The guy grabbed Johnny in a bear hug. He grappled with him but the fellow had a tight grip. Johnny reached over to a table with his free hand and whacked the guy over the head with a large glass ashtray.
The young guy fell to the floor and blood began to gush from his head like a fountain. An auld fellow said, “You’d better get tae fuck before the bizzies and ambulance arrive.” Johnny heeded his advice but was annoyed the young guy’s blood had splattered all over his newly designed Arthur Black shirt and Levi Sta-Prest trousers. He headed round to Gorbals Cross toilets, rinsed his shirt in a basin. Then he found a scrubbing brush in a mop bucket and scrubbed the trousers.
Half an hour later, as his designer clothes dried, he looked better, not perfect but better. He walked back around the corner and could see two police cars and an ambulance outside The Cleland. A group of old women who must have just come out of the Palace bingo hall stood watching. “What’s happening, missus?” Johnny said to one of them.
“Some drunkard nearly got murdered in the pub.” She replied in a matter of fact voice. Johnny laughed, “Nothing unusual then!” The old woman replied, “Nah, it’s happening all the time there. They should shut that bloody place down.” The other bingo-goers nodded in agreement.
Johnny made his way along Rutherglen Road and the place seemed to be swarming with drunken navvies who had blown their pay packets on a night of booze. As he turned into Crown Street, he heard a woman’s voice shouting, “Johnny! Johnny!” He turned round and saw it was Agnes. She handled him a crumpled piece of paper.
“Found this in one of the bins at police headquarters, it’s a copy of the original,” she said before making off. Johnny unfurled the piece of paper. It said in bold type: “Witnesses for the prosecution in the Ivan Solomon case. (1) Agatha Morag McFadden, aged 67, 120 Hospital Street, Gorbals. (2) John Edward Driscoll, aged 71, 94 Thistle Street, Gorbals.”
Johnny did not know the Agatha woman but the Driscoll name rang a bell. It then came back to him. Driscoll was a regular at Cha Pa Pa’s fish and chip shop in Crown Street and he had sometimes seen him having his hair cut at Felix’s the barbers nearby.
Johnny had been in the barber’s queue and heard Eddie Driscoll talk about his life. He was a retired engineer with Glasgow Corporation Housing Department and had been a part time volunteer at a local youth club.
He had a reputation as being “a dirty auld bastard” who used to tickle the young boys, pretending it was fun.
After complaints from some of the boys’ mothers, he had resigned abruptly, presumably before the police got involved. Johnny went round to Driscoll’s house in Thistle Street and picked up a half brick.
He had a rubber band and attached a note to it saying, “Grass up the boys and you are a dead man, you fucking pervert.”
Johnny stood in the back court and could see Driscoll standing near his kitchen window. He threw the brick full force and it smashed the window into a thousand pieces. He then ran off through the darkness of the backcourts to his house in Crown Street.
He was sure that Driscoll would not report the incident to the police as the word ‘pervert’ would have brought attention to his dubious past in the youth club and his tickling days.
Johnny slept well that night and even had a dream about winning the pools. When he awoke, he considered the woman witness, Agatha McFadden of Hospital Street.
He stood for more than an hour across the road from her close and about mid-day a little white-haired woman came out of the close with a Scottish terrier. She looked respectable, respectable enough to testify and send the boys away for a long time.
A neighbour shouted, “Hello Aggie. Lovely day!”
“Great day for a walk wi’ ma wee dog in the Glasgow Green,” she replied in a cheery voice. Johnny was confused what to do. A brick though her window and a threatening note would not suffice in this case. A different modus operandi was required. Then a name flashed up in his mind – Bella Macilroy. Bella was one of the roughest women in the Gorbals, known as a heavy drinker who had even had a reputation for knocking men out who had annoyed her. She was rough, tough and hard to bluff.
She owed Johnny a favour. He had once intervened when a drunk man appeared to be throttling her outside of a pub. Johnny had run over and head-butted the man before giving him a swift kick in the balls. Bella said afterwards, “Johnny, you saved my life. I owe you a favour, just say the word.”
He bumped into Bella about half an hour after Agatha and her dog went for a walk in the Glasgow Green. He told Bella the score, that she needed to give Agatha “a sherikin,” a fright, and ward her off from testifying. But Bella looked ill with her bulging red eyes and foul breath, alcohol poisoning he thought.
He took her into the Sou’ Wester pub in Eglinton Street and ordered not one, but three large glasses of powerful South African wine. After the third glass was downed, Bella rose from her seat and said, “Right where is this auld cow?”
They waited in Hospital Street and the light began to fade. Suddenly, Agatha McFadden appeared with her dog. Bella ran over shouting and waving her arms wildly. “See you, ya fucking auld cow, if you grass up those boys in court, I’ll kill ye wi’ ma bare hands.” She then grabbed Agatha by the throat and slapped her on the face. The little dog yelped, Bella kicked it. It yelped even louder. Agatha began screaming, “Help! Ah’m being attacked by a drunken lunatic!” But the street was empty and no-one came to her aid.
Bella made off around the corner shouting, “You grass those boys up and I’ll be back, ah know where you live.” The terrified woman and her dog disappeared up her close.
Johnny was at first worried that Bella had gone too far. But surmised that the police would take it as an attack by a drunken woman who was out of her mind, which was not uncommon in the Gorbals. Also, there were no witnesses to back up any claim of attack
The police were called and did go to Agatha’s flat but for some reason or another the matter went no further. Johnny surmised that Agatha would have been too terrified to identify Bella, as her attacker knew her address.
Had Johnny’s plan worked? Would the two witnesses still have their day in court to testify?
The High Court case was looming on the horizon.
Chapter 7
Jo Jo
When Johnny got back home, he put his key in the door and he could hear laughter straight away. He heard his father’s voice and a feeling of relief came over him. Johnny snr, known as Jo Jo, had been away for the last three months on the QE2 ocean liner. He had joined the Merchant Navy at the age of 16, just like his father before him, and had walked up the Broomielaw on Clydeside, to sign up.
At the age of 48 he could look back on a career on the high seas that had involved everything from peeling potatoes in the kitchens, maintenance jobs, and now he was steward on one of the world’s finest ships. If not the finest ship in the world. Johnny’s mother, when marrying him, knew what she was getting herself in to. Jo Jo, his nickname from school, had always been a bit of a colourful character. He was a real patter merchant who, at times, looked like a Hollywood movie star with his sun-tanned features, bright smile and a charisma that could transform the atmosphere of any room.
“So, a penguin walks into a pub and says tae the barman, ‘Has my brother been in?’ And the barman says, ‘What does he look like?’” There was more laughter. Johnny walked in and Jo Jo rose from his chair to shake his hand. “How’s ma boy getting on? Keeping out of trouble ah hope,” he said in a humorous voice.
Johnny’s mother looked on with a big grin on her face, even after all these years she was amazed at how identical they looked. Both thin, athletic build, with the same thick jet black hair. Indeed, when they talked, they sounded the same. They were like identical twins although Jo Jo could give twenty odd years in that department.
Johnny explained to his father, “You know how things are in the Gorbals. Always a wee bit o’ daft drama going on. Ah’ll no’ bore ye wi’ the details.” He did not mention the robbe
ry.
Jo Jo laughed out loud, “Ah travel all over the world but there’s no place like the Gorbals. It’s wan o’ the maddest places on the globe. But ah’ll tell you what – ah widnae live anywhere else.”
Johnny’s mother made them all “a nice wee cup of tea.” Jo Jo dunked his digestive biscuit into the tea and said, “No matter where I am in the world, Hong Kong, New York or Sydney, I always look forward tae having a cup o’ tea wi’ ma family.” He looked adoringly at his wife, “As far I am concerned you make the best cuppa in the world, darlin’.” Johnny’s mother blushed, it was the blush of a schoolgirl, like when she and Jo Jo first met. She was obviously still deeply in love with him and had put up with his numerous indiscretions over the years.
Jo Jo was not only a man about town but a man around the world. There were rumours that he had a woman in every port and some even suspected another family somewhere abroad.
But Johnny and his mother discounted the rumours even when there was a slight inkling they might be true.
Besides what you don’t know about, you don’t worry about. His brother Joseph said to his father, “Hey da, did ye met anybody rich and famous on the last trip?”
“Of course, son,” Jo Jo replied, “Plenty of millionaires, we even had Charlie Chaplin and Sean Connery on board.”
Joseph said, “Sean Connery, 007! What was he like?”
Jo Jo explained, “Nice fella, a good tipper, same as Chaplin. Connery was having a bevvy one night and I opened up a nice bottle of Beaujolais for him and his missus. He asked where ah came from and ah said the Gorbals. He took a sip of his wine and replied in that incredible voice of his, ‘The Gorbals? Even James Bond would be wary about going there!’”
They all laughed heartedly. Johnny was never sure if his father’s outlandish tales were true or even partly true but they provided a great deal of entertainment in this crumbling Victorian tenement.
“Right” Jo Jo said, reaching into a large suitcase, “Ah’ve got ye’s all a present fae ma trip overseas.”
First of all, he gave Johnny’s mother a sparkling ring he had picked up in Barcelona. Then he handed Joseph a miniature copy of the Eiffel Tower that he had acquired for a few francs in Paris.
Finally, he said to Johnny, “I got this hand made in Hong Kong for you.” He pulled out from the large suitcase, a beautiful looking cream coloured suit. Johnny caressed the cloth, “Hey da, this is good gear. It’s very shiny, just like Frank Sinatra wears in Vegas.”
Jo Jo smiled, “Aye. The Hong Kong tailor said he had seen the Rat Pack, Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davies in concert and decided tae get in some sharkskin cloth.”
Joseph asked, “Sharkskin cloth?”
Jo Jo put him right, “That’s what they call the material, it gives off a real shine.”
Johnny was definitely impressed – the suit was a certainty to attract the birds, but then again it could make a few of the local bampots jealous. Fuck them!
Jo Jo explained further, “Ah had two suits made up identical for father and son! Let’s try them on Johnny and we’ll come back and give your mother and brother a fashion parade.”
They went into the small bedroom next door and changed into the suits. Both already had white shirts, ties and black shoes in the wardrobe.
They walked back into the front room together and on seeing them, Johnny’s mother let out a gasp, “My god, you look like twins!”
Johnny joked, “Twins? Nah ah’m better looking than ma da!”
“Aye, in your dreams!” Jo Jo replied.
Johnny looked in a mirror nearby. He and his father looked swell, maybe too swell for the Gorbals.
Jo Jo announced, “Right, me and Johnny boy are going on a pub crawl. When they see us in the pub, they’ll think we’ve won the pools.”
“Or robbed a bank,” Joseph said.
Jo Jo was not a big drinker but did not mind going on the odd pub crawl when he was home. They hit the pubs, starting with the Wheatsheaf in Crown Street, The Mally, Sou’ Wester and Laurieston in Eglinton Street and then the Cleland bar in Hospital Street.
One drinker in the Mally Arms said, “You two look like you’ve just stepped out of a gangster movie.” Every pub they went into there were compliments galore, some of them very cheeky but not offensive.
Johnny could also tell that several good-looking young birds had taken a shine to him, or his shiny suit.
When they walked into the Cleland bar there was lots of loud music going on. The place was thronging with mini skirted women. There was a rock singer called Jamie on the small stage belting out all the old hits. He was singing at full blast Tom Jones’ ‘It’s Not Unusual.’ The crowd were loving it, singing and dancing along.
Johnny made his way through the crowded bar and ordered two pints. Jo Jo said to him supping his pint, “Great atmosphere, but it’s the same auld story, you mark my words there will be trouble soon. Just wait and see.”
Johnny nodded his head in agreement as Jamie leapt about on stage singing ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’. Then suddenly somebody launched a pint glass into the dancing crowd, hitting a young lady on the head.
Jamie leapt from the stage and wrapped a towel around the young lady’s head and helped her sit on a chair at a table. No one could identify the culprit who had thrown the glass. A few minutes later Jamie was back on stage singing ‘Sweet Little Sixteen’.
Johnny handed his father his pint and headed to the toilet. There was a big aggressive drunk there pissing on the floor, missing the urinals by a mile. He looked at Johnny, “Ah suppose you think you are a big shot wi’ yir flashy gangster suit. Ah bet you couldnae punch your way oot a paper bag.”
Johnny zipped up his fly and retorted, “No but ah could punch the fuck out of you.” He then landed an uppercut to the man’s chin. The big fellow went crashing to the floor.
Johnny made his way through the crowd on the dance floor. To his surprise the injured woman was now doing the twist with a bloodied towel wrapped around her head.
Johnny said to his father, “Let’s beat it” They finished their pints and left. On their way back to Crown Street they saw two drunk men having “a square go” and belting the hell out of each other. In the tenement close a homeless man, a lobby dosser, had already curled up for the night. As he slept on the landing two rats ran past Johnny and his father.
They went into the house and Jo Jo said, “Same auld Gorbals, same auld pish.” They headed off to bed a bit disillusioned but agreed the Gorbals would look different in the cold light of day.
A week later Jo Jo left to sail the high seas again. The family were dismayed to see him go but that was where he earned his money and it was good money. He hoped that Johnny would join him one day.
Johnny said he would go on the boats but not yet. There were still a few matters to deal with. Still a few scores to settle. And what about the lovely Cathy? He could not leave her before coming to some sort of resolution. If he went away on the boats someone might snap her up. There was no way that was going to happen. People knew Cathy was destined for Johnny and if any guy thought otherwise he would have to face the repercussions of Johnny’s ferocious temper, razor and all.
While Jo Jo had been home, he had heard something about “the auld Jew’s murder” but it had not really registered. His mind was full of people and places in far more exotic locations than the Gorbals. He would often joke, “It’s a small world but ah wouldn’t like to paint it.”
While Jo Jo was on the cruise liner interacting with millionaires and stars from the world of showbiz, his son would be mixing with the numpties of the Gorbals underworld.
Chapter 8
CATHY
Cathy was a beautiful person, not only in looks but in her inner soul. She emitted kindness and had a smile that brought sunshine to any occasion. Many young men fancied her, with her long flowing red hair and bright red lips that had a seductive look about them.
Her father, Bobby McGee, had been somewhat of a gangster who had been i
nvolved in several bank robberies but had the good fortune never to have been caught.
For a while he had led the high life in handmade suits and driving a Ford Zephyr which he used to cruise around the Gorbals in to show that he was a man of prestige and glamour. Bobby also had a side-line as a money lender, and his rates were fairly reasonable. He had a team of young enforcers – or ‘neds’ as they were known, who were sent to collect payments every Friday from punters when they got paid.
Bobby’s psychology was he offered rates that were equitable with the big banks. The only difference was if you failed or defaulted on the payments the interest rate went up significantly. And if the punter defaulted yet again the punishment could be severe. He would unleash his neds on the debtor who constantly failed to repay. Loans ranged from a pound to a hundred pounds.
He would simply comment on his money lending business by saying, “Put it this way if you default on the payments, you could end up with a sore face. But ah’m, no like the banks, ah won’t turn up at your house and take your furniture away. I loan people money on trust, if they break that trust they could end up with a broken jaw or worse.”
Throughout the 1960s Bobby had done well. He had married a local girl, Betty, in the late 1940s and they had two daughters, the eldest Cathy who was born in 1950 and Elizabeth, who came along a year later.
Both girls went to St Lukes RC Primary School in Ballater Street and were bright enough to go to Holyrood Secondary, in Govanhill, a school for the brightest of the pupils from the Gorbals.
Because Cathy was so pretty and so bright she became the victim of bullying at school. A jealous group of girls had beat her up at secondary school and for a time she was afraid of turning up. But when her mother told Bobby, he merely asked for the names of the bullies. He found out who their fathers were and had “a word” with them. The message was passed on and the bullying stopped.
The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 5
