The Family Firm

Chapter 31

Wallace stood on Reede Road and looked at the house before him. It was a decently-sized terraced place, plain and unassuming like all the others surrounding it. The slight variations of colour from one house to the next gave the row a familiar, homely feel, something like the place Wallace had grown up in back in Glasgow. No doubt there was a charm to the road the DI found comfort in, but he knew the man inside the home ahead of him was going to be anything but inviting.

He dropped the fag-end of his Benson & Hedges menthol and crushed it beneath the tip of his shoe. He really had to stop smoking the bloody things. He'd never touched drugs, and he hadn't had a swally in years-for which he was criticised by many a Scot-but cigarettes were another kettle of fish. His Kelly always said the little buggers would drive him mad one day!

Kelly. What a lovely young woman she had been. She often invaded his thoughts when he least expected it, usually in that playful chiding he had missed sorely since her untimely death, the finger wagging and little smirk that always managed to etch its way onto her features: 'Mon, Da. How many times do I have ta tell ya? Nae more smoking; it's bad fer yer lungs.'

He shook the thought from his mind and inspected the bright, teal-green Volkswagen Golf MK2 parked in the drive. It was nice on the outside, well-maintained and fitted with expensive-looking rims, but the inside was filthy, packed to the brim with various rubbish littered on the floor and seats. He supposed there was something to say about that, but he didn't have time to wax poetic about it. He had business to attend to.

The street was quiet. Evening was settling in over the city and what was left of the sun cast a dim haze of orange across the landscape. At this hour, most people were inside having supper or relaxing from a long day of work. Billy Club, on the other hand, wasn't a nine-to-five and, if Wallace guessed correctly, he'd only just be waking up around then.

Raising his fist, the DI knocked on the door and waited, his free hand resting on the holstered gun around his waist. He listened; at first, there was nothing but silence, but then there was the distinct clatter of hurried shuffling, and Wallace knew that Billy wasn't going to go down without a fight.

He was counting on it.

Positioning himself in the manner he'd been trained to do, he raised his boot and rammed it into the weak spot on the door frame. It only took two kicks before he stumbled forward into the darkness of the home, bracing himself as soon as he could while keeping a firm hand on his Glock 17.

The place was a fucking tip, downright clatty, not that he expected otherwise. There were boxes, papers, and magazines strewn throughout the place, which Wallace was quick to jump over, cautious as to not be hindered in any way. He had to think fast, there was no room for error when he was looking for the bastard.

He wasn't hard to spot. Billy Club was a ruthless brute, a big enough bastard to be intimidating to women, but not to Wallace. He was tall and lanky, with a bit of a paunch, and while he had a young-looking face his sandy blond hair was thinning rapidly. Overall, he had a dirty look to him, as filthy as his surroundings.

The DI wasn't as big, but he was athletic, quick on his feet, and had no problem catching up to the coward who was trying to locate a gun from one of the kitchen drawers. Before Billy could properly grab onto it, Wallace had knocked it out of his hands and punched the fucker as hard as he could in the face. He went down in an instant, completely side-swept and collapsed onto the floor with a painfully hard thump. His lip must have caught on his small, straight teeth, because it suddenly spurted down the front of his dingy white vest and onto the hair-and-dirt-covered lino.

Groaning in pain but still very much conscious, Billy struggled lamely as Wallace dragged him backward along the floor by his ankle. Various papers and cans scattered in the movement, and before he could react, he felt himself being pulled up by his arms and set roughly onto a chair.