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<title>21</title>
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<h1>21</h1>
<p>Seggs Cullen and Wiggy Foley snatched Jack’s young brother in the lane as he made his way down to the library a
couple of hours before noon. They were at the tight bend where Kate had surprised Jack, and as an ambush point, it
was ideal, for the tall bushes and the dog-leg in the narrow lane hid them from either direction. They had watched
Michael come along the street, ambling in the morning sun, daydreaming as he strolled. The van was backed in to the
open gateway into the football field and when Michael passed it, Cullen came round the side, clamped a meaty hand
over his mouth and he and Foley lifted him bodily into the back.</p>
<p> Michael tried to fight them off, tried to yell for help, but he'd never been a scrapper. Foley just batted his fists
away and gave him a lazy slap before he pinned him to the floor and told him if he made another sound he'd really go
to work. Foley stank of stale sweat and old tobacco. Cullen was on the mobile.</p>
<p>"We've got him right now. In the back of the van. Where do you want him, the scrappie's?"</p>
<p>"No, that's the first place anybody's going to look, and there's going to be too many faces watching out after this.
Bring him down to the yard where we can keep an eye on him."</p>
<p>Foley sat on Michael the way he'd done to Donny Watson, keeping his weight on his shoulders and forcing him face down
to the dirty floor. It only took five minutes to get to the yard on the east end of the town and Michael felt every
inch of it. Cullen was no smoothie on the wheel and when he finally swung the van onto the rough cobbles on the
narrow road up to the yard, Michael's cheek hammered up and down against the metal.</p>
<p>The door slammed wide and Foley stood for no ceremony. He grabbed Michael by the hair and yanked backwards, forcing a
cry of pain. He just kept on walking and Michael had no option but to follow on fast or lose hair and some scalp.
The big blue door slid open and Michael was bundled inside. It slammed behind them and he stood there, blinking back
tears of pain, as his eyes began to adjust to the dim strip light.</p>
<p>"Is this him?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. It's him all right." Foley pushed him forward, twisting his fingers just before he let him go, and smirked at
the grunt of pain.</p>
<p>Michael watched as the stocky man came out from behind an old Rover that was up on the ramp. He had a thin cheroot
jammed in the corner of his mouth, and thick grey hair that needed a trim. Michael knew who he was. He'd heard his
reputation and he knew that Ferguson was a hard man. Everybody knew he and some of the wasters from Corrieside were
into every scam from hash and smack to sharking and cut-and-shut cars. If there was an illicit buck to be turned,
Ferguson's hand was on the lever. Michael bit down on the rising panic, wondering what this was all about.</p>
<p>Two chairs stood in the middle of the concrete floor. Ferguson took one, spun it and straddled it, thick arms crossed
on the back. He gave a quick nod and Foley forced Michael into the other chair, keeping a hand on his shoulder, in
where the muscle curved at his neck, digging deep with hard fingers. If he really squeezed, Michael would know all
about it. </p>
<p>"You know who I am?"</p>
<p>Michael looked blank. Behind the expression he was thinking furiously. What had Jack always told him? Never give
anybody an advantage. <em>Always keep them guessing</em>.</p>
<p>He shook his head. "No. Am I supposed to? Who are you?"</p>
<p>Ferguson raised his eyebrows, surprised.</p>
<p>"Never mind, son. All that matters is, I know who you are. Got the picture?"</p>
<p>"What picture?"</p>
<p>"Don't get smart. You answer what I ask. What's your name?"</p>
<p>"Chandler Bing."</p>
<p>Ferguson's eyes flicked to Cullen. "You sure this is the right guy?"</p>
<p>Foley hit Michael another slap, rocked his head to the side. Michael gasped.</p>
<p>"That's some guy on the telly," Foley said. He bent to Michael's ear. He had a big half-moon bruise under one eye.
"Listen wanker, you think you're as smart as that brother of yours. We've got news for you. He's not as smart as he
thinks he is, so don't get any ideas."</p>
<p>"Oh really? And who did you come off second best to?"</p>
<p>Foley drew back a hand. Ferguson laughed.</p>
<p>"Got you there Wigs." Foley dropped the hand.</p>
<p><em>Jack. That's what it's about.</em> Michael had guessed that already and his mind was racing. What did they have
against Jack? All he knew was that it had been Foley and Cullen who had given him a sore face last time, and he'd
been told to give Jack a message. He just assumed that there had been an argument in the pub, or that thing with
Donny Watson. Jack was the kind of guy who would wade in when somebody was in trouble and sometimes that could earn
<em>him</em> a sore face. But this was different. It had to be more than just some pub fall-out.</p>
<p>This was real trouble.</p>
<p>"You're Jack Lorne's brother." Ferguson kept his voice even.</p>
<p>"What's it to you?"</p>
<p>"Oh, you really are a wee hard man?" He looked at Foley. A hand came down and slapped Michael right off the chair. He
sprawled on the greasy floor, head ringing, blinking against the tears once more. Foley grabbed him by the collar
and almost choked him as he dragged him back again.</p>
<p>"We want to know where he is."</p>
<p>"I don't know where he is," Michael said. He flinched at the expected blow and mortifying tears trickled down his
cheeks.</p>
<p>"Really. He's your brother and he stays with you and you don't know where he is?"</p>
<p>"He hasn't been here for a couple of weeks. He got laid off at the dairy. I think he's away looking for work."</p>
<p>"Oh, he's working all right. He's done a great job."</p>
<p>Michael rubbed the tears away, wondering what Ferguson was talking about. This had to be something to do with the
papers Jack had got him to print off.</p>
<p><em>Keep them off balance. </em>It wasn't easy when your head was ringing.</p>
<p>"He's going to be well pissed at you," he said, battening down the fear, preparing for another dull one on the side
of his head. </p>
<p>Ferguson laughed. "That's for sure."</p>
<p>"You hurt me and our Jack'll come for you." </p>
<p>He was dead sure of that. Despite the tears that spilled over he would show these scum he was tougher than he
looked.</p>
<p>"Yeah yeah." Ferguson puffed his cheroot and blew smoke across the space between them. "That's just what I want. Him
to come to me. Now how are we going to go about that?"</p>
<hr />
<p>The flatloaders had arrived at Dunvegan at eleven in the morning, stacked four barrels deep. From Levenford the
journey had taken four hours, given the speed of the laden trucks on the narrow roads through the highland
glens.</p>
<p>Jack was up and ready for them after the huge breakfast DJ's wife had cooked for them. They stood at the gates of the
little distillery with its distinctive malt-house chimney. A light breeze brought the scent of seaweed and ozone
straight in from the Atlantic. He let DJ handle the drivers, made a quick call to Alistair Sproat, and the
deliverymen went back down south in the three trucks, leaving two empty ones here as agreed. Sproat would have
agreed to anything to clinch this deal and get shot of the young whisky at a better price than he'd ever get in an
auction.</p>
<p>"So what now?" DJ stood beside the lines of barrels in the storage hall, stacked on their ends in ranks that reached
the far wall. The customs man for the island had signed them in to bond. Jack took DJ aside.</p>
<p>"We take what we need out of bond," he said.</p>
<p>"Can't do that. It's illegal."</p>
<p>Jack chuckled. "Sure we can. And it's not illegal, not the way we're going to do it."</p>
<p>He reached in to his inside pocket. DJ still had the customs docket in his hand, each barrel accounted for on a long
printed list, its contents clearly marked out in gallons beside its own identifying stencil code.</p>
<p>"How many barrels?"</p>
<p>"Two hundred. And they're hogsheads."</p>
<p>"Excuse me, Mr distillery manager. I bow to superior knowledge of the trade. And let's have a bit of respect for the
senior partner, if you please."</p>
<p>"Aye, and you can go take a flying fu......" DJ had put his redundancy money into this, and he was taking no
nonsense.</p>
<p>Jack laughed aloud. It rang around the long store.</p>
<p>"Now, here's the miracle." He unfolded the sheet that Marge Burns had copied from the files at Aitkenbar. "Two
hundred barrels, sorry hogsheads, at an average of thirty."</p>
<p>"The total's here," DJ said. "Six thousand. They're all carrying light for young spirit."</p>
<p>"That's what it says. Now see here."</p>
<p>Donny crowded in, looked at the sheet, which was an exact replica of the input paper except for the numbers in the
columns.</p>
<p>"What's this?"</p>
<p>"This is what we've really got in those barrels."</p>
<p>Donny scratched his head in momentary puzzlement. "That's more than eleven thousand gallons. How do you work
that?"</p>
<p>"Eleven sixty. That's five grand extra. We call that the Angel's Share. Somebody up there is really watching over us.
They gave it right back."</p>
<p>"I still don't understand."</p>
<p>"This stays between us, just you and me, or this new venture goes down the tubes, right?"</p>
<p>Donny nodded seriously. "Not a word."</p>
<p>"Sproat was at the fiddle. And he thinks I am too. He had a customs scam going down south, but he just met somebody a
little bit smarter. Now here we are, with three thousand free gallons, courtesy of your former boss. And there's
nothing he can do about it."</p>
<p>"What do you want us to do?"</p>
<p>"Take every barrel and subtract what it says on that sheet from this sheet. Siphon it off and then just hammer the
bungs back in again."</p>
<p>"Then what?"</p>
<p>"Then customs are happy. We have what we signed for, and the rest is ours."</p>
<p>"What will Sproat say?"</p>
<p>"What can he say?"</p>
<p>"And what do we do with the barrels then?"</p>
<p>Jack cocked his head. "Need to know DJ. You just store them for me until the time is right."</p>
<p>"Are you sure this is legal?"</p>
<p>"What <em>we're</em> doing is legal. Now we have our first batch, all for free, and that means we're into profit
already. Twelve thousand litres, that can't be bad for a new business."</p>
<p>By one in the afternoon, DJ's team had started popping the bungs. The scent of young whisky was sharp in the air as
the boys decanted the spirit into the tank, letting it slowly fill, a pool of light wavering gold.</p>
<p>Jack watched them for a while, savouring the fumes that competed with the sea breeze, as DJ checked off the barrels
after the men hammered the bungs home on each of them, and then he asked if he could borrow the van.</p>
<p>"It's the company van Jack," he said, shrugging. "Just as long as you're insured."</p>
<p>He drove down the hill from the glen, taking the narrow little road that the flatloaders had struggled to negotiate,
until he reached the flat pasture fields where the herd of jerseys lazily chewed the cud, udders pumped like pale
bagpipes.</p>
<p>DJ's cousin Ronnie Munro met him at the modern production shed where the small factory had produced the strong island
cheeses.</p>
<p>"You want to do business then?" Jack asked.</p>
<hr />
<p>The call came in at three, as Ronnie Munro shook hands with Jack on a deal that was just between the pair of them for
now. He now had to wait for the word from Lars, get back to the lawyer, and see another man in Levenford to tie up
some final loose ends.</p>
<p>DJ took the call at the distillery and spent an hour trying to get Jack on the mobile, but up here, with the high
Cuillin Ridge blocking off all but the most powerful signals, the cellphone service was hit and miss. Finally he
contacted his cousin Ronnie who handed the phone over.</p>
<p>"He says it's urgent."</p>
<p>"Hello?"</p>
<p>"Jack, is that you? We've been trying to find you for hours."</p>
<p>"Sandy? What's the matter?"</p>
<p>He listened, not saying a word, letting his uncle do all the talking. After a while he nodded, hunched over the
phone.</p>
<p>"I'll be right down. Don't do anything and don't let anybody else make a move. Not a word to anybody. You know what
I'm talking about." He put the phone back on the hook, breathing long and slow between pursed lips.</p>
<p>"Problem?" Ronnie was taller than his cousin, quicker on the uptake.</p>
<p>"Nothing for you to worry about," Jack said. "Listen, I have to get back down the road right now. You tell DJ I'll be
back whenever I can."</p>
<p>"Have we still got a deal?"</p>
<p>"Sure we have," Jack said. He had his fingers crossed. He hoped he would have a deal to come back to, but there was
no point in voicing misgivings right then. It took three hours to get back down and he had to force himself to stay
under eighty all the way. There was no point either in skidding off the road or getting pulled over by the mountain
cops, not today.</p>
<p>He got over the Skye bridge to the mainland driving at the limit down past Fort William and once he was through
Glencoe, the phone chirruped, letting him know he was back in range again. He pulled into a lay-by.</p>
<p>"<em>Yack,</em> is that you?"</p>
<p>"Lars. Good to hear from you." The call broke into his thoughts, and he welcomed the interruption. His mind had been
racing all the way down from the west, working out his next moves, trying them in his head like mental chess. "What
can I do for you."</p>
<p>"You can give me half my boat back."</p>
<p>"Sure I will. As soon as you come up with the goods."</p>
<p>"You, that's who the damn Viking is." Lars started to laugh, big deep guffaws that made Jack pull the phone a safe
distance from his ear. "You pillage and plunder with paper."</p>
<p>"Just getting our own back for Eric Bloodaxe," Jack went along with it.</p>
<p>"I got good news. The shaft, it was only a small twist, and just at the stern. They will have it fixed in two days.
Can you be ready by then?"</p>
<p>"I hope so," Jack said. He'd been pressuring Lars to get out of dock and gone, and now he himself sounded
hesitant.</p>
<p>"What you mean you hope so?"</p>
<p>"It means I hope I still have the whisky. The shit has just hit the fan down here."</p>
<p>"You better have the damn whisky Yack, You still have half my boat."</p>
<p>"Just you keep thinking happy thoughts. I'll get things sorted here and get back to you."</p>
<p>"You make me worry Yack. Should I worry?"</p>
<p>Jack eased round a long, slow bend, letting the big flatloader drift into it and the mountain's bulk suddenly cut off
the signal, leaving Lars and his question unanswered.</p>
<p>"Nothing to worry about," Jack thought, repeating in his mind what he had said to Ronnie Munro. "Nothing for
<em>you</em> to worry about."</p>
<p>Behind him, north and west, the sky was clear, turning a deep red beyond the high peaks as the sun began to sink.
Ahead of him, big clouds were building darkly.</p>
<p>It was close to six in the evening when he finally turned up on his own doorstep.</p>
<hr />
<p>"Where in the name of God have you been?" Alice Lorne was drawn and pale. Sheena and Linda sat close, Linda with
mascara smudged, Sheena bare of make-up as usual, lips moving to silent prayers on the rosary.</p>
<p>"I'm here now."</p>
<p>"My <em>God</em>, Jack Lorne. I haven't seen you for two weeks and now this happens." Sandy put his hand on her
shoulder, making her hush.</p>
<p>"Give him a chance Alice. Let the boy catch his breath." Sandy was in denim overalls and his woollen hat. It hid his
new hair colour. Jack looked at the table. Three cups, a half filled ashtray. A crumpled handkerchief. A book.</p>
<p>"Aw Mam, you haven't been smoking?"</p>
<p>"Don't you talk to me about smoking Jack Lorne. I want to know what this is all about."</p>
<p>"Me too, Mam." He sat down and put his hands on the table, looked up at Sandy.</p>
<p>"What's the score."</p>
<p>Alice pushed the book across the table. She had given up cigarettes ten years before, so the ashtray showed him she
was really upset. That he could understand. He had to force down on the churning in his own stomach. It was time for
thinking, not emotion.</p>
<p>"It's Michael's book."</p>
<p>He flicked the cover open. His brother's name was written on the fly-leaf.</p>
<p>"Where is he?"</p>
<p>"We don't know," Sandy said.</p>
<p>"Well, that's what we've got to find out first."</p>
<p>"Linda, be a pal and make me and Sandy another cup of tea, would you?"</p>
<p>She shot a look at her mother, drew him a dark and angry one that was so like himself it would have made him smile
under other circumstances. </p>
<p>"Go on darlin' I'd love a cup." Sandy threw her a wink and Linda got up, filled the kettle and came back to the
table."</p>
<p>"You and Sheena, give us a minute."</p>
<p>Sheena stopped muttering her hail marys. "He's our brother as well, you know. Where were you when he needed you?"</p>
<p>Sandy broke in again. "What matters is, he's here now. Go on, let Jack talk to your mum."</p>
<p>"No. They can stay. We're all family." Alice Lorne put her hands flat on the table.</p>
<p>"Right Jack." She looked him straight in the eye, measuring him up. "What's going on? What's Michael got to do with
that Ferguson? Is this got anything to do with that leathering he got a couple of weeks ago?"</p>
<p>"He's got nothing to do with him. Ferguson wants me."</p>
<p>"What for? Do you owe him money? That man's a money lender. And I heard he sells drugs as well. Have you
been....?"</p>
<p>"No, don't be daft Mam. I wouldn't touch him with a long stick and gloves on. It's just, just an argument. Something
between him and me that needs sorted." </p>
<p>"I don't believe you."</p>
<p>"It's all I can tell you. But don't worry. I'll sort it."</p>
<p>"Just what are you up to? Where have you been?"</p>
<p>"I've been fixing up some business."</p>
<p>"Business? What kind of business? If it's the kind of business Ferguson's into, you better get yourself right out of
it. I won't have it."</p>
<p> "No, Mam. I'm not doing business with that scum." What could he tell her? </p>
<p>"Was this why you gave me the money for Michael? That bank account?"</p>
<p>She was quick. He had inherited his height from his father. His dark colour and his brain he got from Alice
Bruce.</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I get this sorted out."</p>
<p>"I'm going to call the police. They could be doing anything to that boy."</p>
<p>Sandy broke in. "I never let her call."</p>
<p>"Good." Jack leant across the table, took his mother's hands in his own. "I don't think that's the thing to do,
Mam."</p>
<p>"Why not? They're a bunch of animals, the whole lot of them. What right have they got to put their hands on him?"</p>
<p>"None at all. But leave it to me. I'll make sure he's okay."</p>
<p>"The police can sort them out. It's their job."</p>
<p>Sandy broke in again. "I don't think so, Alice. You listen to Jack."</p>
<p>She turned on him, quick as a cat. "You're in this as well, aren't you?"</p>
<p>Sheena was beginning to sniffle. "I'm going down to light a candle," she said. "Come on Linda. I don't want to hear
any more of this."</p>
<p>Jack waited until they went, both of them flicking hurt, hard looks at him.</p>
<p>"You just let Jack handle this," Sandy said. "He'll fix it."</p>
<p>Alice put her head in her hands. A big tear built and spilt, trickling down her cheek. She looked younger than she
was, older than she should. Jack shifted his chair closer and put an arm round her shoulder, pulled her closer
still.</p>
<p>"You call the police and there's a chance he'd get hurt in the scramble. They won't hurt him."</p>
<p>"How do you know?" She was trembling under his hand, holding herself tight. For the first time he was aware how
slight she was.</p>
<p>"Because they want me."</p>
<p>"For what?"</p>
<p>"That doesn't matter." He looked her back, keeping his eyes steady, forcing her to accept it, not liking the way he
could dominate his mother. It made him feel cold and heartless.</p>
<p>"What are you going to do?"</p>
<p>"I'm going to make it better. I'm going to get him back."</p>
<p>This time she put the pressure on him, dark, like Linda, like himself. "You promise me Jack?"</p>
<p>"I promise, Mam. You know I'll do it."</p>
<p>He felt her fingers clench round his.</p>
<p>"And what about you? What's going to happen?"</p>
<p>"Don't you worry about me, Mam. I can look after myself."</p>
<p>"Sure you can Jackie." His stomach clenched. She hadn't called him that in a handful of years, not since he'd left
school and started bringing in some money after John Lorne had collapsed halfway across River Street, dead before he
hit the ground. "Sure you can. And you've been looking after yourself and the rest of us since you were younger than
your brother." </p>
<p>Her grip tightened. The strength of it hurt his heart. "You've taken a lot on yourself, and I'm sorry for getting
sharp at you."</p>
<p>"Nah, Mam. You'll have me bubbling. Now, what I'm going to do is have a talk with Sandy, and get this all sorted
out."</p>
<p>He waited until the girls came back and then went out with Sandy. The clouds were building again, like they had on
the night they'd raided Aitkenbar, but there was still a red sheen in the west. The air felt heavier, but it
wouldn't rain yet.</p>
<p>"What happened?"</p>
<p>"I got a call. Michael must have said there was no point in calling your Mam's, but they sent his book to the house,
just to make sure."</p>
<p>"Good for him. That means he's thinking. Who called?"</p>
<p>"Never gave a name. Said he was speaking for the man you met at golf. It wasn't hard to figure that out. He said your
brother was paying them a visit, a kind of paying guest. They said they want you to get in touch."</p>
<p>"Did you say where I was?"</p>
<p>"I didn't know where you were, I just guessed. But no, of course I didn't. I just said you were out of town."</p>
<p>"Just as well you were in, then. You could have been round at Mrs Burns' place for the night, rattling the
bones."</p>
<p>Sandy coloured, then managed a hard smile. It was the effect Jack wanted. Inside he was clenched with hot anger, but
on the outside, he knew he had to be calm. It was all going to depend in him, on what he could do, and what he could
persuade people to do. The long ride down from Skye had given him the time to think, and now he needed some more
time to act.</p>
<p>"So what's the plan? They left a mobile number for you to call."</p>
<p>"Plenty of time for that," Jack said. "I'll call them tomorrow."</p>
<p>Sandy pulled back, but Jack had anticipated his surprise.</p>
<p>"Don't worry. They don't want Mike, so they won't hurt him. A couple of slaps and I'll get them back for that,
believe me. They'll call you first, that's a given. When they do, you tell them I was in London, and I'm on a train,
so I can't call them until I get back. That gives me some time to get myself organised."</p>
<p>"But it means young Michael will be left the night with them. Your Mam won't go for that."</p>
<p>"She'll go for it. You just make sure you stay close. I don't want any calls in or out of the house, so you'll have
to take care of that. If you have to cut the wires, get the clippers out. We don't know where he is, so if we call
in the gendarmes, he could get hurt, and even if he doesn't, they'll come at me again, and this time they won't take
prisoners. Don't you worry about Mike, he's a lot tougher than he looks, and smarter than the pair of us. He'll sit
tight and make them work for their money, and it'll be a good experience for him. Listen Sandy, they're just local
neds, all shell suits and pit bulls; no class, no brain. No <em>finesse</em>. They've got muscle and mince where
their brains should be."</p>
<p>"That doesn't stop them hurting the boy."</p>
<p>"There is no <em>them.</em> It's one man. Gus Ferguson. He's a shark, right? It's just a business to him. We know
what he wants, because he wormed it out of Donny, and as long as we know what he wants, it gives us an edge."</p>
<p>"You're pretty sure of yourself."</p>
<p>"Learned it from you Sandy. You taught me chess, good books, and how to whistle at girls. And hopefully when I get to
your age, I'll still be shagging women half my age."</p>
<p>"You're a cheeky bugger, Jack. I hope you got this right."</p>
<p>So did Jack Lorne.</p>
<hr />
<p>Angus Baxter had a couple of leads and he'd worked out how the big decant had been pumped out of Aitkenbar. He'd sent
one of the team down to the quay to rumble the Corrieside boys just in case the rumour of the whisky auction down at
the waterside had been connected. So far he'd nothing to show for it. The first sign of a question or a black shoe
at that end of town usually precipitated an immediate dose of temporary amnesia and three monkey syndrome, which
caused all senses to fail.</p>
<p>But the job had to be local, and for his money, it had to be inside, although there were other possibilities to be
considered too. He had worked it out that the theft of the tankers from Levenford Dairy had been stage two. Stage
one was getting the intricate plumbing work connecting the outflow to the fire inlet. They'd hidden the tankers
somewhere, anywhere, probably not in this patch, kept them for a couple of days and then wheeled them out for the
job. But to do all that, and to get inside Aitkenbar, they had to have local knowledge of both companies, their
security, their business. That made it reasonable to assume that it had been inside work, completely or in part. The
fish in the stream, that had been a mistake, but Baxter had worked out the why of it. Putting fish, even the wrong
kind of fish, in the rivulet had been an attempt to reproduce the damage of the previous spill that had killed the
tiddlers a couple of months back and earned Aitkenbar and environmental slap on the wrist. That could only have been
known locally. It had made only an inside page in the Levenford Gazette, knocked off the front page by the news of
impending job losses and a pretty spectacular accident up near Drumchapel where a local man had a head-on argument
with a tree and came off decidedly second best. All the clues told him this had been a home baked affair.</p>
<p>So if it was local, and organised, who could have done it?</p>
<p>Baxter had spent the last couple of nights thinking long and hard. Sproat had called the police in the first
instance, and that could have been a crude attempt at double bluff. The distillery owner was not out of the woods,
not even close to the scrub, despite all his protests. If it had been an insurance job for quick cash, it had been
an inside job that had failed. But if it had been simply an attempt to fleece the customs, then it could have
worked. Angus worked it out that even at a big discount for risk, selling whisky without the burden of an eighty
percent tax slice, that could be lucrative, but he had to balance that against the amount Sproat would make on prime
spirit a quarter of a century old, packaged and marketed to the connoisseur. The scam came out slightly ahead, but
it was still an either-way call.</p>
<p>Andy Kerr? He had a motive to screw Sproat, no doubt about that. Everybody knew the story, and when Baxter had gone
over the books, it was written in easy-to-understand arithmetic. The land lease had come up for renewal, and Sproat
had hiked the rent to a level that made Kerr's business so marginal that one lost contract could flush it down the
bend and into the Clyde. Everybody knew Billy Kerr had taken his cut from the bottom and left his cousin in a lot of
trouble, and his fiddling had never quite got to the stage of being reported as a crime. Andy knew, and the town
knew, but it was a family thing. Could Kerr have had a go at Sproat, out of revenge, out of desperation? Another
each-way call. Kerr could have done a deal for his own tankers, trying to keep the company afloat, and he could have
used them to take from Sproat just as Sproat was taking from him. He'd need a team, people who could do the job, and
while Baxter knew there were a couple of handy guys working in the creamery, he didn't know of anybody who would
shit so heartily and so publicly in their own back yard.</p>
<p>It could have been neither of them. There was Gus Ferguson, who had his dirty fingers in every mucky deal from here
to Barloan Harbour, and a big Irish fellow called Stick Milligan, from along Arden way who ran the franchise on the
west of town and up as far as the Loch. Ferguson was a player, and every cop knew he ran the sharking and was the
money behind all the smack and some snow that was coming in via Glasgow, but while he was dirty and he stank like
the fish in the stream, he was cunning enough to keep the business at arms length and use his hired muscle.</p>
<p>Could he have done it? Set up the team, carried out the planning? Baxter was not so sure about that. He
<em>would</em> have done it, sure. But it would take more than Cullen and Foley and the Corrieside wide-boys to get
it done right. Baxter was sure of that.</p>
<p>The pressure was coming down from upstairs to get this one nailed and he was making very slow progress.</p>
<p>Big Angus Baxter was professional enough and sure enough to be able to walk between the pressure points and keep
steady. But he'd better come up with something concrete pretty soon, just to stay on the safe side.</p>
<p>He sat down at his desk, puffing on the pipe, going through all his notes. The answer would be in there somewhere. He
turned a page and somebody knocked on the frosted glass. Young Jim Balloch popped his head round.</p>
<p>"I've been through the local list of hires," he said, holding it up as if to prove it. "Nothing out of the ordinary,
so I've spread it a bit out of the area. There could be something."</p>
<p>Inspector Baxter sat back. "Let me see it?"</p>
<p>Constable Balloch brought the papers across and put them on the desk.</p>
<p>"There was one hire, one day before the event. A diesel-powered water pump, silent mode, high capacity."</p>
<p>"How high?"</p>
<p>"Ten thousand gallons an hour, maximum."</p>
<p>"That would do the trick."</p>
<p>"And it's still out on lease," Jimmy Balloch said, pleased with himself. "And better still, it's a local hire."</p>
<p>"Let me see that." Baxter took the papers and held them up. He scanned the docket. "Never heard of them at all.
You?"</p>
<p>The young detective shook his head. </p>
<p>"And where do you get the idea it's local? This is a Glasgow address."</p>
<p>"Sure it is. But I had a hunch and I took a turn round there, just to check, and it turns out to be an empty student
flat. Nobody's stayed there since the end of the term. So I went to the post office, and guess what?"</p>
<p>"I'm not into guessing games, constable."</p>
<p>The smile faded just a little. "They got a redirect on the mail. Here's where it's been going."</p>
<p>He handed another sheet of paper across. Baxter looked at it and his eyebrows slowly reached for his hairline.</p>
<p>"Well done that man. That is a good piece of police work. But let's not go off half-cocked. You check them out. Do a
company search and see who's who in the zoo. Soon as you have it, we'll have a chat. Keep it to yourself for the
moment."</p>
<hr />
<p>Jack called an emergency session and they met late on Gillespie's boat when the last of the light was fading from the
sky and after that there was no time to spare. </p>
<p>"We really needed this," Jed said.</p>
<p>"Is he okay?" Donny asked. He still had a bruise under his eye and bigger, purpling ones on his ribs and kidneys
where they didn't show.</p>
<p>"He'll be fine," Jack said. "There's no point in hurting him. Ferguson won't do that unless he has to, and there's no
point in pissing me off for no reason."</p>
<p>"Have you spoken to him?"</p>
<p>"No. When I do, he'll want everything fast. He thinks I'm still travelling, and that gives us time to get organised.
I'll talk to him in the morning and we'd better be ready by then.</p>
<p>"What are you going to do?"</p>
<p>"We're going to have to give him something."</p>
<p>"Fuck that, man," Jed said. "We don't owe him a thing. I say we get some of the boys round and rough him up, teach
him a lesson he won't forget."</p>
<p>"No," Ed said quietly. "He'll expect that, so he'll be team-handed. And even if we did, Mike could get hurt. And
after that, word would be out and everybody would know. Jack's right. We have to give him something. See what he'll
take."</p>
<p>"Good man." Jack was impressed again at Ed's quick assessment.</p>
<p>"That bastard will want it all," Donny said bitterly.</p>
<p>"Maybe," Jack said. "We'll have to see. But we might as well get things ready. Donny, I've a few more barrels on the
truck. I want you to have a look at them too."</p>
<p>He brought out his notebook and began to detail what needed to be done. After half an hour, Neil sat back, cupped his
chin in his palm.</p>
<p>"This was supposed to be easy money," he said. "But it gets harder all the time."</p>
<p>"Life's short and hard," Ed said. "Like a dwarf pumping iron." It got a wry smile.</p>
<p>Jed picked it up. "As one door shuts, another one slams in your face."</p>
<p>"Okay, I'm too tired for this," Jack said, pleased they were into the spirit. "I'm away to my bed, we got an early
start."</p>
<p>"It's money and adventure and fame," Neil quoted in his fake accent. "It's the thrill of a lifetime and a long sea
voyage that starts at six o'clock tomorrow morning."</p>
<p>"Earlier than that," Jack said. "Make sure you're awake."</p>
<p>A half-hour hour later, Jack Lorne let himself into Sandy's house. He went upstairs and stood on tiptoe to reach the
catch on the loft hatch, eased it down and lowered the aluminium steps to the floor. He climbed up and in to the
musty dark, using the flashlight to find his way around. He hadn't been up here since he was a kid, but he'd spent a
lot of Sunday nights exploring the boxes his uncle kept up here, relics of his army days, and the times after that
when he was on the merchant boats. It hadn't changed at all since then. The dust was just a bit thicker. </p>
<p>It didn't take him long to locate what he wanted, and he let himself out again, closed the door, and was back home by
one in the morning. Nine hours later, four hours after he'd got up and got busy, Jack knew he couldn't delay it any
longer. He put a call through to the number Sandy had been given.</p>
<p>"I want to talk to my brother," he said. </p>
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