by Ian Todd
“Tae tell youse the truth, Ah’ve stopped coming in here, so Ah hiv,” Sharon confessed, shivering, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s jist too creepy wae the way she’s stuck aw they black and white photos up there, like something oot ae some psycho film or something. How she manages tae sleep in here at night oan her lonesome, Ah’ll never know.”
“Plus, it means ye don’t hiv tae chase efter her arse cleaning up the mess,” Issie drawled, looking aboot, as the lassies laughed, releasing the tension amongst them.
“Ach, it’s a newspaper thing, Sharon, hen. Hiv ye never been in a crime desk newsroom or a polis murder squad office? This is whit they dae aw the time, so it is,” Donna said convincingly, turning away fae the spiders web oan the wall. “Ah even dae it masel, when Ah’m trying tae figure oot whit businesses tae get shot ae or which wans tae haud oan tae masel. Helps ye tae focus, so it dis.”
“Well, that Wee Mary better no get any ideas. That Tam ae mine will go aff his bloody trolley if he comes in and finds her using up aw his good carpet tacks,” Issie said straight -faced, as everywan burst oot laughing.
“Look, girls, Ah’m gonnae hiv tae shoot the craw, so Ah am,” Donna announced. “Sharon, hen, mind and speak tae that Mr Baldy Heid wan doon in Cambridge Street aboot the amount ae sannys he’s wanting delivered. And you tell him we want the money up front…in cash, if youse ur no getting tae sell them direct tae the lassies at their desks,” Donna reminded her, nipping through tae the living room tae grab her leopard fur coat and handbag.
“Aye, right, Donna, hen,” Sharon said, as her and the lassies followed in her tracks. “We’ll see ye at the boys’ funerals.”
Chapter Eight
Tony turned and gied Johnboy a wee glance. Their eyes fleetingly connected, before he wis distracted, as Senga slipped her haun in tae Johnboy’s, as she let oot another wee bout ae simpering sobbing, dabbing her eyes wae wan ae Jake’s fancy hankies.
“Vintage Balmain, so they ur. Dae youse want wan?” Jake hid hit them wae, twenty minutes earlier, passing a wee fancy box across tae Michelle fur distribution amongst the lassies fae the boot ae that car ae his, as him and Baby hid stood impatiently, waiting fur the stupid basturt tae get his arse moving.
Two minutes efter hitting the road, they’d been pulled o’er by The Flying Squad fur nae apparent reason. Of course, aw the good seats at the side ae the church, facing the door, wur taken, making him feel mair oan edge than he awready wis.
“Aye, handmade by Fat Nan, The Boxer, fae across there in Flemington Street,” Baby hid drawled dryly, nodding in the direction ae The Tavern, hidden fae sight behind Johnboy and Silent’s auld tenement block in Millarbank Street, opposite the fire station oan Springburn Road, as Jake smirked, before gieing him a dirty look fur Michelle’s benefit.
He looked doon towards the Paterson crowd, sitting in the front row, facing the coffin. Jean hid her heid resting oan Donna The Prima Donna’s shoulder. Her sobs wur echoing aboot the church as Donna wrapped her thin erm roond Jean’s shaking shoulders. At least Jean hid put her fit doon, despite her distress, by insisting that Donna accompany her fae the flat tae the church via the funeral parlour. She’d also insisted, against the family’s wishes, that The Mankys carry the coffin oot ae the church intae the hearse waiting ootside. Johnboy hid been the only wan that hidnae cursed the family. The others hid gone aff their heids.
“Look, they’ve lost their son. Whit’s the point ae girning aboot it? Whit’s done is done. Ah’m sure Peter widnae gie a fuck, seeing as where he is,” he’d come oot wae, sounding like the family’s personal social worker.
“Aye, bit why fucking take it oot oan us, eh?” Ben hid retorted. “It didnae stoap them fae moving intae a new bungalow up in Colston, did it, the two faced basturts? Where dae they think the money came fae tae pay fur aw that bricks and mortar?”
It hid been Donna that hid spoken tae Peter’s ma, Wilma, while his da hid jist stood there no saying a word, waiting fur his wife tae hiv the final say. Donna hid persuasively pointed oot, that irrespective ae how she felt aboot The Mankys, and aboot Tony in particular, Peter hid been part ae the crowd who’d aw come up through school thegither. Blocking his pals fae being involved in the service, at this distressing time, widnae help Jean cope wae her grief, she’d purred. A compromise hid been reached. Allowing The Mankys tae carry the coffin oot tae the back ae the hearse wis a small price tae pay tae keep the peace. Sitting up front beside the family wis oot ae the question though. The lassies, supported and encouraged by Jean, hid backed the boys up and hid unanimously decided tae sit wae them in amongst the rest ae the cattle behind the family. Whit Donna hidnae declared tae Peter’s ma wis that hauf an hour earlier, she’d completed the business ae getting Jean tae countersign a raft ae legal documents that hid confirmed that Jean Maguire hid been a joint owner ae maist ae Peter’s possessions, clearing the way fur the smooth transfer ae everything that he owned, including the flat, across tae her and the unborn baby. A will, seemingly signed by Peter, in front ae two ghost witnesses, hid been conveniently lodged wae wan ae Donna’s bent lawyers a few days before he’d been murdered. Jean hid also been fine wae gieing up the stalls that Peter operated doon in The Barras. The stalls, again conveniently, hid been transferred o’er tae Baby at a good price…supposedly the day efter Peter hid been lifted by the polis and accused ae being involved in the murder ae Honest John McCaffrey. Everything hid been taken care ae. Donna hid also explained aboot the dosh Peter hid stashed away in the safety deposit boxes. It wid be a while before she could access it, bit Donna hid assured Jean that she’d be taken care ae financially in the meantime and that she wisnae tae worry aboot that side ae things. The day before, Donna hid done the same wae Francis Smith. The only difference in the case of Snappy’s funeral hid been that The Mankys wur allowed tae sit doon the front wae the family during the service. Donna hidnae messed aboot. The pallet shoap business that Snappy and Ben hid run as a money laundering front, up in the Balmore industrial Estate, hid been smoothly transferred o’er tae sole ownership ae Ben. Tony looked aboot the crowded church. Despite the occasion, it wis difficult no tae smile. He knew Johnboy wid be thinking the same as him. Come tae think ae it, aw The Mankys wur probably sitting there, placing bets oan who amongst the congregation wid be the first tae make the mad dash towards the entrance, as the roof came tumbling doon aboot everywan’s ears. He wondered if the good reverend wis intentionally shouting fur the heavens tae part and shine doon oan everywan, tae calm people’s fears, as the rafters let oot another eerily loud, groaning, tired creaky fart. He wis amused tae see that it wisnae jist him that wis thinking that way, as mair than a few other heids in front ae them wur fearfully looking up, before quickly measuring the distance fae where they wur sitting tae the big, double interior doors, that Cecil The Christian, the wee wan-legged organist wae the black eye-patch, hid slammed shut, entombing everywan, in the bowels ae the same sinking ship.
“Peter wis a loving son tae Wilma and Bobby,” The Reverend bawled, wan erm lifted, his nicotine-stained middle finger ram-rod straight, pointing heavenwards, while clutching the good book in the other haun.
Fair enough, when ye took the new bungalow up in Colston intae consideration, Tony thought.
“Despite his tender age, Peter brought light and happiness tae aw those who hid the pleasure tae know him,” Reverend Thunderton thundered, defying anywan tae contradict him, as he took his time, glaring accusingly doon at aw the sinners, sitting there, shiting themsels wae fear.
Probably debateable…depending oan who ye asked.
“Gied generously tae the community,” they wur reminded.
Ha ha! Robin Hood? Somehow, Tony didnae think so.
“A young man ae integrity, who put his customers’ needs first,” shouted the man who lay at night between the slim legs ae that younger alcoholic wife ae his, oan an eye watering expensive mattress, courtesy ae Silverman’s King and Queen Collection, at a knocked doon price.
True. Peter did look e
fter his punters’ every needs.
“Who wis shortly tae be married tae oor ain wee innocent angel, Jean, the mother ae his unborn child.”
Aye, tae stoap the polis calling her up as a witness in relation tae Honest John McCaffrey’s shooting, the fly basturt.
“Only God himsel kin say fur certain why Peter’s life wis cut doon, so young.”
And that auld gimpy, wan-ermed basturt, Papa Fuck-pig McGregor and his side-kick, Victor Ruth.
“And only the wan true God kin punish those responsible when they arrive and knock oan heaven’s door.”
Wae a wee helping haun fae Peter’s best pals, hopefully.
“So, Ah’ll ask ye all tae go in peace, ma friends, and may the good Lord hiv mercy oan each and everywan ae ye. Amen.”
Chapter Nine
“Uh oh, here we go,” Detective Sergeant Jean Moffat said, involuntarily sinking doon in tae her seat, as her boss, Inspector Wilma Thain, turned and looked at her, smiling.
