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“Clear,” he grinds out, eventually.
“Excellent. Well, I need to be off. You have a nice day, now. I’ll be in touch.”
His fulminating glower follows me as I saunter back to my own more modest four-by-four. I’m tempted to go back and break his fucking jaw, just for the fun of it, but I have shit to do. I settle for a taunting wave when I pull away, then dismiss him from my mind.
I make a few calls on my way to the Port of Glasgow. The first is to an acquaintance of mine who works at a department store in the city centre.
“Deirdre? Hi. Jack here. I need a favour…” I order several outfits, guessing at a size twelve. Jeans, a couple of dresses, several sets of underwear, tops. As an afterthought, I chuck in some sleepwear. “Can you pick out some other bits and pieces. A hairbrush, shampoo, toiletries. Just…stuff.”
She laughs. “I daresay I can manage that. I’ll be sending you the bill, will I?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Budget?” she enquires sweetly.
“Whatever you think,” I reply. “Don’t forget anything. Oh, and it needs to be delivered to the mansion by the end of today. Can you do that?”
“I expect so.”
I hang up, confident the items will be there before I get home. My next call is to a certain detective police superintendent with tendencies similar to those of Steve Morris, though he tends to be a little more subtle in his approach. Even so, Superintendent Jerome Thomas relies on the likes of us to fund his appreciation for casinos. He answers my call himself and takes very little convincing of the merits of redirecting Inspector Whymark’s zeal to eradicate underage drinking in favour of a purge on street crime and robbery. Personally, I think it’s a good move anyway and resolve to address the issue of kids and alcohol myself, at least in the pubs we run.
I arrive at the port to find my shipment has been landed and is secured in a warehouse awaiting transport. I check the goods, decide they’ll do, and contact one of my trusted hauliers to get them loaded and on their way to be distributed around our units in the inner city.
By the time all this is accomplished it’s mid-afternoon, so I make my way back to Glasgow, detouring to drop in on a couple of restaurants and a casino. It pays to do regular spot checks, and I have a good nose for anything not quite in order. On this occasion, I don’t find anything.
I consider adding the Hope and Anchor to my round but decide to leave that to Tony. He’s already on the case, and his instincts are as good as mine.
Well, nearly.
I stroll into the kitchen at Caernbro Ghyll an hour later, half a dozen pizza boxes under my arm. “Has she eaten?” I ask Rome, who is peering hopefully into the fridge
“I took her some sandwiches up at lunchtime,” he replies.
“How was she?”
“Quiet. Subdued. She brightened up, though, when the delivery from John Lewis’ arrived.”
I knew Deirdre wouldn’t let me down.
“Some of that going spare?” he asks.
And he’s not alone. Already seven or eight of the soldiers who live here are wandering in, sniffing the air.
“I brought enough for everyone.” I set the boxes down on the table and flick open a couple of lids. “There’s more in the car. Sides and drinks.”
I toss him the keys, and Mickey heads out to fetch the rest of the order.
We have a contract cleaning firm who come in twice a week to keep the place decent. I could probably employ a cook, too, but somehow I never get round to it. We live off takeaways or simple stuff from the microwave, and no one’s complaining. I wait for Mickey to return with the rest of the bags, then grab a selection of sides, a two-litre bottle of cola and a pizza, enough for me and Ruth. I leave the rest for the gannets and head upstairs.
She’s at the window when I open the door but spins around to face me. She’s wearing a loose denim shirt and black leggings, part of today’s delivery. Deirdre chose well.
“The stuff fits, I see.”Like a glove.
“Yes.” She looks down at herself. “I suppose I should be grateful, except I have my own stuff in my car.”
I shrug. “Please yourself. You can have your belongings as soon as we’ve finished checking them all. Are you hungry?” I deposit the food on the low table. “I brought pepperoni. We have wedges, too, and some chicken strips.”
She glares at me, but I hear her stomach rumbling from where I am at the other side of the room. I pull up a couple of chairs, sit, and help myself to a slice.
