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  Ron shook his head. ‘That will all take time. In any case, I’m pretty sure Mickie won’t have broadcast where he was going – even to his friends. My plan’s faster and easier. If we go about torturing folk who know Mickie for no good reason, anyone who could help us will run for the hills.’

  ‘This is not about Mickie Ferguson, Ron. This is about establishing a code of honour. Every criminal in Glasgow has got to see that anyone who tries to muscle in on our organisation is dealt with, and if it’s someone you know, you get punished, not rewarded. It doesn’t matter whether you were involved or not. Somebody does wrong; everybody gets hurt. That way, the whole world will know that attacking us and doing a runner means there will be a dozen people nursing a grievance that they’ll want to do something about. Nobody who crosses us and tries to get away with it will ever be able to show their face in Glasgow again.’

  ‘It makes something simple more complicated. These low-lives couldn’t spell codes of honour, never mind abide by them. But, listen – I’m not suggesting a soft option here. Once I find him, I’ll make sure Mickie suffers for the aggro he’s given us.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ Michael replied. ‘When the time comes, I think I need to step out the shadows for a moment, tell Mickie the good news face to face. Build a reputation for myself. It’s our first betrayal, and I want the word to be that the person ultimately behind this operation is so ruthless, nobody who crosses him will ever get away with it.’ Michael half-smiled. ‘I think I can act the part well enough to terrify Mickie Ferguson, what do you think?’

  Ron didn’t look convinced. ‘I think it’s an okay idea. But – don’t take offence, Michael – you’ve not been at the sharp end before. I hope you have the stomach. I think when you see what we’re really dealing with … Let’s just say it will be an eye-opener.’

  Ron was right. Michael had put off coming to terms with the world he had got himself into for too long – the brutal reality of what was required to succeed in an arena ruled by fear and intimidation. It was an induction he was not looking forward to, but he needed to go through it. He maintained a grim, but otherwise unreadable, expression. Ron was to know nothing of his inner doubts and anxieties.

  It took three days and three crooks – three sessions with the Electric Warrior – to flush out Mickie Ferguson.

  ‘We’ve got him in a basement,’ Ron reported. ‘Waiting for your go-ahead to make him regret the day he was born.’

  ‘Send Big Jockie round, tell him to stay in the room with him, but not to lay a finger on him. I’ll meet you outside. Bring along his three unfortunate friends and we’ll all head in together. An hour or two in Big Jockie’s company before we arrive will put him in the right frame of mind for the pep talk I’m going to give him.’

  * * *

  Michael let the others enter the room ahead of him. He had told Ron precisely the set-up he wanted – complete silence, a bright light on Mickie’s face, otherwise darkness. When he stepped inside, he stayed behind the lamp so it was just his disembodied voice that Mickie heard. Mickie sat on an upright chair, his hands behind his back and his ankles taped to the legs of the chair. Big Jockie stood behind him, his gargantuan bulk dwarfing the seated figure. Michael smelt the acrid odour of urine, noticed the dark stain on Mickie’s trousers. He steeled himself to deliver the speech he had prepared.

  ‘You need to understand I run my business on trust and respect.’ The words were measured, radiating menace. ‘And so, I need to make sure that no one takes advantage of that.’

  Mickie struggled in the chair, and as it started to rock Big Jockie held it still. Michael found it chilling to see that it required only a small iota of his strength. Mickie collapsed back into the chair, shaking, his face contorted with terror and despair.

  Michael stepped forward so that he stood between Mickie and the lamp. He wanted to show that he feared nothing, that he had complete confidence that showing his face would represent no risk whatsoever.

  ‘So, unfortunately, you’ve given me a problem.’ His voice was as gentle as a lover’s caress. ‘As you were the first person to cross us, it took a considerable amount of persuasion before your friends … opened up to us. More than I would have liked. I’m afraid they had to endure quite a lot of suffering.’

  Michael moved back, and his voice became more detached, more businesslike.

  ‘So, my little friend. If we had to offer these poor unfortunates some encouragement to help, just because they had the misfortune to know you, Big Jockie has to offer a great deal more to you. Everything has to be proportionate. You do see that’s fair, don’t you?’

  Mickie’s groans were primal in their intensity. Michael nodded to Big Jockie. ‘Okay,’ he said, with an air of casual indifference.

  Big Jockie’s beating began. Michael kept his features dispassionate, but inside his stomach was churning. Not just from revulsion at the violence, but from sheer anger that he’d had to resort to it. Every descent to brutality was a failure to secure loyalty by strength of will. But when he had to use it, he would use it with exactitude, logic, and a carefully calibrated level of intensity. Michael had found the perfect instrument to do that. Big Jockie could snap someone’s neck like a matchstick, but he didn’t get carried away. He delivered exactly what was asked of him.

  Ron drove Michael home after it was over.

  As Michael stepped out of the car he leaned in and said to Ron, ‘Hopefully, it will be some time before we have to do this again.’

  With that, he headed into the house. With the door closed behind him, he could finally let the mask slip. Exhausted, he slid down the wall and sat motionless on the floor. Satan and Lucifer appeared, their canine curiosity piqued. As Michael listlessly patted them, Lucifer gave a little whimper, as though sensing some unspoken wretchedness in his master. It was enough to snap him out of his black mood. He would never be the cause of sympathy. Getting to his feet, he headed into his study to collect his thoughts.

  As he sat brooding, it became clearer and clearer to Michael what he needed to do. His success so far had been due, not only to the elegance and sophistication of his money-laundering operation, but also to its underpinning by raw, brutal violence. He had accepted the intellectual necessity of this when dealing with it in the abstract, but seeing it for himself for the first time had brought home to him what he was doing and what he had become. However hard he tried to rationalise the violence on the basis that it would only be inflicted on those who brought it upon themselves, he couldn’t deny that he was responsible for actions that repulsed him. And he felt vulnerable for a second reason. A fear had been growing inside him ever since that first breach of security that brought Crazy Ivan to his door. His whole enterprise was built on a motley army of unreliables: every half-brained, hot-headed, impetuous recruit presented a potentially fatal security risk that could bring the entire operation down in a moment’s irresponsibility.

  Michael looked around the room. Every accoutrement and accessory was testament to his refinement and good taste. To a lifestyle that cost a fortune to maintain. Everything he had achieved was tainted by blood, ready to be brought down by variables that were outside his control. And all because he needed smurfs to run the operation. There had to be a better way.

  chapter fourteen

  It was Charlotte who was the beneficiary of Michael’s feelings about the punishment carried out on his orders. It continued to eat away at him. He had to find some way to reconcile himself with the horror he had unleashed.

  The answer was a charitable foundation, a new, philanthropic arm to his business empire. It would aim to help disadvantaged young people in Glasgow to change their lives and get into work, education, training or volunteering, to make sure every young person had the chance to succeed. Michael told Charlotte his idea over dinner a few days later and was pleased to see how much she liked it. Then he told her the second part of the plan.

 
‘I’d like you to run it, Charlotte,’ he told her. ‘Once you sit your final exams. Not the operational, logistical stuff; I’m recruiting a charity professional for that. I need someone to identify the self-help programmes we can support, someone to define the goals we need to achieve. Want to try?’

  She protested that she didn’t have the experience, but only half-heartedly. When she finally said yes, Michael was elated. He could prove to himself that some good could come from the evil with which he was involved, and finally start to dispel the disgust he was feeling about the life he led.

  But he would only fully be free when he no longer needed the smurfs.

  Michael told Ron his new plan a few days later.

  ‘I’ve been looking at the business since the Mickie Ferguson incident,’ he said. ‘We managed to stamp down on that problem, but there are always going to be more. There’s a strategic flaw in our business model, and that’s the fundamental unreliability of the way we put the funds through the system. The smurfs. They’re a security risk, a) because they can’t be trusted, and b) because they’re easy pickings for any gangster who wants to try his luck. The operation will always be at risk as long as we have to use them.’

  ‘You think? I say let Big Jockie deal with keeping them under control. There’s intimidation on the street, but all we have to do is make sure the smurfs are more scared of us than the other guy. You think too much, Michael, that’s your problem. This is a simple business. You don’t have to make it complicated.’

  ‘The business needs to be run more intelligently, Ron. Smurfs were great to get us started, but we’re outgrowing them. I’m going to start working with Jenkins on a new way to launder money. One that’s safer, more efficient and, in the long term, more profitable. We’re going to start buying businesses – like your taxi firm – that can handle cash without drawing attention to themselves. I want a portfolio of companies so we can move money about in large business transactions, not lots of little ones with smurfs walking around with piles of cash in their pockets. Within a year, smurfing will be a thing of the past.’

  ‘It sounds impressive, but where’s the money coming from? You might have some cash salted away, but this sounds like a mighty expensive exercise, and all this charity bullshit must be costing you big time. Even your piggy bank isn’t big enough to pay for this kind of expansion.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s a big investment. But the potential it gives us is huge. The set-up costs will be recouped in a year, two at the most if things go slowly. You just keep bringing in the business. I want to get it done as soon as possible.’

  Michael went over the numbers with Jenkins. The strategy was clear. They would start acquiring businesses slowly, expanding and taking on new ones as they built up enough reserves. They could close down the smurfs in three years if the money-laundering operation continued to grow at its current rate. Or they could do it in a year if they borrowed £250,000. Michael smiled at the irony of the situation. His plan was robust and well-funded, the projections and cash flow analysis demonstrating a viable and attractive business case. Even with the most prudent assumptions, it would be a loan application that any bank in its right mind would not hesitate to support. The only flaw was that it was illegal. A small detail. It would be too big a risk to have to endure the sort of scrutiny that would be required to secure a loan. It looked like he had no choice but to take the slow road to his destination.

  When the solution dawned on him, he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Michael was having dinner with Charlotte at their favourite restaurant, on a hill overlooking the Kingston Bridge, the sinuous snake of the new M8 motorway carving a swathe of car lights through the city centre below.

  ‘I had a big meeting with my accountant today,’ he told her after the meal. ‘Been discussing my expansion plans. Like to hear about them?’

  ‘Of course, darling,’ she replied. ‘Expansion? Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘As you know, the basics of my business are that I give wealthy people investment and tax advice. How to build long-term resilience into actively managed portfolios, that sort of thing.’

  Charlotte looked at him blankly.

  ‘Well, having such a broad-based overview has given me some ideas about not only investment opportunities, but also the type of business that is going to take off in years to come. I’m thinking I should have some real brick-and-mortar companies under my control, not just make a living from advice and consultancy.’

  ‘Brick and mortar sounds good,’ said Charlotte, trying to keep up. ‘Like what, exactly?’

  ‘Travel agents, for one,’ Michael replied. ‘People are flocking to places like Benidorm and Magaluf. In a few years, it will be as common to have a holiday on the Costa Brava as it is to go to Blackpool at the moment. And estate agency, that’s another boom area. Until recently, most of the buying and selling in Scotland has been done by solicitors, but estate agents are popping up all over the place. I think that’s the way things are going.’

  ‘I read,’ Charlotte said, ‘that house prices are set to go through the roof in the next few years. Hard to imagine, but in ten years they say you won’t be able to buy a semi in Glasgow for anything under ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘But people will aspire to. And if I’ve got an agency that takes three per cent of every sale, and house prices go up by twenty per cent a year, I’m making money even before the business starts growing.’

  ‘Does this mean you’ll be doing less of the iffy tax-dodging stuff?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Michael replied. ‘You’ll be a boring businessman’s adoring partner in future, rather than a gangster’s moll. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

  ‘Much less glamorous, you’re right.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘It all sounds very exciting, Michael. But without being too vulgar, do you have the money? Sounds like it might cost a lot.’

  ‘It will. And until I’ve been in business for two years, the banks say I’m not eligible for a business loan. I’ll have to cut back, maybe put the foundation on hold for a while, save like mad and buy a tiny operation to get started. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to tell you tonight. The foundation will still be important, but we might not be able to see through all the plans you’ve come up with. Frustrating, but that’s the way it is.’

  ‘You do know I come into my inheritance next month?’

  ‘I think you mentioned that. But what’s that got to do with—?’ Michael allowed just enough time to let the penny drop. ‘Oh no, Charlotte, you shouldn’t even be thinking those thoughts.’

  ‘You know I would if you wanted me to.’ Charlotte leaned over and squeezed his hand. ‘Whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll succeed at it.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right. People would think I was taking advantage of you.’

  ‘No, I mean it, Michael. No one needs to know.’

  ‘It is tempting,’ Michael said. ‘But if we did think about it, it would have to be done properly. I’d insist it would be a loan; secure it on my business and pay you the going rate of interest. And you’d have to get a lawyer – I’d want to make sure you had someone protecting your interests. But it’s a very kind offer, Charlotte. Let me think about it.’

  Michael waited a week before raising it again.

  ‘Charlotte, your idea about lending to the business. Do you have a family lawyer you could talk to about it? I wouldn’t want you to do anything irresponsible, but if a lawyer was to draw up a loan contract, make sure you were fully protected, see that your money would make more interest than it would if you invested it, it seems crazy not to at least look at it.’

  ‘We don’t need lawyers, darling. I trust you. Tell me what you want to do, and I’ll do it.’

  Michael knew it would be folly to agree. Any arrangement had to be beyond reproach. If word got out that he’d exploited Charlotte’s naivety, his days in her circles would be over in a
n instant. The lawyer wasn’t there to protect Charlotte, he was there to protect Michael. He insisted that she needed a lawyer to handle the contracts and deeds and she finally relented.

  The family lawyer drew up the documentation and invited Charlotte and Michael to his office. He was effusive with Charlotte, kissing her on both cheeks and taking her coat. Michael, on the other hand, he greeted with a grunt and waved into a chair. Clearly, Michael was the gold digger and Charlotte the latest in a long line of valued Aldford family clients. Michael did his best to alleviate his misgivings, agreeing to everything he asked for, even volunteering to pay a bit more interest to make sure the deal was as favourable as possible to Charlotte. Two weeks after her twenty-first birthday, £250,000 from Charlotte’s trust fund was paid over to Michael as a fully secured loan, to be paid back in twenty-four monthly instalments with interest at five per cent above base.

  Michael had the funds he needed to expand. He promised himself it would be a decision Charlotte would never regret.

  1975

  chapter fifteen

  It took three months before Avalon Travel was open for business, the name chosen because it had no significance whatsoever: classy, but anonymous. The girlfriend of an acquaintance of Ron’s worked as a receptionist and Michael chose two of the smurfs who were the most switched-on to be the office manager and assistant. He hired a travel professional on a six-month contract to start things up and teach his team the ropes – they’d be gone before they noticed anything suspicious. The operation had every appearance of being genuine, while behind the scenes Michael’s accountant, Jenkins, was putting ten times the legitimate revenue through the books.