Page 44 of Forever, Maybe
And, of course, nightclubs hadn’t been his only source of income. But even the less legitimate markets had dried up—or worse, been overtaken by competitors who’d muscled him out.
Daniel let him ramble. He had learned long ago that interruptions only made Shane more determined to reminisce. The whisky, Daniel hoped, would soon do its job and put his uncle to sleep. Then he could consider his familial duty fulfilled and head home.
His mind wandered, as it often did, to work. Specifically, the Asda contract. If they won it, it would be transformative. He was halfway through running the numbers in his head when Shane’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“That car? Did you see it out there?”
“What car?” Daniel asked, startled back into the present.
“The wee black Fiat,” Shane said, leaning forward slightly, his voice lower now. “S-something registration. Last three letters CZM.”
Daniel shook his head. “I didnae see any cars when I drove in. Whose car is it?”
Shane frowned into his empty glass, tapping it lightly against his knee. Daniel caught the hint and refilled it, ignoring the raised eyebrow Shane shot him when he declined to pour one for himself.
“The Kellys,” Shane muttered, swirling the whisky. “It’s been sitting there all week.”
Daniel blinked. “The Kellys?” He stared at his uncle. The second mention of that family in a short space of time. “Why would they be sitting outside your house?”
He didn’t say the rest of the thought out loud—now, after all this time.
Shane knocked back half the dram in one swift motion. “Trying to catch me out,” he said, leaning forward. “Spying on who’s coming to see me.”
As far as Daniel knew, hardly anyone visited Shane these days. Most of his old acquaintances were either six feet under or had long since shifted their loyalties elsewhere.
Shane picked up a pamphlet from the arm of his chair. Daniel clocked the red-and-white banner instantly.Clyde Confidential—the so-called weekly “newspaper” notorious for plastering its front page with blurry photos of Glasgow’s alleged drug dealers and gangsters.
“Says here,” Shane shook the paper for emphasis, “that wee nyef Patrick Kelly’s out the jail. Parole board let him loose.”
Anyone who readClyde Confidential—its stories more salacious than serious, dripping with the almost hopeful suggestion that Glasgow teemed with bad yins—needed a crash course in credibility.
“You could always call the polis.” Daniel’s tone was bone-dry. “Tell them you’re worried someone’s casing the joint.”
Shane scoffed, sharp and dismissive. “Tch! Naw, they can watch all they like. If I was five years younger—two, even—that wee rat would be cowering in his boots, looking over his shoulder, waiting for me and the bullet with his name on it.”
He stuck two fingers together, blowing them top of them as if they were a smoking gun, and knocked back another fortifying gulp of whisky, content in the vision of himself as a man still worth fearing.
Daniel hesitated, then changed the subject. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat?”
Shane shook his head, leaning back into the recliner. “Just another wee whisky, Danny bhoy.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Your mother says you’re having a wee party this weekend. For the family.”
Damn her. Daniel forced a smile. “Aye. D’you want to come? Nell would love to see you.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Alright, the” Shane said with a nod, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped a hint the size of Ben Nevis. “Tell your mother to pick me up.”
Promising he’d let her know—while deciding it served Trish right for making him visit Shane in the first place—Daniel got to his feet.
Shane wasn’t quite done with the orders. “Aye and tell Liza to pop round an’ all. Hardly seen a pick o’ her since her ma passed.”
“I’ll pass that on,” Daniel muttered, knowing fine well the plea would fall on deaf ears.
He let himself out with a weary sigh. At the end of the driveway, he turned right, his eyes scanning the cars parked along either side of the quiet street.
No sign of the S-reg black Fiat. Shane must have been imagining things.
Still, a faint tingle of unease crawled up Daniel’s spine. He doubted Patrick Kelly and the rest of his family were interested in his uncle after all these years, but what if they were? And if they were sniffing around Shane, could it somehow rebound on him?
