Final extract from No Shadow In The City

Jakey, MP

She went straight to the point, while seeming never to go anywhere near it. Only a very clever lawyer can do that, or a very clever woman. Bernie, of course, was both.

“Welcome back to the farm, Stevie.  I’m quite surprised you developed that much passion, that quick, for poor wee Murray Gilchrist.”

“There’s no answer to that one, counsellor. Although you forgot to add the number 24 to your client’s name.”

“I know, and anyway, it wasn’t even a question. And maybe I lied, maybe I’m not surprised.”

“So tell me why I should be excited about your KKK boy. Assuming there is a reason.”

“I told you on the phone, there’s no way he did what he’s in the Bar-L for. We’re getting an independent forensic report on the second firebomb cuz we wouldn’t necessarily trust the police version and we’re comparing it to the official report on the first one – they wouldn’t’ve obscured anything there. If it’s exactly the same MO…”

“Then mibbe Gilchrist and one of his buddies just have very similar habits, they learned their trade off the same how-to website. Bombers-R-Us. Or Gilchrist left some old stock and his mates got a buzz on one night and thought, fuck it, ‘mon we’ll lob a sparkler up in there? We’ll use one’a Gilly’s specials, might even give him a hand up wi’ his appeal, nice win double.”

“If you’d seen any of Murray’s mates, you’d know how very unlikely that kinda thinking is. Opening a tin of beans would be an evolutionary leap. Or if you’d seen Gilly – which you need to. You know where to find him, right? And it’s not Gilly, it’s Muz or EmGee.”

“Okay – so I brace him in the jail, he denies it, says naw, I dunno if any of my mates coulda done this…Okay, if you never dropped the first bomb, who did? Cuz that’ll be the same guy, right? That’s yer ticket out, Muz, so who was it, if not you?...Uh, dunno, I really fuckin don’t, man. Wisny me done it, gen up, but I don’t fuckin know who did, that’s the pure heavy truth, man...Give us some hope, EmGee, drop a name or two on me….uh, Weezy, Scud, Herman the German, Big Cheesy, Haunless, Gammy, yon Geraldine wi’ the teeth, Kyle – no’ Irish Kyle, the other wan – Leishy, Jagga, big Linda ‘n’ mibbe Moorsy. And by then, EmGee’s given me the name of every imbecile in his street. Pointless. So, even if this bomb is identical to your boy’s, so what? Guilty! Next?”

“Do your best, Stevie. And you’ll likely not spend long at the Bar-L. I think you just previewed the whole conversation, right there.”

“One thing botherin’ me…”

“What is it, Lieutenant Columbo?”

“Dornoch Textiles. You get firebombed, you get more threats after that, you’re an obvious target to these kinna guys…why no CCTV outside the factory? It’s basic, so why not?”

“You won’t believe why…they had CCTV, but the unions complained it was surveillance against their members, so they took it down again. They regret it now, as it happens. Not just cuz of this other firebomb, but now there’s a picket line outside the factory – dispute about Dornoch using non-union labour, saying that includes illegals, but nobody’s proved that. So, they might as well have carried on surveilling their members, or whatever they were doing. Or just having a security camera, could be.”

“If they’re havin’ a square go with the union, why the hell did they bother to pally up to them about the cameras?”

“Allan Dornoch, as in ’Dornoch Textiles’? Remember the name? Friend of the unions cuz…”

“…aw, Dornoch? He used to be a Labour MP. Not another one...”

“That’s it, till he got his arse toed in favour of Vijay Chavan, so he’s now just an ex-MP, but still a good union man. Didn’t help Dornoch’s public image that he spends his days suckin’ on a Chivas Regal bottle – always did – and he had himself a reputation for letting his hands wander when he got a drink in him.  Nothing ever official, but shit sticks.”

“Right...same question in reverse, then. If they’re buddied up, how come there’s a picket line outside?”

“Cuz Allan Dornoch is just a name, he doesn’t actually run the company. Ayleen does, his wife, and she’s not sentimental about traditional skills and craftsmen’s guilds.”

“Christ. You couldny make a worse job of it, all snakes and no ladders.”

“But Dornoch Textiles aren’t my problem, unless you tell me different, Stevie. Murray Gilchrist is the client.”

“And who’s paying for all this, to keep a junior Nazi out of jail?”

“You pay taxes? Well then, you are. Them’s the rules, we all get to play.”

*** *** ***

Even with all the windows of the bus open, my shirt was stuck to my back by the time I climbed out of the humid metal box into the harsh shimmer of the street. Air-conditioned public service vehicles in Glasgow? What use would they be? Dornoch Textiles stood one half a block off Eglinton Toll, a Victorian-school-turned-enterprise-centre separating it from the main road. The fire-blackened section I recognised from before was still there, but now it was balanced by a second, different area of scorched brick, as if a pyromancer obsessed with symmetry had corrected some offensive artistic imbalance. Still visible beneath the newer fire-damage was a two-foot high slogan, crudely sketched in block letters: WHITE PRIDE, WHITE JOBS. Across the narrow street, in the full blaze of sun, stood a desultory picket line, six or seven Asian women and one white man in a suit. They were presumably keeping some court-ordered distance that also ensured they could find no shelter from the heat. Even allowing for the wilt-factor of the sun, they looked a worn-down, demoralised crew. Two of the women were wearing black armbands. The factory entrance, by comparison, stood in cool shadow.

I waved to everyone and no-one on the picket line. “’mornin’. Hot day to be standin’ here – you must really mean it.”

It was the white-man-in-suit who answered. “I don’t recognise you, my friend, but I’m Danny Galloway, United Union of Garment Manufacturers and Allied Trades. UUGMAT, to people with short attention spans.”

“Stephen McCabe, jist an innocent bystander as far as all this goes. I’m actually here to talk to the Dornochs and I saw your picket here…obviously. Thought I’d have a word, see what the problem is.”

“You workin’ for Dornoch Textiles then?”

“Christ, no, never met them. Somethin’ totally different, no unions harmed in the makin’ of this picture, old news in fact. Now…these ladies would be your members?”

“Aye, but if you want to ask anythin’, I speak for them.”

“Really? Disny seem the most equal opps arrangement I’ve ever heard but I’ll have a shy anyway – speak for them about why they’ve got black armbands on.”

“If ye don’t know already, ye don’t need to. And I don’t care about how anythin’ seems to you…I do speak for them, aye.”

“What if I want to comment on the weather? Or compliment their choice of dress? You’d still speak for them? Does UUGMAT really offer that kinna representation? Some service. Except the only thing I actually want to ask, somehow ye don’t speak for them on that? I’d want my dues back, I was them.”

“Chuck bein’ a wide-o and do one, Mister McCabe. This is serious union business here and you’re jist in the way.”

“Well, Mister Galloway, this is a free country and I reckon if I wanted to have a wee chat with your members, then I would, don’t you? As it happens, this is none of my business, far as I know, so I won’t bother. But a wee bit advice? Doesny look good, big ginger white man frontin’ up this kinna deal, looking like you actually ‘represent’ nobody. Bad PR, is the best ‘hing you could call it….but good luck in your dispute anyway, assuming righteousness is on your side…Ladies…sorry I couldny speak to you there, Mr Galloway has an opinion about that. I don’t share it, but I have to go inside now…mibbe we can chat some other time? Have a good one.”

*** *** ***

Both the Dornochs were waiting for me, each keen to give me pieces of their respective minds. Me, I didn’t necessarily think I wanted to be given either of them.

And Mister Dornoch was already well refreshed, flush-faced and beady. Mrs Dornoch, however, looked almost chilly, despite a turtleneck sweater that fought against common sense in the heat.

“Mister McCabe, your phone call said you were ‘investigating’ this latest attack on our business, but Calder Street police station says they’ve never heard of you – care to put us in the picture?”

“Well, Mrs Dornoch, it probably isny true that they’ve never heard of me there, not literally, unless you spoke to somebody particularly dense, cuz they have; I’m practically related to some of them. But no, I don’t work for the police, never claimed to you I did. And I am investigating the incident, on behalf of Murray Gilchrist.”

“Good God – that soap-dodger has a private eye? Strange days. And why would we want to waste any of our busy day on behalf of the reptile who tried to burn us down? And I’m sure you know the reasons why he did it – because we employ people whose skin he doesn’t like and we have connections to the Labour movement. My husband used to -”

“- he probably knows what I used to be, Ayleen. Cuz I know who Mister McCabe is. This McCabe put a friend of mine in jail.”

“Did I? That could be quite a few different people…aw, hold up – Billy Hutton? You would’ve been an MP same time as him, sure. That never occurred to me, but now you mention it…you must’ve been. You and him buddies then?”

“Well, I had to step down one term before he did. I had my own local difficulties to sort out, but Billy was elected again. A very hard-working MP, a good man. Until the likes of you torpedoed him.”

“Your man Hutton needed no help, but if he did there would’ve been a queue. He was a crooked bastard, bent to the bone. He couldny tell up from down, but I don’t know if he was ever a jakey as well. You any idea?”

“Fuck off out of our premises, you slimy prick!”

“Well, if you put it like that…”

“Mister McCabe, Allan…please! I don’t think anybody needs the conversation to go this way…Allan, could you go and see whether Parveen has finished the new online pricing pages?”

“What? I’m not fuckin -”

“Allan? Please. We need that to be finalised before the relaunch. Now.”

Dornoch (Mister) turned and…no…no…I can’t resist the word…he flounced from the room. Dornoch (Mrs) looked at me like a Great White Shark who had just shooed away an eel from her prey.

“I won’t apologise for that. My husband can be a prick but I have to say diplomacy lost nothing when you never turned up for the exam.”

“No, but that’s not what my card says anyway, so nobody should be disappointed. And Billy Hutton…sorry Billy Hutton MP…was so crooked he wouldny fall straight. Whether he was your husband’s mucker or not.”

“I met him, and you’re right. Problem is, what I said was true – this company has always had good relations with the unions and the Labour Party. My husband’s grandfather founded the company and he was Lord Provost of Glasgow. He fought for the right of Indian and Pakistani workers to bring their families here. We’re a community company and we’ve got a lot of connections, so when one of those connections goes up in flames – I mean Billy Hutton now – then we’re suspicious of anybody who had a hand in that. We question their motives, especially when they claim to be police when they’re not.”

“First up, we covered that point – if you chew up what I say and put it in the wrong dress, not my problem. I am investigating this, and that’s all I said. And second…are you really suggestin’ that this is political? That Barclay Hutchison Skivington – or me, personally – has some kinna hard-on for…for what? You? Your company? Or your…all due respect, now…your has-been, disgraced jakey husband? Is that your theory? Nobody gives a shit.”

“I should tell you to fuck off.”

“That’d be two of you in the last five minutes. Your call.”

Sighs, low whistles. The Great White was sagging and seeming weary, never much-sought-after in a shark.

“Mister McCabe…Stevie, isn’t it? - why do you think I agreed to see you today, at short notice? And it’s true, I did call Calder Street station, but whatever they said – or didn’t say – you can take it I know perfectly well who you are. So, why?”

“Off the cuff…you’re not convinced that Murray Gilchrist bombed you the first time. I don’t know why you think that, but this second firebomb made you think it double, so if somebody like me bowls up – and yes, you just said you know who I am – you think to yourself, okay, let’s see what he dredges up. Cuz you know as well as me that the polis have got no reason to pick Gilchrist out of the fire and this’ll be the only way any stones get turned over. And I do it for free – far as you’re concerned.”

“Half right.”

“Okay…you make this big song-and-dance about your company being founded by Lenin himself, and how you’re all one big happy family with all the nations of the earth...and yet, when I walk down this street, the first thing I see is an official union picket line, and Asian women on it, foreby the snider that’s got the suit. Somethin’ is very wrong with this picture. And…Ayleen, yes? – I think you’re not really sure how the hell this all happened. You’re a determined woman, running this company – even though it’s not your own family name on the wall – and you’re just fuckin mystified how it all came to this. Is that the second half of your why?”

“It is. I can’t see how we got to this stage. My husband’s the MP…ex-MP…so he sometimes doesn’t see the need to run the business in a business-like way; I do. If that means different working methods, then it does. We still have a recognised union, we still pay industry rates, we still check everybody is entitled to work here, we pay taxes, and the union takes a dump on us because we don’t employ as many people as we used to. Allan’s kinda caught in the middle, he actually convinced me to take down the security cameras after the union complained. Bastards are picketing us and we do that! It’s a bit pathetic, the way he wants to be the workers’ friend -”

“That was in the mix for his wee local difficulty as well, it seems. Too friendly.”

“I’d leave that, Stevie. You said it once, no need to go again. You think I want to sit in my office and listen to a stranger snigger at my husband? And – not that you give a fuck – nobody got hurt apart from him. Allan paid for that in politics, and you can take it to the bank that’s he still paying for it within these walls. But, like you said, it’s his family name on the wall, not mine, so we do what we have to. All right?”

“Understood. Very clearly. On-topic…my question about your problem is that, if Dornoch Textiles is totally kosher, what does the UUGMAT guy say is the reason for the picket line?”

“He’s got his facts wrong. He says we use illegal immigrants, non-union labour – and if some of our workers don’t join, that’s up to them, doesn’t mean we stop them doing it – don’t pay PAYE, insurance, etc. If he was right, he’d be right, but he’s not.”

“So, you don’t know a thing about who firebombed your factory the first or the second time?”

“No clue. But I know when that slogan – white pride, white jobs? – went up on the wall. The night after the cameras came down. We wiped it off and it went back up again, so…you tell me. And we had stickers on the front door – Scotland: White Pride, with a nice local address for their office, just down the road, where all the fun and games has been kicking off these last few nights. How’d’ you like that?”

“I needed to be heading down that way sometime soon, I reckoned. You’ve jist confirmed that. Nice day for a walk, after all… Listen, ‘fore I go, some of the women in the picket line are wearin’ black armbands – do you know if that’s for some real reason, or is it some symbolic ‘death of workers’ rights’ thing?”

“Oh, Christ, no, that’s real. It’ll be for Rani, Rani Jadeja. She used to work here, she’d know a lot of the women. Maybe all of them, cuz she works for the union now. Worked.”

“That’s not the woman got attacked with the acid? Her name was Uzma...”

“No, worse…Rani…Rani’s dead. She was killed a few days ago, that case…her husband killed her and her kids. In was in all the papers, TV. Awful…awful.”

“Over in Govan, in Elder Park? Ah, stupid question, ‘course she’s the same one…did you know her well?”

“Used to, when we weren’t fighting the union. Went to her place, once, over by Albert Drive? She stayed there when she split up with her husband, kept the kids. She was killed there, I think, although some of the papers said it was at his house. He moved away…well, like you said, Govan. Where he….”

“Aye. Listen…I’ll let you know what I find out. If there’s somethin’ wrong here, it’s not just Gilchrist’s lawyers need to know. And sorry if, y’know, I started somethin’ there, between you and your husband.”

“I wouldn’t lose sleep over it, but you could use better manners.”

“Sometimes, mibbe. Other times, I really, really need the manners I’ve got.”

Back outside, I crossed to the picket line and ignored Galloway, addressing the women directly. “I’ve learned more from Ayleen Dornoch about what’s happenin’ here and I heard the awful news about Rani. I’m very sorry to hear that and please accept my sympathies for your friend. She must have been quite a lady. Please take my card, anybody who wants it, my number’s on there if you want to talk. I hope this all works out the way you want it to.”

Each of the women took a card; Danny Galloway glared at me.