The Betrayal E-Book

Linda Tweedie

• Herausgeber: Fledgling Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

From the dark and mean streets of Glasgow to the glamorous and decadent resort of Marbella, The Betrayal sees the continuation of a family feud spanning decades. This is a gritty novel following the fortunes of bitter enemies, the Coyles and McClellands. The birth of Erin and Bobby's son sets in motion a chain of terrifying events, leaving Erin to rot in a Spanish jail with no support or assistance from her family and no knowledge of her son's whereabouts. Exacting revenge for the murder of his father, Bobby has laid claim to baby Ryan; however an unexpected twist of fate leaves the child in the clutches of his parents' worse nightmare. A tale of murder, drug smuggling and kidnap takes two families to the brink and only one can survive. The Betrayal is the sequel to The Silence.

Leseprobe

The Betrayal

Linda Tweedie

Kate McGregor

© Linda Tweedie & Kate McGregor 2015

The author asserts the moral right to be identified

as the author of the work in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of:

Fledgling Press Ltd,

7 Lennox St., Edinburgh, EH4 1QB

Published by Fledgling Press 2015

www.fledglingpress.co.uk

Print ISBN 9781905916047

eBook ISBN 9781905916054

Acknowledgements

The Betrayal, the second book in the Coyle trilogy, was written by Linda Tweedie in partnership with Kate McGregor. Linda is the storyteller (a much better liar!) and Kate makes the book come alive.

Once again we have to acknowledge the help and assistance of Clare Cain for her input, patience and the provider of decent coffee. If we were overbearing and loud before, you can't imagine how much worse we are now after enjoying the success ofThe Silence. And yet she is never fazed by us.

Again, Graeme, Fledgling Press’s designer, has done the business − we love the cover! And thanks to Paul for actually getting the book out there.

Once more, thanks to my husband David who has eventually figured out what goes where (in the kitchen!) and gotten so good at it, I might consider keeping him.

Linda Tweedie

I Belong to Glasgow

“She’s had the sprog. It’s a boy,” Bobby informed his house guest.

“Congratulations,” the old man whispered. “Your dad would be pleased as punch. A boy. Well done.”

“What do you mean, well done? I’m having bugger all to do with it. How do I know it’s even mine?” the young man stormed. “I’m not getting caught out that way. She and her scumbag family can get on with it.”

“Look, lad, it’s understandable given the circumstances, but this is your son we’re talking about and let’s face it, if you really want revenge on the Coyles, then this child is the answer. I’m telling you, he’s the key to Paddy Coyle’s destruction. Think about it. Meanwhile, go and tell your mother she’s a granny. That should cheer her up to no end,” ex-canon O’Farrell chuckled.

Despite all the protests from Diane Mack, Frank O’Farrell had been recuperating in their pool house for the past few months, ever since Bobby had collected him from the monastery. Diane still hated the old bastard with a vengeance and held him equally responsible with Paddy Coyle for the death of her husband. No amount of persuasion would change her mind on that score. It was only due to the threat of Bobby also leaving, if she persisted in evicting O’Farrell, that he was still in residence.

How the old fiend had survived to tell the tale was nothing short of a miracle. He had spent days in the water, under the lethal Spanish sun, clinging desperately to a piece of flotsam, after Coyle had thrown him overboard. His would-be murderer had been unaware that in his youth, O’Farrell had swum off the coast of Galway daily, in the wild and treacherous Atlantic Ocean. The calm Mediterranean had given him a fighting chance and maybe it was true that God did look after his own. If not, then the devil surely did.

Somehow he’d made it ashore. Thanks to the dedicated care of the monks from a local monastery and despite a few brushes with death, O’Farrell had lived to tell the tale. He didn’t get off scot-free however. Exposure to the sun’s rays had damaged his skin to such a degree he was almost black and the effects of the salt water had dramatically affected his vocal chords to the extent that he now spoke in the merest of whispers. But, when all was said and done, he was, miraculously, still alive and for the moment, safe.

The ex-priest knew it was imperative that the new father establish a link with the Coyles immediately. The longer Bobby refused to acknowledge his son, the more difficult it would be to connect with the mother. He had to convince the young man it was in his best interests to return to Scotland immediately.

To accomplish this, O’Farrell would need the help of his most bitter opponent: Diane, Bobby’s mother. That was not going to be easy. Good God, if he could survive all those days in the Mediterranean, he could surely talk that pair round?

He had no remorse whatsoever for the vile deeds he had executed with his business partner, Bobby’s father, and he had every intention of shaping the son to be his next cohort. But first things first: ‘Operation Glasgow’ had to get underway.

“If you want any kind of relationship with your grandson, Bobby has to go to her now. Trust me, I know the Coyles and the way these people think.”

“Trust you? I’d rather take my chances with a rattlesnake. You’re forgetting one thing, I am one of these people and I know exactly how they think,” sneered Diane.

There was no way she could let the old sod think he had one over her, or that he was in any way in charge. But he was right. Bobby did have to lay claim to the child and to do that he would have to return to Glasgow, pronto. The main problem, however, was Bobby’s hatred of the Coyles. He was still grieving for his father. Could she trust him to keep his cool if he came face to face with Paddy, or any of them, baby included?

Bobby paced angrily back and forth across the terrace while his mother and Frank argued the case for his return home. It seemed there was no convincing the new father that he should listen to them, and he refused point blank to acknowledge that he had any connection with the child. Eventually, however, Diane’s argument won: should the child prove not to be his, then all the more reason for him to establish paternity. That would do more damage to their enemies in the long run.

“This is your Captain speaking, welcome aboard Flight BA355 to Glasgow. We are now cruising at 50,000 feet and the temperature outside is minus 40 degrees. Our estimated time of arrival is 11.05 a.m. and the weather in Glasgow is 10 degrees and raining.”

“Shit, is it ever anything else?” moaned Bobby Mack.

The Prodigal

The room was full of balloons, floral arrangements, dozens and dozens of cards and well-wishers. No way was he making himself known to the crowd milling around her bed. Christ, it looked like the whole Coyle clan were in attendance. He’d probably get lynched! Watching the proceedings from the nurses’ station, Bobby had forgotten just how hot Erin Coyle was and, just twenty-four hours after giving birth, she still looked amazing.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the nurses.

Pointing to Erin’s room, Bobby replied, “No, it’s okay, I’ll come back when it’s a bit quieter.” He switched on his most devastating smile, the one which usually had women eating out of his hand. Not so this one. She just nodded and turned away. “Lesbian,” he muttered.

He wandered round the private hospital for quite some time, drank enough coffee to keep him awake all night and finally made his way back to the maternity unit. Thankfully there was only a young nurse in attendance and it looked like Erin had fallen asleep. Standing over the crib, Bobby Mack knew at once there was no denying this was his son. He could see his father staring right back at him.

“Do you want to hold him?” the young nurse asked.

“Oh no, I’m not sure, I’ve never had much to do with babies,” he blustered.

“Go on, he won’t break, you know,” and she lifted the swaddled infant and placed him in Bobby’s arms.

Where was the amazing feeling you were supposed to experience, holding your child for the first time? Weren’t you supposed to fall immediately in love with it? Well, that wasn’t happening to him. In fact it was exactly the opposite sentiment; the critter started squalling and he wanted rid of it.

“Bobby? Is that you?” a very sleepy voice asked. “What are you doing? Put him down!” the voice was accusing.

“She gave me it,” he replied.

“I thought you were the father,” the young nurse stammered.

“He is.”

“I am.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Erin. I should have waited till you were awake, but, well, he is my son.”

“Are you sure? I heard it on good authority that you wanted nothing to do with us, and that no way were you getting lumbered with a baby.”

At that moment it dawned on Bobby. Erin was speaking. “Hey, you can talk.”

“Yes, I can. It’s amazing how seeing my father about to be shot by yours can traumatise a person into finding their voice again.” She noticed the dark shadow pass over his face.

“Look, I had nothing to do with that carry-on and when all’s said and done, yours is still alive.”

“I’m not sure if you’ll be, if he catches you here,” the new mother challenged him.

This was an entirely different person to the girl he had had a holiday fling with. She was very much in control, not the silly naive chick he’d played fast and loose with. He was going to have to rethink his strategy. This one certainly wasn’t going to just fall into his arms. Fuck, his mother and that other old coyote had made it sound so easy.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A contemptuous voice interrupted his thoughts.

Shit, this could only mean trouble. Bobby steeled himself to face Paddy Coyle. No coward, he turned to face Erin’s father. But before he could defend himself a crashing punch knocked him clean out.

Picking up the inert new daddy, Paddy threw him bodily out into the car park. By now, most of the hospital, patients and staff were agog at the proceedings.

“What the devil is going on here?” The stern lesbian nurse (who was happily married with two kids) roared at the father and grandfather who were squaring up once again.

“You, Mr Coyle, no matter how generous a patron you are of this hospital, you will be barred from entering the grounds if I have any more of this ridiculous behaviour. And the same goes for you, young man.”

Shamefaced, Paddy made his way back to his daughter’s bedside, followed by a somewhat battered Bobby.

“For God’s sake, Dad, have you always got to make a show of us?” Erin was furious with her father. “Take him and get him sorted, it looks like his jaw is broken.”

“I’ll sort him alright,” the Big Man snarled and again the two squared up to each other.

“Will you two stop it?” Erin shouted. “Imagine fighting over the baby. Get out now!” She frantically rang the nurses’ bell to summon help.

Seeing the fierce Sister on her way, the two men backed out of the room, leaving Erin to the ministrations of the nursing staff.

“Keep away from my daughter, do you understand me? If I catch you near either of them, you really will need a fucking hospital.”

“Fuck off, old man, that’s my son in there and unless Erin tells me otherwise, I’ll be sticking around.”

Narrowly avoiding another right-hander, Bobby headed off to A & E.

Homecoming

Erin was discharged from hospital the following morning and was dreading the next few days. God only knew how she was going to manage, with Bobby demanding to see his son and Paddy threatening to beat the crap out of him, refusing him entry to his home and having a dig every time their paths crossed. It didn’t look like it was going to be the tranquil homecoming she’d envisaged.

“God, Carol, I’m exhausted, and those idiots are certainly not helping,” she said as she put the baby back in his crib, having eventually settled him down to sleep.

“I have to say, it’s a brave man who would front your father up. Bobby Mack has certainly gone up in my estimation,” her friend chuckled.

“It’s not funny, and what about those goons outside in the Porsche?”

“Who the hell are they? And would you listen to that music?” sneered Carol.

The cacophony of noise emanating from the flash black car was unbelievable.

“They’re some relation or another of Bobby’s, cousins I think. His backup, apparently.”

“Backup? Do they know who you are and who they’re taking on?” Carol was amazed. “Jesus, Erin, if they don’t move by the time your dad gets home, there really will be murder.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“They certainly don’t look as if they could afford a car like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure they can’t,” Erin laughed. “It was a Mercedes yesterday, so I think they just ‘borrow’ them.”

“Shh! Here he comes. Hi, you okay?” Erin asked the father of her child as he presented her with an enormous bouquet and an even bigger teddy bear.

“These are for you.”

“Thanks. Carol, could you take the flowers out to the kitchen and see if you can find anything to put them in?”

“A dustbin perhaps?” Carol muttered as she left the couple alone.

“How’s my son this morning?” asked Bobby, standing over the crib and poking the sleeping baby.

“For heaven’s sake, Bobby, I’ve just spent the last half hour trying to settle him,” she snapped as the child began crying again. “Pass him over to me.”

“No way, I don’t do babies.” Bobby backed right off.

“He’s not ‘babies’, Bobby, he’s your son and you have to get used to handling him.”

Not a chance, thought Bobby. That’s her job, not mine. “He’s too little for me, maybe later when he’s bigger. I thought we could go and register him today?”

“Plenty of time for that, and are you sure you want to make this legal, especially after all your doubts?” Erin faced him. “I mean, you were mouthing off last night about his parentage and your virility.”

“How the devil do you know that? I only had a couple of beers with my cousins! I wasn’t out on the lash or anything, we were only having a laugh.” Bobby was more than a little perturbed that she knew anything about his movements, never mind a conversation between him and his family.

“Glasgow may be a big city, but when it comes to the Coyles, we know everything. Nothing is secret and especially not somebody dissing Paddy Coyle’s daughter and grandson.”

Christ, this was unbelievable. He’d met up with his two cousins immediately after leaving the hospital. A phone call had brought the two lads, John and James, immediately. Even though Bobby hadn’t seen, or kept in touch with his mother’s side of the family for years, that didn’t matter, they were more than happy to give Spanish Bobby, as they called him, a bit of backup. Especially when the guy obviously had a few bob and was the co-owner of the biggest nightclub in Spain. If they played their cards right, that would be the holidays sorted for the next few years.

Sitting outside the house with music blaring, the cousins shared a spliff and were fantasizing what they would do to the Big Man if he turned up.

“I’d fucking knock him out,” John caressed his trusty baseball bat. “A couple of taps should do it,” he smiled at the thought.

“Naw, I’d just fuckin’ shoot him,” said James, checking out his weapon.

“Is that a fact, big boy?”

James was hauled from the passenger seat by his hair and unceremoniously kicked about the gravel path.

John was out of the car and halfway down the drive in a flash to avoid receiving the same treatment, but he was still shouting insults and obscenities from a very safe distance.

“Fucking morons. What the fuck are those two idiots doing on my property?” Paddy roared at no-one in particular.

The racket had Erin, Bobby and Carol all at the window. Bobby, seeing his cousin lying injured on the path, ran outside.

“You have to be kidding, boy. You don’t really think you can take me on, do you? Erin, dial 999. This stupid fucker’s going to need an ambulance.” Paddy sneered at the young guy.

Bridget’s car screeched to a halt as she pulled up to the house. Jesus, she’d only been gone half an hour. Seeing one body lying on the path, another young guy swaggering back up the drive, and her husband and grandson’s father squaring up to one another, she was thankful there hadn’t been a long queue at the chemist.

Fingers in the Till

“Just how long are you going to cover up for him?” Marie demanded. “It’s bloody ridiculous. If it was anyone else, they’d be well sorted by now.”

“I know, Marie. Trust me, I’m well aware of what’s going on and I’ll have a word, I promise,” Michael Coyle answered his younger sister. This was the third occasion recently when Sean’s behaviour had caused her to come to him.

“Have a word? Are you having a laugh? He needs sorting, Michael, before things get really out of hand. I don’t want him back in the club, and I’ve put the word out, he’s barred. So you better get someone else to do the collections, ‘cos I’m not having him near any of the girls.”

“Look, Marie, I’ve said I’ll sort it and I will. I’ll keep him away for a bit till things quieten down.”

“Michael, you’re not listening to me. Enough is enough. He comes in with those stupid idiots he hangs about with, acts like the big shot and helps himself to the takings. You know I sacked a good hostess, thinking she was skimming? And all the time it was my own damn brother. One girl has taken off because she was so afraid of him when he lost his temper. And to top it all off, last night he battered a punter so badly the poor guy was hospitalized. Just because he asked for a clean glass. A fucking clean glass! No! He’s a liability and he’s out, as far as I’m concerned.”

“For fuck’s sake, Marie, you’re supposed to be running the club. If you can’t deal with the girls or the punters, then maybe it’s time you considered a change of career.”

“Don’t you dare suggest I can’t run my club. I deal with heavier situations every night, but I certainly don’t expect this kind of hag from my fucking brother. You know he’s the talk of the town? No? Maybe you and the Big Man should climb down from your ivory tower and find out what’s going on in the real world.”

“What are you on about? Why is he the talk of the town?”

“He owes, Michael. He owes everybody and there are a few who are not willing to wait. Being a Coyle is not all it’s cracked up to be nowadays, and something needs doing, and fast.”

“Fuck! How did all this come about? What the hell is the matter with him?”

“He’s always been like this, you just couldn’t see it. I can understand that, you being his twin. But your big brother hasn’t got that excuse. It suited him to ignore Sean’s behaviour. He knows what a conniving bastard he is. He’d sell his granny if the price was right.”

“Look, let me sort this. I’ll send him away for a bit if I have to, but please keep this to yourself, just for now.”

“A week, Michael, then I’m going to Paddy, so you better do something quick.”

The crunch of tyres on gravel signalled the arrival of the Big Man. Paddy Coyle was pleasantly surprised to see his younger sister’s car parked outside the portacabin. It was unusual for her to come to the yard; she preferred the comfort of her plush office at the back of their flagship club, Fantasy.

He hoped there was nothing amiss, their mother seemed fine and the businesses were all doing well so maybe it was just a social call?

“Hi, titch, what brings you here? Didn’t think this was posh enough for you,” Paddy teased his younger sister.

“It’s a secret, I promised not to let you know we’re planning a party for you. Oops, I’ve gone and done it now,” she laughed.

“No party for me, thanks,” said Paddy.

“I was just passing and took a chance that one of you would be about to buy me lunch. It seems Michael here is too busy. What about you?”

“Sorry, but Bridget’s got me on a leash, no can do.”

Marie gave Michael a very knowing look which Paddy didn’t miss and waved them goodbye.

“Okay, what was that all about?” he questioned Michael.

“What was what about?”

“There was no way she was just passing. What’s the problem? Is she having trouble at the club?”

“If you must know, she’s thinking about moving in with this guy she’s been seeing and she wanted my opinion.”

Never in her life had Marie asked for anyone’s opinion, and certainly not from her brothers. Either this was a pile of bullshit, or at long last his little sister was growing up. Paddy knew which option his money was on.

Problems

The news of Canon O’Farrell’s disappearance had just reached the ears of his parishioners. Most, quite frankly, couldn’t give a damn. He was a surly, miserable old sod most of the time, but it had hit one in particular, hard. Not for his clerical devotions, or his ministrations to his parish, but his input to Sean Coyle’s income.

How could that stupid old fool go missing? What the fuck had he been up to, going swimming at his age? He must have been well into his seventies, maybe even eighty-odd and he, Sean, was supposed to be taken in by some tale about the old bastard being swept out to sea. Rubbish.

Sean didn’t believe for one minute that the illustrious Canon Francis O’Farrell was dead. He knew deep down that O’ Farrell was out there somewhere, avoiding him, on the missing list just to cause him problems. Why he would be avoiding Sean was neither here nor there. Like most addicts, not only was Sean paranoid, but everything, absolutely everything, was centred on him and his needs.

Whatever had happened to the canon, it was making life extremely difficult for Sean Coyle. Not only had O’Farrell’s disappearance cut off his supply, it had ended a nice little earner which proved impossible to replace without giving the game away. Nobody, especially his brothers, would ever believe he had been in cahoots with the canon for the past few years. Their partnership had worked like a dream.

Like most successful enterprises, it was simplicity itself. Sean acquired a shipment of drugs and the ‘Micks’ boarding at St. Jude’s would sell them on. There was a cut to the Irishmen, a decent cut to the canon and an even better cut to Sean. That, and any amount of the white stuff he could handle, had created a very expensive habit which he could now not afford.

With the disappearance of the canon, St. Jude’s had no ‘student’ residents, depriving Sean of his chain of pushers, but worse still, almost every dealer in the city was out looking for him. He owed, big time, and frankly, he couldn’t see any way out. It was the name Coyle that had saved him up until now. There were few brave hearts who would tackle a Coyle brother about a debt, but it was becoming obvious that Sean was just taking the piss and, Coyle or no Coyle, a few aimed to have their money, or a piece of him.

“Are you ready?” Sean called to his mate, Johnno. “I thought we’d go out of town tonight, maybe Paisley. See what’s happening. Eh? What do you think?”

Johnno knew exactly why the posse would be heading out of town: it would be safer for Sean. But the boys were Weegies and not welcome outside their own territory. So whether they ventured out of town or stayed on home turf, it looked like there was going to be a scrum and Johnno, like most of his mates, was getting a bit hacked off with Sean and his problems. He was always on the tap, never had any dosh, and expected them to carry him. The fact that he had been the banker for years was only to be expected, he was a Coyle and everybody knew they were loaded.

“Sorry, Sean, no can do. I’ve got to meet Susie. I promised her I’d take her out for a meal and a few drinks. Sorry, pal, you know what she’s like if she doesn’t get her own way.”

Sean could be heard muttering to himself on the way out, “Fuckin’ birds. Imagine picking a bird over the boys.”

The truth was Johnno had had enough.

Sean called round for Malky, only to find an empty flat and his calls going to voicemail. Sean was becoming more and more aggravated; he knew that the brothers, Scott and wee Peem, were both out of action today. They were on their way back from Ireland after attending their granny’s, or auntie’s, funeral, so it looked like he was on his own.

Money. If he was on a loner, he needed some dosh. Looking at his watch, he reckoned it would be unlikely Marie would be on duty yet, so, making for the Fantasy, he planned how to finance his evening’s pleasure. He’d already had a run in with his little sister the last time he’d helped himself, but she could go fuck herself. He was a partner, unlike her, and it was his due, he told himself.

The club was, as he suspected, pretty quiet at this time of the day. Waving to Stella, the head girl, he made his way to the bar.

“Jackie D and coke, luv,” he smiled to the barmaid. “Bring it into the office for me.”

“The office is locked, Sean. Marie took the keys with her, sorry.”

“I need to get in. I’ve to collect some paperwork for Paddy and there will be fucking murder if I don’t get it. When is she due back?” he asked the nervous girl.

The staff had been instructed that under no circumstances was this brother to be allowed into the office or behind the bar.

“I don’t know, probably about eight. I could ring her.”

“Yes, you do that.” Sean faced up to the girl, knowing full well that Marie was more than likely to have her phone turned off so that she could have some time with their ma and Errol. If she did happen to answer, he’d bluff it, but he was right.

“Sorry it’s just going to voicemail, Sean.” The girl was visibly shaking. He looked like he was ready to kick off.

“Are you telling me there is only one key to this office? No way. I’ll kick the fucking thing open if I have to.”

Seeing that trouble was brewing, Stella walked over to the bar. “Sean, what’s up? Why are you having a go at Pattie? She’s only the bartender. Speak to your sister, she’s the one giving out the orders.”

The expression on Sean’s face changed “Orders, what orders?”

“Look, there is only one key on the premises and Marie takes it with her when she leaves. We don’t have access to the office. She should have told you herself. We’re not allowed to let you behind the bar or into the office. That’s why she takes the key.”

Stella had worked clubs and bars for years and could spot a move before it happened, but she wasn’t quite quick enough for Sean. In a fury which surprised even himself, he grabbed both women by the hair and smashed their heads, face down, on the granite bar top. There was blood everywhere.

He emptied the till and left the club with only one thought in his head – where to score – without a vestige of regret or guilt for the mess he’d just left behind. It was Marie’s club and if she was going to treat him like a cunt then she could clear up the mess. It was fuck all to do with him.

Stand Off

God almighty, she had been away precisely thirty minutes. After a quick trip to the chemist for a colic preparation for the baby, she came back to this? Having waited until Paddy had gone off to meet Michael, and Carol had arrived to sit with Erin, Bridget hadn’t foreseen any problems. She certainly hadn’t expected to find Paddy and Bobby squaring up to each other on the driveway.

And whose was the black sports car? Doors wide open and blaring music so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. There was one comatose youth and another who was likely to end up the same if he didn’t shut that blasted music off. Her home was turning into a bloody three ring circus and she’d just about had enough.

“For the love of God, what’s going on?” She barged between Bobby and Paddy. “You,” she pointed to Bobby, “I can understand. You’re only a bloody kid, but you,” she turned to her husband. “You’re behaving like a damned five-year-old, and I’m telling you, Paddy, I’ve truly come to the end of my tether.”

“It wasn’t me who started this,” Paddy sulked.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me. I was with Erin when this madman –” Bobby stood his ground.

“I don’t care who the hell started anything, enough is enough.” Turning to Bobby she spat, “Get that pair of neds out of here and shift this stolen car off our property. You can come and visit with Erin this afternoon on your own. You will not, I repeat, not, discuss our business or make any remarks concerning my family with anyone. If you do, you will have me to deal with. Now get moving, and take these idiots with you.”

A sheepish Bobby collected his backup and screeched off in the hot car, music once again blaring.

Paddy was pacing back and forth in the hallway, ready to kick off. “How could you embarrass me like that in front of those fucking arseholes?”

“Me embarrass you? You managed that all by yourself, you stupid fool. And I’ll tell you something now, Mr Big-Shot-Paddy-Coyle, I’ll do more than embarrass you. If I have to put up with any more of your moronic behaviour, you’ll be out on your ear, do you understand me? I’ve had enough. For the past six months I’ve put up with the way you’ve treated my daughter like she was some kind of tramp you employ in one of your clubs. You’ve snubbed her, had nothing to do with her and made her feel cheap and worthless. But now you’re playing the fucking doting grandfather?

“The whole of Glasgow thinks you’re some kind of hero, delivering the baby single-handed. What the whole of Glasgow doesn’t know, Mr Big-Shot, is that you had your daughter in such a state that she almost lost him. So think on, Paddy, just think what you might be about to lose. And while I’m at it, for however long that lad is in Glasgow, he’ll be welcome in my house to visit with his son.”

Paddy and Erin stood open-mouthed watching Bridget march through the house to check on her grandson.

Only once before had her husband witnessed the full force of her wrath, and that had been on the night of her father’s murder, almost twenty years ago. Fortunately, then it had not been directed at him, but this, well, he was damned if he was putting up with her bloody menopausal tantrums. He would show her what she was about to lose. So, for the second time that morning the building shook to the foundations as Paddy Coyle left his home.

The Family

“Hello, Michael, it’s me. You need to get over here, pronto. Your beloved twin brother has caused fucking mayhem yet again,” Marie snarled down the phone line.

“For fuck’s sake, Marie, what’s he supposed to have done this time?”

“Supposed to have done? What do you mean supposed to have done? You better get on over here and see for yourself before I do something we’ll all regret.”

“C’mon, Marie, taking a few pennies out the sweetie jar or having a bit of a dust up with some leery punter doesn’t exactly make him public enemy number one.”

“You don’t think so? Well, he’s gone one better this time. He’s only put two of my best girls in hospital because they wouldn’t give him the key to the office.”

“Why wouldn’t they give him the key?”

“Because they didn’t have it, I had it with me. The bastard is thieving from us, and I wasn’t having it.”

“I told you to cut him a bit of slack till I got it sorted.”

“Piss off, Michael. I warned you just three days ago I didn’t want him anywhere near. He was to stay away, him and his mates, and you promised me you would sort it. Have you even spoken to him?” Marie quizzed her older brother.

“I haven’t been able to catch up with him, and bad though it is, Marie, if he didn’t know you’d barred him, he would think that the girls were taking the piss. I would do the same if some tart told me I couldn’t go behind the bar or get something out of the office.”

“Don’t talk bollocks, Michael. You’d understand immediately if one of the staff even intimated something like that. You’d go howling for my blood, not the wee lassie pouring you a sherry. So don’t talk shit, and don’t insult me by thinking I’ll swallow it.”

“So what exactly has he done to upset you?”

“Upset me? He’s done more than upset me. He’s put Stella and one of the bartenders in hospital. He smashed their faces beyond recognition and walked out with almost a grand from the till. But tell you what, it seems you’re too busy to deal with my little problem, so sorry to disturb you. I’ll just see what Paddy has to say about it,” and with that Marie hung up.

“Fuck,” Michael swore to himself. He’d had a shit day already because of Sean, but his antics at the club were just the tip of the iceberg. Joe Malloy, an old associate of the Coyles, had paid a call on Michael earlier that day.

“Look, Michael, I’m vexed that it’s me having to do this. We go back a long way, so you know I wouldn’t dig you up unless it was serious. But the pressure’s on me to sort Sean out.”

“Old mate or not, Joe, you better have a damned good reason for dissing my brother.”

“He owes money right, left and centre, Michael. And a few of the boys are wondering if the Coyles have cash flow problems. You know if one of the brothers can’t or won’t pay their debts, rumours get about.”

“You are having a laugh. A cash flow problem? Fuck off, Joe.”

“That’s the word out on the street, Michael.”

“How much are we talking?”

“About ten thousand.”

“How much?” spluttered Michael.

“It’s been building up over the past few months. No-one really bothered at first. C’mon, he’s Paddy Coyle’s brother, and he’s surely going to be good for the dosh. But he’s taking the piss big time, and now he’s down to beating up the odd street peddler to score. He’s got a serious and expensive habit, Michael, and my advice is he needs sorting.”

Michael had opened the office safe and handed a bundle to the man. “Count it. And thanks, but the Coyles don’t take advice from anyone.”

“Sorry, Michael. Sorry I didn’t let on sooner, but you know how it is.”

Michael spent most of the day trying to trace his brother. He left messages at all his known haunts and watering holes. He left God knew how many voicemails, to no avail. Sean had gone underground and would resurface when he was good and ready, or when the heat was off.

His problem was how to cover the bundle he had handed over to Joe Malloy. It wasn’t exactly petty cash and now he had Marie on his back, screaming for blood. So much for a pleasant night in with Margee. He’d fucking swing for him when he eventually caught up with him.

Sean was well aware his twin brother was on the hunt for him, and he was pretty sure he knew why. Over the past couple of weeks he’d lost count of the number of threatening messages he’d had from dealers around the city. Who the fuck did they think they were, threatening him? Sean Coyle wasn’t some no-mark junkie that they could put the frighteners on. He’d pay them, they’d get their money when it suited him, but it did look like a few were getting impatient and it was becoming harder to score these days.

What about that cunt of a sister of his? Telling a couple of brasses that he was barred from the club? Him barred? What a fucking liberty. Well, he’d soon put them right and as for the cash, she could consider it as being an advance on his wages. He, Sean Coyle, answered to no-one. And sister or no, Marie was due a proper right-hander. Who the fuck did she think she was?

No doubt she’d go running to Paddy, Mr Big Man himself. Let him say anything and he’d soon find out who the hard man was. It was about time his brothers gave him a bit of respect. He was sick of the way they treated him like he was some kind of errand boy. He was nothing more than a gofer. Well, not for long. They might be in for a bit of a shock. But first he had to score.

Paddy

Threatening to throw him out on his ear? Who the fuck did she think she was? Telling him what to do, or what to say, mugging him off? Well, he’d show her. In fact, he’d show them all who was boss. To think she actually took that little fucker’s part against him. Bobby fucking McClelland. And in his own home? Well, he was the boss and it was about time a few people remembered that. Paddy fumed as he raced towards town.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t believe it when he saw the blue light flashing in his mirror; the boys in fucking blue. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, but he pulled over anyway.

“Can you get out of the vehicle, sir?” asked the rookie copper. They say you’re getting older when the police start looking younger. Well, this one didn’t look like he was long out of short trousers. As for his partner, if ever there was a dyke, there was one standing before him.

“Do you know what speed you were doing sir?” Supercop asked.

PC Wright was just out of Tulliallan Training College. In fact, this was his first day on the job. He couldn’t believe his luck. Some rich sod driving a brand new Range Rover at the speed of light was going to be his first collar.

“No, but I’m sure you are going to enlighten me, officer.” Paddy really wasn’t in the mood for this shit and was barely containing his infamous temper.

“Is this your vehicle, sir?”

“Yes, officer, this is my vehicle.”

“Can you tell me the registration number of the vehicle, sir?”

“Yes officer, it is PAD 1 and it’s registered to me, Mr Patrick Coyle, The Grange, Kilmacolm.”

This meant absolutely nothing to the rookie, but his sergeant, Grace Thomas, almost jumped out of her skin at the mention of the driver’s registration number and even more so at the name and address.

“Okay, Mr Coyle, so sorry for the intrusion, my colleague mistook you for someone else. Please don’t let us detain you and we hope we’ve not inconvenienced you,” she spluttered.

Paddy took off like a bat out of hell.

“Fuck, look at him, Sarge, what was all that about?” The rookie was baffled. Why on earth was the sergeant letting this big ponce off with a caution? This should have been his capture, not hers.

“Have you any idea who you just stopped?” the sergeant quizzed him. “No. Well let me tell you, sunshine, if you had persisted in booking that big bastard, it may well have been the last thing you ever did. That was the infamous Paddy Coyle, and believe me, we wouldn’t have walked away intact.”

PC Wright was known until the day he retired as the mug who tried to arrest Paddy Coyle.

Pulling into the yard, the Big Man was annoyed to see neither Sean nor Michael’s cars were in evidence.

“Lazy bastards,” he muttered to himself as he entered the portacabin. He knew fine well that wasn’t the case, and that both brothers would have been out until the early hours of the morning. The yard was busy and the three guys who worked there waved cheerily, but continued with the day’s tasks. It wasn’t unusual for any of the brothers to appear throughout the day and even, occasionally, at night. These boys all knew the drill. If Paddy wanted something he would call.

Paddy pulled out the bottom drawer of the old, battered filing cabinet, produced an almost full bottle of Black Label whisky and poured a healthy dram. None of the brothers were drinkers, thanks to years of watching their father, but there were times, and this was one, when a bender was the only cure.

He was cut to the quick over Bridget’s outburst. Telling him she was sick of him and wanted rid. He had worked his bollocks off since the day he’d met her. She had wanted for nothing. He had more than provided for her and her daughter. He didn’t smoke, drink, do drugs or gamble, and as far as other women were concerned, well, they were strictly business. Oh, he’d taken a couple of flyers over the years, but they were few and far between and usually when Bridget was off somewhere and he was on his own. Mr Big, Paddy Coyle, hated being on his own, but really, there wasn’t another woman alive that could take his Bridget’s place. Up until now that was.

He finished the bottle in jig-time and, despite not being a frequent drinker, he could hold his liquor along with the best. He wasn’t however, like many Scotsmen, a happy drunk. The more Paddy consumed, the more morose he became, and he was on that slippery path.