Free The Night the Rich Men Burned by Malcolm Mackay Page A

the hook on all sorts of debt. And every time, the debt gets bigger. This twenty-grand debt is the biggest yet. Addiction running further and further out of control. Nobody else wanted to buy it. Nobody else wanted to piss off MacArthur. Patterson basically bought it to make a good impression on the two bookies. But he figures it’s worth trying to pick up.
    Bavidge agrees. You let one thug get away with it and they all think they can. A free run for the stupidity collective. Stamford is an example the collection industry can’t afford to set. So you go and get the money. You make an example of him. If he can’t get off the hook, no one can; that sort of example. If MacArthur decides to get pissy about it, you ask him what he would have done. Shit, if the old man’s dumb enough to have someone like Stamford close to him, that’s his problem. MacArthur knows how it works round here. If you owe money, you bloody well pay it.
    A few people have come and gone from the gym. All looking bronzed and vacant. All getting into their little mid-range sports cars or gaudy four-by-fours. Then Stamford. A bag slung over his shoulder. Wearing shirt and trousers, looking semiformal. Always a guy that likes to dress well. Those clothes won’t have come cheap either.
    Bavidge is out of his car and walking across to Stamford. Intercepting him before he reaches the safety of his car. Black Nissan GT-R, polished to a mirrored shine. Stamford’s seen him coming. Been muscle long enough to know trouble when he sees it. But he’s bigger than Bavidge. Taller, broader, firmer and with a longer reach. All the things he thinks matter. He doesn’t know who Alan Bavidge is. Doesn’t know what he’s done in his life. And his financial management shows that he’s a complacent prick with the judgement of a lemming. So Bavidge isn’t worrying too much.
    ‘Jamie. Good workout?’
    Stamford’s looking at him. Sneering, but with way too much effort to look anything other than dumb. ‘What are you, cop?’
    And Bavidge is laughing. A genuine laugh too. Not just doing it to piss Stamford off. Bavidge looks so much younger when he laughs. He can look so happy. It is hilarious that Stamford thinks Bavidge is a cop. Coming to question or arrest Stamford on his own? Yeah, right. He really is dumb muscle if he can’t tell the difference between a collector and a cop.
    ‘No, I’m not a cop. I just wanted to have a wee chat about some money you owe.’
    ‘I don’t owe any money,’ Stamford’s saying, moving to push past Bavidge to his car. Confident and dismissive and happy that this isn’t a conversation he needs to worry about.
    Lay down a marker. You let him push past you once and he keeps trying to push past you. You let him walk away from this conversation and you never get him back. The key to being a good collector is setting the tone. Do it early. Make sure the person knows who controls this. Make sure they know it’s never going to be them.
    So Bavidge is shoving hard against Stamford. Shoulder to shoulder. Stamford is bigger, but he’s not expecting it. People don’t shove back against him. So when Bavidge does, Stamford stumbles. And now he’s looking at Bavidge. A little bit of disbelief. A lot of anger. Ready to lash out, which is why Bavidge is acting first. He’s done this sort of thing before, you will have gathered.
    ‘You throw a punch and this gets out of control fast,’ Bavidge is saying with a snarl. ‘I’m here to let you know how it’s going to be. You owe exactly twenty thousand, one hundred and forty-two pounds. You are going to pay exactly twenty thousand, one hundred and forty-two pounds. No discounts. No deals. No getting off the hook. No hiding behind your boss like a pussy. We have your debt and we are going to collect. Other people might not collect on you, Stamford, but I will. You’re fuck-all to me. No hiding. However far I have to go to get that money, I will go.’
    Almost doesn’t matter what you