Free Random by Craig Robertson Page A

Everyone who lives and breathes in the other city plays by different rules, speaks a different language, lives by different laws. The world is woven inside, under and around the official Glasgow.
    The other city has its own police, its own civic leaders, its own lawmakers. It has its own code of conduct and it all runs perfectly smoothly as long as everyone plays the game. Some people live entirely within the other city and couldn’t leave it if they tried. Some live on the fringes, others make day trips in and out. Some of us can speak the language and know lots of people who live there but try to keep our distance all the same. Except when it suits us.
    Right then, it suited me to trade chat with people who lived closer to the other city than I did. They heard things that I wanted to hear. Things I needed to know. Alec Kirkwood was police, councillor and lawmaker in the other city. Big cheese. Bad man.
    He wasn’t strictly A-list. The very fact that he was even known to the likes of me made him B-list. Big and bad but B-list all the same. No one knew who the A-list guys were but chances are, these days, they were not even in Glasgow at all. Strings pulled from Liverpool and London.
    I knew of Kirkwood but I knew people who knew people who knew him. Guys like Ally McFarland. He knew people but thought he was people. Ally was in his late twenties and not as bad as he liked to make out. He’d sell some dodgy gear and get in a fight when he’d had a swally but that was about it. He was mates with some of the heavies in the Star Bar over in Royston and liked to drop their names in to impress. He also liked the sound of his own voice. And best of all, he liked me.
    I think there was a bit of him that felt sorry for me after what happened. Normally I’d hate that but it suited my purpose. Let him think what he likes as long as he talks. And he talked about Kirkwood when I asked. Kirky was not a happy bunny. He had taken the killing of Spud Tierney as a personal insult.
    Image is a funny thing in the other city. The likes of Alec Kirkwood need to keep a low profile for the public and the press but needs his name in lights as far as the scumbags go. They need to be shit-scared of crossing him. Even the thought of thinking about messing with him should make them pish their pants.
    He made sure everyone knew that if you touched one of Alec Kirkwood’s boys then you were a dead man. Simple as that. I’d touched one, big time. Serious problem.
    The people that knew people said that Kirky had this thing about having a quiet life. He believed that if everybody did as they should then everybody would be all right. Everybody would have money in their pockets and an easy life. Everybody knew the cops wanted a quiet time of it too. They didn’t need to come around stirring up dirt to see what shit was lying beneath it, they already knew. Everybody was happy.
    Kirky had this line he liked to put about. Everyone behaves and everyone’s fine. But if some muppet shits in the ice cream then the party is over.
    I’d killed Spud Tierney. I’d put the keech in the Häagen-Dazs. Now Alec Kirkwood wanted revenge. He wanted me. He just didn’t know it yet.
    The strange thing is that I’d actually met him once. I was drinking in the Comet in Ruchill, a pub with a certain reputation. I hadn’t been that comfortable even going into the place. It was only the fact that the two guys I was with were locals that I could even be in there without getting my head kicked in. A quick pint and away.
    Then the door opened. In walked this guy and the entire place froze. Got the distinct feeling guys would have jumped through windows if there weren’t bars on them. I didn’t know who he was but there was no doubting that he was somebody. He was no more than five foot ten but gave the impression of being bigger. And that was despite being followed in by four gorillas who were all well over six feet. He reminded me of a game show host. Weird but he