“Oh, Johnny you know everybody, can you no’ find out what’s happened tae ma father?”
“Aye ah’ll find oot for you, I’ve got an idea who might know,” he said confidently. She sighed and then kissed Johnny on the cheek. It was a moist kiss, the sort of kiss you give someone who you are infatuated with. They parted ways. Johnny walked past the Rose Garden towards Crown Street. He knew exactly who to ask about Patrick’s mysterious disappearance.
He had a lot on his mind, the court case, his enemy McCoy and now this. It never rains but it pours.
He felt a tingling sensation come over his body. If this was the feeling of love, he liked it. Liked it very much.
Chapter 10
HEADBANGER
The next morning, he awoke from his slumber and realised he was running late for his visit to the High Court. His brother had already headed off to school, in his blazer, to Holyrood Secondary. For a brief moment he thought of his brother, he was destined for success in the future; he did not hang about with the street rabble and concentrated on his homework. In other words, “a good wee boy”. Joseph also read with great energy his Superman comics which gave him a knowledge that school would never provide and kept out of trouble, never getting into fights. In many ways Joseph was such snob compared to him.
Johnny realised with a shiver he had taken a different route to his brother and went to a more mediocre school with numpties. He has attended a poor school because of his loutish behaviour, not because of his intelligence. This lay in the fact that from an early age he had mixed with the Gorbals riff raff and built up a reputation for being a Gorbals hardman. But what good was this image? It had no real meaning, no purpose, he was on a road to nowhere. His only saving grace for the future was Cathy but that could not be 100 per cent relied on.
She might tire of him and his ways. And then what, after his looks faded? Work in a lowly job with an ugly wife and two equally ugly children who would probably follow his route on the way to alcoholism, poverty and eventually oblivion. The thoughts sent more shivers down his spine. He was scrubbing his face at the kitchen window and when he looked out, he saw a newsagent’s placard declaring: “Maniac Goes Mental in Court!”
It cheered him up, Brian had made the headlines. He had always said over a pint, “One of these days ah’m gonnae be famous.” And he had been right, Brian had got his 15 minutes of fame right enough.
Johnny rushed down the tenement stairs and regretted sleeping in on such a big day. But he was not the only one who had overslept. He could smell the stench of a lobby dosser. The homeless man was curled up in a great coat on the first floor landing. “Hey Jimmy,” Johnny shouted, “Cock a doodle do! Time to get the fuck up!” (At that time every guy in Glasgow had the precursor ‘Jimmy’, before the more modern ‘mate’ took over) The shabby man rose to his feet and scratched his head before scratching his balls.
He rubbed his eyes, “What time is it?” he asked, and Johnny could smell the wine of the night before coming from his rancid breath. But he tried to be diplomatic and a little more Christian to the dosser. “Nearly ten pal, time to fuck off before the polis lift you for lobby dossing,” he said.
“Awright son,” the dosser replied, “Eh, you couldnae lend me a couple o’ coppers for a cup of tea?”
Johnny decided to be sterner, the dosser was taking him for a mug. “Look pal the only coppers you’ll be having is the ones that turn up here to arrest you.”
Going down the tenement stairs he could hear shrieking from the back courts – two large rats were fighting. Surprisingly the smaller rat was getting the better of the larger one. Johnny thought many of the people in the Gorbals lived just like rats and fought the same.
He rushed out of the close, heading towards the Albert Bridge, in the direction of the High Court, when he saw a large aggressive looking man walking towards him. The man then stood before him blocking his way. “Hey,” he shouted, “Are you no’ that guy who stuck the nut on me in the Cleland pub toilets?”
Johnny was in a rush and really had no time to stand and fight. He replied in the best foreign accent he could muster, “Me no speak English. Me just arrived from Poland.”
The man looked confused and moved out of Johnny’s way, “Well you must have a fucking double,” he shouted. Johnny laughed to himself, “Aye, a double whisky!” he thought. Bullshit baffles brains, especially when it is foreign sounding bullshit.
He rushed to the High Court and saw a group of policemen there, they were accompanied by the two main witnesses, Eddie Driscoll and Agatha McFadden. One officer was saying to them, “Terrible carry on yesterday, that nutcase went doolally, and put a couple of our officers in hospital.”
“Complete head banger,” said a fellow constable, “They should lock that lunatic up and throw away the key. Hanging is too good for animals like that.”
Johnny looked at the two witnesses faces. Neither of them smiled and they had worry etched on their faces. They realised now they had made a major mistake: they were testifying against the biggest nutters in the Gorbals. And at the end of the day the police would not be able to save them from a fate not worth thinking about.
Johnny made his way to the packed public gallery where somebody had kept a seat for him. The fat prosecuting QC was addressing the judge, “As you know one of the accused, Brian McMaster, assaulted four police officers yesterday, two of them ended up in hospital. He also attacked two court ushers, who are not in court today because of their injuries. Brian McMaster was taken from here in an agitated state to Barlinnie Prison. I have been informed that he assaulted several prison officers there, forced into a strait jacket and placed in a padded cell.”
There were gasps from the public gallery but Johnny smiled, he found it amusing that Brian had been put in a padded cell, he had predicted that years ago.
The fat QC continued, his face getting redder and redder by the minute and beads of sweat fell from his furrowed forehead.
“As a result of his actions Mr McMaster was transferred to a psychiatric ward at Carstairs Hospital where he is now under heavy sedation. I have now been informed that he is mentally unfit to stand trial.”
Johnny thought back to a conversation with Brian, in pub, a few years back. Brian confessed over a pint, “Ah’m no mental, ah’ve got a certificate from the doctors to say so.” They had both laughed then but there had been some truth in the punchline. Many a true word spoken in jest and all that. But at least with his mad ways Brian had avoided going on trial and might even get out of the loony bin in a few years, if the authorities ever considered him to be sane. Anyway, one down, five to go!
Johnny glanced down at the dock, the boys looked as though they had cheered up. Brian had escaped justice by acting daft and, as the Glaswegian saying goes, “Kid on you’re daft and you’ll get a hurrell (a ride) for nothing.” The only person in the dock who seemed to be detached from the rest of the boys was McCoy, he stared right ahead like the dummy he was.
The case for the prosecution began, at first it was a bit slow moving. Six policemen in turn stood in the witness box and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Their stories were all the same. They had been alerted to a robbery at Gorbals Cross and rushed there to see a car speeding off as the shot businessman lay bleeding on the pavement.
Two of them stayed with the bleeding victim, trying to stop the flow of blood, while the others gave chase in a panda car towards Castlemilk. At one point they saw a gun being thrown from the car window into some bushes. When they got to Castlemilk, six men ran from the car into the labyrinths of the sprawling council estate.
After searching the area with more reinforcements, and police dogs, five of the six men were apprehended. Johnny noticed that not one policeman had witnessed the robbery, but what about identifying who was in the getaway car? The fat QC attempted to put that matter right in a series of questions. He asked one policeman, “How long did you pursue the getaway car to Castlemilk?” The policeman replied, �
��About 25 minutes at high speed.”
QC, “Did you get a clear view of who was in the car?”
Policeman, “Yes, six men, two in the front, four in the back”
QC, “Do you see those men here?”
Policemen, “Yes, it was all those men in the dock.”
QC, “Are you sure?”
Policeman, “100 per cent. When the car stopped in Castlemilk the men jumped out and ran off through the estate. We got on our walki-talkies and called for reinforcements. After a thorough search of the area we arrested five of the men. A sixth man was arrested sometime later on board a ferry which was planning to sail to Ireland.”
QC, “And you have no doubt these were the men who committed the robbery and murder?”
Policeman, “No doubt at all sir.”
The boys shuffled nervously in the dock, driver Sam McGlinchy’s face took on a deathly pallor. But now it was the turn of the young counsel for the defence.
Counsel, “Officer you say you saw the men in the car. Did they all have their backs to you?”
Policeman, “Yes sir, we were chasing them in our panda car.”
Counsel, “At what speed?”
Policeman, “Eh, around 70 miles per hour.”
Counsel, “At 70mph it would have been nigh impossible to recognise anyone with their backs to you.”
Policeman, “We were going pretty fast but even then, I was able to clock what they looked like.”
Counsel, “What happened then?”
Policeman, “The car turned a corner, stopped at a grinding halt, and the men got out and ran into the housing estate. After an hour searching the estate with police dogs, we apprehended them.”
Counsel, “And were you sure the men you arrested, were the same men who ran from the car?”
The policeman began to look nervous as if his confidence was eroding.
Policeman, “Aye, well it certainly looked like them.”
Counsel, “I look like one of the accused, does that mean you would have arrested me, if I had taken a walk in Castlemilk that day?”
The policeman looked unnerved, “I might have if you looked like one of the robbers.”
Counsel, “Ah, now it is becoming clear, so anyone you thought that looked like a robber you would have lifted, is that not the case?”
The policeman stuttered. He had been used to giving evidence in menial cases in the magistrates’ courts but now he was playing in the first division.
Counsel, “So what you are saying is my client and the other men were arrested on guesswork?”
Policeman, “Not really, sir – we knew it was them.”
Counsel, “You did not see the robbery and shooting taking place. You only saw the back of the men’s heads in the speeding car and then maybe for a few seconds you saw the men dash from the car from some distance away. It just doesn’t add up officer, does it?”
The policeman shook with rage, “Well ah think it does.”
Counsel, “We are not interested in what you think officer, we are interested for the sake of justice in what you know. And as far as I am concerned you know nothing.”
All the blood drained from the policeman’s face. He shook even more. He had been made to look like a fool. Johnny thought he was a fool anyway and after years of testifying against people in the lower courts he had been found out at last. The scales of justice work in mysterious ways
But the young lawyer was not finished yet. “Officer what were the weather conditions that day?”
Policeman, “Eh, no’ bad, a bit rainy and a wee bit downcast.”
Counsel, “A wee bit down cast? Is that not an understatement? Is it not true that at the time of the robbery it was very cloudy and the light was fading? And by the time you arrested these men in Castlemilk it was almost dark?”
The policeman’s Adam’s apple seemed to go up and down. “Well as I say, it was a wee bit downcast and it did get darker gradually by the time we got to Castlemilk. The weather and visibility weren’t perfect but we were sure we arrested the right men.”
Counsel, “We argue that that visibility was too poor for you to accurately identify the men in the dock as the culprits.”
Johnny and the rest of the public gallery thought that the young defence counsel had played an excellent ploy, there was a chance after all!
Five other policemen came and went giving much the same evidence and all agreed there had been poor visibility that day. But all were sure they had arrested the right men. None had seen the robbery taking place and could only testify about the car chase and subsequent arrest. The case was adjourned until the next day and the boys were taken back in handcuffs to Barlinnie.
Johnny left the High Court feeling elated. There was no doubt about it the young defence lawyer was brilliant. He was definitely going places, perhaps QC next, and then a judge.
The headline in the paper that night was: POLICE UNSURE ABOUT JEWISH MURDER BECAUSE OF BAD WEATHER.
Johnny’s mind now focused on Cathy and her missing father, Bobby McGee. A clear-cut plan came into his head. He would track down one of his old school pals called Donny, who had once worked as an enforcer for Bobby but now worked for Big Arthur in Provanmill.
As expected, he found Donny having a pint in the Victoria Bar in Govanhill. Johnny walked up to Donny when he was at the bar and said, “How’s it gaun pal? Fancy a wee bevvy for auld time’s sake?”
Donny looked genuinely pleased to see him. “Nae problem Johnny boy, mine’s a Mick Jagger.”
Johnny got two pints of lager and they both sat down at a table. He needed to have a quiet chat with Donny but the juke box nearby was playing loud rock music. Johnny shouted to the young spotty faced barman, “Turn that fucking juke box down!”
The barman recognised Johnny and was aware of his reputation, he did not only turn the juke box down, he turned it off.
They had some chit chat for a while and then Johnny whispered to Donny, “Listen ah want tae ask ye something, do me favour, tell me what’s happened tae Bobby McGee, your old boss.” Donny spluttered, “Ah hivnae got a clue, honest Johnny.”
Johnny knew he was lying, concealing the truth, he said cheerily,“Let’s get the hawfs in then.” He went to the bar and ordered two double Bell’s whiskies. Johnny handed Donny the large glass of whisky and said, “Just like the old days, right down in one go!” They both sank the whiskies. Johnny went back to the bar and ordered another two. Johnny was not really a whisky drinker, but it gave him a warm glowing feeling and Donny felt the same. Both their faces flushed red, and were in a more agreeable mood.
Donny whispered to Johnny, “Awright, you’ve got me by the balls. Bobby went tae see Arthur in his pub in Provanmill and they fell out. I was there. Bobby began to utter threats to Arthur and vice versa. It was a dangerous situation. Ah made ma excuses and left. But rumour has it after the argument Bobby was given a concrete overcoat and is now part of the foundations of the Kingston Bridge. He’s not been seen since that night”
Johnny thought of Cathy and her delicate nature, news like this could kill her. He had no real evidence that her father was dead but believed Donny and his concrete overcoat story.
He bade Donny farewell and headed to an Irish Club nearby. Sitting in the corner was a big burly Irish labourer called Sean who Johnny had known for years.
He knew Sean was always popping over to Donegal to see his elderly mother. Johnny asked Sean when he was going over again. He replied,“This weekend to see ma auld maw, she’s no’ been well.”
Johnny was glad to hear the news, “Sean, can ye do me a big favour?”
Sean supped his Guinness and said, “What’s that?”
Johnny was straight to the point, “Ah want you to send a telegram from Donegal with this message on it – ‘Here for a wee vacation from the taxman and police. Be back when things die down. Bobby.’”
Sean looked at the message, handwritten on paper, and smiled, “That’s a queer looking message but don’t worry I’ll sen
d it when I get to the local post office in Donegal.” Johnny gave him a fiver, “to cover expenses”, and left.
When he left the club two drunken Irishmen, in their wellies, were battering hell out of each other in Allison Street. He smiled when he thought about what Sean had said to him a few years back, “A drunken Irishman could cause trouble in an empty house.”
He walked quite a distance to St Luke’s chapel in Ballater Street. He knelt down and said a prayer for Bobby. He also lit a candle for him.
As the candle flickered against the background of the altar, he thought that life was like that – we all flickered for a short period until time and circumstance blew out the candle forever.
Chapter 11
PUNT
When Johnny sauntered through the Gorbals in his handmade shirts and other fashionable gear, in many ways he looked like a prosperous young man with a well-paid job.
But the fact was Johnny had not worked for a year. The gossip was that he had been an enforcer and collector for Bobby McGee and had moved up a division to work for Arthur. But this was a fabrication of reality. After leaving school he had a number of dead-end jobs, delivery boy, kitchen porter, trainee chef and a labourer on various building sites.
An Irish pal got him a start on one site as a labourer and Johnny slogged his guts out, digging holes to an extent his arms could barely move at the end of a shift, all for a tenner a week. He was also made the tea boy and made pots of tea for the Irish labourers who toiled on the site. They liked Johnny as he made them tea they wanted: strong and dark with plenty of milk and sugar. He loved the job and the camaraderie was part of its attraction. The big Irish navvies would sit in a wooden hut drinking their tea and smoking fags while telling the most outlandish stories.
One morning when he was on a tea break in the hut with 20 other labourers he was asked by an old guy from Limerick if he wanted to join their pools syndicate and put “ten bob in the kitty”. Johnny was sceptical about throwing away ten bob, 50p a week, as these guys had been trying to win the pools for years and came up with the centre of a donut – nothing. But when he read stories about pools winners coming into millions, he realised they were people just like him.
The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 7
