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725 lines
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<title>22</title>
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<h1>22</h1>
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<p>They were on the move by eleven. The clouds had built up overnight, dull weight pressed low over the Cardross Hills
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and the big line of the crags on the northeast of town, making the air moist and heavy. A thin misty drizzle turned
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the whole town grey.</p>
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<p>Donny and Neil looked dog tired, which was not unreasonable. They'd been working until first light and everything was
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set. The barrels were stacked on the loader from Aitkenbar, held in place by webbing belts and Neil had built the
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frame around them the way he'd done with the tanker, covering the whole load with tarpaulin. Donny had re-stencilled
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the barrels and used a soldering bolt to rework the brands on the heavy oak, following the numbers from the papers
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Jack had given him. It had taken them a good hour to load the barrels and get them set in place and Donny had
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checked and double checked to make sure they wouldn't shift in transit.</p>
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<p>"Okay," Jack said. "Wagons ho."</p>
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<p>Ferguson had been all smiles when he turned up at the yard in the morning. Cullen opened the gate and closed it
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behind him. Foley made a big play of patting him down, the way they did in the movies, and Jack knew if he'd been
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carrying, the big dope would have missed it. With Michael still out of sight, that would have been too risky. He
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wasn't here to fight.</p>
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<p>The call had been brief and to the point. Ferguson was holding Michael and he didn't want to waste any time.</p>
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<p>"Put my brother on," Jack had said.</p>
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<p>"Fuck off. He's here. You get your arse down here pronto."</p>
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<p><em>Mistake,</em> Jack thought. Ferguson was so sure of himself that he had told Jack what he had suspected already.
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They were holding him in the used car yard. He knew it well from the times he'd helped Jed pick up rally gear. In
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the early hours, before the dawn had backlit the swirling low cloud, he'd gone over his own diagram once more. </p>
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<p>"How do I know he's there?" He had to make sure.</p>
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<p>Through the phone he heard the sound of a flat slap, and winced. Michael yelled, cursed. Jack gritted his teeth.
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There would be time to think about that later on.</p>
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<p>"Okay, okay," he forced the anger out of his voice, made it sound anxious. "I'll be there."</p>
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<p>Michael was out of view when he arrived. Besides Ferguson and the usual shadows, there were a couple of others there,
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hard men from Corrieside. Jack knew them, Buzz Barclay, Face McQueen who'd had a run in with a heavy ballpeen hammer
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once that had crumpled his cheekbone and left him lopsided and wall-eyed.</p>
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<p>"Down to business," Ferguson said. Jack watched him, stocky, but charged with energy, all set to make a big
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score.</p>
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<p>"We don't do any business unless I see my brother," Jack said evenly. Ferguson looked at him, taking his time,
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pretending to decide. Jack knew he'd expected that.</p>
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<p>"What the fuck. Come on in." Cullen opened the door to the workshop and stood back, letting Jack and Ferguson in
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together. The rest of the heavies followed. Michael was hunched on a plastic chair in a corner, next to the ramp. He
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got up quickly when they came in, and Jack saw the red weal on his face. Cullen clamped a hand to his shoulder and
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forced him back down. Jack gave him a look that told him to stay still. He forced his own face slack.</p>
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<p>"Right. What do you want?"</p>
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<p>"You know what I want. You got twenty five thousand gallons of hooch."</p>
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<p>"No. We only got ten thousand. The rest went down the drain." Jack knew what Donny had told him, so he could take a
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chance.</p>
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<p>"The cops say twenty five."</p>
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<p>"That was in the tank. We couldn't take all of it, and we couldn't turn it off."</p>
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<p>"That's a shame," Ferguson said. Disappointment was evident on his face but he recovered quickly. Donny Watson had
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jammed a container in the pipe to catch the outflow. "Well, whatever. Nice work, good plan. But now I want it."</p>
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<p>"Not all of it." Jack knew he'd be expected to protest.</p>
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<p>"Yes, all of it. You got no cards to deal. If you'd asked me if you could play, I'd only tax you fifty percent. But
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tough, that's business. You never asked."</p>
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<p>"All of it's too much," Jack pushed the protest some more. "We took a big risk for it."</p>
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<p>"Maybe you did, but like I said, tough shit. What are you going to do? Go to the cops? Big Baxter will sling your
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arse into Barlinnie. We'll come and visit."</p>
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<p>Ferguson came right up to him, not as tall as Jack, but thick set, wide shouldered and solid. He could handle himself
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if he wanted.</p>
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<p>"You get it down here, or I put his head in a vice. You ever see that movie? What's it called?."</p>
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<p>"Casino," Foley told him. </p>
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<p>Jack got the picture. He'd seen it. </p>
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<p>"You're over a barrel, and just to let you know I'm serious," Ferguson said. He turned away and Jack followed him
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with his eyes.</p>
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<p>The blow came from behind, a hard jab right on the kidney, plenty of weight behind it. He went down in a sudden
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explosion of pain and breath.</p>
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<p>"Leave him alone," Michael bawled, leaping to his feet. Cullen slapped him down. Foley braced and swung a boot into
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Jack's belly, humping him up off the ground. He rolled, vomited bile and dribbled blood from where he'd bitten his
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tongue, got to his knees. He held a hand out at Michael, palm forward, shoving the air. Michael took the silent
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instruction, and sat down.</p>
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<p>"That's for the fucking golf club," Foley said. He bent and grabbed Jack by the collar and he and Face McQueen hauled
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him to his feet.</p>
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<p>Ferguson jabbed a finger. "Any time this morning will be just fine. Okay?"</p>
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<p>Jack nodded, hauling for breath, shoulders down, beaten. </p>
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<p>"What about my brother?"</p>
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<p>"Straight swop. Make a mistake and he gets hurt. And you know I mean <em>damage</em>."</p>
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<p>"Right. I'll bring it. Give me an hour."</p>
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<p>"Smart man," Ferguson said, clapping him on the shoulder, really pleased with himself. This would be the easiest pile
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he'd made this year.</p>
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<p>Jack looked at Michael. "You stay cool Mike. I'll be back."</p>
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<p>"Fuckin' Schwarzenegger," Foley said. He slapped Jack casually on the back of the head, like an adult chastising an
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insolent child, and the pair of them hauled him through the open doors and led him to the gate. They said nothing as
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it closed behind him.</p>
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<p>Jack closed his eyes, getting his breath. Mike was fine, apart from the slap in the face, and he was holding up. He
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flipped the hinge on the mobile, called his mother.</p>
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<p>"I've seen him, Mam, and he's fine. There's not a mark on him." A white lie, but Mike could take a slap or two with
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no real damage done. Ferguson would know just far he could go before it got out of hand and there was no percentage
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in going further and hurting the boy.</p>
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<p>She burst into tears on the other end and he was glad he'd called, rather than going round.</p>
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<p>"I'll have him home in the afternoon."</p>
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<p>They had the barrels filled and it hadn't been easy. Tam had managed to get a roll of blue plastic water pipe and
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somehow coupled it to the pump. He ran it through the chain link fence, past the pallets of bricks and along to the
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corner where the big tanks still stood. He used a circular immersion heater bit to make a hole in the resin and fed
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the hose inside. Neil started the pump and they sucked up what they needed.</p>
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<p>For all that work it took them only eight minutes to get enough whisky into the two barrels, and that was all Jack
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wanted. Donny had sorted out the rest of them before dawn, and they were stacked and ready to go. All they had to do
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was manhandle the pump onto the trailing edge of the flatbed and Jed curtained the tarpaulin over the frame. To the
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casual observer, the rig looked like any longhauler. Jack took the duct tape they'd used to mend the hose on raid
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night, climbed up on the cab and worked quickly, stripping the tape off and laying sections behind the curve of the
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roof.</p>
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<p>"I want to come in with you," Donny said.</p>
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<p>"No," Jack said. He finished off, climbed down. "Best if I go on my own."</p>
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<p>"I'm not scared," Donny protested, clearly lying. He was scared and so was Jack Lorne. He just hoped he had judged
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his man correctly.</p>
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<p>"And I have to go in with you. I set up the barrels, and you'll need a hand."</p>
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<p>Jack looked at him, pondering. He could hear the apprehension in Donny's voice, and he didn't want him to freeze at
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the wrong moment, but there was value in what he said. Donny was desperate to make up for all this. He needed to
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make amends, and that drive might be stronger than the fear. In any case, he knew the load and what needed done.</p>
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<p>"Okay, fine. You come with me." He turned to the others. Jed and Ed, you better get moving. Neil, you got the
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gear?"</p>
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<p>"Sure. Everything's cool."</p>
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<p>"Good. Get climbing." He patted Neil on the back, winked at Ed. "Wagons ho."</p>
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<p>The big hauler started at first turn and sneezed a cloud of black smoke. Jack let the handbrake off and eased it
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forward, pulling out of the side street that led down to the boatyard, and headed up towards the old bridge. Once
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over, he made his way to the east side of town, taking it easy, to attract no attention. A patrol car sat quiet on
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Quay Street, not far from where Donny had punted his eighteen bottles of whisky, and Jack took a quick glance. It
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was the same two beat men who had stopped at the pump on the night of the raid and almost given them collective
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thrombosis.</p>
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<p>Ferguson had a man on the corner and he banged on the big gate as soon as the loader turned along the narrow lane
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that followed the line of the high wall on the east side of the yard. There was only one way in here, which might
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have suited Ferguson. Now it suited Jack Lorne. One way in and one way out. A dead end.</p>
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<p>The brakes snorted as he slowed the approach and he had to swing right to the opposite wall to get the nose through
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the entrance, whipping the wheel fast and taking the rig right at speed past the service bay where they'd held Mike,
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deliberately scattering the small group who stood in the yard centre so that he could manoeuvre the load into the
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space on the far side. It was exactly as he remembered it. Mentally he pictured the sketch he'd made of the place
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and glanced upwards towards the block of high flats towering on the other side of the river. He imagined he saw a
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flash up there on high, but with the low cloud, there was not enough light for that. He just hoped Neil had a good
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view. They had to depend on his eyes.</p>
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<p>Neil watched the truck approach and smiled to himself. The light frame he'd designed held its shape and the tarpaulin
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stayed taut, so that nobody could guess what was underneath. He saw the group on the centre as the gate swung wide
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and had another smile when he saw them jink out of the way as the big loader hauled in. The binoculars had a little
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spindle on the right side and when he thumbed it down, the whole scene zoomed into sharp detail. Ferguson was close
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to the bay door, with Cullen and Foley. </p>
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<p>Jack stopped and opened the door. Donny was out of sight in the back, as planned, staying quiet, which wouldn't be
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easy for him, but Jack knew he would put his heart into this to make up for before. He stood on the plate and stole
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a quick check glance at the roof. The lump under the duct tape seemed very conspicuous from here, but the chances of
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any of them climbing on top of the cab were remote. If his uncle knew he'd been up in the loft and swiped the big
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old Italian gun, he'd be far from pleased, but Jack needed that protection. With six of them waiting, he had to be
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able to control the moves. The second last thing he had done, early in the morning, had been to thumb the shells
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from the biscuit tin, one by one, into the magazine, and slam it home. The last thing had been to click the safety
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clip to off. He didn't want to fumble.</p>
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<p>He climbed down to the ground, mouth dry. It all depended on Neil, and Donny. Hell, it depended on them all.</p>
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<p>Neil watched from the high vantage, lying flat. On the near side of the yard wall, another truck rolled up to the
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corner of Castle Street, did a complicated reverse and trundled back until it reached the lamp post. He had to force
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himself to wait a few minutes more as Jack crossed the yard, taking it slow. Finally he reached for the mobile and
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called the number.</p>
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<p>"I want to speak to Detective Inspector Angus Baxter," he said, in the accent he'd developed for Little Shop of
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Horrors. It was awful.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>They hit Tim Farmer's house with a search warrant and gave the old fellow the second biggest fright of the year.</p>
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<p>He was on the toilet when the door caved in with such a crash that he fell off the pan and got jammed between it and
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the bath, gasping for breath, his face the dangerous purple it had achieved in Majorca after heated sessions with
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Gordon McLaren's wife. They found him there and hauled him out, skinny legs trembling, and Angus Baxter made them
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brew up a cup of tea for him, just in case the old fellow did peg out. It would look bad if they hadn't tried to be
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courteous after kicking the door off its hinges.</p>
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<p>"I'm telling you, it was a mistake. The postman said it came to the wrong address."</p>
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<p>"What postman?"</p>
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<p>"The one that was here the other day. Jesus, you nearly gave me a fit and a bad turn, so you did. Look at the state
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of my door. I been on syrup of figs for the past week, and I'll never need them again, I can tell you. You turned my
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arse inside out."</p>
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<p>The old fellow was feisty enough. Angus showed him the papers.</p>
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<p>"You know this company?"</p>
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<p>"FF Enterprises. Never heard of them."</p>
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<p>"They have an address up in Glasgow. Maryhill Road, you know it?"</p>
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<p>"I told you, I never heard of them. I know Maryhill Road. That's where Partick Thistle play. Been there a couple of
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times, useless bastards. Can't kick, can't pass, never win. Waste of space."</p>
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<p>"What I'm trying to understand is, why they had their mail redirected to this address."</p>
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<p>Baxter looked at the old fellow. He was still waiting for Jimmy Balloch to come back with the company search which
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would tell them who was who in FF Enterprises, <em>if</em> they were registered. Normally a search would take ten
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minutes on the net, but for a new company, it would take longer. He'd despatched Balloch up to Company House in
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Glasgow, but he'd still heard nothing yet.</p>
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<p>The old man sipped his tea. The flutter of his hands had settled down the Richter scale to a mere tremble that
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rattled cup on saucer.</p>
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<p>"Well?"</p>
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<p>"Well what?"</p>
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<p>"I asked why they had the mail redirected."</p>
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<p>"No you didn't"</p>
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<p>"Yes," Angus said patiently. He took out his pipe and clamped it between his teeth. "I did."</p>
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<p>"No. You said you was wondering why they did it. That's not asking a question, so don't you get smart with me young
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fella, not when you and those numpties have kicked my door down. And I want to see a right good job of getting it
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fixed, mind. And a new lock an' all. One of them mortise security ones with deadbolts. I'm fed up with folk just
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coming and going as they please. You're as bad as the last lot."</p>
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<p>"Oh? What lot would that be?"</p>
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<p>"I had a couple of them break in the other night. Thought it was that daft Gordon Mclaren come for a set to over his
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missus, the bitch. Great in the sack, mind you, so she was, but a damn gold digger if you ask me. You ask me again,
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I think she was trying to get me to pop an artery. Tell you something, she nearly did, but it was worth it while it
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lasted."</p>
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<p>Baxter flicked the lighter.</p>
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<p>"And don't you smoke in here either. Bad enough you give me a heart attack and make me shit my pyjamas without I get
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that damn cancer as well. Does your <em>mother</em> know you're out?"</p>
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<p>Angus put lighter and pipe on the table.</p>
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<p>"Sorry. Tell me about these people you say broke in."</p>
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<p>"What's there to tell you? I threw a big stookie vase at them and saw them off. I might be knocking on, but I'm no
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pushover. You ask Meg McLaren."</p>
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<p>Angus leant forward, needing to know more, when his mobile rang.</p>
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<p>Neil made the call. It was all down to timing now. He had the binoculars trained on the scene in the yard. He waited
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while the operator put him through to CID and he listened to the hum on the line. Somebody picked it up.</p>
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<p>"Mr Baxter?"</p>
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<p>"No. he's out. Can I take a message?"</p>
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<p>"No, you can't. I need him personally."</p>
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<p>"Who's calling?"</p>
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<p>Neil kept up the accent. "It's just somebody with some information. It's very urgent that I speak to him right
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now."</p>
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<p>"I'll have to take your number."</p>
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<p>Neil felt his heartbeat skip a beat. This could fall at the first hurdle just because of a missed connection. He felt
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a little panic rise in his chest.</p>
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<p>"No, you can't take my bloody number. I told you it was fuckin' urgent." The accent had started to slip already.</p>
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<p>"No need to take that tone sir. And I don't appreciate the language either. Now, can I have your name? </p>
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<p>Down there Jack was on his own. Neil felt like shouting, but he forced his voice to be steady.</p>
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<p>"No, you can't take my name either. Give me Inspector Baxter's mobile."</p>
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<p>"I can't do that sir."</p>
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<p>"Fuck!" Neil couldn't help it.</p>
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<p>"Sir, I did mention the language."</p>
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<p>"Listen. And listen carefully." Down there Jack had reached the group of men. Ferguson was walking with him towards
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the back of the truck. Jack pulled back the tarpaulin. From up here the little pump was a dull red, squat on the
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back of the loader.</p>
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<p>"It's that whisky they stole from the distillery. Thousands of gallons? I know where it is right now, and if you
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don't get me through to your boss, <em>right now,</em> it's going to disappear. I'm going to call you back in two
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minutes, okay? And when I do, you better patch me through to him or he's never going to get his hands on it. By the
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way, what's your name?"</p>
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<p>"Well well." Ferguson was almost expansive when Jack pulled the tarpaulin back from the end of the loader. "What's
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this?"</p>
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<p>"That's the pump we used to get it out."</p>
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<p>"Neat. Well, we don't need that." He climbed on the back and motioned to the others to shift the equipment. They
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unloaded it right behind the truck.</p>
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<p>"Give me a jemmy," he called down to Cullen. "And a length of window-washer tubing."</p>
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<p>He might have been strong, but he knew nothing about popping a bung. He worked on it for five minutes, cursing as he
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did. Finally Jack asked for the jemmy. He had no time to waste here. He took the bar, rapped the curve end on either
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side, six or seven times, setting up a vibration. He jammed the sharp end in, levered fast and the little beechwood
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puck flipped away to roll on the ground. Ferguson nodded his appreciation, fed in the clear plastic pipe and sucked.
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Cullen handed him a bucket and they watched it slowly fill. Ferguson took a mouthful, swallowed, nodded.</p>
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<p>"Good stuff. That's the very stuff. I think I'll accept the whole delivery."</p>
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<p>In the back, behind the barrel stack, Donny listened, braced in the little hollow right at the top of the pile. He
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could hear them pop the barrel, a sound he'd recognise in his sleep, and then he picked up the scent of fresh air
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and whisky. Ferguson spoke, Jack spoke back. Somebody laughed.</p>
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<p>A jagged cramp started to twist in his calf.</p>
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<p>Angus Baxter answered the phone, turning away from the old man who glared at him over the top of his teacup.
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Constable Jimmy Balloch spoke into his ear.</p>
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<p>"You'll never believe it," he started.</p>
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<p>"I might if I hear it," Baxter said, automatically reaching for his pipe. Old Tim Farmer slapped his wrist and the
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inspector drew back, a massive man with the response of a chastised boy.</p>
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<p>"FF Enterprises. They set up business only three weeks ago, brand new, which is why they're not on the system. But I
|
|
have it here. They're registered office is in Maryhill Road, and the post office confirm the company had the mail
|
|
redirected."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Yes, we know all that already," Baxter said. "So what is it I won't believe?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"It's a limited company, with three directors. You'll love this." Jimmy spun it out, so pleased with himself he
|
|
couldn't sense his boss beginning a slow burn on the other end. Baxter forced himself not to light the pipe or bark
|
|
down the line.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"One Fergus Ferguson, home address, Brewery Lane, Levenford."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Gus Ferguson!" Baxter allowed himself a smile. "And that's not his home address. That's the used car yard. Who are
|
|
the others?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Seamus Cullen and Anthony Foley."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"The usual suspects," Baxter said. "Bring me the paperwork."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He ended the call. Tim Farmer looked at him expectantly.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So who's going to fix my door then?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Baxter would have repaired it himself, now that he had a name in the frame. Ferguson was one contender for the
|
|
Aitkenbar Distillery job, but Baxter had relegated him down the list. He had been sure the dirty little dealer
|
|
didn't have the brain for it. He was strictly a heavy. The inspector shrugged to himself. Everybody could get it
|
|
wrong now and again.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He was about to respond, when the patrolman, knocked on the door and came in holding his radio. "I've just had a
|
|
message. Can you call the ops room?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I'm busy at the moment," he said.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"They said it's urgent, sir. Very urgent."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack heard the grunt at the back of the load. The muscles all down the back were bunched with tension and all his
|
|
senses were wound up tight. <em>Don't screw it now, man.</em> He scratched his head through the woolly hat. Ferguson
|
|
heard something, looked round, Jack waded in.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Are you quite happy now?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Is this is all of it?" Jack nodded. There was no chance Ferguson knew how much a hogshead could take. Stacked four
|
|
deep, the load looked like an immense amount of whisky. But there was less than a hundred gallons on board. And they
|
|
had stacked them so that only the first two barrels held any of the good Glen Murroch from Aitkenbar, filling only
|
|
plastic containers Donny had built into them. The stack behind them were filled with a mix of the cheap young scotch
|
|
that DJ had drained off up on Skye heavily diluted with tap water. Jack had taken a risk, but it stood to reason
|
|
that Ferguson wouldn't open them all and even if he did, all he'd smell would be whisky. There hadn't been time for
|
|
Jack to lay a perfect scam. He'd been down south in London, hadn't he?</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So, I want my brother now." He couldn't help a glance at the high flats. Up there, the low cloud was swirling around
|
|
the winking red flight warning light. He hoped it would not obscure the view completely. They were getting right
|
|
down to the wire.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Donny squeaked. Ferguson paused again, looked towards the back of the truck, then shook his head. It sounded enough
|
|
like metal in the engine. Jack cursed silently.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson cocked his head at Cullen who went back into the bay and brought Michael out, gripping him by the back of
|
|
the neck. Mike tried to swing a punch at him, but he still didn't have the weight for it. He saw Jack and went still
|
|
when he caught his brother's eyes. He had a big bruise under his eye, curving round his temple and Jack forced the
|
|
surge of fury down to a tight ball. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p><em>Mam, she'll kill me.</em> He forced himself to keep his mouth shut. This was no time for bravado and heroic
|
|
gestures. The clear part of his brain, the part that played the fast chess against Sandy, was counting off the
|
|
seconds. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Maybe I should hold on to him a while longer, just until we get this stuff out of here."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"We did a deal."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"No, son. There was no deal, remember? You just did what I told you. Now, once you're out of here, why should I trust
|
|
you? You could call the cops."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack wasn't surprised. He'd have done the same. He dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out the little phone. Mike
|
|
watched him silently, knowing to keep his mouth shut. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I don't have to call the cops." He made a show of checking the time. "I don't make a call in five minutes, somebody
|
|
else calls them. You got the stuff here."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"You'll go down as well."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So, we all go down together, and you get done for kidnap." Not quite checkmate, but better than stalemate. Ferguson
|
|
was stuck. He rubbed his chin with his free hand, eyes glittering and angry. Foley took a step back, just in case.
|
|
The crowbar was within easy reach and Ferguson could sometimes just explode.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack waggled the phone.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Okay. Okay." He turned to Cullen. "Reverse that over to the door. We don't want to hang around here with this
|
|
lot."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He grabbed Michael by the shoulder, making him wince, taking his temper out in that one savage grip. The youngster
|
|
made no sound and Jack was proud of him.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Neil was in a real panic. He'd timed the two minutes to the second and then got a voice telling him lines were
|
|
engaged and he was in a queue. He thumped the roof bitumen with the heel of his hand, the cloud was lowering now and
|
|
the drizzle up here falling in a continuous spray, making the view through the binoculars hazy and indistinct.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Murphy's law. Jack had got it right: <em>If things can go wrong, they will.</em></p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ed had it closer.<em> Murphy was a rose-tinted optimist.</em></p>
|
|
|
|
<p>A woman's voice came on.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"CID please."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>It took another ten slow rings before the phone was picked up. He recognised the voice.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"It's me again." The fake accent had to work because they'd be taping this, Jack had told him. "Did you get the
|
|
inspector"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"He's still out, but I've got somebody standing by." The seconds ticked on and Neil's heart started began to pick up
|
|
speed.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The woman came on again. "Putting you through now."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Inspector Baxter?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"This is he."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Neil started talking, very fast. But his appalling accent went the distance.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The phone rang in Jack's hand. Everybody froze. He held it up and Ferguson nodded, bending to pick up the black steel
|
|
jemmy. Michael was only yards away from him and Jack waited until he reached his side. In the back, Donny heard the
|
|
sound and braced himself against the barrels, trying to ignore the pain in his calf muscle.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Elvis calling Retro. <em>Roxanne</em>."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack smiled. Neil was trying to be funny, but he knew Jack would get it right away. No red light. That meant green
|
|
for go.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Who the fuck's that?" Ferguson wanted to know.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"It's just Elvis, calling from up there." He pointed at the skyline.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Smart cunt," Foley said. He looked a question at Ferguson, ready for action.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Just kidding. Wrong number," Jack said. He had Michael by the cuff now and pulled him closer towards the cab. "I'll
|
|
just get my jacket."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Very quickly he turned to his brother, keeping his back to the others. "Stand there," he hissed, "and don't move a
|
|
muscle."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Finishing the turn, he stepped on the plate, reached up for the handle and clambered in the open cab door. Michael
|
|
stood straight, not moving any of his muscles. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Just then somebody hammered on the big yard door, hard fast thuds.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack turned the key and the engine roared. He floored the accelerator, not bothering to close the door, slammed the
|
|
stick into reverse and let the clutch out. The truck shot backwards.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Inside Donny yelped as the nearest barrel the other way a couple of inches, crushing his thumb against a stanchion.
|
|
But over the noise of the engine, and the wool of his balaclava, it was drowned right out. Michael stood there,
|
|
frozen, wondering what Jack was doing.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The rig careered backwards and scattered Ferguson and the rest of them, knocked the pump two metres. Ferguson bawled
|
|
a string of curses, Cullen jerked away. Buzz Barclay was standing pretty close and the nearest of the twelve wheels
|
|
went over his toes. He screeched in pain just as the back end went crashing through the bay door with a sound like
|
|
an explosion.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack glanced down at Michael, slammed the stick into drive as soon as the rig hit and it virtually jumped forward.
|
|
The barrel just behind the cabin rolled backwards, freeing Donny's thumb. The tip was crushed flat and it oozed dark
|
|
bruised blood.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p><em>Shit!</em> He was missing it. He pulled the carpet knife from his belt, got the hook round the holding strap,
|
|
ignoring the sudden flare of agony in his thumb. He slashed upwards, once, twice and the tension in the weave
|
|
snapped the lashing like a guitar string.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Over the sound of splintering glass and wood, the hammering at the door came again like bass drumbeats. Jack was too
|
|
busy, but Michael heard it.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"This is the police." A voice on a PA system. "We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up immediately."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson spun away from the truck towards the door.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack hit the pedal hard and the loader launched itself towards the space where it had been before. Michael stood
|
|
still, pale face, wide eyed. It missed him by a mere foot and Jack held it on the line until it went straight up to
|
|
the corner beside the tall brick wall. The forward momentum shunted the load of barrels backwards. Donny grabbed the
|
|
wooden mallet and slammed it against the peg holding the stay-rope he'd rigged to the frame. He put all his weight
|
|
behind it, not trusting to finesse. The thin peg snapped at the end and the pull on the rope jerked it backwards.
|
|
The single vee-wedge under the curve of the back barrel shot out like a missile. It missed Face McQueen's good cheek
|
|
by a half inch.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>As soon as the wedge launched out, the whole load started to move. Donny knew barrels and he'd worked on this lot
|
|
since before midnight. The top shifted, as if just settling, and he pulled backwards, scrambling out from the
|
|
tarpaulin, grabbing for the stanchion on the back of the cab roof. Just as he did so, the supporting barrel shot out
|
|
from under him. He held tight to the mallet with one hand. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson whirled towards the door. Cullen was running towards the truck. Buzz Barclay was bawling and hopping around
|
|
on one leg.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The first barrel tumbled out and hit the pump with a sound like a cannon-shot. Immediately the steel hoop that Donny
|
|
had rasped down in the night snapped on its weak edge, sending two vicious curves of metal whooping through the air.
|
|
One went straight over the big gate. Out there somebody yelled and a sound of breaking glass followed. The pump
|
|
crumpled under the shock.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The barrel exploded in a golden eruption. The curved staves blossomed open and the amber liquid blasted outwards,
|
|
sweeping the foot from Buzz Barclay, knocking him into the flood.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Jesus <em>fuck!</em>" Ferguson spun back like a pit bull, unable to decide who to go for first.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The second barrel rolled out and the whole stack sagged forwards. The third barrel hit the second, knocking it to the
|
|
side. Donny had not touched these. The kegs stayed intact, but the fourth and fifth shot out like skittles, end over
|
|
end, and the bottoms spun off like wheels, pouring a hundred gallons across the ground and through the wreckage of
|
|
the bay doors.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>A noise like thunder rolled out from the truck and Donny swung over the edge and down the side as the framework
|
|
collapsed on itself and the rest of the barrels cascaded, tumbling and rolling, off the back of the lorry, breaking
|
|
up as they did, sending staves whirling across the yard. Harsh fumes filled the air.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"You, bastard! Where do you think you're going?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Seggs Cullen reached for Donny as he clambered down from the back. Jack was up on the cab, a foot hooked on the
|
|
window edge, reaching across the curve of the roof.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Watch out," Michael suddenly broke his silence.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Donny spun just as Cullen was reaching for him. Whether by accident or design, as he turned the wooden mallet came
|
|
swinging upwards and caught Cullen right on the chin. His head snapped back so fast you could almost hear his neck
|
|
crack. The second swing was no accident. Donny used his two hands this time, pivoting on one foot. The head took
|
|
Cullen on the top of the thigh just as he was tumbling backwards and the blow almost snapped the bone. Cullen
|
|
flipped to the side with a groan like a stunned bull, flopped into the pool of whisky, throwing up a bow-wave. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Open this door." Jack recognised Angus Baxter. "We have the premises surrounded. Do not move. Do not try to
|
|
escape."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p><em>Liar</em>, Jack thought. There was only one way into Brewery Lane, one way out. Neil would have called again,
|
|
three rings if there was any danger. He rolled his uncle's woolly hat down, converting it to balaclava mode and
|
|
snatched at the duct tape, grateful for the foresight in leaving a loop free to get his hand through, for he'd never
|
|
have managed to unpeel it wearing thick leather gloves. He pulled it back, and the big black pistol almost leapt
|
|
into his hand.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Get Michael," Jack rasped over his shoulder. Foley was wading through whisky, coughing as the fumes caught in his
|
|
throat. Face McQueen was pulling himself out of the wreckage of the service bay. Ferguson had the jemmy in his hand
|
|
and was rushing towards the truck. Donny already had Michael and was dragging him to the front and he climbed
|
|
upwards, a foot to the bumper, another on the hood, a third on the wing mirror. It was like climbing a ladder.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack was on the roof, feet planted apart. He snatched a look behind him to make sure Mike was clear. Donny had him by
|
|
the arm, clambering fast. Ferguson would never reach them in time, not through a foot of swirling whisky.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He squeezed the trigger. The gun roared.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Everybody froze. It sounded like a grenade in the confines of the yard, a sudden <em>huge</em> punch of sound that
|
|
jerked them all to a stop.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"<em>Fuck!</em>" Ferguson skidded to a halt, splashing in the mix of water and whisky. The cannonade reverberated
|
|
from the walls in solid blows that could be felt as well as heard.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The big lead slug slammed the edge of the door and kicked off a six-inch splinter of wood.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Shit! It's the fucking IRA<em>"</em></p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I'll give them <em>I-R</em> fucking <em>A</em>."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p> Cullen was rolling in the whisky, trying to get to his feet, but his injured left leg kept giving way. He was
|
|
cursing non stop.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Cover," somebody bawled outside. "Take cover. They are armed and dangerous."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack aimed again and the gun bucked, once, twice. Michael almost fell backwards and Donny held him by the arm just as
|
|
he got to the cabin roof. Down below, Foley had instinctively dived behind an old car. Ferguson was running for his
|
|
office shack, jinking behind the pile of broken barrels. The whisky swirled in a maelstrom as it began to disappear
|
|
down the big storm-drain.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Three shots, four. He counted them off in his head, each of them slamming into the big, heavy door. He sighted along
|
|
the barrel, taking the shocks on straight arms, making sure he hit the metal reinforcing plates. The slugs
|
|
ricocheted off with deadly little hornet whines. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Five six seven in quick succession.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson came out again, unwrapping something from a piece of sacking.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Go, go go!" Jack felt the gun heat up through the gloves. Donny pulled Michael up and then pushed him forward,
|
|
towards the high brick wall.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Move it. Grab the fence."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Michael reached up, got a hand to the metal bar that held the three strands of barbed wire, Donny gave him a boost
|
|
and he was up and out of reach.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Good man," Ed Kane said from the other side.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Michael got such a surprise he almost fell off the wall. Donny kept a hand clamped to his belt, steadied him, pushed
|
|
higher.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Come along the ladder," Ed told him. The aluminium steps they'd used to get over the high Aitkenbar fence now
|
|
bridged the pavement between a second truck and the high wall. "And don't look down."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson was bawling non stop, the total incoherence of bewilderment and rage. Foley was reaching under his jacket.
|
|
Jack aimed the gun at him and he pulled back.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p><em>Eight, nine.</em> Hard shunts of sound. He'd knelt on the cab, taking good aim, kicking rust from the doors,
|
|
making them shiver on their high posts.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Cease firing. This is the police."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ferguson was on one knee, now only six inches deep in draining whisky that sloshed in a spiral whirlpool into the
|
|
ground-drain. He drew something black from the sacking and Jack saw the twin stubby barrels of a sawn-off
|
|
shotgun.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p><em>Hell!</em> There had always been a chance, but Jack had reckoned he wouldn't be so stupid, not with the police at
|
|
the door. Maybe he thought it was all a con. Ferguson swung the gun up and Jack switched his aim. Two slugs slammed
|
|
into the glass right beside Ferguson's ear. The panes shattered into dust, but the force and shock was enough to
|
|
make Ferguson pull up.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Both barrels blasted within a split second and this time the sound really was like a cannon. A deep shockwave almost
|
|
threw Jack off the roof, but it was only sound. The crash of glass was just enough to spoil the aim and the heavy
|
|
goose-shot went buzzing harmlessly into the air.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Nice try," Jack said tightly. Foley came darting out from between the two rusted hulks. Cullen got to his feet
|
|
nearby, leaning against the car. Jack turned, held the gun up. He aimed it directly between Cullen's eyes.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The other man's mouth opened into a shocked circle. He sank backwards.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Want this?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Cullen shook his head. His eyes were wide and his face a blank mask of fear.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Sure you do."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He pulled the trigger, but as he did so his foot seemed to slip on the paintwork on the roof of the cab. The gun
|
|
bucked and the recoil tumbled it out of his hand and dropped directly towards Cullen who was taken by surprise and
|
|
instinctively caught it. He looked at it, almost puzzled, then he turned it up, aimed and fired.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack clutched at his chest and staggered backwards, out of sight.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I plugged the bastard!" Cullen bawled.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Michael almost fell off the wall. He was just stepping over when he turned and saw Cullen fire up at Jack. A streak
|
|
of flame shot out from the barrel and Jack slipped backwards. Cullen fired again, holding the pistol in two bare
|
|
hands. Foley was running towards the corner.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Donny was up and over, forcing Michael across the wall.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>And miraculously Jack was behind him, a wide grin splitting his face. He was still counting. <em>Thirteen,
|
|
fourteen.</em></p>
|
|
|
|
<p>The third last thing he'd done, before he loaded the gun and slipped the safety off, had been to use the pliers to
|
|
prise out the old lead slugs in the last three shells. He'd replaced the lead with soft wax from one of Sheena's
|
|
holy candles, making the final two shots totally harmless.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack croosed the ladder. Foley reached the corner, him, got a foot to the truck plate, started to clamber
|
|
upwards.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Ed's face was just visible above the top of the wall. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>He gave Foley a little wave. "Hasta la vista, baby."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Foley snarled so viciously he started to slaver at the mouth.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Somewhere in the distance, the wail of a siren tore through the misty air, getting louder every second. Jack crossed
|
|
the spindly ladder and onto the roof of the truck. He and Donny helped Ed haule the steps back, banged hard on the
|
|
roof. </p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jed Cooper stepped on the pedal and got them moving.</p>
|
|
</div>
|
|
</div>
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</body>
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