No Way Out: The Ice Cream Wars

Glasgow, 1984
The night was cold and damp, the kind of rain that seeped into your bones. It clung to the empty streets, turning the cracked pavement into a gleaming mirror of the city’s broken streetlights. The schemes were quiet, save for the occasional hum of an old car passing through, its headlights sweeping over boarded-up windows and walls scrawled with graffiti. The people here knew better than to be out after dark.
A figure stood at the corner, leaning against the brick wall of the old pub, his breath visible in the frosty air. Mickie McGowan watched the street, his eyes sharp under the brim of his flat cap. The streetlights flickered above him, casting long shadows over his face. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, but his body was still, relaxed. He didn’t have to worry about anyone creeping up on him—not in this part of the city. Not anymore.
He glanced down the road. The sound of an ice cream van’s jingle echoed in the distance, growing louder as it approached. The melody was innocent enough, but everyone in the schemes knew what it really meant.
“Right on time,” he muttered to himself, pushing off the wall.
The van came into view, its headlights cutting through the mist. It slowed as it reached him, the driver—an older man, beaten down by years of hard living—nodding once at Mickie. No words were exchanged. The back doors of the van opened, and two of Mickie’s men stepped out from the darkness carrying black duffel bags. They exchanged them with the driver, who quickly shoved them under his seat before driving off into the fog.
Mickie watched the van disappear, his hands still in his pockets. Business was good. No one asked questions anymore—not when they knew what would happen if they did. The boys in the game knew. The local shop owners knew. Hell, even the police knew, but they didn’t bother coming round here. Not for the likes of them.
He turned and walked away, his boots splashing in the puddles. Tomorrow, they’d do it all over again. More vans, more streets, more money. And if anyone tried to get in their way—well, he’d dealt with that before.
As he disappeared into the shadows, the rain kept falling, washing over a city that had long since forgotten how to fight back.