Lucifer's Lieutenant

Part One : Glasgow

Jun 23, 2025

So, this is the first of a three part supernatural story set in the criminal underworld of Glasgow, the biggest and best city in Scotland. Parts 2 and 3 will follow over the next two weeks.

I love stories that take wild swings. That are one thing and then suddenly another. That is definitely the case with this tale. There are some seriously mysterious shenanigans coming up in Part 2.

However, firstly, here we find Robert MacLeod, a gangland boss, who has fought his way to the top, about to be offered an easy job. But, in this line of work, nothing ever comes easy ….

Robert MacLeod wasn’t afraid of fear.

In fact, he recognised it like an old returning friend.

One that had ran alongside him throughout his youth, keeping him safe and alive when he needed it the most.

A murdered father and a drug addled mother hadn’t protected him from life’s dangers. They were frightening and confusing times for the young MacLeod, and when he was eventually bounced into foster care he knew he was on his own.

But the system could only hold him so long, and when the streets welcomed him into their dark and sleazy embrace, where every corner was filled with shadow and terror, he had found his home,

The men he worked for were as hard as the concrete pavements he pounded every day, running from the pigs or other gangs, but he never saw them take a step back from anyone.

And, because of that, he knew they were fools.

There was time to fight and there was a time to run.

At the shrill whistle from a chasing officer or the steely glint of a blade being pulled in a dark alley, MacLeod knew when to stand his ground, and when to take to his heels. He was wiry, thin and fast. No one was catching him.

Yeah, fights went down. But only when he knew he could win. That first true emotion we all feel when we’re thrust cold and unknowing into this cruel world had kept him alive. He had control over it. It never controlled him.

He had lost count of the number of men who’s last look at creation was one of confusion because they hadn’t understood that. Being afraid was a weakness to them. That was why they failed to recognise the danger in their midst, and how MacLeod used it in his inexorable rise to power.

But he knew not everyone could be like him. He was the perfect example of his upbringing. The symbiosis he had with fear made him recognise the power he held over people. Watching those first flickers of uncertainty creep into their weak eyes told him everything he needed to know and gave him a feeling of strength that, because of his past, was unrivalled. That’s when he knew he had them. They belonged to him after that.

However, the one man he knew who wasn’t weak, in any way, was Billy Devlin.

They had met as teenagers. Billy was twice his weight and nearly twice his height. Or so it seemed on that day. As MacLeod raced down one of the many alleys leading off Buchanan Street, in the centre of Glasgow, trying his best to outrun four foot soldiers from another gang, a dark shadow had fallen across his path, blocking out the afternoon sun, and he knew he was done for. But, instead of slamming him into the nearest wall, this fair haired giant had taken one look at the scrawny, sweating, toe rag of a boy, and then lifted him into the nearest stone stairwell with a growled, “Wait here.”

That was the first time MacLeod realised that when a man is in real pain, he doesn’t sound human. He sounds like an animal. The squeals and screams that echoed down the alley were like something you’d hear from an abattoir full of terrified cattle rather than a bunch of lads fighting.

By the time he stepped out the stairwell, the only noise was the distant hum from the swanky shopping district a hundred yards down the road. His would be assailants hadn’t run away. MacLeod wasn’t sure they would run anywhere ever again.

The four of them lay unconscious, or dead, with limbs twisted and snapped in unnatural directions, their blood slowly pooling beside their still bodies.

Billy had a few scuff marks on his face, and whilst they looked raw and sore, he seemed completely nonplussed. He took one look at MacLeod, and the two of them walked quickly away before the shouts and sirens, that would be inevitably follow, began to pierce the supposedly civilised air.

And that was it. The two of them were inseparable from then on.

Despite his size, it wasn’t a case of Billy being the brawn and Robert being the brains. Both of them had grown up on the vicious city streets, and to survive this long you had to have smarts as well as knowing how to use your fists.

Theirs was a double act that got things done. And sure, being able to handle the rough helped. Breaking faces always smoothed a tricky negotiation, but it was all about getting the right outcome for the Old Man.

When MacLeod first met Jack Thompson he had been running his patch of Glasgow for over 30 years after taking it on when his father died. That was a long time in this business. From money lending to protection rackets and then the drug trade, he had his fingers in all the poisoned pies. He could only have been in his fifties at the time, but the life he had been born into, and the life he had chosen to live, made him look as though he carried many more years than that. So, everyone called him the Old Man. Of course, that clearly didn’t imply he was frail or infirm in any way.

If anyone didn’t pay their debt, or crossed him in any way, he would have them crucified to their front door. Jack was a good Catholic boy and knew all the stories from the bible. He went to mass every week and confession once a month. His soul and conscious cleansed in the shadowy confines of a wooden box. It might not have been God’s work, but he was certainly keeping his flock in check.

He must have seen something of his brutality and ruthlessness in the two scruffy teenagers that were dragged in front of him one early Sunday afternoon. Having just been to church, Thompson was still in his finest, as he sat in his office above one of the many strip clubs he had dotted throughout the city. The room stank of stale cigarettes, cheap booze and pungent aftershave, that seemed to bloom out the sticky carpet with every step.

The two boys had just completed the early morning job of torching four corner shops in the east end that were run by a rival boss. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone working at that time on the sabbath, but at the last one, just as the petrol bomb smashed through the window, two men had ran out armed with long chibs and set about them.

Even with Billy’s strength and Robert’s speed, it had taken all their nous to get away. After all, no matter what street skills they had, they were still kids and these tattooed trolls of men were all for handing out lessons. They had managed to leave a blade buried in one of their attackers guts, but knew when to quit and took to their heels. Calling the number they had been told to memorise, from a phone box outside Celtic Park, the car wasn’t long in arriving. And so, that was how they found themselves, stinking of smoke and covered in another mans blood, trying to explain themselves to the most powerful and feared gangster in Scotland.

Of course, fear wasn’t the overriding emotion for MacLeod. Sure, he respected the Old Man, but he wasn’t scared of him today. Mostly, he just felt pride. They had done their job and done it well. Bloody hell! They’d taken out one of the other lots enforcers. Even with the complications that might cause. If Thompson couldn’t see this as a win, well that was his problem.

Already, and probably without being fully aware of it, this clear eyed teenager with hard bitten wisdom beyond his years, was angling, not just for his next step, but how to find the steps right to the top.

Thompson had listened to their story, nodded to the enforcer waiting behind them, and that was it. They had become part of his close crew.

However, as they were being huckled out the door, MacLeod turned back and said quietly, “A thanks would be nice.”

It was a day he would not forget, and would often looked back on as that first step of many.

A silence, that only happens in the seconds before violence erupts, fell over the room. The whole world holding its breath. Waiting patiently for the god of pain and suffering to claim his tithe.

But, as time stretched, and MacLeod kept his gaze fixed on his boss, watching his hands for sudden movement, a strange thing happened. This monstrous villain that Glasgow mothers used as a bogeyman to stop their kids misbehaving, “Get to your bed, or Jack Thompson will come for you,” and who would be linked with over a hundred murders once his reign had been ended, this demon of the underworld began to laugh uproariously like he had just been told the funniest joke ever.

Walking over, he clapped his hands on both the boys shoulders, with a good deal of force, and said with the conviction of an evangelist praising the Lord, “Thank you lads! We couldn’t have done it without you.” Then his smiled faded as quickly as it had appeared. “What’s your name, son?”

“Robert MacLeod.” There was no tremor in his voice, and that also made him proud.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on, MacLeod.”

He nodded once again and the meeting was over.

Only then did Robert look across to Billy and that was when his heart missed a beat. Not because of his own fear, but because his friend, for the first time as long as he’d known him, looked absolutely terrified.

It would be another twenty five years before he saw him that scared again.

It took fifteen of those years, but Jack Thompson finally stopped keeping a close eye on things. In fact, it seemed to be, most of the time, he wasn’t sure where he was, never mind what was going on around him.

His once cruel face was sagging and uncertain. Doubts had began to creep in, and territory was being lost.

MacLeod knew it was time to act.

He had risen up the ranks to be the Old Man’s most trusted advisor, and the rest of the men looked to him to sort the problem.

It was a job that he could have put on to Devlin, but he knew all eyes were watching his next move. He had gradually been gaining more and more power, and now here was that final step.

The two of them took their regular Sunday morning drive to the deserted shipyards so Thompson could watch the River Clyde glide past. This had always been their routine for the last few years before mass began. He said he liked to stand amongst the ruins of a city that didn’t exist anymore. It reminded him of being a child.

As they looked into the dark water, the old man turned with clear eyes and said to MacLeod, “I’m glad it’s you.”

MacLeod waited until he faced the river again and then shot him twice in the back of the head.

He dumped the body at a funeral parlour and the car at a junkyard. Both were on their payroll and would make sure that no sign of either would ever be found. He then walked back to Tollcross and was picked up by Devlin.

“Done?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s on you now.”

“It’s on us now.”

Robert looked across to his friend, who simply nodded and kept his eyes on the road. That was the thing about Billy, it took a hell of a lot to scare him these days. Sure as a sixteen year old he didn’t have MacLeod’s balls. But these days? Even taking over a criminal empire was met with a shrug. He had learned. Billy Devlin wasn’t afraid of anything now.

So, after ten years of running the gaff and never taking a step back, what the hell could cause him to come barging into MacLeod’s office, early on that Sunday morning, looking white as a sheet, and sweating like he’d just ran from the devil?

“Billy? Are you OK?”

It had seemed a simple job.

Don’t they always.

When the call came through and he recognised the voice on the other end of the line, it sounded like it was going to be serious work.

MacLeod wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he was anywhere near the top of the tree when it came to the powerful figures operating in his line of work, but wasn’t that the case with everyone? Christ, even presidents and prime ministers had folk keeping them in check.

However, the American that had called was someone he had always respected, even if their request had thrown him off. He had been very clear. All that needed to be done was taking a couple of books from a Professor Ramirez, that were kept in the library of his grand house, just off Great Western Road in the leafy west end. He would then send someone to collect them a few days after.

“Is that it?” MacLeod nearly asked, but he knew better. The job was the job. And he knew his place.

Instead he said, “It’ll get done. We’ll let you know when they’re available.”

“Thank you, Mr MacLeod. Always a pleasure.”

With that, the line went dead and Robert had called Billy into his office.

Yes, it seemed straight forward, but this one had to be done right. By the book, you might say. No one was better at that than Billy Devlin.

But here was Billy, standing with, what MacLeod presumed, were the requested books, his hand wrapped in a blood stained bandage, and looking like something, somewhere had gone very wrong indeed.

The Scottish readers amongst you will probably recognise some of the names and places from this story. I wanted it to seem as authentic as possible so delved into Glasgow’s geography and history to help with that. As folks might know, the Thompson’s were a famous crime family in Glasgow and the acts described above were common place under their reign. I changed some of the names but their methods of retribution are accurate. Including crucifying people to their front doors. Glasgow still has a strong criminal element, that was highlighted in some of the newspapers up here recently because of hits that were carried out in Spain on two gang members just a few weeks ago. All that being said, I love Glasgow. Sure, it has problems and a shady past, but which city doesn’t. I first started coming to the city in 1989 when I was briefly at college and have been returning ever since. My son starts at Glasgow University in September. We’ve got him a flat that overlooks the River Clyde and the Govan shipyards. The buildings and landscape are almost unrecognisable from the place I first saw over 30 years ago, but watching that dark tributary of life flow past, and looking over the spires, tower blocks, houses and streets of this great old town, I couldn’t help but be inspired to write this tale. Hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.