Silent Money Page 18

  * * *

  When Michael heard through DS Grant that Ron had been picked up and was being questioned about a robbery he had nothing to do with, he made enquiries; and the word was that his arrest was the result of a tip-off. It could only be another bit of Ivan harassment.

  His first instinct was to call Joe Beltrami. Beltrami was gaining legendary status in the Glasgow underworld as a criminal defence lawyer, and no one was better equipped to get Ron out of jail. Michael spoke to Beltrami on the phone, the lawyer’s gravelly voice sounding like a Caledonian Johnny Cash. Mistaken identity, Michael told him, instigated by a business rival with malicious intent. The next phone call was from Ron, a few hours later, telling Michael he’d been let go when it became obvious the whole thing was spurious. Beltrami had worked his magic, brow-beating the arresting officer over the ludicrousness of the accusations before a report had even gone to the Procurator Fiscal, but that didn’t soften Ron’s mood. Michael sensed he was on the point of cracking. He’d wanted to wait until everything was a done deal before bringing Ron on board with the new operation, but he couldn’t delay any longer. Michael told him to come around the next day and he’d tell him everything.

  Ron turned up just before nine.

  ‘If you’ve got a plan to deal with this mad bastard, I need to hear it,’ he told Michael. ‘I had a cast-iron alibi for that job; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here talking to you now. Beltrami or no Beltrami, I’d still be locked up at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’

  Michael ushered Ron inside and they went into his study. He waited for the clock to stop chiming before he began to talk.

  ‘I’ve been working on a plan to make our current operation obsolete, and give us the scale to meet the demand for our services, no matter how high, and not limited to Scotland. The smurfs will be gone and replaced by a streamlined business process. You’ll no longer have to worry about being exposed by their indiscretions. There will be no more hassles to keep them in line. And we’re all going to make a lot more money.’

  ‘Sounds like Christmas has come early. But if it’s all so wonderful, why am I only hearing about it now?’

  ‘I’m dealing with some new people to make this happen. If word got out, I wanted to be sure it came from them, not from this side of the operation. I need to know I can trust them before things go any further.’

  ‘Yeah, like you trust me … What new people?’

  ‘We’re going into the furniture retail business. Outlets all over the country and big-ticket purchases to make it easy to mix clients’ money in with the takings. I needed somebody to supply the furniture who can also process our clients’ money abroad, and I needed somebody who can take our current money operation into the rest of the UK. So, I’ve got new partners I’m bringing on board.’ He told Ron about Dick and Eddie.

  Ron said he had met Eddie in the past and knew Dick by reputation.

  ‘The plan is, within a year, we have all of our clients’ money going through apparently legitimate businesses,’ Michael said. ‘The bulk through Mallards, with the others being used for special situations, large one-offs, contingency planning, that sort of thing. We get the whole thing automated. Jenkins runs the finance side, Eddie’s in charge of the new English customers; you handle Scotland. Once it’s up and running we close down the smurfs and the operation is off the street, completely invisible. There will be nothing left that Ivan can muscle in on.’

  Ron was grudgingly impressed. ‘It’ll be sweet if you can pull it off, Michael. But don’t count Ivan out of the picture that easily. He’s obsessed about running the smurfs; he’s not going away without a fight.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. I think we should start getting out of smurfing in Glasgow sooner rather than later, and use Glasgow to build and refine the Mallards processes before we start the national operation. The smurfs have outgrown their usefulness. They’re risky and time-consuming. I want to put them up for sale.’

  Ron laughed. ‘You’re not Tiny Rowland, Michael. This isn’t Lonrho. You can’t buy and sell these sorts of businesses. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re talking about a bunch of neds stuffing brown envelopes into bank drop boxes.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. We need to find the right kind of buyer. I’m thinking of approaching Ivan, offering him the business, rather than him trying to muscle his way into it. He can have yesterday’s operation, use it for petty crime money, stuff that’s too small and too much hassle for us to bother with, and leave the big stuff to us. He won’t know that part. I’ll tell him that I’m going straight and that you’re moving on to pastures new and he can have the business if he leaves us alone while we’re setting up our new lives. And he can tell the world that he finally achieved victory over the smurf-masters, if that makes him happy. I don’t care.’

  Ron shook his head and grinned. ‘That’s some play, I’ll give you that. Do you think he’ll go for it? And what do I do next? No fucking way am I going to work for him.’

  ‘You and I aren’t part of the deal. I can make Ivan see that. And we’ve got big-time muscle behind us now if he tries to insist otherwise, in the shape of Dick and Eddie. This way we get the smurfs off our hands quickly and Ivan gets the operation he’s been wanting all along. Everybody wins.’

  ‘Except Ivan, even if he doesn’t know it. You do know the operation will never last five minutes under his control, don’t you? He’s too hot-headed. No one will trust him with their money and he’ll end up beating the smurfs into a pulp for every screw-up. And if we mop up all the big money with the new operation, he’ll be left with scraps, and he’ll manage to fuck up even that. The operation will be gone in six months.’

  ‘Exactly, Ron. He’ll have done the perfect job for us, breaking up the operation into a million little pieces. We move on to bigger and better things, no skeletons left in the closet. Crazy Ivan helps us to make our past disappear.’

  ‘And when the smurf operation collapses?’

  ‘We tell him we’re not responsible for how he runs the business. He might not like it, but he won’t have a choice.’

  Now all Michael needed was for the Mallards deal to be concluded as quickly as possible. Apart from him, nobody seemed to be in a hurry. It was a family-run firm, old-fashioned working practices and selling the same stuff in the same way for two generations. The business was being decimated by new out-of-town furniture warehouses and trend-conscious chains like Brown Bear and Habitat. The family had decided to sell the company on while there was still a business to sell. Michael had asked around to find the best lawyer to conclude the deal, and now had the senior partner of Glasgow’s top commercial firm grinding through the purchase process – and charging a fortune for the privilege.

  The process was tortuous. At every stage, it took forever for his lawyer’s opposite number to get instructions from the family, and during these interludes there would be a frustrating silence. They had due diligence, indemnities and warranties to sort out. Everything moved along at a sedate pace. And all the while Michael had Eddie breathing down his neck, asking what he was playing at, why it was taking so long as he pushed ahead, finding someone to run the organisation in each of the regions. He had Dick pointing out that Los Zetas were losing patience. For the first time in years, Michael was doing something legitimate, buying a real business, following all the proper procedure, and it was proving to be the single most stressful part of the enterprise.

  Eventually, Michael signed the contract. Now he needed to visit the Mallards offices, finalise everything with Dick and Eddie, and approach Ivan to offer up the smurfs. Before that, however, he decided to celebrate.

  Michael booked a VIP booth at Tiffany’s and filled it with the latest hangers-on he had acquired. Some he liked, but most were there to ensure that he stayed connected to the social circles to which Charlotte had introduced him, and all of them were happy to freeload on his hospitality. When one of them left the group, the others w
ould slag them off until they returned, when they would go back to their faux camaraderie. Not for the first time, Michael reflected on the close personal bonds he saw between many of the criminals he came in touch with, men who would do anything for each other, even to the point of sacrificing their liberty so not to betray their friends. The values and beliefs of the underclass, he reflected ruefully, could teach the rest of the world a thing or two. Charlotte had been different. He thought about her more than he cared to admit, but the few casual questions about what she was getting up to resulted in vague, disinterested replies. He hid his frustration that he couldn’t find out more.

  Michael pushed these thoughts from his mind and surveyed the dance floor. Flash and exuberance in all colours, fashion, sights and sounds. Disco seemed to revel in excess and euphoria – everything was bigger, brighter, funkier and a whole lot of fun. Van McCoy’s ‘The Hustle’ was on the turntable and the guys were playing out their best moves, gold medallions swinging dangerously with every spin, the women batting their spider-leg eyelashes in appreciation. But grooving on the dance floor was not Michael’s style. He preferred the VIP booth. It was expensive, but it always paid off. Invitations to join him were rarely turned down.

  Then he spotted her. She looked very different from the rest. Fresh, natural, her dark brown eyes giving her an air of alluring innocence. Chestnut hair tumbled down to a figure-hugging yellow jumpsuit. And she was on her own. He was intrigued.

  She had no shortage of attention, brushing off every guy who approached her with a friendly charm – but deliberately standing in a pool of light. Interesting. He saw her steal a glance at him, then another.

  Michael sent someone down to invite her up. She glanced over and he raised his glass of tonic water in salute. She gave the slightest nod of acceptance and walked over to join him.

  ‘Hello, pretty girl, I’m Michael,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you here before. Your first time? I’m sure I would’ve remembered you.’

  ‘Yes, first time. I’m Bobbie.’

  ‘Bobbie. That’s an unusual name for a girl.’

  ‘Short for Roberta. I think my dad was disappointed I wasn’t a boy.’

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ Michael said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Roberta.’

  ‘I prefer Bobbie.’

  ‘But I prefer Roberta.’

  She gave him a look of mild outrage.

  ‘Is this your club?’

  ‘Oh no.’ He laughed. ‘Far too exciting for me. I run an estate agency and a travel company. Boring stuff.’

  ‘So, are you a leader of industry? Should I have heard of you?’

  ‘I hope not,’ Michael replied. The others laughed, aware of his reputation for keeping a low business profile. ‘As I say, just a boring businessman. But sometimes I get lucky with a big deal, and that’s why I’m here tonight. Celebrating a very successful business transaction.’

  He liked her. Smart and sassy, but full of wide-eyed innocence. Coy and demure as she slid into the back of his car as they were driven home, but bold and assertive as they enjoyed each other on the drive back to the house.

  The driver remained in the car when they arrived at Michael’s house, lest Roberta catch his eye and feel embarrassed at what he had witnessed in the rear-view mirror. Michael showed her inside; the lights already low in anticipation of his return. They headed to the bedroom without preamble. Roberta didn’t seem like the sort of woman who needed to pretend to be seduced.

  Michael poured her some champagne from a small bedside fridge and watched as she gulped it down. He smiled. Despite her poised exterior, she was finding the atmosphere just as intense as he was. He poured her a second glass, sat back as she took in the trappings of the room. Black satin sheets draped over a circular waterbed, erotic art on the wall, a blazing fire, lit on his instructions by his housekeeper an hour earlier. The room was a paean to sensual delights.

  Roberta closing her eyes, opening them as he reached for the fastening of her jumpsuit, smiling and willing him on. It fell to the floor and she stood there, proud, confident. She moved forward to unbutton Michael’s shirt, but he stepped back so that he was lit by the flames of the fire, and slipped the shirt over his head himself.

  It was a trick he had played before. As the light of the flames danced over the grooves and hollows of his naked torso, he saw Roberta gasp in astonishment.

  Michael removed the rest of her clothes with practised efficiency. He stepped back to admire her nakedness, then lifted her with effortless ease and carried her to the waterbed. As he dropped Roberta on the bed, it swayed gently from her weight and she giggled like a naughty schoolgirl.

  He wanted to extend this moment, to caress her, plant a myriad of tiny kisses all over her body, but his desire was becoming overwhelming. When he was inside her, her body began to twitch and shudder with a convulsive force. A pause, and then the same again, this time together with a high keening cry, like a demon released from her soul. The intensity was too much for Michael. He felt a sudden wave of ecstasy flow out of him; fast, full, deep. He arched himself towards her as he came, and as Roberta felt the blurry warmth of his climax, she moved up the bed a little and gave herself a small, secret smile of congratulation. She clasped herself around him, squeezing, refusing to let him go. Michael stared in wonder at her sweet, innocent face after the sexual voracity he had just experienced. She kissed him on his collarbone, licked the little hollow in his shoulder, then gave a soft, sweet, kittenish purr.

  He could already feel himself stirring again.

  chapter nineteen

  The next morning, Michael watched as Roberta was driven away in his car. He turned and smiled to himself. Usually, a Tiffany’s conquest did not get to spend the night, but there had been something alluring about the way she made love. Animalistic, cathartic, like it was an attempt to exorcise some torment in her soul. The contrast with her nice-girl demeanour had been enthralling. He sent her some roses to keep her on ice until he had time to see her again.

  It wouldn’t be for a while. As the Mallards new owner, Michael needed to get up to speed with the business he had bought so he would be fully prepared for the meeting with Dick and Eddie. Old Mr Mallard was taking early retirement, and his son would take over for the first six months or until Michael could move in to replace him. Michael wanted all the operations people to stay in place so the business could continue to be run to all appearances like any normal furniture chain. Jenkins would be parachuted in as finance director, with the job of setting up a double-accounting system so that only he would see the extra money going through the business from outside.

  Michael headed down to the Mallards Surrey offices to get the ball rolling, Jenkins in tow. The business was a shambles. Despite knowing nothing about the furniture trade, Michael could see straight away where some things could be done better. When he met with the managers, there was undisguised euphoria that the business had been sold and that somebody, anybody, would try to rescue it from the doldrums. Michael found himself getting more and more drawn into thinking about how he could turn it around, make it a force to be reckoned with, then smiled at his foolishness. Even if it could become a going concern, the profits from selling the furniture would never be more than a tenth of what he’d really be using the business for. He was tempted, though.

  Ron called to let Michael know that he’d got in touch with Ivan and had arranged for them to meet on Friday afternoon. As Michael travelled back on the first train to Glasgow on Friday morning, he went over in his head one last time how he was going to handle the conversation. That passed the time, but planning was mostly futile. Every encounter with Crazy Ivan was completely unpredictable.

  He went straight from the train station to the hotel where they were to meet. After so many months of his intimidation, it seemed unreal to be meeting with Ivan face to face again. Michael cut to the chase as soon as he arrived. He wanted this over with as quickly
as possible.

  ‘I’m getting out of the business,’ Michael said. ‘Going straight, heading down to England to start a new life. Ron’s taken up an offer to be part of someone else’s firm, so he wants out as well. If you want to take over, the business is yours. You can have our manpower, I’ll go over every detail of how it all works, and one of your boys can be running it before I pack it in. You win. I haven’t the stomach for fighting off your thugs anymore.’

  It galled Michael to have to put up this pretence, to give this brute the satisfaction of thinking he had got one over on him, but it would be worth it. With one fell swoop, he’d be rid of the smurfs and could put his past behind him. He steeled himself to keep up the charade.

  ‘Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,’ replied Ivan, as he tried to hide his gloating. ‘A few wee bits o’ high jinks, that was all, just to yank your chain. So you wouldn’t forget me. I hope your no’ sore wi’ me. I’d hate that.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Michael said with curt formality. ‘I should be grateful. Now I can get out while I still can. I want to offer you a deal. Leave me alone, let me get the business sorted out after all your aggravation so I can make some money while I get ready for my future, and you take over a business that’s stable and running smoothly. That also gives you some time to find someone to run it.’

  ‘It’s a great wee set-up you’ve got going there, Mikey boy. Everybody loves it. And they’re going to have to love me now, if they want to keep using it. Aye, there’s a few pricks out there that I’m going to enjoy seeing having to swallow their pride when they give me their business. I tend to rub people up the wrong way. Can’t think why, I’m a pussycat really. Some cunts cannae take a joke.’

  ‘Well, it’s yours. We can settle this here and now. Promise you’ll back off and leave me alone, and when I’m ready to move, the business is yours.’