[u][b]What seems like a whole lifetime ago. . . [/u][/b]

Take a walk through Leith, a district to the north of Edinburgh, thirty years ago and you were like to get stabbed by one of the more colorful locals, for no other reason than being an outsider. A hotbed of prostitution, drug dealing and gang violence in the decades following World War 2, it wasn't difficult to see where Irvine Welsh gained his inspiration for Trainspotting, or why it was such a strong contender for Glasgow's 'Murder Capital' of Europe accolade. Of course those wild days were for the most part banished to the past after the Scottish governments 'Leith Project', a major refurbishment undertaking to provide the district with an economic boost in the early noughties. After that Leith became an attractive and charming center for tourists and locals alike, virtually unrecognizable from the pit of iniquity it had once been. Look hard enough though and you can still find a few blemishes on Leith's new squeaky clean image. 

One of those blemishes is Christian Salvesen Transport and Logistics Warehouse situated on districts port front. At first glance little more than an abandoned warehouse, the remnants of a once great British company that had suffered a hostile takeover by a more dynamic French counterpart. Dig a little deeper though and you will find that the building is in fact owned, through several umbrella corporations and subsidiaries, by the Prince Foundation, run by none other than renowned entrepreneur and philanthropist Robert Prince. The mere fact that a man with such canny business acumen like Robert Prince would have such a rundown and dilapidated premise cluttering his portfolio may confuse most, but if you knew him better you would understand better why such a man would own such a place, and the easiest way to understand such things is to enter the Salvesen Transport building, to see for yourself what he uses the place for. 

Tonight the supposedly empty building is playing host to four men. Robert Prince, Joseph 'Big Murph' Murphy, Martin Mackenzie and Caine MacFondóir. All four are in the large open space that once served as the hub of Salvesen's good's delivery service, the place cold and smelling of damp. Martin, a bald and overweight middle-aged man, is stripped to his underwear while bound and tied to a chair, a ball gag stuffed in his mouth. Prince has a look of dispassionate calculation, as if Martin is a sports car he is considering buying, but only because he feels his station dictates he should have one and not because he wants one. Murph is muttering to himself while setting up a trestle table that he had fetched from a back room, placing a variety of sharp and brutal looking tools and implements upon it. Caine merely waits, his expression fixed like stone while he waits to find out why Prince has called him out here. He doesn't have to wait long for an explanation.

"Gentlemen. Mr Mackenzie here has served my father as an accountant and trusted confidant for several years. Misplaced trust, as it has turned out." Martin wailed wordlessly into his gag, his eyes wide and bulging. If it was a plea to his innocence then no one was listening to it. Robert gave him a sharp eyed glare before continuing on. 

"Mr Mackenzie has been feeding both information and funds to fathers rivals, the Morrison brothers. I'm not sure why he's been doing this, but I would like you both to find out why, and whatever else Martin may know that could be useful to me. Afterwards I never want to see or hear of my fathers wayward accountant again." Martin's wailing began again, and even Robert's glare couldn't silence him this time. With a sigh Prince turned to Big Murph, cocking his head at the bound man. Murph smirked and strode over to the accountant, barely pausing to thunder his big meaty fist into the fat man's midriff. So powerful was the blow that Martin was knocked backwards, his chair tipping him to crash onto the cold concrete. Martin's groans and Murph's chuckles mingle in the cold night air of the warehouse, the big man stooping to pick the chair and it's captive back up. Prince turns to Caine while this is happening, MacFondoir's features troubled. 

"Talk to me Caine," Beckons Robert, his voice low. In the background Murph strikes Martin again, the thick thuds of a man being beaten providing what should have been an uncomfortable backingtrack for conversation, one that doesn't seem to bother any one present save for the one being beaten. "Tell me what's on your mind."

The big highlander looked glances around the room, his eyes settling on Murph, the trestle table, the implements of torture, a shattered buckie bottle lying in the corner, even upon the terrified Martin Mackenzie, anywhere save at Robert Prince. Caine MacFondóir, a man more than willing to wade into a bar filled to the gunnels with large, violent, borderline psychopathic Glaswegians and call them all a bunch of p**fs, was at that moment feart to speak to his best friend. Caine owed Robert a lot, being closer to the wealthy crime lord than he is or has been to anyone on the planet, including his parents, and the thought of disappointing Prince was abhorrent to him. That said Caine's skewed sense of morality was pricking at him now, and with some effort he brought himself to broach the subject, blowing air through his teeth in an awkward sigh. 

"This don't sit right with me Rob. You know there ain't many lines I ain't willing to cross for you, you know I'll face any man you ask me to, or be a knife in the dark when it's needed, but torturing a man in cold blood? I'm struggling with this one, really struggling."

Prince looked back at his friend pensively, lifting his hand to rest it on Caine's shoulder.

"It reassures me so much to hear you say that Caine. Only a mad dog would take pleasure in a task such as this," Focus temporarily shifted to Big Murph then, whistling a jaunty tune to himself as he rhythmically slapped Martin across the face, again and again. "This has to be done though. Martin has betrayed my fathers trust. When the Morrison's rolled over our bookies on Phillips street? Don't you think it's funny they knew when to strike, the day that our money was being moved. That was because Martin sold them information. I want to level the playing field. I want him to tell us the Morrison's plans. . . "

"But torture!" Caine interjected, waving his hands at the scene of violence in the background. "The man's terrified already! He'll talk now, just ask him the questions! We don't need to set Murph on him!" Although he wasn't shouting the tension was thick in MacFondóir's voice. Prince fixed him with another steady look, slowly nodding his head. 

"You're right Caine. I've already got the information I want on the Morrisons, and the iron is in the fire for that one. Here, tonight? Martin is going to suffer tonight, all because he knifed us in the back. What happens to him is going to serve as a warning to everyone else. Do not f**k with me, or it will not end well. This is about reputation. You can understand that, can't you?" Robert wasn't a lumbering musclebound giant, like Murph, or a savage with an innate understanding of combat like Caine though, but he was dangerous on a far more insidious plane. Prince could speak and make people listen, to convince them that his logic was the only type that made sense. He had an easy charm that made folk feel like they were the only thing on the planet that mattered, and an ability to read people that allowed him to slip past their defences. All these skills were in full flow now, and Caine's resolve was crumbling faster than a sandcastle during hightide. 

"I dunno the first thing about this typa thing though. . ." muttered Caine, shame filling him as he realized he was really about to go through with this. 

"Murph does though," Answered Robert, "He's had experience with it when he served. He'll teach you. If we want to make our mark then we need people to fear us. Your my right hand. We need them to fear you. I need you to do this." The two friends stared at each other, the air chill between them. After what seemed like an age a sigh finally dragged itself from Caine's mouth. 

"Lord forgive me." He whispered, his fists clenched tight. He turned on his heel and marched towards Murph and Martin. 

"Let's do this big-man." he called. Murph turned to him, a fierce grin breaking his face. 

"Knew you'd see reason lad! You always do!" laughed the big man. It wasn't long before the two of them had Martin singing a merry tune, Robert Prince already fading back into the shadows.