Terms of Restitution Read online

  On either side of a roaring fire, on chairs that matched the couch, sat Father Giordano and Ginerva. The latter was staring into the flames, shadows playing on her face. Meanwhile Father Giordano gazed into his glass, as though practising the art of divination.

  ‘Are you looking for the future, Father?’ asked Finn of the old man.

  ‘No, it’s a mortal sin. And who wants to know the future?’ he replied. ‘If you must know, I’ve been looking at the present.’

  ‘Just peachy, from where I’m sitting,’ said Finn.

  ‘Tell them, Uncle.’ Ginerva looked away from the fire, though the flames were still reflected in her dark eyes. The logs crackled, while outside an owl hooted plaintively.

  ‘Yes, please tell me what the fuck just happened? And why is she calling you uncle?’ said Finn.

  Father Giordano drained his glass of brandy and, reaching for the decanter, poured himself a large measure. ‘It is quite simple: her father was my brother. He died ten years ago.’

  ‘But she’s the underboss of the Calabrian Mafia!’ Finn looked angry.

  ‘It is true.’

  ‘So all the time you spent lecturing me on my wicked ways, your niece was one of the biggest criminals in Europe.’

  Giordano took another drink. ‘Yes, this is true, as was her father before her.’

  Finn shook his head, while Gillian’s expression was hard to read.

  ‘Tell him who the boss is, Uncle.’

  The priest looked weary. Somehow the firelight playing against the shadows made him appear even older, exaggerating the shadows and lines on his face. ‘It is my fault we are all here. For some, my fault you even exist.’

  ‘Enough of the riddles! I nearly died, so did my daughter. Spit it out!’

  ‘Dad, let him speak,’ said Gillian. ‘I think I know what he’s going to say.’

  ‘Oh, so you’ve gone all mysterious now. Great!’

  ‘Dad, open your eyes. Look at Ginerva – who does she remind you of?’

  ‘A murdering bastard, that’s who.’

  Father Giordano smiled at Gillian. ‘You remind me of a woman who died many years ago, my child.’

  ‘Your mother, by any chance?’ replied Gillian.

  ‘Yes, right first time. She was delicate – like a flower. Just like you. But she was the strongest woman I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Aye, and he knows your gran,’ said Finn.

  ‘Dad, you’re so blind.’

  Giordano looked up from his drink. His face was a mask, his emotions impossible to read. ‘Zander, I told you about the young priest who turned into the cobbled street only to find a car ruined by an explosion.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘That young man was me.’

  ‘I had kind of figured that, Father.’

  ‘Father. How many times have you said those words to me? Every time it cuts into my heart like a knife.’

  ‘You should have chosen another profession.’ Finn felt his daughter squeeze his arm.

  ‘The man who died in that car was the boss. He ran the town where I grew up, and many other towns besides.’

  ‘He was a Mafioso. I picked that up, too.’

  ‘He was my father.’ Giordano stared at Zander Finn. ‘Before and after the war in Italy, people starved. They cried out for help, from God – from anyone. My father fed them, he clothed them – he cherished those for whom he was responsible. He made sure their children were warm in their beds. He nurtured his people like a family. He kept us safe – all of us. You cannot imagine how things were then. This modern world is so different, but yet still seeped in sin.’

  ‘But he was a gangster.’

  ‘He was. Alessandro Giordano. He committed many crimes. He stole, killed – but he also saved his own people. The last thing he wanted for his eldest son was the life he led. I became a priest.’

  ‘I sense a but,’ said Finn.

  ‘But he died. Murdered by his enemies. Men much like your Joe Mannion, may he rest in peace.’

  ‘May he rest in pieces! What happens to him now – his body, I mean?’

  ‘Why do you ask? You of all men know how these things are handled.’

  ‘Not in front of my daughter!’

  ‘Zander, the time for secrets is over. She must know the truth, as must you.’

  Finn shook his head in disbelief. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You came here to escape what happened to your father.’

  ‘Not directly, but you are right, in the main.’

  Ginerva spoke. ‘That is true, but it’s not the whole story.’ She looked at Finn. ‘My uncle did complete his training. But not before he and my father killed those who had taken the life of their father. Our codes are strict – not those you would understand. But my father took the burden, while my uncle here travelled to this land to be a man of God.’ She looked angrily at Giordano.

  ‘It is what your grandfather wanted,’ he said.

  ‘But he wanted something else. Tell them!’

  Father Giordano lowered his head. ‘He stipulated many things.’

  ‘Mr Finn, I am, as Mr Mannion described, underboss of my family.’

  ‘Wait, you can’t be saying this.’ Finn’s face was pale now.

  ‘I am the boss,’ said Father Giordano. ‘I have been since the day my father was killed in that car. I had no idea my niece was involved with this Mannion. Had I known, I would have put a stop to it all. But then again, everything would have stopped if you had listened to me and left Paisley and stayed away.’

  ‘So it’s all my fault!’ Finn’s voice echoed in the room, and silence reigned for a few moments.

  ‘Tell him the rest, Father,’ said Gillian quietly.

  The old man appeared to age in front of them. Tears were brimming in his eyes, thick frown lines etched in his forehead, more pronounced. ‘There was a young woman. She came to me when she was little more than a child. Her husband beat her, the beatings got worse over the years. My heart ached for her pain. It ached for her.’

  ‘What are you on about now?’ Finn drained his glass.

  ‘One night, he battered her half to death. I could take no more.’

  ‘Because you were in love with her,’ said Gillian.

  ‘Hold the bus, here. How come I get the feeling that everybody knows what’s going on but me.’

  ‘I killed him.’

  Finn looked at the old priest, his mind working overtime. ‘You killed my father!’ He made to get up from his chair, fury etched across his face. But his daughter pulled him back.

  Gillian looked at her father, eyes wet with tears. ‘Dad, he didn’t kill your father, because he is your father.’

  55

  Maggie and Senga Finn arrived back at the seventeenth floor of the Paisley tower block. Maggie kicked off her leopard-print shoes and padded towards the lounge. ‘I feel as though I’ve run a hundred miles today. Come on, time for a drink.’

  Senga dutifully followed her. They sat down with a bottle of vodka and one drink became three then four.

  ‘There’s more, you know,’ said Maggie, her eyes hooded now, the effects of alcohol and tiredness taking their toll.

  ‘More? What makes you think I can take any more tonight?’ said Senga.

  ‘True, it’ll all become clear soon enough.’ Maggie lit another cigarette.

  ‘Like why you phoned a priest when you thought your son was going to be killed and suddenly everything was okay?’

  Maggie squinted at her daughter-in-law. ‘You’re smarter than I thought.’ She smiled drunkenly. ‘But it’s not my place to say.’

  They both sat back and drew on their cigarettes.

  ‘You said you were making something to eat, Maggie.’

  ‘Are you still hungry?’

  ‘Aye. I’m sure you know I always get ravenous when I’m stressed.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you’re not a right fat bastard then.’ They both laughed, Senga snorting som
e of her drink over her jeans.

  ‘By the way, it’s like a fucking smokehouse in here. Do you never open a window?’

  ‘Chancellor made them – fitted them, too. They’re only supposed to open at the top. In case I decide to top myself. It’s the law, apparently.’

  ‘How likely is that, you topping yourself?’

  ‘Impossible. The top window won’t open.’

  ‘That’s why it’s so stuffy in here. I’m sure I can move it.’

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘What the fuck now?’ Maggie marched off, drunkenly indignant, lurching towards her objective. Two figures were standing in the close when she opened the door.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Langley. This is DS Neil Dickie. Can we come in, please, Mrs Finn?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘Aye, sure, why not? The more the merrier. We’re celebrating.’ She put her finger to her mouth in a mock hushing gesture. ‘Anyway, what do you want?’

  ‘I have some bad news.’

  ‘Fuck, is there any other kind?’ Maggie led them through to the lounge, where Senga was busy lighting yet another cigarette.

  Amelia Langley coughed as she entered the room.

  ‘See, I told you this place was like a smokehouse. I’m going to have a go at these windows.’ Senga made to stand, then fell onto her chair with a snort of laughter.

  ‘Right, sit yourselves down. What do you have to say?’

  Langley and Dickie took a seat on a long sofa. The senior detective cleared her throat. ‘You may not be aware, but there was a fire at Chancellor Fabrications earlier this evening. I believe you’re a director, Mrs Finn?’

  ‘Aye, I am. And I can’t tell a lie. I knew there was a fire. But I was told there was nobody in the building. Anyhow, as you can see, we’re celebrating. It’s not every day you become a great-grandmother, is it?’

  Langley looked at Dickie. ‘I’m sorry to say your information was wrong.’

  ‘Bollocks. I heard it from one of the fire officers. We were in Abercorn Street earlier. You cops are always at my family, trying to give us a hard time.’

  Langley carried on regardless, as Senga made another attempt to get to her feet. ‘There was a body found in the wreckage. We’ve managed to identify him.’

  ‘Him?’ said Maggie.

  ‘Yes. Mr Donald Paton. I believe he ran the business.’

  Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again.

  ‘I know it’s a shock, Mrs Finn.’

  ‘Aye, just a wee bit.’ She staggered. ‘Come on, have a drink with us. We’ll raise a glass to a new life and one that’s just passed.’ Maggie looked at the police officers through the corner of her eyes. ‘He’ll be sorely missed. I’ve known the man for forty years.’

  Senga had finally got to her feet and was making for the window. ‘I never liked the bastard, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why he was there, Mrs Finn?’

  ‘Me?’ said Senga, pointing to herself. ‘If you remember, we spent the whole night at the hospital while my daughter was having her baby. I’m not an executive director – just a title, really, and I get a wee bit of money every year.’

  Senga was now on the small ledge, pushing hard at a thin top window. ‘Chancellor Fabrications: bloody hopeless, so they are. This fucking thing won’t budge.’

  ‘You’ll have a drink to wet the baby’s head. Come on, officers,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ said Dickie. ‘We’re still on duty, Mrs Finn.’

  ‘Aye, of course. You do your job. I’m sorry for Donnie, I really am. Just a shocker.’ As she walked from the lounge to the kitchen, a smile broke out across her face. ‘Fucking grass,’ she said under her breath.

  She had just filled the kettle when she heard a scream.

  When Maggie hurried back into her lounge, the first thing that hit her was a sudden chill and strong breeze. DS Neil Dickie was staring through a huge hole in the wall where her double-glazed windows had been. He looked back into the room and shook his head.

  ‘She just fell . . . I mean, the whole window gave way.’ Langley’s mouth was wide in shock.

  Maggie Finn collapsed and knocked herself unconscious on the wall.

  56

  Six months later

  London

  The street outside the club in south London was almost empty. Kevin Mannion – or Jimmy Dines, as he was now known – wasn’t unhappy about that. It was heaving inside his club, Big Joe’s. A touching memorial to his father, he thought, without being too obvious. The club was part of Joe Mannion’s exit strategy. In case everything went wrong in Glasgow, he had arranged it as an escape route. A ready-made source of money and a great place to launder it; it would be a new start.

  Sadly, Joe hadn’t lived to take advantage of his forward planning, but his son had. Kevin didn’t miss Glasgow, though he still had pangs of guilt about abandoning Sandra and their son. But, as life moved on, he’d met another woman, with whom he was very happy. They had a spacious apartment in Wimbledon and the club was doing really well. Everything was rosy. The ghosts of Glasgow, his family, his enemies and all of his problems, were slowly disappearing.

  He stubbed out his cigarette, nodded to the doormen and walked back into the noisy club. It was midweek, cheap drinks, so the place was always rowdy. He passed two young women in an embrace, a young man being helped off the floor by his mates and a middle-aged man staring balefully at the scene. The man looked out of place, but Kevin – Jimmy – paid him little heed. Another man lost in his youth that had long-since escaped forever. He saw their like from time to time: divorced, sad, ‘on the scrapheap’ guys who had forgotten they had lost their hair and found ten inches round their waist.

  He got to his table. It sat on a raised platform that overlooked the dance floor. ‘The Royal Box’, his regulars called it. Sometimes he would grant the odd favour, let some of the best payers, or anyone with even a hint of celebrity, sit there with him, enjoying free drinks and food. It kept people keen.

  Most of the time, though, he liked to be on his own, lord of all he surveyed. It was a great way to attract members of the opposite sex, and that he enjoyed.

  He’d been underestimated for most of his life. He knew his father thought little of his potential in any direction, yet here he was. He had reconciled himself to the fact that all this had come from his father’s legacy, and if he hadn’t disappeared, almost certainly murdered, none of this would have been his.

  Did he miss Joe Mannion? No. Did he love the freedom of being his own boss and doing as he pleased? Yes. It was a good trade-off, regardless of the moral conundrum. Kevin had realised that he’d inherited something from his father: the absence of a guilty conscience when it came to getting on. He had consigned his son, his girlfriend, even his mother, to the past. They would remain there, the memory of them fading as he became more and more self-assured, content.

  He took a long draw of the cocktail, blinked at the dance floor and spotted a blonde-haired girl in a yellow dress. She was looking directly at him, sitting on his throne. With one finger and a lascivious grin, he beckoned her. Soon she was by his side.

  She had long, tanned limbs, big blue eyes and a body to die for. He signalled to the barman to bring her a drink. She smiled.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed let me choose what I want?’ she shouted above the pulse of the music.

  ‘No, my club, I decide.’ He put his hand on her knee. ‘What say we have this drink and go upstairs?’

  ‘What’s upstairs?’ she said with a smile.

  ‘The VIP lounge.’

  ‘Wow, who’s up there?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Oh, I get it, just me and you, right? You’re a quick worker.’

  ‘I am. I haven’t seen you in before.’

  ‘No, this is my first time. I came here with my friends, but they’ve all copped off.’ She gave the writhing bodies on the dance floor a cursory glance.

  �
�My lucky day.’

  ‘It is!’ She kissed his cheek.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Samantha. Yours?’

  ‘Jimmy.’

  ‘Your Scotch, aren’t you? All of my friends told me about you here on your stage. King of the world, right?’

  ‘I’m certainly going to be a king tonight.’

  The barman arrived with two bright red cocktails in long glasses. Samantha took a sip through a straw.

  ‘Wow, that’s so good!’ She raised her eyes in delight. ‘There’s plenty where that came from. Listen, I’ll just go to the bog. Then we can go to the VIP suite.’

  ‘The bog? You’re funny.’

  ‘And you’re posh.’

  She watched him walk away from the table and looked around. She slipped a small packet from her bag and pretended to take another sip of her cocktail. She raised the glass to her mouth and slipped the contents of the packet into her drink, swirling the straw round to mix it in. Quickly she swapped drinks and picked up the other glass.

  He wasn’t gone long, but she noted he’d tidied his thinning hair, brushed it forward.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Wait, I want to finish our drinks. Let my friends see who I’m with.’ Her hand drew his eyes under the table as she drew the hem of her skirt up a few inches to reveal more of her thigh.

  ‘You’re a tease.’ Kevin discarded the straw, put the glass to his mouth and drained the glass.

  ‘Wow! You’re keen.’

  ‘Are you surprised?’ He looked her up and down.

  Samantha smiled. ‘Maybe I’ll just take my drink with me.’

  Arm in arm, they walked to a door marked ‘Private’, then up a short winding staircase. The room had thick glass windows, sound-proofed from the noise of the club, though the music was pumped into the space via an array of speakers around the walls. A long couch sat in front of the big window overlooking the revellers below.