He’d rather court her, give her bunches of roses and kisses rather than a shag in a dirty back lane like the other birds he had been with since the age of 12. The promiscuous line up whores who were ten a penny, but Cathy was one in a million. At times he thought his chances with her were one in a million as well.
Cathy sort of flushed and said in a soft voice, “Where are you off to, Johnny?” He replied regaining his confident tone, “Off to see ma pals. A quick rendezvous and have a natter, nothing important. I’d rather talk to you all day.” Johnny was the leader of a razor gang and supposed to be fearless but he could not summon up the courage to ask her out.
She wanted him to ask her out but he had not been forthcoming. She thought, perhaps, he did not fancy her after all. It was a romantic stalemate.
Cathy gave a beautiful smile, perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen. “Ok John, maybe I’ll bump into you sometime soon.” Johnny loved the fact that she sometimes used the formal John instead of Johnny. It gave him a hard on. He smiled, “Hopefully sooner, rather than later.”
Cathy laughed, she sounded like a schoolgirl. “John McGrath, you are a patter merchant, you could charm the birds out of the trees with that patter. See ya!” She moved off, a beautiful form of womanhood.
Johnny sighed, for the first time in his life he felt alone. He realised without her, he was nothing.
He walked in the opposite direction and instinctively knew he was walking in the direction of trouble and drama. But he thought rather absurdly that drama, like love, gave his life meaning.
Johnny sauntered towards Eglinton Street passing Nicholson Street on the way. He looked at the decaying tenements there with its shabby inhabitants. He thought it was like a scene from a third world country.
Filthy looking people loafing about in the streets while their children played in the murky puddles. A woman in a grimy looking headscarf was shouting to her equally manky looking son, “Hey ah told ye no’ tae be eating any rubbish fae the middens.”
The boy had in his hand a rank-looking, dirty apple, rotten to the core.
“But mammy,” the boy shouted back, “Ah’m hungry.”
“Throw that filthy fruit away or I’ll tan your arse,” she bellowed.
The boy did what he was told and threw the rotten apple into a puddle. A young girl appeared, picked it out of the puddle and took a bite out of it.
Johnny moved on, a few minutes later he entered the Mally Arms in Eglinton Street. It was known as a rough pub, but what pub in the Gorbals wasn’t?
He walked into the bar and put on his best nonchalant and superior face. In other words, in local parlance, he looked “as gallus as fuck.”
The dingy bar had an assortment of characters, mostly numpties clad in what looked no better than rags. Losers to the core. Among the older drinkers there were some young guys. It seemed that the whole of the pub had cast their eyes on Johnny. Sure, he was a handsome, well dressed, game looking bastard to them and he had a reputation as a hard man to boot.
One of the older drinkers looked up from his dominoes on the table and shouted to him, “Awright man? How’s it gaun?”
Johnny shrugged his shoulders, “Ach no bad, ah’m still a million quid away fae being a millionaire.”
John the landlord was behind the bar, a thin scrawny guy with a beard. “What can ah get ye young man?” he said to Johnny.
“Pint of McEwans Export, John.”
“Do ye no want a nice malt whisky as well?” the landlord enquired, “Ah’ve got a wee sale on today, good price for a hawf!”
Johnny declined the kind offer, “Nah, just a pint of heavy. The jails are full of whisky and wine drinkers.”
Landlord John gave a weak smile, “Aye and when they get oot they tend to come in here. I’ve missed my vocation in life. I shouldn’t be a pub landlord, mair like a social worker or a psychiatrist wi’ aw the drunken bums that frequent this place.”
Johnny agreed. “Too right, John, some people call this place Bampot Central. Have ye seen any of the boys? Any of my pals?” The landlord pointed to the lounge at the back, “They’re in there.”
He headed to the lounge. Sitting there was Mad Brian, Wee Peter, Irish Chris and Wee Alex. They were deep in conversation. Johnny shouted to them, “If only the Devil could cast his net now, he’d have a good catch. You guys look like you are planning something. All’s you need is the brains, that’s where I come in.” They all looked up and laughed knowing full well that Johnny was telling the truth, he was the brains of the crew.
Brian had a pen in his hand with a piece of paper on the table that looked like a diagram or a plan. Johnny sat down with his pint, “What’s the score then?” Brian whispered, “Got it all planned out.”
“Oh aye?” Johnny retorted, “Got what all planned out?”
Brian replied, “The robbery.”
Peter chimed in, “Aye it’s a cinch.”
Chris agreed, “Like taking candy from a baby.”
Alex nodded his head. “The only thing is, it’s no’ a baby we’re taking candy fae, it’s from an auld fucking Jew.”
Johnny was interested, someone planning a bank robbery in the Gorbals always sounded glamorous and exotic. A lengthy jail sentence less so.
Brian was quick to enlighten him, “There is this auld Jew who owns a wholesalers near Gorbals Cross. Dae ye know who ah’m talking about?”
Johnny nodded his head, “Know the fella, he’s loaded, he farts ten pound notes.”
Brian was pleased that Johnny knew the fellow. “Too right, he’s got enough dough to choke a dozen donkeys.”
Johnny had no option but to agree. “I get the message. So what’s the plan and what the fuck has this got tae dae wi’ me?”
Chris said, “It’s a brilliant plan, let Brian explain.”
Peter appeared enthusiastic,” This could make us all very rich men.”
Brian continued pointing to the paper. “The auld Jew leaves his shop every Friday afternoon with his week’s taking in a bag. We’re gonnae bump him for the lot. Every penny.”
Johnny thought it sounded too good to true merely saying, “And?”
Brian explained, “Well we reckon he could be carrying as much as ten grand in that bag.”
Johnny was still sceptical said, “How?”
Brian looked at the diagram on paper and explained further, “Simple, when he comes out of the shop, we snatch the bag from him.
Johnny took a sip of his piss-poor pint and tried to bring some logic to the proceedings. “Look, the guy is an auld Jew and they know the value of money. He’s no gonnae hand the money over without a fight.”
Brian agreed but added, “We’re gonnae bring a guy in. He’s got a gun, an ancient army revolver. He’s gonnae fire it intae the air tae frighten the auld bastard.”
Johnny shook his head in disdain just thinking that numpties and bank robberies, that included a gun, were not a good combination.
“A gun involved? If you get caught they’ll lock you up and throw the key intae the Clyde.”
Chris disagreed, “Nah, the gun is only a bluff.”
Peter was quick to the point, “When he hears the gun going off he’ll shite himself.”
Alex was in the same frame of mind, “We widnae shoot the fucker. Just fire a warning shot.”
The plan sounded half decent but Johnny asked, “Who’s got the gun”
Brian explained, “A new kid on the block. He’s just moved tae the Gorbals from Bridgeton.”
Johnny could feel the hairs on his back rise, a shiver went down his spine. “What’s the guy’s name?”
Brian replied, “McCoy.”
Johnny was quick to the point. “Met that McCoy idiot for the first time this morning. He looks like trouble. Ah widnae touch him wi’ a barge pole. The only thing ah would touch him wi’ is ma razor. In fact, he’s lucky ah didnae slash him.” Brian agreed reluctantly. “He is trouble but he is a game bastard, and he’s got a gun.” Johnny thought for a while, to
ok another sip of his pint and contemplated the situation. He had only met McCoy for a few moments but he could sense the guy had something unlucky about him. He concluded there was no way he could get involved in this caper.
Brian looked him straight in the eyes and said, “So, Johnny, are you in or are you out?”
Johnny had no hesitation in replying, “Taking into consideration this piss poor pint and your piss poor plan, I’m out.”
Brian asked, “Why?”
Johnny explained in further detail, using the most forceful voice he could muster, “I don’t like that McCoy guy. He gives me the creeps. Besides if there is a gun involved you are looking at 15 years inside, at least. Ah like a bit of sunshine.” Peter was more enthusiastic. “Ten grand for a few minutes work, it could set us up for life man!” Alex agreed, “We’ll be living the high life soon like toffs, champagne, nae mair piss beer.” Johnny rose from the table, “Nah boys, ah don’t have a good feeling about this, when are you gonnae do it?” Brian looked at his plan on paper and replied, “Next Friday 2.15.”
Johnny finished his pint and merely said, “Well, boys, ah wish ye all the best.” As he headed towards the exit, the juke box began to play Engelbert Humperdinck’s Please Release Me. It was not a good omen.
Chapter 2
ALIBI
“Are ye no’ out your bed yet?” Johnny’s mother shouted as he noticed on his alarm clock it was almost 9am. He had slept soundly all night and had mixed dreams, some good some bad. One was about him and Cathy as they danced through the clouds kissing each other. The other dreams were more like a nightmare. He was doing the robbery with the lads when suddenly a gun went off blowing him away. At this, he awoke briefly in a sweat and then went back to his slumber.
Johnny got up and went into the kitchen, his mother, Jenny scolded him, “Johnny you are a lazy swine, dae ye want some porridge?”
“Aye mammy,” he replied half dozily before going to the kitchen sink and turned on a small electric hot water heater. By Gorbals standards this was a luxury as most people washed themselves in the freezing cold water from the tap in the sink.
He then got his facecloth and carbolic soap and washed himself in the sink. While he was washing, he looked out of the window to see the people below in Crown Street. There were quite a few inhabitants milling around, many heading to chapel in their Sunday best. Johnny’s mother put a bowl of porridge on the table with a strong mug of tea – two sugars and a dash of milk. “It’s about time ye went tae chapel for a change,” Jenny scolded her son, “It might knock some sense into you instead of running about wi’ the gangs.” She was going to chapel later that morning as she did without fail every Sunday.
She worked as a waitress “up the toon”. Long hours, low pay, but she was always proud of her menial job and equally proud of her religion.
Johnny’s father, John senior, was a steward in the Merchant Navy and sailed the high seas for months at a time coming back to regale his family with wild tales of his exotic adventures abroad.
He also fetched back numerous trinkets from overseas, like a China teapot he had picked up in Hong Kong and a floral vase he had purchased in Kuala Lumpur. The artefacts were never used and stood proudly as ornaments in a glass china cabinet. As he finished his porridge Jenny said to her son, “Dae ye want tae come tae chapel wi’ me, son?” Johnny always avoided going to chapel but in his heart he would have liked to have gone with her. His image of being a Gorbals hardman forbade it. No respected gang leader could be seen going to chapel with his mother, people would have thought he had gone soft.
“Nah, mammy, ah’ve got something on but maybe someday soon,” Johnny said rather unconvincingly. His mother scolded him, rather gently, again, “Ach, you’ll end up in Hell, wi’ a big roaring fire.”
Johnny laughed at his mother’s tease, “At least it would be warmer than living in a Gorbals tenement!”
Jenny tut-tutted again and left for chapel. Johnny looked out of the window and watched his mother cross the road, she looked proud and graceful. Jenny carried herself with dignity, 52 and still going strong. She had an iron will that would put many mothers to shame. A few minutes later he felt a shiver going through his spine.
He spotted McCoy crossing Crown Street with two guys he had never liked. They were laughing and joking with each other and Johnny imagined they were talking about him. Another few minutes passed and he then saw Cathy, as beautiful as ever. She and her sister were wearing floral dresses and heading to chapel.
The porridge had been great, full of salt, only the English took it with sugar, and the cup of strong Typhoo tea had perked him up. He had always thought that “a wee cup of cheer” was far better than beer, and of course less expensive. Tea gave him a high that beer could not.
He thought about Cathy, then McCoy, and then the robbery, which would take place on Friday and was bound to be a disaster, an accident waiting to happen. A wave of paranoia overtook him. The robbery would happen near Gorbals Cross and he had no doubt the auld Jew would put up a fight. The Jews had got fucked about in Germany and Poland, and they were fed up with all that carry on. Nobody was going to fuck them about in the Gorbals, gun or no gun.
Perversely the robbery could have implications for Johnny. All the boys involved, apart from McCoy, were all associates of his. The police would put two and two together and come up with three. They would think that Johnny had to be involved and may be the mastermind or ringleader behind the whole shebang. The two bastard cops he had met at Gorbals Cross would have no hesitation in fitting him up. Framed for a robbery he had no involvement with.
Fifteen to twenty years for the perjury of two polis making up the same story. He imagined their testimony in court, “We knew John McGrath was a bad ‘un and had an inkling he was the brains behind the armed robbery. Low life like that never give up.” In the High court a wigged judge would agree with their testimony all the way.
The jury would nod their heads before finding him guilty and send him away for a very long time. Fifteen years plus in the nick and he would never see the beautiful Cathy again. It was not worth thinking about, but then again maybe it was.
If he was going to get fitted up, he needed to have a rock solid alibi. At first, he thought, at the time of the robbery, he would hang around a pub like the Mally Arms in front of plenty of witnesses. But when he contemplated that scenario he came to the conclusion that the sort of characters who hung around such pubs were undesirables and degenerates. They were mostly jailbirds, drunks, thieves and liars, and no court, especially the High Court would believe their testimony. He began to sweat profusely. What was the answer?
Then it came to him – the local priest at St Lukes. Johnny knew the parish house he lived in was in need of repair and the father always welcomed men who offered their services to help decorate the place. The polis could not accuse a priest of lying… perfect!
The next day Johnny went to confession in the chapel. He knelt down in the confession box and said, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned, it is a month since my last confession.” It had actually been longer, but a month sounded respectable enough.
The father said, “So, tell me, son. What sins do you confess to?”
Johnny gave a nervous cough and then replied, “Well, father, I have been masturbating now and again to cope with the pressures of life. I have also been involved with bad men who want me to do an armed robbery, but being a good Catholic I turned them down. “The priest chided him briefly about the masturbation confession but the robbery was more important. He said in a thick Irish brogue, “My son, try to cut back on the masturbation and find yourself a loving relationship, a good Catholic girl to marry, that should stop you abusing yourself.
“Also keep way from those evil men who want you to do a robbery and as the Bible says, ‘Though shalt not steal.’ Four Hail Mary’s and four Our Father’s. God be with you.”
Johnny thought he had got off lightly. He had anticipated his wanking confession would have received
a higher penance.
He left the booth and did his praying penance. Afterwards he felt ten times better, as if his soul had been given a polish, and saw a clear scenario develop in his mind.
The next day, he went round to the priest’s parish house and knocked on the heavy Victorian door. The father appeared with a big grin on his face. “Can I be of help son?” he said.
Johnny replied cheerfully “Well, father, I thought I might be of help to you. I’ve got a free day all day Friday and can do odd jobs for you, free of charge of course.”
The priest gave a chuckle of delight, “Great, son, I need a lot of painting done on the stairs and the living room. But it might take all day. Are you willing to give up your whole day for me, the Pope and the Catholic religion?”
Johnny replied immediately, “Of course, father. See you at 9am Friday morning prompt!”
The Irish priest shook his hand warmly and firmly, “I had a wee prayer that someone would turn up and help me with the painting and then you arrive at the front door. God works in mysterious ways! See you Friday morning.”
Johnny felt relieved, his battle plan was indeed going according to plan. It would need a biblical miracle for the police to fit him up now.
He walked into Crown Street and all the Gorbals cronies in their bunnets were there as usual outside the bookies. Johnny shouted to them, “Any winners the day boys?” One of the old guys retorted, “No’ really Johnny. Ah backed a horse at ten to one and it came in at quarter to three! “
Back in the house it was comparatively quiet. Johnny’s younger brother Joseph, aged 13, was sitting reading a Superman comic.
Johnny said to him, “Awright? How’s Superman faring? Is he still winning the battle against the super crooks like Lex Luthor?”
Like his brother Johnny had always been a Superman fan, in fact when he was leading his Cumbie mob into battle against rival razor gangs he often felt like a superman.
Joseph replied, “Aye, Superman is doing all right but there’s one thing he can’t beat.”
The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 2
