Free Dark Times in the City by Gene Kerrigan Page A

there. The kind of money he’d need to keep him going in Glasgow – he’d need Dessie Blue to cough up. Once that was sorted – he had friends in Glasgow, from the old days, people he could trust. A thing like this, it would sort itself out in a few months, he could come back.
    Or not
.
    Bugger-all reason to stay in this crummy town, apart from Sissy
.
    Today, touch base with Dessie Blue, pick up that eight hundred – with that kind of money in his pocket, this Glasgow thing could work out not too bad.
    He looked at his watch. Gone half-eleven.
Time to wake up Dessie Blue
.
    He found a crumpled piece of paper in his wallet and checked the number.
    Christ
.
    It was the third time Lar Mackendrick had tapped out Karl Prowse’s number and the third time he’d got the engaged signal.
    We don’t have this kind of time to waste
.
    Everything was already on hold until Walter Bennett was replaced. Now his elimination – just a piece of necessary housekeeping – had turned into a project all of its own.
    Again, Mackendrick tapped out Karl Prowse’s number. Again, the barren sound of the engaged signal made him frown.
    ‘Well? Have you got it?’
    ‘I’ve got it.’
    Got it
.
    Walter Bennett tried to keep the hope out of his voice. He gently swayed forward and back, his stare fixed on the ground at his feet. ‘Great. I can meet you now.’
    Dessie Blue said, ‘Not now. Tonight.’
    ‘Now.’
    ‘Tonight.’
    ‘This afternoon, then.’
    ‘Tonight. Maybe first thing tomorrow – at the latest.’
    Shit
.
    ‘You don’t have it.’
    ‘I have it. I just need to get my hands on it – just a matter of arranging things.’
    ‘Arranging things?’ Walter’s voice was tighter, the pitch higher. ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Getting the money actually into my hands.’
    ‘You’re fucking me around.’
    ‘I swear.’
    ‘This is
important
to me! I
need
it, you
owe it to me
, you bastard!’
    Dessie Blue broke the connection.
    Shit-shit-shit-shit
.
    Shit
.
    Walter ground his lips together. After a few seconds, he hit the buttons on his phone.
    ‘Fuck off.’
    ‘Please, Dessie – you’ve no idea, man, this—’
    ‘You call me a fucking bastard, then you—’
    ‘I’m under pressure, Dessie, the worst kind.’
    ‘Tonight, then.’
    ‘Thank you – thanks,
Jesus
, man—’
    ‘Half.’
    ‘Half what?’
    ‘Half the money.’
    ‘Ah, fuck that, Dessie, please, please.’
    ‘I can get you half – you want to take half, or you want to wait a while?’
    ‘Half now, half later.’
    ‘You want this in a hurry, Walter, you take half.
Finito
.’
    ‘Fuck you.’
    ‘Whatever.’
    Silence.
    ‘You settle for that, Walter, right? Half?’
    ‘It has to be tonight, though.’
    ‘You working tonight? Anthony’s place?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Be there. Nine-ish.’
    ‘Dessie—’
    He was gone again.
    This time, no engaged signal from Karl’s phone. Lar Mackendrick was standing by his dining-room table. One hand holding the phone to his ear, the other silently tapping the table top in time with the distant ringing.
    Come on
.
    ‘Yeah?’
    Mackendrick said, ‘It’s me.’
    ‘Everything okay?’
    ‘You’re free today?’
    ‘I’m busy this afternoon,’ Karl Prowse said. ‘Family stuff. Free this evening.’
    ‘Good.’ Mackendrick spoke evenly, as though passing a comment on the weather. ‘I’ve talked to our friend. He insists on staying out of touch. I spun him a yarn, but I don’t think he’s buying. So we’ve got to find him, urgently.’
    ‘Any idea where he’s staying?’
    ‘Probably a B&B, maybe he’s got family.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘Use your initiative.’
Chapter 11
     
    This was the time Danny Callaghan liked best. Alone in a car, a straightforward task to perform, no time pressure. The motorway was busy – the afternoon light fading, endless streams of cars mostly driven by tired, edgy people, in too much of a hurry to get somewhere that might make up for the long hours of work they didn’t