Silent Money Page 10

  Ron arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What, vandals and glue sniffers?’

  ‘No, the ones I think are reliable. I’ve got a fan club there. Leave it to me.’

  ‘And what will these model citizens do?’

  ‘Pay money in when and where we tell them, in dribs and drabs, and if they keep their mouths shut and their fingers away from the cash, they get a nice retainer for helping out.’

  ‘A little army of smurfs, working for Grandpa Smurf?’ Ron chuckled.

  ‘Smurfs? What are they?’ It was Michael’s turn to be bemused.

  ‘Characters from a Belgian comic. I’ve got a cousin who’s big into all these international ones you get nowadays. I’m a Broons and Oor Wullie man myself.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good name. Let’s call them smurfs. If anyone ever overhears us, they’ll have no idea what we’re talking about.’

  He closed the ledger and slipped it back into his briefcase, locking it shut. ‘There’s another thing we need to do. None of these transactions is particularly complicated, but there’s going to be a whole lot more of them. I’m going to need better systems and more manpower to track things as they get bigger and more complicated. We can’t have a repeat of last month.’

  Ron looked embarrassed. As things had become increasingly complex, he’d struggled to keep tabs on all the small parcels of money moving through the operation. Several hundreds of pounds had fallen through the cracks, and it had taken Michael hours to painstakingly track down where they had got lost in the system. Someone more suspicious might have thought that Ron had done it deliberately, but Michael gave Ron the benefit of the doubt. The time he’d spent sorting it out had been worth it. He’d shown Ron he trusted him and that, so long as it was a genuine screw-up, there’d be no recriminations if things went wrong occasionally.

  ‘It’s all going to be based around better financial control,’ Michael said, ‘so key to this is getting a tame accountant. I’ve talked to Kenny McGowan about it. His bookkeeper has been in semi-retirement since he went on the straight and narrow, working in a high street accountancy firm, but he misses the big bucks he used to make when he was on Kenny’s payroll. Eric Jenkins. Ever heard of him?’

  Ron shook his head.

  ‘That’s what I wanted to hear. I wanted to talk to you first, but I’m going to try to get him on board. Once he’s sorted, you won’t have so much paperwork to do. Leave you more time to be … what did you call it? Grampa Smurf. Happy?’

  ‘Ecstatic. But if you’re going to bring someone new on board, you’ll not mind if I do the same. I don’t think having an army of smurfs is going to be plain sailing. I can’t be everywhere and have the muscle to keep them in line. I want to deal with our customers, and we bring in a heavy to keep the smurfs in line. And I need to have protection myself, when I’m carrying the amount of cash we’re handling. You get your accountant; I get my heavy man. Deal?’

  ‘Can’t complain, if you think we need to. Did you have anyone in mind?’

  ‘Yeah. Ever heard of Big Jockie?’

  Michael blanched. ‘I must be getting too familiar with the criminal underworld. Of course I have. Isn’t he the colossal thug who was the enforcer for that gangster that went down recently? The guy you hear all the horror stories about?’

  ‘The same. With his boss banged up for twenty years, he’s at a loose end. He’d be perfect as our enforcer.’

  ‘I don’t want him, Ron. He’s too scary for me.’

  ‘No, he’s perfect. The threat of Big Jockie keeps people in line without him ever having to do anything. Reputation is a wonderful thing.’

  Michael was unconvinced. ‘If we hire Big Jockie, one day we’re going to use him. That’s not the sort of business I want to run.’

  ‘Then what happens when one of the smurfs absconds with the money he’s handling, and when we catch him he just gets a rap on the knuckles? You’re smart, Michael, but not street smart. We need a deterrent that people are really shit-scared about.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ron. No violence.’

  ‘I run the street operation, remember? You keep to the moral high ground on your side of the operation, if that’s your fancy. But don’t tell me how to run mine.’

  In the end, Michael relented. But first, he said, he wanted to meet Big Jockie, to understand just what sort of hard man he really was before it was agreed to bring him on board. It was a sop to his conscience, he knew that. Ron was right; eventually something in the operation was going to require some heavy tactics, and, if his reputation was anything to go by, Big Jockie would be ideal for that. One day, Michael suspected, there would indeed be blood on his hands. But he’d do everything possible to make sure that day took as long as possible to arrive.

  * * *

  Michael asked McGowan to make the introduction to Eric Jenkins, and they met at the Caledonian, the gentlemen’s club that had recently accepted Michael as a member. In the oak-panelled smoking room, he sat Jenkins down at a corner table, his squat frame shifting nervously in the well-worn leather Chesterfield chair. He looked like someone who had been fifty years old his entire life.

  After ordering a single malt for Jenkins and a club soda for himself, Michael got straight to the point. ‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice, Mr Jenkins. Eric. May I call you Eric?’

  Jenkins blinked rapidly and took a sip of the whisky. Then another. ‘Of course,’ he said eventually, as if some momentous commitment had been wrestled out of him.

  Michael leant forward and smiled to try to put him at his ease. ‘The thing is, Eric — He looked around and lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, I need an accountant who’s not afraid of running the management accounts of a consultancy firm that has complex, and, some would say, relatively opaque fiduciary processes. You were recommended by our mutual friend who’s enjoying his retirement, but he’s not involved. I manage financial services for a wide variety of clients and need someone to do the accounts for them.’

  ‘If I might ask …’ Jenkins paused to take another sip of his whisky. He blinked again, and Michael noticed a bead of sweat on his brow. ‘If you don’t mind, that is. What sort of services? What sort of clients?’

  ‘Small to medium-sized entrepreneurs. Not big organisations, but people who nonetheless have specific financial needs that benefit from our specialised fiscal expertise. And you will stay at arm’s length from the operation, and never be involved with the clients themselves. I’m told you’re not someone who likes to enquire too much about the operational end of businesses. That’s a quality I admire.’

  ‘I try not to make a nuisance of myself.’ Jenkins gave a strangled half-chuckle. Michael realised this was an attempt at humour.

  ‘Not making a nuisance. Good, good. I like that.’ Michael chuckled away to try to relieve the tension. ‘Let me scope out the parameters of the role. Current turnover of four hundred thousand a year, give or take. High growth forecast. We move money in and around the banking system in a multitude of small-scale transactions. Each transaction is relatively straightforward, but the accounting challenge is to manage a huge number of them. And keep tabs on a substantial number of freelance operatives we are bringing on board to implement our strategy. Think you can handle that?’

  ‘Oh yes. Numbers are fine. As long as it’s just numbers. Sometimes I see more of my employers’ operations than I feel comfortable with. I prefer being behind the scenes. Minding my own business.’

  ‘You’ll find I’m the same. I have a business partner who deals with our clients; at the sharp end, shall we say. You come highly recommended, Eric, especially for the discretion you mentioned. You would run an accountancy practice; I’d be your sole client. A financial manager would cost me ten thousand a year; I’m willing to triple that given the unorthodox nature of our business and the fact you wouldn’t be an employee. How does that sound?’

  For th
e first time, Jenkins cracked a smile.

  ‘Sounds very agreeable, Mr Mitchell. Sorry, Michael.’

  ‘Let’s meet again, and I’ll take you through the specifics. And you can meet my business partner, Ron Smith.’

  As Jenkins was leaving, Michael saw Ron arrive. He’d save the introductions for the next time. Ron beckoned him to come outside, where he introduced the biggest man Michael had ever seen. But it wasn’t his size, it was the rage in his eyes that was the most overwhelming feature. A bestial savagery that could erupt at any second.

  The meeting with Big Jockie was perfunctory in the extreme. His very presence would be enough to ensure that no smurf would ever get greedy or indiscreet. After a few monosyllabic exchanges, Michael nodded to Ron that all was agreed and went back inside the club, leaving Ron to sort out the details. Money was what bought Big Jockie’s loyalty and power. His cost to the operation would be painful in the short term, but smurf compliance was the key to the success of what they were setting up.

  In a few minutes Ron was back in the club. He slumped down in a chair opposite Michael.

  ‘Have you ever seen someone so scary? I know it was my idea, but now I’m not so sure. Wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of that bugger. I was scared shitless the whole time I was with him.’

  ‘How did you leave it with him?’

  ‘He wants a grand a month as a retainer. For that he’ll sort out anyone that needs sorting on the assumption that it’s not too often. Ten grand a month if we want him to be exclusive to us. I said I’d get back to him first thing in the morning. But I’ve changed my mind. Let’s find someone cheaper, preferably someone who seems to be part of the human race. That fucker could snap someone’s neck with his fingertips, and I don’t want the neck in question to be mine.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, Ron,’ Michael said softly. ‘I think he could be perfect.’

  Ron stared in astonishment. ‘Last time we talked, you were giving me a whole lot of namby-pamby shit about how you don’t want any hard stuff. “I’m sorry, Ron. No violence.” Now you want somebody who would give the Kray brothers nightmares to go on the payroll?’

  ‘I don’t want violence. And Big Jockie is the best way to make sure of that. With any regular hard man, there would always be some smurf willing to chance his arm. Introduce them to Big Jockie and we’ll have complete obedience.’

  ‘Well, I want to sleep soundly at night, not having to worry if I’ve inadvertently pissed off that psycho. If you want him on the payroll, you bloody deal with him.’

  ‘I will. I was going to propose just that.’

  Ron’s mouth slackened. ‘Now you want to run the street operation as well? Fuck me, Michael, what do they put in the club sodas in this place? Five minutes in Big Jockie’s company and suddenly you’re Al Capone.’

  Michael smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not talking about muscling in on your side of the operation. If we use Big Jockie, it has to be in a way that’s structured and disciplined. I should call him, say we’ll go for the exclusive deal, with one condition. If we ever have to use him, he gets his instructions from me, and he does what I ask him to do to the letter. No getting carried away by the sight of blood, no improvising. That way if we ever have to resort to violence, it will be controlled, rational and proportionate. I’ll see to that.’

  Ron laughed. ‘It’s not a game of chess we’re playing. I don’t think you understand how things work on the streets. And ten grand a month is a bit rich, considering he’ll be sitting on his hands ninety-nine per cent of the time. It’ll set back our profits to what they were three months ago.’

  ‘I don’t want anything to happen by accident to someone Big Jockie has to punish. That means he needs to be closely monitored. Having him work freelance is how accidents happen. When we first met you’d have been over the moon to make the money we were making three months ago. Smurf security and obedience are critical to our business operation. If it costs a hundred and twenty grand to do it right, then that’s what it costs.’

  ‘As long as it’s your door he’ll come knocking on in the middle of the night, that’s fine with me. Okay, I’ll tell him. There’s no figuring you out, Michael. One minute you don’t want violence, the next you’re in charge of meting it out. But as long as you don’t interfere with my street operation, I’ll go along with it.’

  Michael sat back in the leather seat, the murmur of the Scottish business elite drifting around him. In the space of an hour, he’d set up both sides of his new operation: the civility and business-speak of Jenkins and the raw terror of Big Jockie. His insides felt queasy about what that brute would do if it ever became necessary to bring someone in line or eliminate a problem.

  The business was now more than numbers on a piece of paper. It had a dark side that Michael wasn’t particularly proud of. He told himself it would be visited as rarely as possible.

  chapter ten

  For the first time in his life, Michael had fallen in love. Simple, pure, unadulterated euphoria for life. And Charlotte was the cause.

  What had started as an infatuation with her background had broadened into something much deeper. After the successful meeting with her family, Charlotte began to introduce Michael to her world, her friends, the things she liked to do. A dinner party had been the start, four of Charlotte’s friends coming round to her flat, squeezed around an antique table handed down from the family; Michael spent hours in the kitchen beforehand preparing prawn cocktail with avocado, beef Wellington and crêpe Suzette. ‘I can’t believe it,’ Charlotte had said when he volunteered. ‘A man who likes cooking.’

  Michael had developed and honed his skills in another life, working in hotel kitchens in every corner of Scotland. He was wary of being teased by the other guests, even more so of having to reveal his past to people born into privilege. As the hour of the dinner party approached, Michael was having feelings of self-doubt.

  Charlotte’s promise to keep quiet about his culinary skills lasted all of ten minutes into the first course.

  ‘This is Michael’s special recipe for Marie Rose sauce,’ she informed the guests as she served the prawn cocktail in martini glasses on a bed of shredded lettuce. ‘With a secret ingredient he won’t even tell me about. From when he was a chef at one of Scotland’s finest hotels.’

  Michael was mortified, but tried to laugh it off. ‘If I tell Charlotte all of my secrets, I’ll have nothing left to impress her with. Really, Charlotte, don’t put people off their dinner by telling them I cooked it.’

  ‘What, you cooked everything?’ said Sybil, one of Charlotte’s horse-riding friends. She looked over her glasses to her boyfriend. ‘It’s time I saw you with an apron, Henry. I don’t suppose you have a brother, do you, Michael?’

  Michael laughed and shook his head.

  ‘Pity. All the men I meet ever seem to do is talk rugby and get plastered. And Charlotte tells me you’re an opera buff? How fascinating.’

  Michael found himself holding court, as he described a rose-tinted version of his formative years. Rather than his upbringing being something to be embarrassed about, to people who had never experienced hardship or obstacles it was both exotic and inspiring. For the first time, he found that his past was nothing to be ashamed of.

  ‘I’ve never seen you like that,’ Charlotte said afterwards. ‘So open, I mean. That joke about keeping secrets from me to appear mysterious. It’s true, you know. I found more out about you tonight than I’ve learnt in all the time we’ve been together.’

  ‘I felt relaxed in their company,’ Michael admitted. ‘You’re right; I am usually a bit guarded. But every one of your friends tonight can trace their ancestry back at least a couple of centuries. There’s nothing we ordinary mortals can do to match up to that, so for once I celebrated my past, rather than disowning it.’

  ‘You’re so silly.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘This is 1974. No one cares where peop
le come from anymore, what school they went to. Did you see how impressed everyone was when you told them about going back to night school to become a banker, and then when the bosses were so beastly to you, having the courage to walk away and set up your own business? And look how successful it’s been. That’s a lot more impressive than having some draughty castle in the middle of nowhere that your family have owned for generations. You’ve inspired me, Michael. I need to do something more with my life, not take advantage of everything that’s been handed to me on a plate.’

  ‘Something more’ turned out to be volunteering with Second Chance. Charlotte met with Jason, the guy who had introduced Michael to Kenny McGowan. He suggested that she help out at the Friday-night soup kitchen. Under the pretext of free food, it gave the charity a chance to connect with recently released young offenders who were trying to put their criminal past behind them.

  Michael and Charlotte turned up at seven in the evening. Marrow bones and mutton flank were already bobbing about in two huge tureens of boiling water, and pearl barley, split peas and lentils were being added to make Scotch broth. They helped with chopping the carrots and onions, and once they’d tipped them into the soup they got busy laying out the trestle tables with the bowls, spoons and plates of bread and butter for the eight o’clock opening.

  ‘Means they get a bowl of something warm and nutritious to see them through the night,’ explained Jason. ‘Be prepared for the rush when we open the doors.’

  The doors opened bang on eight, and a jumble of people poured inside – wizened alcoholics, grungy tramps, pinch-faced, jittery women. All waited patiently in line, and Charlotte strained to understand what was being said to her in broad Glaswegian accents, constantly turning to Michael to supply a translation. They didn’t get a chance to talk properly until the last of the soup was ladled out just after nine.

  ‘I feel I’ve done something real for the first time in my life,’ Charlotte confessed to Michael. She laughed. ‘And discovered a few new words, not all of them repeatable! I must admit I was nervous to meet people who lived like this, intrigued to see what they’d be like. But they weren’t scary, they were just people who’ve made some wrong choices in life. I think more of my friends should be persuaded to do things like this.’