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  He was in full flow. ‘I had rules, even when I was at my worst. A philosophy, you could call it if you wanted to get poncey. I’d never burgle or steal from my own people. My motto was, “If you want it, take it”, but only from the rich buggers – the shops, the banks – where taking a wee something for myself wouldnae cause any hardship.’

  That got hoots and hollers. McGowan held up a hand to quieten the crowd. Instant silence.

  ‘Heard o’ Fredrick Nietzsche?’ he asked.

  No response.

  ‘Thought so.’ He gestured over to the students. ‘That lot would know about him, but they’re too feart to say a dickey bird in a crowd like this.’

  A murmur of laughter spread around the room. Michael took a step away from the students, staring at his shoes.

  ‘Nietzsche. The man. Asked himself what was right and what was wrong, tried to go beyond words like “good” or “evil”. See, if you’re a caveman, and your wife and bairns are starving and you go and kill another caveman to get his food, then it’s the right thing to do. If the consequences of doing something are right, then that makes the action right. If you then shag all the other cavemen’s birds so the strongest genes get passed on, all that shagging would be all right as well. It’s no’ the morality of the action that matters; it’s how beneficial it is. The morality of consequences, the end justifying the means. Nowadays, none of what that caveman did would be acceptable. But it was back then, that’s how society worked. If the world was treating you badly, doing what it took to make that right was just fine and dandy. Nobody would have expected you to do otherwise.’

  Michael wasn’t staring at his shoes now. Every word that McGowan uttered seemed to throb with significance. This was a credo he could live his life by.

  The charity guy introduced Michael to McGowan after the talk, describing him as a big supporter from the business world, a bank manager from the Royal Clydeside. Michael didn’t correct the job description.

  ‘Bank manager, eh?’ said McGowan. He asked Michael to wait behind for a few minutes so he could have a word. Curious, Michael agreed.

  Michael returned to the student group. They were talking loudly to each other, congratulating themselves for daring to venture into this part of Glasgow, but at the same time completely isolating themselves from the community they purported to understand and help. The youngest-looking amongst them, a pretty brunette, was standing slightly apart from the group, vigorously nodding to all that was being said.

  Michael asked them a few questions about McGowan’s speech. Two young men were doing most of the talking so he asked one about the thoughts of the other and stepped away, letting them debate without him. He turned to the young woman, asked her name and took another step away from the group. When she answered, he cupped his hand to his ear, pretending not to hear over the hubbub. She stepped closer.

  ‘Mary,’ she said, swaying on her feet – a combination, it seemed, of nervousness and enthusiasm.

  ‘Your first time in Drumchapel?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’m looking to make a difference while I’m at uni. Second Chance seems to offer the sort of practical support young people in this part of Glasgow need.’

  It was a reply straight out of the charity’s flyer. The base of her neck started to redden.

  Michael went into his well-practised routine about being a major figure in the banking world, tasked by his bank to spearhead their efforts to put something back into the communities they served.

  ‘It takes a lot of my time,’ he said, ‘but it’s worth it.’

  He encouraged her to start talking about herself. She was nineteen, she told him, studying sociology and still living with her parents, like a lot of the other students at the university.

  ‘But that’s only until the end of term,’ she told Michael. ‘I’ve got a summer job at Butlins, down in Ayr. Next year I want to get a flat. I think I’m missing out, living at home. I’m counting the days until I move out.’ Then she spluttered and quickly added, ‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t love my parents, or don’t appreciate everything they’ve done for me. You mustn’t think that.’

  Michael found her awkwardness endearing. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t think anything,’ he said. ‘You want to be independent, nothing wrong with that. And you’re doing something about it, not waiting for it to happen. That’s the right thing to do.’

  Mary beamed.

  Someone came over to tell Michael that McGowan was ready to talk. Mary looked impressed and started to stumble out a goodbye, but Michael interrupted.

  ‘I’m enjoying our chat, Mary,’ he said, and noticed a flush of pride that he had remembered her name. ‘Look, I’ve got my car parked outside. If it’s still there, that is. Why don’t I have a quick word with Kenny and then I’ll give you a lift over to an Underground station? We can talk some more as we drive. Save you having to wait ages for a bus.’

  She looked uncertain, but only for a moment. ‘Are you sure? Thank you.’

  Michael walked over to McGowan and the cast of The Lavender Hill Mob. McGowan beckoned him towards the corner of the room. They dragged two chairs over and sat down to talk. Michael glanced over at Mary, and whatever she was saying to the group was causing some surprised glances to be cast in his direction.

  ‘Thanks, pal, for hanging back for a wee natter,’ said McGowan, his eyes betraying a keen intelligence.

  ‘No problem. But if you’re looking for an insider to help with your next bank heist I’m not available, sorry.’

  ‘Nice one, pal. Good to see a suit with a sense of humour. But that’s no’ what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s about opening an account.’

  ‘No problem.’ Michael was slightly disappointed. ‘Come into the branch on Monday and we can fill in all the forms, get you sorted.’

  ‘No’ for me, you eejit. I’m a celebrity now; I’ve no problem. I’m talking about all the guys that get let out of Bar-L. You banks look at them like they’ve crawled out from under a stone when they try to get on the straight and narrow. I want you to do something about all the prejudice that exists about ex-cons. Tell your toffee-nosed tellers not to send them packing when they come in to bank their giros.’

  ‘Getting them a line of credit might be a problem in the short term, but there’s no reason why we should refuse anyone who wants to open a simple bank account. Here’s my card. If any of your … colleagues want to open an account, tell them to make an appointment to see me. I’ll do all I can.’

  ‘Way to go, pal, that’s brilliant. Wish there were more like you. Owe you one for this. If you’ve ever got something that needs sorting out, just let me know and I’ll do all I can. Here’s my number, call anytime. But legal, like. I’m a reformed character these days.’

  They shook hands and their eyes met, a spark of recognition between kindred souls. Half-formed dreams began to take wing in Michael’s imagination. What McGowan had described was a world with codes of honour, self-imposed no-go areas about where the boundaries were on the crimes committed, conventions and rules about solving disputes and exacting revenge. It was like a parallel society alongside the one he knew, where the moral code was not handed down from on high but came from the people themselves. He found it unnervingly exciting.

  Mary was waiting for him as he returned, her friends long departed.

  ‘This is very kind of you, Mr Mitchell,’ she said. ‘You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.’

  ‘Michael, please. It’s no trouble. Like I said, I’ve enjoyed chatting to you.’

  ‘And me too … Likewise … Chatting.’ She shook her head and laughed. ‘If I can get a sentence out.’

  Mary lived in Paisley and Michael suggested she take the Underground from Kelvinbridge to St Enoch to get the train home. Neither of them mentioned it was a rather circuitous route. He turned the car off the Great Western Road about a mile
before the station.

  ‘Plenty of time until the last train,’ he said. ‘Let’s stop off at my place to continue our chat. If you’ve got time.’

  Mary turned to look at him, her eye contact steady now.

  ‘The last train is at eleven-ten,’ she said. ‘Plenty of time.’

  At the flat, Michael took a Barry White album from his album rack, carefully removed the vinyl from its cover and placed it on the turntable. He switched the record player on and watched the needle drop down onto the first track. The deep growling voice filled the room. Michael turned to Mary, who was perched on the edge of the sofa. He sat down next to her.

  ‘You look uncomfortable, sitting there,’ he said to her. ‘Come closer.’

  They started kissing, gentle and tender. It had been just over a month since Michael had finished his last relationship, a clandestine affair with one of the bank tellers which had ended when she had started getting too close, wanting him to open up. He had always craved physical intimacy, hungered for the love and affection denied him as a child, but he baulked at giving too much of himself to any lover. Every relationship floundered on the cusp of becoming more serious.

  As the kissing became more frenetic, Michael slipped his hand under Mary’s camisole, cupping her breast and brushing the hard pearl of her nipple with his slim, pianist-like fingers. He felt her body spasm and slacken, then she closed her eyes and pulled him towards her. As he started to trace the length of her spine with his nails, she released her grasp and, with one fluid movement, pulled her camisole over her head. She gazed at him with dark brown, virginally-wide eyes, a look of innocence that could not have been in starker contrast to the boldness of her actions. This was not the time to start another relationship, Michael knew. He needed to be on his own, keep a clear head, avoid distractions. That thought lasted no more than a split second. He unzipped her jeans, put his hands behind her knees and manoeuvred her to the edge of the sofa. Gliding his fingers down the sides of her waist, he gently slipped her jeans down to her ankles and, as they fell to the ground, slowly finished undressing her. He drew her knees apart and breathed in the sweet bouquet of what the French would call her cassolette, the scent of a woman, the aroma of arousal. Michael buried his head deeper between her legs. The taste was even sweeter.

  She got dressed afterwards, looking at Michael in a daze of dreamy satisfaction that only partly covered the apparent pangs of worry that she’d done something she’d later regret. He was careful to reassure her, to make sure she knew that this wasn’t the one-night stand she feared. He wanted to meet again. The next evening, and the one after that. She looked happy, relieved. He knew it was foolhardy, but he was already looking forward to the next time.

  Michael insisted on driving her to Paisley, parking around the corner from her parents’ house as they said their goodbyes. As he returned to his flat, reality began to intrude. Still assistant manager despite all his plotting. Now with a new boss, humiliatingly younger than himself and not as easy to deceive. He was too old to start another career, lacked the university degree that all the other banks insisted on for a management position. He was trapped – in a world he was growing to despise.

  The bubble of prestige and importance he’d been in all evening burst and the intolerable reality returned. He deserved better, no matter what it took to achieve it.

  The morality of consequences.

  chapter four

  Ian Mason wasted no time transferring to the branch. He came over from Edinburgh in the afternoon, introduced himself to the staff and disappeared into Duffy’s office for the handover. It lasted thirty minutes. They came out, Duffy headed off somewhere, and Michael was called in for a chat.

  ‘Looks like I was talking to the wrong person trying to get a handle on what’s going on here,’ said Mason. ‘I think old Hector has been out of his depth. It’s valiant of you to carry him for so long. Must have been an impossible workload.’

  Michael’s shrug gave little away.

  ‘I hope I can make things easier for you from now on,’ Mason said. ‘You’ll find I’m very hands-on, a bit of a stickler for detail. If you help me with the management reporting first time around, you won’t have to worry about half the things you’ve had to put up with once I get up to speed. I’ve scheduled a few hours this afternoon for you to brief me. Let me take a lot off your plate, give you more time to do your job.’

  ‘Very kind of you, Ian,’ Michael replied. ‘But it was no problem. Happy to keep doing it, if you like.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. One place where I do want you to keep up the good work is signing up these new accounts. This branch’s enquiries-to-acquisition ratio is outstanding.’ Mason smiled, and Michael tried to smile back. ‘You seem to have a real knack for charming students into signing on the dotted line. That can be your baby. It’s very important for the bank to win as many student customers as possible, and I want Byres Road to be the best university branch in Scotland – and I don’t just mean within the Royal Clydeside. I’m an ambitious man, Michael, and I know you’re ambitious too. Let’s make this happen together.’

  A lot of new accounts were opened in the next few weeks and Michael was pleased that Mason didn’t scrutinise them too closely. Michael was true to his word with Kenny McGowan, and a steady stream of slightly dubious characters came into the bank, mainly on a Wednesday afternoon when Mason headed off for the weekly management meeting. Michael opened current accounts for all of them, apart from one guy who was a notorious con artist, but even with him, Michael had agreed to a deposit account, flagged for close monitoring. New student accounts, all that Michael had left of the job he was doing before, also continued to multiply. Mary moved her account to Royal Clydeside and persuaded a few of her friends to do likewise. Sleeping with prospective customers was not a technique he’d come across in the bank’s marketing manual, but it was effective nonetheless.

  However, Mason’s first pep talk to the branch staff had confirmed Michael’s worst fears. According to the new manager, the key to efficiency was clarity. Everyone should know who did what; there was to be no duplication of responsibility. Every management decision was to be made by him, and him alone. For the first few weeks, when other staff members would go to Michael out of habit to get the okay for a customer issue if Mason was not around, Mason would make a point of contradicting Michael when he heard of it. It had the desired effect; Michael was back to being a glorified bank teller. He wasn’t sure what angered him most, the insincere attempts by Mason to praise him when no one was around, to try to con him into thinking he was valued, or the constant humiliating reminders to the rest of the staff that he had no authority around the branch anymore.

  ‘I’ve got the company magazine chap coming in tomorrow,’ Mason told Michael a few weeks into the job. ‘Bringing a photographer. He wants to do an interview with a new branch manager.’ He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Bit of a pain, if you ask me. But if I have to do it, I may as well do it right.’

  He waited for Michael’s response but was met with silence.

  ‘Anyway, that’s what’s happening,’ said Mason, flustered. ‘They want photos of me in action and I thought I’d take over one of your new student customer interviews tomorrow to give them something photogenic. If that’s all right with you.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Mason picked up Michael’s appointment diary. ‘Ah, good. An appointment at two o’clock.’ He peered at the entry. ‘Medical student. Excellent. And a woman, very modern. Can you get me her application form? I’ll tell everyone to get the office smartened up in case they want another few photos around the place. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over in a couple of hours and then we can get back to normal.’

  Mason puffed and preened around the office the next day. Michael found it laughable that he complained about the disruption but was loving his moment in the limelight. He harboured a delicious fantasy that the medical student’s application
interview would turn out to be a disaster and even toyed with thinking up ways to sabotage it, but in the end decided it was too risky. Mason wasn’t as much of a fool as Duffy. If he suspected any disloyalty, Michael was sure it would backfire on him. He gritted his teeth and kept his head down. Let Mason get his ego trip over with as quickly as possible.

  Two months later the article appeared in the company magazine. Mason on the front cover, hailed as the bank’s rising star, a photo of him inside shaking hands with the new student customer. The article was full of his boasts of the branch being the top performer in winning new customers. Not a single mention of Michael Mitchell. As he read it, Michael felt he’d been kicked in the stomach. The only thing at the bank that he could still call his own, and Mason was taking all the credit.

  He decided. He could take no more, even if it required giving up on his dreams. No matter what platitudes came his way, where he had come from meant he wasn’t for the top. He had to get out. Anything was better than this.

  * * *

  It was a chance look through some paperwork that led Michael to the discovery that Royal Clydeside Bank had a criminal as a customer. A real criminal, operating right under their noses, and not one of McGowan’s referrals. When Mason had told Michael after the magazine article that it was best he saw the new account applications going forward and have one of the senior tellers handle the paperwork, he lamely tried to sell Michael on the new responsibility he would have in its place: the annual check of business customers’ bank records to spot any warning signs. Michael could see why Mason had given the job to him. Boring, repetitive and invisible. Nothing that could take the shine off Mason’s own career prospects.

  At first glance, Ron’s Taxis looked okay. Quarterly revenues up forty per cent on the previous quarter, total annual income a more than respectable £60,752. But almost no outgoings. Money paid in as large lump sums, rather than daily takings. It was not the way a taxi firm did business.