Kingston Bridge

by Ian Todd

  “And mair importantly, whit else in that stupid basturt’s operational notebook wis a heap ae shite, eh?” Bison hid bleated. “Broon and Hastie’s brief, Joshua Cranky, will hiv a fucking field day wae this discovery…the dirty fucking crooked basturt!”

  “Dae we know when Murdina’s due back?” The Assistant Chief hid asked the baith ae them.

  Silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “That fucking conniving, evil auld twisted fuck-wit basturt, set that pair ae wankers up, so he did,” Ben raged, storming intae the flat.

  “Who did?’ Simon asked pleasantly.

  “Simon, shut the fuck up. You know fine well who Ah’m oan aboot. Snappy wis right. We should’ve done away wae they bears ae his while we hid the chance!”

  “Aye and it widnae only be him and Peter that goat planted the other day there, if we hid’ve,” Baby reminded them.

  “They remanded the basturts oan petition, so they did. How ur we supposed tae get oor hauns oan Ruth noo, eh?” Ben spat back at Baby.

  “So, he’ll make bail efter him and the bizzy appear back up in court in eight day’s time. Whit the fuck’s yer problem?” Jake asked him. “It jist gies us a bit mair time tae plan oot how we’re gonnae nab the basturt.”

  “Seven days. They wur remanded yesterday,” Tony reminded them.

  “Okay, seven days, fur fuck’s sake. Since when hiv you become so precise, aw ae a sudden, given the amount ae shite we’re wading through, eh? That pair ae fuds up there in Barlinnie ur fucking laughing at us. They know fine well whit they’re daeing. It’s fucking obvious noo. Wan-bob knew that we wur gonnae take oot that Victor Ruth prick, so he did,” Ben continued tae girn.

  “Ach, Ben, shut yer arse, fur Christ’s sake. Ye’re starting tae sound worse than Snappy ever did,” Simon said, trying tae placate him.

  “Why is there nae milk or tea?” Jake demanded tae know, coming oot ae the kitchen.

  “Because it’s an empty flat, that’s why,” Tony replied, peeking oot the curtains. “If ye wanted something tae drink, ye should’ve brought it wae ye.”

  “This is your fault, ya diddy, ye,” Jake said, glaring across at Johnboy.

  “Me?”

  “Aye, you, ya stupid eejit. Ye wur well warned aboot allowing Senga tae move in tae the flat. Wait till that wan comes oot at the trial.”

  “She’s still hinging oan tae her ain flat,” Johnboy replied.

  “Oh, well, that’s awright then.”

  “Ye’re so full ae shit, dae ye know that, Jake?” Johnboy retorted, oan the defensive.

  “Aye, well, so am Ah, bit it disnae make me a bad person, dis it?” Jake retorted, getting a few smiles fae the others.

  “Where the fuck is that Pat wan? Let’s start withoot him,” Ben started up again, looking aboot the room. “Jake’s goat a delivery fae London arriving this morning, so he his. Ah’m supposed tae be helping him…and masel oot.”

  “He’s bringing the maps, remember?” Simon said, disappearing intae the lobby, hivving a wee shifty aboot in the other two rooms.

  “Maps? Whit the fuck dae we need maps fur? Ah know aw the streets across in Govan like the back ae ma haun, so Ah dae,” Jake declared, bit it wis obvious nobody wis wanting tae listen tae the shite he wis spouting.

  Johnboy sat listening tae them. Despite the lively jibes bouncing aff ae each other, everywan wis clearly subdued and frustrated. Two funerals in two days wis enough tae dampen anywan’s spirits, particularly seeing as whose funerals they’d been. Plus, despite Peter and Snappy’s troops keeping the home fires burning wae the businesses, maist ae the other Mankys’ daily activity wis at a standstill. Oan the positive side, Tony wis talking tae everybody noo. Of course, he knew fine well that Jake hid a point aboot Senga moving in, bit there wis nothing he could dae or say tae persuade her, efter her and Lizzie Mathieson, her flatmate, hid appeared up at his door carrying suitcases and other bags ae shite. His neat tidy bathroom hid been changed furever. The glass shelves below his mirror and the mirrored vanity unit, alang wae the tap ae the dressing table in the bedroom, hid been hijacked by aw sorts ae bottles ae stuff smelling girly-lovely. It hid taken him o’er five minutes tae find his razorblade earlier. The fridge, fur the first time since he’d moved in, wis constantly full ae food, maistly wae stuff he’d never heard ae. His clothes hid been evicted fae his wardrobe, through tae the single wan in the spare bedroom. His good Schreiber double bedroom unit, wis noo bulging wae her gear, while his sock drawer hid suddenly become a sanctuary fur her knickers. How many pairs ae knickers did somewan need before they goat the message that enough wis enough? He’d been too wary tae hiv a swatch in the drawers below them in case he discovered where she kept her bras and tights. Lizzie’d hid the sense tae make a quick exit while the gaun wis good.

  “Gie’s a shout when ye’re coming back across tae the flat tae get the rest ae yer stuff, Senga, hen,” hid been her parting shot.

  “Ye mean there’s mair?” he’d stupidly asked, as him and Mr Hopkins sat watching her, as she’d laughed at him, before continuing tae busy hersel, taking o’er their space.

  “Ah know whit ye’re thinking, bit if Mohammed isnae gonnae come tae the mountain, then the mountain’s coming tae Mohammed,” she’d retorted, disappearing intae the bathroom, erms full ae fancy smelling bottles, as him and the cat jist frowned disapprovingly at each other.

  “Bit the trial…” he’d pathetically tried tae say, encouraged by Mr Hopkins’ looks, backing him up tae get in there before it wis too late.

  “The trial?” she’d spat, stoapping mid-way, between his bedroom and the spare wan, looking at them alang the lobby. “Furget the trial. There might no be a bloody trial, the way things ur gaun wae youse lot. Efter whit happened tae Snappy and Peter, the trial kin take care ae itsel. Ye’re no fooling me, Johnboy Taylor. Ah see the way ye slouch aboot. Whether ye accept it or no, ye’re still no fit tae be oan yer ain and there’s no way Ah’m sitting across there in Barrington Avenue watching you go under…no efter…efter seeing the state that poor Jean and Francis hiv found themsels in,” she’d sniffed, her eyes suddenly filling up, disappearing intae whit hid wance been his bedroom.

  “And Ah’ve telt ye till Ah’m blue in the face. Ah’m no involved in anything. As you say, Ah’m no fit,” he’d shouted alang the lobby tae her, clearly no convincing Mr Hopkins that he wis being assertive enough, gaun by the dirty looks the hairy wee basturt wis slinging him.

  “Look, Johnboy,” she’d cooed, suddenly reappearing oot ae the bedroom, her threatening tone softening, as she walked towards them alang the lobby, slinging poor Mr Hopkins aff the armrest oan tae they hairy baws ae his and wrapping her erms roond his neck. “Ah’m no even gonnae pretend tae know whit’s gaun oan, bit Ah love ye, Ah still want tae hiv a future thegither wae ye, despite…”

  “Despite wrongfully accusing me ae shagging yer best pal?”

  “Despite knowing fine well that Tony Gucci and the others want tae draw ye back in tae whitever it is they’re up tae. Surely, even you must be able tae see that?”

  “Bit, Ah’ve telt ye…”

  “That ye’re no involved?” she finished fur him, wan delicately shaped eyebrow lifted. “That’s as well as may be, bit Ah need tae be wae ye. We need tae grow thegither or oor relationship won’t work. Whit if…”

  “Senga, Ah’ve telt ye, nothing’s gonnae happen tae me.”

  “How dae you know?” she’d demanded tae know, slackening her grip oan him. “Look at poor Jean and Francis. Jean’s gonnae be left oan her ain wae a wean and poor Francis hid finally managed tae get a wedding date oot ae Snappy, which clearly isnae gonnae happen noo. We cannae mess aboot, Johnboy. Ah don’t want tae end up like them. Ah want tae be here wae you, talking, making concrete plans fur oor future…well away fae the toon.”

  “Ah’m jist no convinced this is a good idea…whit wae the trial and…”

  “Furget the trial. We’ll cross that bridge when we come tae it,” she’d said wae final
ity, swiftly bending o’er and picking up the cat, before he could make an unsuccessful attempt tae scurry away fae her and dumping the poor confused basturt back tae where he’d been before he’d been rudely assaulted, as she traipsed back tae her takeover bid ae the flat.

  “You and me ur gonnae hiv tae work mair closely thegither fae noo oan,” he warned the purring pussy, as the baith ae them looked up, being interrupted wance mair, as The Dictator reappeared oot ae his bedroom door, carrying his jaickets, troosers and shirts through tae the spare wardrobe.

  Of course, it wisnae aw negative. The changes did hiv a beneficial side tae them. Efter the initial shock, there wis the sex oan tap, decent meals, taking his medication when he wis supposed tae, gaun fur walks alang the banks ae the River Kelvin, visiting Kelvingrove Art Gallery, which he hidnae been in since him and Tony hid been banned fur trying tae steal wan ae the public collection boxes when they wur wee snappers and hivving interesting and normal discussions in the local cafes, that didnae involve plans tae murder people. Plus, Senga worked twelve hour shifts and volunteered wan, sometimes two nights a week at the wummin’s shelter, so he still hid plenty ae time fur him and Mr Hopkins tae dae their ain stuff, like play the music they wanted tae hear, as loudly as they wanted, and no hiv tae listen tae some ae that chart shite that she wis intae. He couldnae convince the rest ae The Mankys aboot how difficult the situation hid been fur him.

  “Ah’m telling ye, Johnboy, ye’re putting Senga’s life in danger wae whit’s gaun oan wae they Govan pricks jist noo, so ye ur. These basturts won’t gie a fuck if she’s staunin there beside ye when they let rip, the way they did wae Snappy,” Pat hid warned him.

  “And whit aboot you and Paula, eh? His she moved oot like?” he’d challenged him, even though he knew Pat wis right.

  “That’s different. She knows the score and his accepted the risks involved. Senga’s different, so she is. She’s an innocent abroad, that’s the difference,” he’d come back wae.

  Johnboy looked aboot the empty flat. It wis a rare moment in time. Nowan wis speaking. Apart fae Tony peeking oot between the curtains, everywan wis sitting looking glum, lost in their ain thoughts. Despite the gruesomeness ae Seb Grey’s death, fur some obscure reason, they’d still appeared surprised by the public reaction tae the news oan the telly and in the newspapers. The fact that aw the attention wis being levelled across oan the south side ae the Clyde, hid eased the initial surprise a wee bit, seeing as it hidnae been aimed in their direction.

  “Well, at least it’s no Wan-bob or Charlie they’re mumping their gums aboot this time.” Simon hid said.

  Of course, behind that comment lurked the big issue. Wan-bob hid warned Tony oan mair than wan occasion when he wis up visiting him in the Bar-L, that The Mankys wur tae steer well clear ae the south side ae the river. Wan-bob wisnae wanting an all-oot war tae break oot between him and The McGregors. Tony, as usual, didnae seem too bothered though. He reckoned that they’d mitigating circumstances that entitled them tae go efter the basturts across there, efter whit hid happened tae Peter and Snappy. The main thing wis tae keep up the pretence ae sticking tae dealing wae the young Govan crowd by no hivving a go at the big boys. The only fly in that particular tin ae ointment, as Ben hid pointed oot, wis that they didnae come any bigger than Victor Ruth…other than nabbing wan ae the McGregor brothers themsels. He could see why Wan-bob hid set Ruth and the inspector fae The Flying Squad up. A hunnerweight ae hash? That’s how serious Wan-bob and Charlie wur taking The Mankys transgression against his specific order. It must’ve broken his heart, seeing as he wis wan ae the grippiest basturts oan the planet. He wisnae called Wan-bob fur nothing. Nowan wae a brain cell in their heids ever went tae him voluntarily tae sell him any swag. If they did, they wur always left feeling ripped-aff. The fact that he’d hid tae cough up a load ae hash, widnae hiv gone doon too well. Even if The Mankys goat aff wae daeing the damage across at Govan Cross, it wid still cost them plenty in the pocket, wae interest. He thought back tae a week earlier in the same empty flat they wur noo lounging aboot in.

  “Right, whit hiv we goat?” Tony hid asked them, straight efter wan ae Pat’s grand plans, though he couldnae remember whit wis involved noo, hid been tossed in the bin.

  “Victor Ruth. Lives oan Scotland Street. Goat liberated fae Peterheid eighteen months ago efter being transferred up fae Dartmoor six months earlier. Fucking pure psycho material, so he is. Shot a bizzy oan the way up the road efter his car wis stoapped a day efter the new motorway up tae Scotland opened, back in the sixties. The stupid fud hid a bag ae smack in the glove compartment. Goat twelve years shoved up his arse fur his cheek,” Ben hid replied. “Done ten years insteid ae eight, efter losing two years in remission fur battering and fighting wae the screws.”

  “He’s been in charge ae that young mob ever since he goat oot,” Jake hid slung in.

  “Tell us something we don’t awready know, Jake,” Baby hid said. “Campbell and his pal awready telt us that, remember?”

  “Aye, bit did they also tell ye that he’s married tae wan ae The McGregors’ sisters?” Jake hid shot back. “Phil. Big hacket-looking geezer wae a strawberry nose. He’s never goat a tartan lumberjack shirt aff ae that back ae his…probably sleeps in it. He runs aw their scrappys. Likes tae take a blowtorch tae people’s baws, so he dis.”

  “Ach, well, Jake, you’ll be safe then,” Baby hid drawled drily, as the others laughed.

  “Whit? Ah don’t get that,” Jake hid claimed, as everywan laughed again.

  “Whit else?” Tony hid continued, jumping in quickly, before they started trying tae score points aff ae each other again.

  “Hash,” Pat hid chipped in.

  “Hash?” Ben and Jake hid asked in stereo.

  “That wee number oot in Paisley? That wis his stock youse stupid basturts blagged, so it wis,” Pat hid volunteered, clearly chuffed tae hiv goat wan o’er oan everywan.

  “You’re as bad as that pair ae dumplings. Campbell also telt us that well before his pal Grey did,” Baby hid hit him wae, as Pat’s face drapped and everywan burst oot laughing. “How the fuck hiv youse managed tae survive aw these years, Tony?”

  “Well, at least Ah came wae a plan, despite youse thickos no seeing how brilliant it is. Whit the fuck did you bring, Baby, ya fat arsed heifer, ye,” Pat hid snarled indignantly, as everywan started mimicking his bleating voice, before starting oan each other.

  Johnboy remembered looking across at Tony and Simon. It wis always hard no tae smile in their company. Irrespective ae whit wis gaun oan in their lives, The Mankys always seemed tae hiv the time tae noise each other up like cats and dugs. It hid been obvious that it wid take a wee while before any business wid be discussed. He’d initially been surprised that they’d aw turned up. Up until then, Jake and Ben hid still no been speaking tae Tony, right up until the funerals, efter the tongue lashing he’d gied them oan Boxing Day, efter getting shot ae Chic Campbell across in Jimmy Tarbuck’s laundry in Finnieston the night before.

  “Ah fucking warned youse stupid basturts aboot routine,” he’d shouted at them.

  “Hoi. Ah tried tae tell him, plenty ae times, bit he widnae fucking listen,” Ben hid shouted back. “Ask Jake. Did Ah no tell Snappy tae fucking jack it in efter the Springburn bank job, back in November, Jake?”

  “Ah cannae remember ye saying anything,” Jake hid replied, no being able tae help himsel.

  “Fuck aff, Jake, ya lying cunt, ye,” Ben hid howled indignantly.

  “This is a stick up? Who the fuck in their right mind, apart fae youse fucking clowns, wid come oot wae that kind ae shite, eh?” Tony hid bawled at them, shaking his heid in wonder. “That’s Peter and Snappy gone, aw because ae youse stupid basturts. Ah’m telling ye, if he wisnae awready deid, he wid’ve joined Chic Campbell…and Ah’m no fucking jesting either,” Tony hid snarled, before storming aff.

  The Mankys hid raided a lock-up oot in Paisley, that wis being used as a cutting and distribution centre fur The McGregors. They
’d goat away wae a huge mega load ae quality hash. Efter driving through the front door and jumping oot and battering fuck oot ae the dealers. Snappy hid shouted ‘This is a stick-up.’ It wis the same shout he’d used in two post offices and a rent office doon in Bath Street, before the bank job oan Springburn Road, where they’d goat away wae o’er seventeen grand ae the local engineering college’s staff wages and two grand fae the drawers behind the coonter. ‘This is a stick up’ hid been the heidlines in aw the papers. It clearly hidnae taken The McGregors long tae suss oot who’d been behind the hash heist. It hid been hard fur everywan tae take in that Peter and Snappy wur gone. When Tony, Ben and Baby hid goat a haud ae Chic Campbell oan Christmas night and taken him doon tae Wee Jimmy Tarbuck’s Chinese Laundry, they hidnae been aware at the time that, as well as shooting Snappy in the face up in Springburn the night before, him and Seb Grey hid also stabbed and bludgeoned Peter ootside Sherbet’s wee grocery shoap oan Great Western Road. Seconds efter Campbell hid blurted that revelation oot, he’d realised instantly that The Mankys staunin there in front ae him hidnae known aboot Peter’s fate. It hid taken Tony a full forty-five minutes tae extract everything fae Campbell before Baby Huey and Ben, oan Tony’s orders, hid drapped the fat murdering basturt intae a big vat ae boiling water. Seemingly, poor Peter hid been deid before the ambulance hid arrived. Everywan who’d been present in the laundry that night hid known full well that Victor Ruth wid be the number wan priority, seeing as he’d gied Campbell and Grey the orders. First thing hid been tae get their hauns oan Seb Grey. Probably due tae the shock ae finding oot that Peter hid been done away wae, there wur still unanswered questions that Tony hid meant tae ask Campbell. Taking care ae Campbell and Grey, two ae the younger McGregor Clan fae across in Govan, fur wasting Peter and Snappy, widnae in normal circumstances raise an eyebrow between Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie, sitting up there in the untried C-hall in the Bar-L. Whit wid upset them wis the way in which Tony hid retaliated against Grey. Wan-bob hid made it quite clear that he wanted tae keep a lid oan a war breaking oot in the toon between him and The McGregors, at least until his High Court appearance oan the murder charge he wis up oan, oan Friday 13th ae February, wis done and dusted. The Mankys wur supposed tae be taking oan the younger McGregors, who’d been responsible fur wasting Timothy Moffat, The Goat, wan ae Wan-bob’s bears, doon in Renfield Lane, at the tail end ae the year. The fact that it hid been Campbell and Grey that hid done the damage tae The Goat probably widnae cut any ice either. Taking the fight across the water hid never been oan the cards. That wid’ve been like pouring petrol oan the fire…literally. Luckily, so far, there hid been nae retaliation fae the big boys. Efter torturing Seb Grey fur over an hour, there wisnae anything left that The Mankys didnae know aboot Papa McGregor’s daily movements.