I didn’t go back to Glasgow that weekend. In fact I didn’t see Glasgow again for near on eighteen months. London was a cold turkey job. There was no induction. Giles pissed off to the north and I took his seat the day after my meeting at the council house.
I relied on Martin to mothball my homes back north and keep things going. I had him ship me my clothes and a few bits and pieces. When the package arrived I realised, not for the first time, that when it came down to it, I really needed very little of my worldly goods to move on.
I was based in Blackheath in an apartment not far from the grass. From day one I was Jock unless the person was face to face with me when I was Sir. I had a learning curve that made going to the moon look easy. I knew no-one, I knew little of what was going on and my reputation was worth zip.
For a fortnight I tried to get up to speed and used what charm I had to try to endear myself to the people I needed day to day. This failed in a big way. They just took the piss. The final straw came as I was unwinding over a pint in the local, three weeks to the day since I had taken over.
Giorgio, my number two — he was the one that wasn’t up to the main man’s job — a fourth generation Greek with a first generation accent, was leaning on me for a bigger cut or he was for the off. He knew I needed him and was striking while the iron was burning a hole in my shirt. He wanted double what he currently got and since I had the same deal in London as in Scotland this would come straight out of my pocket.
I listened and tried to reason with him but the more I talked the more it sounded like a negotiation. At one point I got up and went for a slash. The urinals were all occupied so I used a cubicle.
As I let go I heard a familiar voice enter and I listened as Mike Ashby, Giorgio’s minder, gobbed off about how his pay was just about to double.
I realised that Giorgio had already pocketed the increase he was asking for. This was going nowhere good and I needed to act. I pulled the chain and exited, nodding a hello to Mike who suddenly looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. I walked up to Giorgio and said ‘Let’s take a walk.’ He objected but I told him I needed some air to consider his position and he stood up to follow me out.
It was a clear night and we walked towards the heath talking nonsense but keeping the nonsense around Giorgio’s demands and he followed like a lap dog.
We entered the heath and the street lights lost the battle with the dark. Giorgio wanted to know where we were going but, before he finished the question, I squared up to him and gave him my best Glasgow kiss — a head butt to the forehead. He went down in a heap and I lashed out with my foot and caught him in the face. Something broke and he screamed and tried to get up. I lifted my foot and brought it down on his hand and crunched half a dozen bones. He howled and, for good measure, I kicked him in the groin.
I bent down, grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.
‘You’re gone by tomorrow. I mean gone.’