The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster

by Colin MacFarlane

  It was agreed Johnny would be at the helm and Percy would be his number two. Archie was doing well in charge of transportation and Kenny was also performing well as the guy who calculated the buy and sell prices of drugs. Johnny had brought in several young men, on a part time basis, to be his drivers and enforcers.

  Percy suggested that they needed “two full time appointments” who would be gophers or a jack of all trades. The stipulation was they had to be men they knew and trusted. The last thing they needed was a grass or as Percy put it in his posh accent, “An informer who might spill the beans to the constabulary.” Johnny nodded his head in agreement. Percy was preaching to the converted. He knew of several young men who would jump at the chance to join them but they would have to prove themselves first. When Percy mentioned the informer part, he immediately felt suspicious. What if Percy was secretly an informer? He knew enough to put them away for years.

  But he had implicated himself to such an extent that he might be in danger of imprisonment if the police found out about his dodgy accountant dealings. Johnny had read about guys like Percy before. There was always a danger of employing posh guys like him as they could turn traitor at the turn of a coin. Sure, it happened all the time to the Mafia in America. Their biggest mistake was to bring in an outsider, who no-one really knew, to become accountants adding up all the money. Those bastards could not be trusted as had been proved by the Costra Nostra traitors.

  Johnny, in the past, had no problems with Bobby’s judgement, but the drugs seemed to have dulled his perception. The boss trusted Percy implicitly whereas Johnny felt he could not trust him as far as he could throw him.

  “Ok, Bobby,” Johnny said, “Ah’ll take over for a while. Long enough for you to recuperate and Percy can do all the money stuff. How long dae you think you’ll be out of the game for?”

  Bobby thought for a moment and sighed, “About a month or so. My missus wants me tae go into rehab. It’s no’ cheap, going private is expensive but it’ll be worth the money tae get off the drugs. Ah mean, look at the poor bastards here, there’s no way they could afford to go private.”

  Johnny looked round the ward and he was right. There were about twenty beds filled with drug addicts. They were a pathetic, miserable sight. Some of them lay in bed with their arms showing syringe marks. They were obviously heroin addicts. Although Johnny and Bobby dealt in drugs, they kept to the stipulation that they would not deal in heroin. But it was now widely available in Glasgow and as easy to get as a bottle of Irn Bru. Bobby glanced around the ward, “Look at those smack heads and ah’m in here wi’ them! Mind you, ah’ve always had an addictive personality, it’s in the genes. Ma mother was addicted to her fags and bingo and ma father, booze and the horses. And now, ah’m addicted to cocaine and hash. What’s your addiction, Percy? ”

  Percy was quick to reply, “Money! I love money. Love making it and love counting it. At times, I might even spend it. Money makes the world go round.”

  “Aye too right, Percy,” Bobby agreed, “Ah’ve been poor and ah’ve been rich, so ah know which ah prefer. Right, Johnny boy, what’s your addiction?”

  Johnny smiled, “Jelly babies.”

  “Fuck off. Jelly babies?”

  “When ah was at school, there wisnae a day went by when ah didnae have a packet of jelly babies. Ah was addicted tae them. Ah even used tae go out stealing packets from the corner shops. A big polis caught me and ah ended up in court for stealing a packet of jelly babies from the Co-op. The magistrate warned me if ah was ever caught stealing jelly babies again ah’d be sent tae an approved school. So ah had tae stop and my addiction ended.”

  Bobby was mildly amused but mystified at the same time, “For fuck’s sake, ah didnae know ah employed a jelly baby addict. That’s worse than being a heroin addict. So, do you ever get an urge now?” Johnny went along with the humorous tone of the conversation because he realised that sometimes it was good to take the mickey out of yourself. “Oh aye, but now ah stick tae liquorice allsorts and they are no’ as addictive. But there are times when ah’d give ma right arm for a jelly baby.”

  The absurd comic dialogue brought colour back into Bobby’s cheeks and as the Sunday Post used to say, “Laughter is the best medicine.” Bobby would go into private rehab for a few weeks, speculating that he might even bump into someone with a jelly baby addiction.

  As Johnny got up to leave the ward a voice shouted, “Hey, Johnny boy, what’s the score man?” He looked at one of the beds and it was wee Alex. “What the fuck are you doing here, Alex?” Alex shrugged his shoulders, “Well, ah was intae cannabis big time and a bit of Charlie when ah could afford it. But Morty said ‘the big h’ would give me a better high. So, ah started trying it and he was right. There’s nae bigger hit than heroin.” Johnny tut-tutted, he had seen this Morty fellow about. A filthy-looking bastard, in his 30s, who dealt in bad batches of heroin. He was the product of a mongrel family and had never held down a proper job. But when heroin came flooding into Glasgow, he grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

  Through the grapevine, Johnny heard Morty was responsible for at least two deaths in the Gorbals after he had sold a dodgy batch of heroin. Now it had almost finished off wee Alex, Johnny felt the anger rise inside him.

  “Keep the fuck away fae that Morty wanker. If you don’t you’ll be pushing up the daisies before your time. The stuff he sells is shite, deadly shite.” For once Alex listened to the voice of reason and agreed with his pal. Johnny went outside where his part time driver Andy was waiting. He was a young guy in his early 20s who was desperate to make a name for himself and maybe land a full time enforcer job.

  “Where to, boss? He asked.

  “Let’s go for a wee run through the Gorbals.” When they got to Thistle Street, Johnny saw Morty standing at a street corner talking to two young guys in their teens. He handed them a small packet and money was exchanged. “Stop here!” Johnny said, “Now go into that shop and buy me a bottle of Irn Bru and a packet of jelly babies.”

  The driver did so. Johnny pointed to Morty, “Now go over and hit that low life bastard over the head wi’ the Irn Bru bottle.”

  Andy did what he was told, walked over and hit Morty full force on the head with it. Morty gave a squeal of pain, sounding like a pig, and his head gushed with blood as he lay on the pavement. Johnny stood above him, bit the head off a jelly baby and then threw the rest of the packet over Morty. “Now this is a warning to you. Keep away from the young guys like Alex wi’ that shite heroin of yours. Otherwise you’ll end up lifeless like these fucking jelly babies.” Morty gave a groan as he lay in a pool of blood on the pavement.

  As Johnny was chauffeured away, he reflected on the day and his conversation with Bobby. He had been taking the piss. He was not really addicted to jelly babies… he was addicted to violence.

  Chapter 59

  PURRING

  While Bobby was away recuperating, the organisation was purring along nicely. Johnny loved being at the helm and ensured all sides of the business were under his control. He had a re-jig of staff as there were a couple of young enforcers who were not pulling their weight. The two of them, “Bawheid Billy” and “Sly Stevie” had been sent out on various errands to collect money but had often returned with only small amounts or nothing at all. Johnny had a meeting with them in the back of his car. “Why the fuck is it that every time we send you two guys out to pull in a couple of quid you come back wi’ a couple of pennies?” he said to them. Bawheid and his pal looked flustered by the accusation. He replied, “Well, boss, money is tight at the moment and we’ve been lucky tae pull in what we did.” His pal Stevie was equally apologetic, “Aye, boss, sometimes trying ta get dough out of those bastards is like trying tae pull teeth.”

  Johnny listened carefully but he could detect a degree of laziness, “You two wankers are getting too soft, people are taking the piss. For example, the Irish labourer, Mick, who owes us thirty quid. He should have weighed us in with at least a tenner last week. B
ut you let him off wi’ a fiver.” Bawheid put on an apologetic tone, “But boss, he says he hisnae got any money tae spare and a fiver was all that he could afford.” Stevie agreed, “He told us his pay packet was light because he hurt his back on the building site and could only work for a couple of days.” Johnny had a feeling he was dealing with a couple of soft numpties, “Is that so? Why the fuck are ma spies telling me he’s out getting pished in the pub every night? He’s got the dough all right, but he’s taking you two for mugs.”

  The two enforcers remained silent during their bollocking. Bawheid broke the silence by saying, “What do you want us tae do?” Johnny sort of growled, “Go to the pub where the bastard drinks and when he comes outside give him a good slap, that will knock some sense intae him. But make sure you don’t put him in hospital, then he’ll be out of work and have no money. Give the idiot a good fright and he’ll soon be paying us the full amount. Now, fuck off and do it. If you don’t, I’ll get another couple of young gang guys who will.”

  Both enforcers left the car looking slightly shaken. Archie had been at the driving wheel and said after they left, “That was the right thing to say to those two. They should never have given that Irish navvy an excuse not to pay.”

  Johnny agreed. In any organisation the employees needed a bollocking now and again if they were not pulling their weight. His mind then turned to Percy. He said to Archie, “What do you think of our accountant, Percy. Do you think we can trust him?” Archie sneered, “Nah there’s something about him that is no’ right, wi’ his yellow teeth and crumpled suit. Ah think he’s a good accountant but he’s a cunning bastard and he’d stab you in the back as soon as look at you. He’s aw nice, nice, nice. Too nice for ma liking.”

  Johnny nodded his head in agreement and if it was up to him, he would have sacked Percy there and then. But he was Bobby’s appointment and he had to stay for the meantime. He felt compelled to hire new staff. He brought in Goo Goo as an enforcer and driver.

  Goo Goo had been pestering him for a while “tae get a slice of the action.” As a result, Johnny sent him on several money collecting jobs in which he excelled.

  Goo Goo, scar and all, was still leading his section of the Cumbie gang but saw his job as a part time enforcer as a step up the gangsters ladder. Johnny liked the guy as they were from the same mould. Goo Goo in turn looked up to him as a sort of hero, who he wanted to emulate. He would also do almost anything his boss asked of him. A few days before, Johnny picked up Goo Goo in a car and drove him to a café in Eglinton Street. He pointed out of the window, “See that Italian bastard in there who owns the café? He’s stopped paying his protection money.

  Thinks we’re mugs. Go in and wreck the fucking place.” Goo Goo said nothing and walked into the café and took a seat at a table. The Italian owner said to him, “Yes son, can I help you?” He ordered double egg and chips and a cup of tea. When they were placed on the table he picked up his knife and fork and tucked in. The next minute he shouted to the Italian, “These fucking eggs are off and the tea tastes like pish.”

  The Italian was intimidated but did not show it, “It’s your mouth that’s off, get out ma café.” Goo Goo picked up his plate and threw it through the café window smashing it to pieces, then threw the cup of tea over the Italian shouting, “Your food is crap. Your tea is pishwater and your cafe is a shitehole. He then proceeded to wreck the place overturning tables and chairs, smashing plates and throwing cutlery about. It was a scene of devastation. Before he left, he unzipped his fly and pished all over the floor. The Italian had been too shocked to intervene. He stood there frozen like a statue. The next day the Italian came to Johnny, turning on the humble patter, “Look, ah’m sorry about changing my insurance subscription with you. When I think of it, it was well worth a fiver a week. Will you take me back?” Johnny replied, “Aye certainly but because you’ve messed me about you are up to six pounds a week.” The Italian was quick to shake hands on the deal.

  Johnny thought of Goo Goo as some sort of lucky omen. He had learnt at a history lesson in school that when Napoleon was suggested a general who could go into battle he would ask, “Is he lucky?” Apart from his one-off scar, Goo Goo had been lucky in numerous gang fights and seemed to have the magic touch when it came to extracting money from people. One evening he was in the house when the phone rang. It was Pat from Marbella, “Hi Johnny, how’s ma pal Bobby doing? He’s no’ been picking up his phone.”

  “He’s gone away for a wee while, Pat, he’s gone intae rehab for some treatment and it’s no’ cheap, ah can tell you,” Johnny replied. Pat laughed, “Tell him when he gets better to get his fat arse over here to Spain for a wee holiday. A blast of sunshine will do him the world of good. Apart from that, one o’ ma pals, Frankie, wants to see you. He needs a wee favour.”

  “No problem,” Johnny said, “I look forward to meeting him.” The phone conversation was cut short. They could not discuss too much over the phone as the police may have been listening in.

  A few days later, he got a message from one of Pat’s cousins to meet Frankie in the Turf Bar. He went into the pub and Frankie was instantly recognisable with his deep Marbella tan. They sat in a small room opposite the bar. He was a sharp suited guy in his 40s. He said to Johnny, “Let me get straight to the point, fuck all that small talk patter. We’ve got an order to get a Picasso, which one of our customers will pay big money for in Spain.” Johnny was shocked and amused at the same time, “How the fuck are we gonnae get a Picasso? Steal it from a museum?”

  “Nah, easier than that,” Frankie said, “There’s a big-time lawyer who lives in Balloch and has a private collection of art. He’s got the Picasso we want. Our art collector will pay big bucks for it, even if it’s stolen.” He gave Johnny the wealthy lawyer’s address, a large mansion overlooking Loch Lomond, “We know he and his family will be out next Tuesday night. So that’s the time to strike. Have you got a man capable of doing the job?” Johnny put on his most confident voice, “Aye, nae problem, know just the guy.” They went over a few details and the Picasso plan went into motion. Goo Goo and his pal were handed the job. They would disable the alarms with wire cutters, smash a window at the back of the house and make off with the painting. Goo Goo said to Johnny, “For fuck’s sake, ah’ve done a lot of things but ah’ve never stolen a Picasso before.”

  On the Tuesday night, they set off and a few hours later they were back in Glasgow with the Picasso in the boot of their car. It was an odd-looking painting portraying a freakish looking woman with several eyes. Johnny headed up to Goo Goo’s flat and went into the living room. He was surprised to see the Picasso “worth at least five million quid” hanging on the wall. The men opened cans of Tennent’s lager to toast their success. Goo Goo raised his can for a toast, “Here’s tae Pablo Picasso. I bet he never realised one of his paintings would end up in a Gorbals tenement!” Frankie turned up a few hours later and arranged for the painting to be dispatched to Marbella. “Good work, boys,” he said, “We’ll make art lovers out of you yet!”

  After he left, Johnny and the boys were in a state of elation, toasting their success with even more cans of lager. “So, what’s my next job Johnny?” Goo Goo said.

  Johnny replied, “Ah’ve got an easy one for you, Goo Goo.”

  “Oh aye, easier than stealing a Picasso?”

  “What we want you to do is go to the Tower of London and steal the Crown Jewels.”

  Goo Goo spat out a mouthful of beer, “Ok, as long as ah don’t have tae shake hands wi’ the Queen as well… ah’m a Celtic supporter!”

  Chapter 60

  QUIET

  When not working, as stated before, Johnny enjoyed being a family man. It was an alternative role to being a gangster. Off with the suit, on with the black t-shirt, jeans and he would even wear a flat cap and sunglasses, so he would not be easily recognised. He, Cathy and his son, would have “wee days out” to places like the People’s Palace in the Glasgow Green, the Kelvingrove Art Museum and even a
s stroll through Paddy’s Market, watching all the characters. Cathy loved being with her man, as when he changed down, Johnny also changed his personality. No longer was he the tough-talking Glasgow wise guy but a fellow who mostly stayed quiet and seemed to be meditating most of the time.

  When they stopped in the People’s Palace they had tea in the Winter Gardens and Cathy said, “What’s the future, Johnny? Surely to god we’re no’ gonnae be stuck in the Gorbals for the rest of our lives? You’ve got the money now to live anywhere we want so we don’t have to be in the high flats anymore.” He took into consideration what she was suggesting but merely said, “Cathy, doll, ah’ve got a battle plan for our future lined up but ah’m no gonnae tell you yet. You’ll have to wait, but it’s all good, ah can tell you!”

  Cathy had taken a part-time job as a barmaid in a local pub, only 15 hours a week and her mother looked after the boy. She loved her “wee job” and it gave her a sense of independence and some pocket money she could call her own. Besides, it got her out of the house for a few hours every day. She certainly did not need the money but she liked dealing with the regulars when she was serving them. One customer, a drunk guy in his late 50s, had called her “a silly fucking cow” after she poured too big a head on his pint of Guinness.