Don't you forget Jake, I'm the
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original wee fly man."</p>
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<p>The job made headline news at six o'clock and Jack had sat fixed in front of the screen. It was almost word for word
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what Blair Bryden must have sent round the newsdesks. The camera picked it all out, the runnel and Donny's stupid
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rainbow trout. Jack fervently hoped the idiot hadn't gone to Barloan Harbour and then paid for them by plastic. The
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idea that he had almost bought a crate at Gallagher's fish shop still gave Jack palpitations. That would be the
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first place Baxter would look, and Jack would have had to raise another levy just to get Donny out of the country
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for a while. He wasn't worried about the pump. He and Ed had got that well sorted out, and his hours trailing around
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Glasgow had proved very worthwhile. The fish had been a mistake, but he'd made sure other things were battened down
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tight. <em>He hoped</em>. It was time for more diversions. They were already in place, just in case.</p>
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<p>The camera zoomed through the fence and picked out the two fire hoses and then the scene flashed to the spot under
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the bridge. Baxter and the uniforms were hanging around while a man in council overalls lowered himself down the
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manhole and handed the bottle up to the big policeman.</p>
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<p>Jack shrugged to himself. The fish were a giveaway. Everything after that was up for grabs.</p>
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<p>On screen, the reporter faced the camera:</p>
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<div class='block'>This is where the thieves are believed to have siphoned the whisky from the decant tank which is just
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a
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hundred yards beyond the fence.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>Unbelievably, it is claimed that a local police patrol actually spoke to the raiders, who were
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wearing face
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masks, and who were pretending to be council workmen repairing a sewage leak. It was a skilfully planned operation
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that relied on split-second timing, and a great deal of inside knowledge of the high-security distillery and plant
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which is guarded round the clock by customs and excise officials, security teams, dogs, and, of course, the famous
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geese. Police now have to work out how this elaborate security was breached.
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</div>
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<p>The reporter stepped to the side and blurred out of shot as the camera focused in on Angus Baxter. He was standing
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just outside the shadow of the bridge, holding a clear plastic oblong in his hands. The camera expanded the scene
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just as he looked up, directly into the lens, and the lettering on the plastic snapped into crisp focus.</p>
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<div class='special01'>ENFORD COUNCIL</div>
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<div class='special01'>ECT WORKS</div>
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<div class='special01'>EWAGE</div>
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<div class='special01'>EPARTMENT</div>
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<div class='block'>Police are convinced that this find, some two hundred yards away confirms the suspicions that the
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thieves
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used a tanker disguised as a water and sewerage bowser.
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</div>
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<div class='block'>So far, there are no clues as to where the whisky is now.</div>
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<p>The reporter stared into the camera and allowed himself a slanted grin.</p>
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<div class='block'>Except for the testimony of one witness, who allegedly came across the raiders during the operation.
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We'll
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let him tell you his own story.
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</div>
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<p>The camera flicked to Franky Hennigan, somewhat cleaned up and shaved for his moment of fame, and obviously topped up
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with sufficient alcohol to make him forget the threat from beyond the galaxy.</p>
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<div class='block'>It was a space-ship. I saw it with my own eyes. They took my bottle and changed Eldorado into whisky.
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Then
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there was this big flash and smoke and it took off again.
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</div>
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<p>The reporter smiled again. </p>
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<div class='block'>There you have it. The truth is out there....somewhere.</div>
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<p>"Yes <em>that</em>," Kate stormed, "All my own work. You <em>conned</em> me Jack Lorne. You told me you were doing
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something special, something important and I <em>believed </em>you."</p>
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<p>She pulled back and he opened his hands, letting her wrists spring free. Two old ladies along the end of the lane
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paused at their gossip and stared down towards the commotion at the far end.</p>
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<p>"How could you do that, Jack?"</p>
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<p>"It's not what you think."</p>
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<p>"Not what I think? A fortune in whisky goes missing and the only piece of evidence they have is that logo you asked
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me to do."</p>
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<p>He scanned the lane, up and down.</p>
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<p>"Shhhh."</p>
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<p>She came in at him again, raised her hands and thumped him on the chest and then, without warning, she burst into
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furious tears.</p>
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<p>"You told me it was for a demonstration. To try to save the jobs. All for the workers."</p>
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<p>The tears trickled down her cheeks and a sore twist wrenched in his heart. </p>
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<p>"It's not what you think." He reached for her, caught her shoulders, brought her in and held her tight. Her sobs
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heaved against his chest. There was nothing to do but wait until they were done. After a minute, she pulled back,
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drained.</p>
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<p>"Just what is going on Jack? First of all you tell me you're going out on the North Sea, then you disappear and the
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boys won't tell me what's going on. You get me to do those damn logos, and it's just as well I didn't get the fourth
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year kids to do that one or I'd be up there talking to Inspector Baxter, wouldn't I? Accessory to theft."</p>
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<p>She looked up at him, tear streaked but still fiery.</p>
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<p>"So what's happened, Jack. Can't I trust you any more? I really thought you were one of the good guys. I had <em>faith</em>
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in you."</p>
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<p>He blew out between tight lips, wondering what to say and where to start..</p>
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<p>"Listen, Kate. I'm sorry I got you into this, really I am. I wasn't thinking, and I never thought for a moment
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anybody would ever see it. They were supposed to be stripped off and burned."</p>
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<p><em>Fuck Donny Watson. That had been his </em>other<em> job.</em></p>
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<p>"So it was you? You really did it?"</p>
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<p>He nodded, hardly able to look her in the eye. She had no such trouble.</p>
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<p>"You stole a tanker of whisky?"</p>
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<p>"No. I stole <em>two</em> tankers of whisky."</p>
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<p>"My God, Jack. Just what have you got yourself into?"</p>
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<p>He shrugged and then dived in.</p>
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<p>"That's what my uncle said. But you and him, you're both the same. You said to me I was wasting my life. Get off my
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backside and make something of myself."</p>
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<p>"Sure we did. You're half way to getting your degree, aren't you?"</p>
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<p>"And then what? Start on the corporate rung at my age." He reached a hand out and put it on her shoulder. Underneath
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his fingers she was trembling like a tuning fork, fast and tight. He gently pulled her out of the lane and into the
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field where he'd fought off the two heavies beating up Donny after the golf. The sun broached the hawthorn hedges
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and he eased her away from the lane, away from listening ears, towards the old blowdown sycamore trunk that
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sprawled, barkless in the grass. He sat her there and lowered himself on to the thick smooth jutting branch that the
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small kids used as a step up.</p>
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<p>"You said it yourself, these people, Sproat, the council, everybody, they just take advantage of the workers. Look at
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all the firms that pulled out and went to whatever third world shithole would do the work cheaper than we would.
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Sproat selling up for a shopping centre, putting Andy Kerr out of business, and everybody, every single person in
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this town just tugs the forelock and says <em>yes bwana</em>.<em> </em>Turkeys voting for Christmas every time."</p>
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<p>"But it's <em>criminal</em>, Jack."</p>
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<p>"What he's done is criminal. But every court in the land will back him up, because it's all loaded against the common
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man."</p>
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<p>"So you think the answer is to steal from him?"</p>
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<p>He wished he could tell her just what his answer was, but nobody knew that, not even his uncle, nor Lars Hanssen.
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Nobody <em>could</em>.</p>
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<p>"In a way. Change starts at the bottom. You only want a new deal when you've got a shit hand, not when your sitting
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on four aces."</p>
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<p>"So that's the philosophy. A little redistribution of wealth? When I said you should get into business, this is <em>not</em>
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what I meant."</p>
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<p>"I needed a head start. It was payback time for that cretin. All he needs is the money to take over Red Planet and
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get in on the designer drink business and make another fortune. Goodbye sunny Levenford, it was nice knowing you.
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Well, no matter what, he'll have something to remember us by."</p>
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<p>"So you decided to risk jail and everything, all you've worked for, just to get even?"</p>
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<p>"I'm not getting even with him. I don't give a tuppenny damn about <em>him</em>. I just needed an asset. Money breeds
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money. It's like a magnet. Once you have it, you can pull in more, and when you have enough, you can do anything at
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all. Look at me. I'm twenty seven years old. I'm a milkman for christ-sake with a half chance of getting a degree
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and maybe a job in an office. Work my way up to middle management by the time I'm forty and then get kicked out for
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being past it."</p>
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<p>"That's the way you see it?"</p>
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<p>"That's the way it is. Risk? What have I got to lose?"</p>
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<p>"Freedom for one thing."</p>
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<p><em> "</em>Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."</p>
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<p> "Don't you give me Sartre. He wasn't talking about crime."</p>
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<p> "He was talking about life, Kate. Real life, which is what we're stuck in."
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"There's more to life than just money."</p>
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<p> "You said yourself, art for art's sake, money for god's sake."</p>
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<p> "Just the words to a stupid song, you <em>idiot</em>." She was angry and exasperated and close to tears again. "Try
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this: don't risk what matters most for what matters least. There's no right way to do a wrong thing.</p>
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<p> "How about, if two wrongs don't make a right, try three." He'd read the books. He could match her here, even if it
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left a sour taste in his mouth.</p>
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<p>"If it's is not right don't do it; if it's not true don't say it<em>.</em> You thought you'd just make yourself some
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easy money."</p>
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<p>"Nothing easy about it. The hard part's just starting." He reached and took her two hands in his. She seemed to
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crumple in on herself.</p>
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<p>"I never meant for you to be involved, honest I didn't. There's some things I have to do, and some people I have to
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protect. Including you now. I'm really, truly sorry about that and I won't let it happen again. But what I have to
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know now, is what are you going to do?"</p>
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<p>"How do you mean?" Her eyes widened.</p>
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<p>"I mean, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"</p>
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<p>She stared up at him, holding his eyes with his, the way she could. She pursed her lips into a tight bud and he felt
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her grip tighten on his fingers.</p>
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<p>"If you mean what I think you mean, you're going to get another punch," she said tightly. "You're asking me if I can
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be trusted, aren't you?"</p>
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<p>He said nothing, still locked on her eyes.</p>
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<p>"Don't you ever dare ask me that again, Jack Lorne. Do you really think I'm going to see you thrown in jail?"</p>
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<p>Sandy Bruce looked at himself in the mirror and let out a chuckle. The Armani fitted just as Jack knew it would.
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Pierre Cardin shoes gleamed. Donna Bryce gave him a big smile.</p>
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<p>"You look like Al Pacino, Mr Bruce, so you do."</p>
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<p>"I hope I look better than that skinny wee 'Tally."</p>
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<p>"Oh, much better. I mean you just look like the godfather, know what I mean? And that suit, that's just pure
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brilliant, real class."</p>
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<p>She beamed at Jack. "I never knew the two of you were into the acting. Where did you say the audition is?"</p>
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<p>"Up at the Kings. They're doing the Capone story."</p>
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<p>"Well, I hope he gets the part," Donna said. "That wee bit of colour takes years off you Mr Bruce, honest it does.
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Dead elegant, know what I mean?"</p>
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<p>"Nice of you to say, Donna." Sandy admired himself in the mirror again. "And this is our wee secret? I don't want
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people to be thinking I'm getting vain in my old age."</p>
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<p>"Totally confidential. That's me. What happens in the salon is between me and the client."</p>
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<p>She stood back. "What a difference. No offence Mr Bruce, but you look dead young. A real catch, by the way."</p>
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<p>Jack put his hand on Sandy's shoulder and caught both of them in the wide hallway mirror. His grandfather's thick
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white hair was now almost black, and grey at the temples. Two days ago he'd been sweeping out the pigeon hut,
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sporting a three day growth of silver bristles, a torn old boiler suit and balaclava. Now he was somebody you'd take
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another look at. Jack took the light coat from the hanger and draped it across Sandy's shoulders.</p>
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<p>"Look at the state of you, you old poser. I'll have to get a chisel to take the grin off your face."</p>
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<p>But Donna Bryce had been right. She'd done a great job. He now did look the part.</p>
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<p>All he had to do was play it.</p>
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<p>The car picked them up at the Marriott hotel just south of Charing Cross. Jack paid the account with his new platinum
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card and the doorman held it open for them as they stepped out into the morning.</p>
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<p>"Mr Gabriel?" The driver was in grey livery, like the one who'd delivered that rich guy Hammond Hall to his uncle's
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door what seemed like a lifetime ago.</p>
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<p>"That's us," Jack said, switching to the Ulster accent. The Bentley had darkened windows and a rich mirror finish.
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Sandy looked at his reflection and turned to Jack.</p>
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<p>"Get in, you old Mafiosi," Jack whispered, pushing his grandfather by the elbow.</p>
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<p>"Watch the schmutter," Sandy said. They got in, Jack gave directions and closed the hatch.</p>
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<p>"Look at you. I get your old cast offs and you get the fashion statement."</p>
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<p>"Class goes to class," Sandy said. They had wondered about a moustache and rejected the notion. The dark hair took
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ten years off the old man, and that was enough. The double parenthesis that bracketed his mouth just made him look
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weather-beaten and tough. Graduated amber lenses made him remote, slightly dated.</p>
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<p>"We meet him in the Drumbuie Hotel. He's booked a side room. Remember, start at the outside cutlery and work your way
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in."</p>
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<p>Sandy turned to him, raised the glasses.</p>
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<p>"You thinka I no unnerstan' how to eata da pasta?"</p>
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<p>The pair of them suddenly burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that took five minutes to subside. The
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chauffeur checked them out in the rear view. They were out past Anniesland and heading for Levenford when the
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laughter finally drained away.</p>
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<p>Sproat met them in the foyer, checked out the limo, the Armani, the gold watch fob. Jack had thought he might bring
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the company sales manager, but there was a good chance he'd picked up the hints he'd dropped. When they got to the
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little bay-windowed private room, the table was set for three. Jack allowed himself a smile. He was drawing him
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out.</p>
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<p>"Alistair Sproat, meet Alessandro D'Angeli."</p>
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<p>"Pleased to meet you," Sproat said. "Very glad you could make it."</p>
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<p>"Grazie," Sandy said, keeping his voice low. "You call me Andro, <em>capiche</em>?"</p>
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<p><em>He sounds like Marlon Brando,</em> Jack thought. <em>Don't overdo it, Grandad.</em></p>
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<p>Sproat ordered an expensive Monticello and sat them down, poured for all three. Jack did the talking and let Sandy
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come in with a few monosyllables.</p>
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<p>"Acting as agent for Mr D'Angeli's company, I can say he will be in a position to place an initial order for
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two-fifty barrels of three-year-old blend. We've checked your stock, and we're quite satisfied. On the heads of
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agreement already discussed, we would take one hundred barrels on letter of credit, full price on delivery."</p>
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<p>"We're talking half a million," Sproat was sitting forward, elbows on the table.</p>
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<p>"Si. <em>Demi millione</em>," Sandy said. He was half turned, feigning disinterest, looking at the birds feeding out
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on the lawn. "<em>Instante.</em> For now." </p>
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<p>Jack tapped him under the table. No need to push his luck.</p>
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<p>"We'll need transport, but you've confirmed that would be included. And we would like this to be the precursor to a
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larger purchase." Jack had practised this in the mirror. "We understand that your entire stock will be cleared and
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auctioned in less than a month's time. Going by brokerage realisation for three-year mature, you will drop ten to
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fifteen percent plus auction fees of about the same. Mr D'Angeli and his partners can, without doubt, improve on
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that."</p>
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<p>Sproat's eyebrows went up. Jack could almost sense his need. He drew him out further.</p>
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<p>"And for cash, of course. No ninety-day invoicing."</p>
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<p>Sproat took a sip of whisky and tried to hide his smile.</p>
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<p>"That would be a fair amount of whisky."</p>
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<p>"We might," Jack gauged it, "be in a position to take the immature stock. At discount of course for added warehousing
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costs."</p>
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<p>Sproat shrugged, but his eyes were giving him away. The anti-pasti arrived and Sandy used the correct fork to pick at
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it.</p>
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<p>"<em>Multo bene</em>. Ver' nice."</p>
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<p>"I thought you'd like a taste of home. The ciabatta is wonderful."</p>
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<p>Sandy nodded, chewing on Parma ham. "Michaelo here tells me you had some...what is the word. Difficulty?"</p>
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<p>Jack kicked him under the table.</p>
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<p>"A full decant." Sproat knew it was all over the television news. "A wonderful twenty five year old Glen Murroch.
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They knew what to take and when to take it."</p>
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<p>Sandy tapped his nose. "My associates, I will ask them to, ah, check this matter out. You understand?"</p>
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<p><em>What are you up to?</em> Jack twisted the napkin under the table.</p>
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<p>"A bad business for you. Three million, maybe some more?"</p>
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<p>"About that."</p>
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<p>"And all this at a very bad time for you. Which is why it is good we do this business. We help each other, no?"</p>
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<p>"That's what business is all about," Sproat agreed.</p>
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<p>Jack felt a bead of sweat trickle down his ribs. Sandy was winging it solo, totally off the rehearsed lines. </p>
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<p><em>Not the Godfather</em>, he suddenly realised. <em>He's doing De Niro.</em> Talking Italian.</p>
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<p>Sandy gave him a sidelong glance and a little nod, every bit the egund don.</p>
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<p>"You show him the papers, Mikey."</p>
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<p><em>Don't gild it, Grandad.</em> Jack opened the briefcase and brought out the letter of credit, eager to draw
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attention away from Sandy.</p>
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<p>"Everything will be channelled through my agency," he said. "Mr D'Angeli and his partners wish this to remain
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confidential."</p>
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<p>"Of course," Sproat put in, a little too fast. He could see a way of getting his cash flow running fast again.</p>
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<p>Sandy leant forward. "Cash on delivery, am I right? Michael here will handle all the arrangements. "And after the
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first consignment, we talk about the rest."</p>
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<p>"Sounds good to me. When do you want the delivery."</p>
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<p>"The end of this week," Jack put in. "No point in delay."</p>
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<p>Sproat poured another round of wines. Jack put his hand over Sandy's glass.</p>
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<p>"The doctor only lets him have one."</p>
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<p>Sandy shot him a look, gave a little snort of disgust and turned to Sproat.</p>
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<p>"Orders, orders. Nothing changes, Si?" he bent forward. "Like your tax, eh? Ochento per cento? Eighty percent. <em>Infamita!</em>
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Worse than anyplace else."</p>
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<p>Jack clenched his fists under the table, gritted his teeth, unable to stop the old man.</p>
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<p>"Nothing we can do about that."</p>
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<p>"Nothing the small people can do, maybe. But a <em>pezzonovante</em> like yourself, must be different eh? Eighty
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percent out of a business, that is <em>extorte.</em> You go to the jail in Sicily for that."</p>
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<p><em>Italy, I told him Italy!</em></p>
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<p>Sproat didn't seem to notice.</p>
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<p>"If there was a way," Sandy said. He made a quick motion with his hands, sliding one palm past the other. "If there
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was a way to evade such extortion, then good businessman should look for opportunities, no?"</p>
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<p>"I'm not sure I understand," Sproat said. </p>
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<p>Sandy motioned him forward, flicked his hand to Jack, sending him back. There was nothing for it but to go along with
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it. Sandy's accent hadn't dropped once.</p>
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<p>"You and me, we know business. You had some trouble that was not your fault, but will the taxman give you money back?
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No. It is take, take take, all the time. You don't have to tell me. I know these things. It is <em>criminale, </em>we
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understand each other."</p>
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<p>"We do indeed," Sproat said urbanely. He was bending forward, drawn in. </p>
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<p>"What I want to talk about is, maybe a good price, just between you and me. No tax, no customs. No nobody. What they
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don't know, don't hurt, am I right?"</p>
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<p>Sproat's eyes flicked from Jack to Sandy and back again. Jack gave an almost imperceptible nod. Sproat knew what they
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were talking about. If he'd any brains, he'd know he'd already been well primed for this.</p>
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<p>Sandy switched tack just then, catching Sproat off balance. Jack sat back and let him run with it, knowing there was
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nothing he could do. Sandy had the Armani and the tinted glasses. He was the big client. That's what Sproat
|
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thought.</p>
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<p>"All the laws, they don't let a business do business, am I right? This protest, these interferers. They want to stop
|
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you selling the business, eh? The small people want to tell a <em>pezzonovante</em>, a ninety-calibre, how to run
|
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his own affairs. <em>Infamita egundo!</em></p>
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<p>He motioned Sproat forward with a very Italian beckoning of his fingers.</p>
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<p>"I hear they want to drag you through the courts. After a hundred years, they tell you what to do. One big problem
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for you, am I right?"</p>
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<p>"We'll beat them in court," Sproat said, eager to get back to the business.</p>
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<p>"Maybe you will. Tell you what I'm going to do. I speak to my associates and I make this protest go away. I make them
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an offer..."</p>
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<p><em>Don't you dare say that Grandad!</em></p>
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<p>"I make them an offer they don't understand," Sandy said. Jack breathed out. What the hell did that mean. "That's for
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the good faith, yes?"</p>
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<p>He jabbed his hand in front of Sproat, who took it automatically. Sandy clamped his other hand on top of Sproat's
|
|
knuckles, confirming the deal. He looked the part.</p>
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<p>"Andro, why don't you come back to the plant with me and I'll show you around," Sproat said. "You and I can talk some
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more."</p>
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<p>"<em>Prego</em>," Sandy said through a mouthful of ciabatta bread. "I ever tell you about the time I met Carlo
|
|
Luciano? Lucky Charlie? A very nice man....."</p>
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|
<p>The sweat began to cool on Jack's ribs. Sandy had played the black knight and hooked Sproat right in. He had to hand
|
|
it to him. It was <em>finesse</em>.</p>
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|
<hr />
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|
<p>The Charter campaigners had set up a little booth opposite the distillery gates and a few well-meaning local folk
|
|
hung about, self conscious about their protest. They had put up a few banners which read <em>Hands off Our
|
|
River</em> and <em>Jobs not Shops</em>, and <em>Pollute, Poison and Pilfer</em>.</p>
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|
<p>Sproat growled as the limo swept them in through the gates and Jack slipped on the dark sunglasses when he saw Kate's
|
|
face in the little crowd. It was only when he got into the atrium that he realised he'd left the briefcase back at
|
|
the hotel.</p>
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|
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|
<p>"You take the limo," Sandy said, keeping up the accent beautifully. "Me and Alistero, we get a chance to talk."</p>
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|
<p>There was nothing for it. Jack needed the signature on the document he'd drawn up, identically worded to the ones
|
|
Marge Burns had managed to get from the files. It was the only way to make sure Sproat was tied right down. He
|
|
gritted his teeth, knowing it was crazy to let Sandy loose on his own, and went back to the car.</p>
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|
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|
<p>"Back to the hotel," he said. "Speed of light if you can make it."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"I'll see what I can do, Sir," the driver said. It was the first time anybody in the world had ever called him
|
|
Sir.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Margery Burns was giggling like a schoolgirl when he got back. Sandy had the long Armani coat draped over his
|
|
shoulders, <em>Mafiosi</em> style.</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"You Italians," she said. "You've always got such great<em> </em>style. Real <em>elan.</em>"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Sandy shrugged like a Frenchman. She leant in towards him and from twenty yards away, Jack recognised the body
|
|
language. He almost laughed aloud. She was incorrigible.</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"And what part of Italy are you from."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"Just beside the Lake Como," Sandy said. "In the mountains. Beautiful."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>She took his cup and saucer, then took his hand. "Why don't you sit down here."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>Sandy caught Jack's eye before she turned round, and gave him a big wink. Sproat put his coffee on the table.</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"Ah, Michael. That was quick."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The driver had crashed two ambers for him there and back. The Bentley had a surprising turn of speed for such a big
|
|
limo.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Margery turned and saw him and had the grace to blush.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I'll just clear these away," she said. "You want anything else, just give me a call."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack smiled again. She'd tried to make it general, but he knew it had been aimed at Sandy. That dark colour did take
|
|
years off him. The Armani and an open-razor close shave did the rest.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I've pulled," Sandy whispered as Sproat closed the boardroom door. "Can you spring me for another night in the
|
|
Marriott?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"You pull this off and you can have a week there," Jack said.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He suddenly realised he could kill two birds with one stone. It could get him off the hook.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Sandy turned to Sproat. "Maybe we can get the business done, no?"</p>
|
|
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|
<p>Sproat walked right in, stepped right up.</p>
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