by Ian Todd
Ian Todd was born in the Townhead district of Glasgow in 1955 and lived there until his family was moved out by the bulldozers in 1969. He lived in Maryhill and Milton, before the family finally settled in Springburn. He moved to the north of Scotland in the early 1980s to go to Aberdeen College of Education and has worked as a Community Development Worker within Youth Work and Adult Learning since then. Ian has a grown-up family and lives with his partner, his four dogs and one cat and has been writing for a number of years.
Dedicated to the memory of Joe Maina
(1954-2017)
LEDMORE JUNCTION
By Ian Todd
Ledmore Junction is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
You can keep up to date with The Mankys and Johnboy Taylor on The Glasgow Chronicles’ website and Ian Todd’s Facebook page for The Glasgow Chronicles:
www.theglasgowchronicles.com
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Chapter One
Monday, 16th February 1976.
10.30PM.
“We’re sorry to interrupt this programme. Reports are coming in tonight of the sound of multiple gunshots being exchanged in Montague Avenue in Glasgow’s upmarket West End. Police have already sealed off both ends of the avenue and are referring all enquiries from the media to Central Police Headquarters. When contacted by the news team, a spokesman for Strathclyde Police refused to speculate on any injuries or fatalities and stated that the situation was still fluid. Despite the police blackout, The Evening News Team are now able to talk about the incident with one of the local residents, Mr Angus Stewart, a retired accountant, who is on the telephone from his flat in Montague Avenue,” John Turney, the news anchor announced.
“Good evening, sir. Can you tell us what you witnessed?”
“Well…it…it aw let loose aboot twenty-five minutes ago…”
“Just after ten o’clock…”
“Er, aye…”
“And what did you witness, sir?”
“Er…Ah’m no that sure, tae be honest wae ye. It wis like something oot ae wan ae they auld gangster programmes…whitever it wis called…The Something or other. Anyhow, Ah’m still trying tae get ma heid roond it. Everything happened that fast, it jist seemed like in slow motion, if ye know whit Ah mean? Me and that wife ae mines wur in bed, fast asleep, when the sound ae some wee nippy dug woke me up wae its barking. It sounded like it wis jist ootside oor bedroom windae. Ah goat up tae see whit aw the carry-oan wis aboot. When Ah opened they curtains ae mine, the wee bastur…er…noisy so-and-so wis staunin in the middle ae the road gieing it laldy, its snout pointing towards the Sauchiehall Street end ae the avenue. When Ah looked alang towards where it wis facing, Ah saw this young couple, haun in haun, oan the other side ae the road walking towards it...us. It must’ve only been a matter ae a few seconds later that a van…a dark wan, turned intae the avenue, slowly crawling up behind them. Ah never thought anything ae it, until the driver switched aff his heidlights jist before he reached them…the young couple, that is.
‘Oh aye,’ Ah said tae masel. ‘Ah wonder whit he’s up tae?’
The van overtook the young couple and wis heidin towards the wee dug, who wis still staunin there in the middle ae the road, letting rip. He…the van driver, then stoapped at number twenty six…aye, fur only aboot two or three seconds, before he slowly moved aff again, still heidin towards the wee yap, who’d nervously shifted across tae ma side ae the road, wae that tail ae his drooped doon between his legs. It wis obvious he knew something wis up. He’d stoapped barking by this time and wis jist staunin there, watching whit the van wis up tae. The van eventually stoapped again, this time at number thirty-four. Jist as the sound ae the wheel rims scraping alang the side ae the kerb reached me, a car…a big fancy silver Mercedes, arrived oan the scene, fae the Woodside end ae the avenue. It drew up tae the pavement oan the same side as the transit…probably aboot twenty feet in front ae it. By this time, the wee dug hid turned roond, its arse…er, bum, pointed towards ma building, facing the hooses opposite, smack bang between the two vehicles. It started barking again, bit its tempo hid changed tae mair ae a stuttering yelping, as if it wisnae too sure whit wis gaun oan. That’s when it aw kicked aff, so it did.”
“Kicked off?”
“The shooting. It aw happened very quick. Ah’m still no sure if they eyes ae mine wur playing tricks oan me. Wan minute the wee yappy dug wis staunin there and the next, it hid disappeared, so it hid. Baith the back doors ae the transit sprung open and a group ae guys, aw wearing balaclavas and boiler suits, spilled oot ae it, carrying whit looked like guns…rifles or maybe they wur shotguns. Anyway, this wis at the same time as the two guys, decked oot in suits and ties, goat oot fae either side ae the Merc. There seemed tae be a wee pause before they noticed each other. It wis then that everywan let rip.”
“And that’s when the shooting started?”
“Ah’m telling ye, it wis like something oot ae wan ae they auld black and white TV programmes…The Untouchables! That’s the programme. The wan wae Elliot Ness in it, that used tae be oan the telly back in the 60s. Wan minute the two groups wur facing each other oan the pavement and the next? Aw hell broke loose. The whole street lit up and the noise wis deafening, so it wis. Bang, bang, bang, in quick succession it went. Before Ah managed tae duck doon, the young couple…at least Ah think they wur young, baith hit the deck. It wis awful, so it wis. By the time Ah picked masel up aff the flair and peeked o’er the windaesill, it wis aw o’er wae, so it wis. Ah jist managed tae clock the roof ae the Transit speeding aff, aw wheels screeching, in the direction fae where the Merc hid jist come fae. Three ae the people fae the van wur lying sprawled oan the pavement. Wan ae them hid his erm up in the air as he wis lying oan his back, while wan ae his pals wis crawling aff the pavement oan tae the road where the back doors ae the van hid been.”
“And the people in the Mercedes, Mr…er…sir? Where were they at this point?”
“They’re still lying there, where they fell, so they ur…Ah think they might be deid.”
“And the young couple? Are they alright?”
“Wan ae them his jist been whipped away in an ambulance and the other wan…well, Ah…Ah think he or she might be a goner. There’s a person… a body, still lying there, oan the pavement, so there is.”
Silence.
“And the police? Are they on the scene, sir?”
“The place is hoaching wae them. Aw the lights in the flats and hooses opposite us ur lit up like Christmas trees, so they ur.”
“So, can you see what’s happening from your house at this precise moment in time, sir?”
“It’s a flat…it’s jist chaos, so it is. There’s polis cars and ambulances and people aw o’er the place. The polis ur knocking oan doors and gaun in tae the entrances efter being buzzed in by the occupants. It’s hard tae figure oot whit the hell’s happening as the vehicles ur spilled aw o’er the pavements and road.”
“And the police? Have you spoken to them yet, sir?”
“Naw, no yet. Wan ae them his jist started walking up and doon the avenue asking people, through a loudhailer, tae stay inside and tae keep their doors and windaes locked until the polis come tae speak tae them.”
“Yes, I can hear that in the background. It must have been a very distressing moment for you and your wife.”
“Distressing? Aye, that’s the word…distressing. That poor Bridie ae mine is in some state, so she is, through in the kitchen there. And that wee yappy dug? Hell knows whit’s happened tae it, bit Ah bet he won’t
be barking roond aboot here in a hurry, Ah kin tell ye that, so Ah kin.”
Chapter Two
Charlie Hanson glanced up at the clock above the door, jist as the two bears entered the bar, as that heart ae his sunk jist as swiftly as that wife ae his’s good 9 carat gold ring hid, disappearing intae the clutches ae Jimmy Tabb’s greasy pawnbroker’s haun, earlier that efternoon.
“Aw fuck, naw,” he hauf whimpered under his breath, feeling his heart quicken at exactly the same time as they bowels ae his started tae churn like a glass full ae Creamola Foam.
He bent o’er and quickly snatched up a wet cloth and wrung it oot o’er the stainless-steel sink, before proceeding tae wipe the wet rings oan tap ae the mahogany bar, left behind efter the last roond ae drinks hid been transferred across tae the pool table. It wis obvious that none ae the barflies sitting oan the stools hid noticed the two long shadows being cast alang the length ae the flair behind them, despite the sudden draught and the sound ae a car wae a bad exhaust passing by ootside oan Duke Street.
“L…lads?” he greeted them pleasantly, straining tae keep his voice in check.
“A hauf pint and a nip, Charlie…nothing fur Chic here…he’s driving,” Shug The Rub, wan ae the maist feared killers in the north side ae the city said, as the newcomers took up position at the end ae the bar nearest tae the door.
Later oan, a few ae the barflies claimed that it hid been the distinctive sound ae the voice they’d recognised, while a few others claimed it hid jist been the distinctive smell ae pure evilness that hid caught their attention. Whitever it wis, the noisy chatter suddenly crashed-landed intae silence. Wan ae the pool players, Wee Chooky McGinn, who’d always seen himsel as a wee bit ae a fly man, suddenly perfected an Opportunity Knocks-winning impression ae that wee limp-wristed, shoap flair salesman, Mr Humphries, fae ‘Ur Ye Being Served,’ as he scurried intae the bogs withoot so much as a shout ae ‘Ah’m free,’ as Chic Berry, withoot a word, slowly sauntered doon the length ae the bar oan that trail ae his.
“Turn that up a wee bit, will ye, Charlie?” Shug The Rub asked him, taking a wee sip ae his whisky, as Paul McCartney’s voice, backed up by the rest ae The Fab Four, went straight intae the chorus ae ‘We Kin Work It Oot,’ jist stoapping short ae droonin oot the painful screaming emanating through the green, chipped khazi door.
Efter a minute or so ae dull, crunching thuds and fearful pleading, none ae the silent barflies dared turn roond tae hiv a wee swatch, as the khazi door loudly creaked open and Chic sauntered back the way he’d come, tae silently take up his position beside his boss, Shug, while slipping a bloodied knuckleduster back intae wan ae they jaicket pockets ae his.
Silence.
“Right, then, that’ll dae me, Charlie. Put that wan oan ma tab,” the gangster growled, smacking they lips ae his, as the pair ae them aboot turned and disappeared oot the door oan tae Duke Street.
The barman quickly turned doon the volume and two ae the barflies swiftly jumped aff their stools and ran towards the bogs.
“This is fur Papa, ya prick, ye!” a voice shouted oot ae nowhere.
Shug The Rub’s new swanky behind-the-ear hearing aid, that he’d jist goat fitted that day, suddenly exploded intae a thousand bloody fragments as baith barrels wur let loose oan the side ae that heid ae his while Chic Berry quickly followed him doon oan tae the wet, cracked, cauld pavement, efter being smashed o’er the heid wae a baseball bat.
Chapter Three
Sleazebag Donald’s wife, Betty Carlton, drapped her fag oan tae the growing pile ae sodden stubs underneath the dripping lintel ae the door and ran towards the black taxi, ignoring the splash ae water that soaked the bottom hauf ae her legs as the wheels ae the vehicle skidded tae a halt.
“Hiv ye goat the key, Candy?” she panted tae her best pal and co-star, as the taxi driver twisted roond in his seat and looked at the meter.
“That’ll be wan ten, doll,” the driver said, hivving a good wee swatch ae they big tits and that plump roond arse disappearing oot ae the back-passenger door.
“Ah’m sorry, hen, Ah’ve nae money,” Candy apologised, as she turned tae Betty. “Ah telt him ye’d pay him wance Ah goat here.”
“Here ye go, mister,” Betty said, leaning intae the taxi and stuffing two crumpled pound notes intae the driver’s haun, before slamming the door shut.
“Hiv ye tried knocking?”
“Knocking? Ah’ve been battering the bloody thing fur the past hauf an hour, so Ah hiv. He must still be in there. Ah kin hear his music,” Betty replied, following Candy across the pavement tae the door, as she extracted the key fae her fake leopard skin handbag oan route.
As soon as Candy turned the key in the lock, Betty brushed past her intae the wee reception, before heidin straight fur the studio.
“Shi…should we no jist phone the polis first, Betty?” Candy asked doubtfully, no even attempting tae smother the frightened tremor in her voice, as she followed her pal and co-star ae such classics as ‘Sixty Nine Ways Tae Syphon A Python,’ ‘Tug Ma Bell, Miss Michelle,’ and the wan that hid reached the final shortlist ae the 1975 Grand Prix Best Foreign Film Awards across in Hamburg, ‘A Quick Boabby In The Lobby,’ through the chipped, fake venetian batwing doors.
“Ssshhhh!”
“Whit?” Candy quietly shrieked, startled, peering intae the long shadows in the studio, underneath the glowing red light bulbs high above their heids.
“Th…the music’s stoapped, so it his,” Betty whispered, staring across at the empty, unmade, spunk-stained, solitary double bed.
“His it?”
“Di…Di…Donald? Ur ye there?” Betty whispered, as baith sets ae eyes darted aboot the room.
“Di…Donald…it’s me, Betty,” she’d jist whispered again, only louder this time, when the pair ae them jist aboot jumped oot ae they micro-minis ae theirs.
Wan ae the stacked singles oan Sleazebag Donald’s red Dansette Conquest record player through in his office suddenly drapped doon oan tae the turntable. The automatic movement ae the erm and stylus, moving across tae the edge ae the vinyl hummed through the ancient tannoy speakers, as it whined tae a stoap, before it slowly descended doon intae the groove, nearly deafening them wae the sound ae crackling before the brass and rolling guitar intro tae Andy Williams’ ‘Music Tae Watch Girls By’ bounced aff the sweaty walls.
“Whit the…?” Betty yelped, as the silky smooth, happy voice, sang aboot the boys watching the girls, while the girls watched the boys, while the girls went by, as Candy managed tae pluck up the courage and stagger across the sticky carpet in her five-inch stilettos, miraculously avoiding tripping o’er any ae the strewn cables, tae reach the light switch oan the wall beside the dressing table mirror.
The first person oan the scene two minutes later hid been twenty three year auld PC Calum Stewart, who’d been sauntering alang Coocaddens Street, jist past Dallas’s auld store, which wis staunin there boarded up, awaiting the demo boys, whistling Ennio Morricone’s theme tune fae The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He’d been alerted tae whit he’d thought at first wis some wee honey being murdered at a party up the closemooth ae the tenement building across the road. It hid taken him a few confused seconds tae figure oot where the throttling wis being carried oot, before he’d dashed across tae the other pavement and straight intae Hollywood International Film Productions (Scotland Branch) Ltd. Even though he’d only been a member ae Glesga’s finest up in Maryhill fur two years, he’d thought he’d seen everything. Strangled wummin? Two a penny. Raped grannies? At least wan a month. Deid boyfriends and husbands, wae butcher’s knives sticking oot ae their chests or their skulls split wide open by a hatchet or meat cleaver by a loving partner, under the influence ae Carlsberg Special Brew? Practically every other weekend. Bit this…this hid taken the biscuit though, so it hid, he’d telt that sergeant ae his back in the station, up in Gairbraid Avenue, o’er a hot, steaming mug ae tea later oan. There, straight in front ae him, doon oan her knees, screaming like a banshee, while t
rying tae tear oot the black roots ae her peroxide-bleach blond hair, hid been Sleazebag Donald’s missus, Betty Carlton. Aff tae the right, below a mirrored dressing table that hid bare light bulbs tacked roond the edges ae it, some clearly needing replaced, lying sprawled oan her back, wae her bare arse exposed tae the elements, hid been his all-time favourite film actress, Miss Candy Strachan, star ae stage and screen. Fortunately fur her, her condition hid only been as a result ae hivving fainted in shock. Despite her obvious distress, she’d later tried tae get aff wae his sergeant up at the station, as she waited tae be interviewed by the boys fae the murder squad who’d jist been called oot, across tae Montague Avenue, a hauf an hour earlier, efter a deadly shoot-oot hid been reported. It hid been whit wis hinging up, crucifixion style, nailed tae the wall above the stained, gold velour heidboard ae the double bed that hid caused him tae throw up his good D’Jaconelli’s
fish supper fae earlier. Sleazebag Donald hid still been alive at this point, stark naked wae his limp, bloody dick and king size baws stuffed intae that open gub ae his. Despite his initial shock, he’d still wanted tae escort Donald in the ambulance tae The Western Infirmary, tae try and get a statement oot ae him before it wis too late. He’d been desperately trying tae get shifted across tae CID fur the past three months, withoot much success, despite two vacancies coming and gaun. He’d seen this as a good opportunity tae enhance they chances ae his. Efter politely knocking back Candy’s advances, due tae hivving no long started his shift, that sarge ae his hid been sensitive enough tae allow him time tae finish his mug ae stewed tea, before he’d gently broken the news tae him that unfortunately fur his CID prospects, Sleazebag Donald, Glesga’s answer tae Hugh Hefner, wis as deid as a fucking selfish Dodo, the basturt.
