Dumfries

by Todd, Ian

  It hidnae been difficult tae get the Barlanark and Carntyne/Garthamlock boys oan board as well. Everywan in the shoap wis happy enough wae the decision that the only YOs that wid be up at the table when Dockland Sammy appeared wid be The Mankys, the Garthamlock/Carntyne boys and the Barlanark crowd. Everywan else wid jist sit back and enjoy the show. Another problem tae sort oot hid been the number gaun up tae Stafford at any wan time. Usually, the YOs only went up tae the table in dribs and drabs, getting their bandoliers checked through quality control. It wis important tae hiv enough YOs staunin up in front ae Stafford, keeping him distracted, while whoever wis picking up and letting loose wae the clip, needed plenty ae cover fae being clocked by Dickheid Dick and The Tormentor up at The Beastie Boys’ table. Hivving jist a couple ae YOs up in front ae Stafford widnae be enough. This goat sorted oot when Johnboy spent two days convincing Silent that he wis the main man tae make that happen.

  “Noo, listen up, Silent. Aw ye hiv tae dae is ask Stafford if there’s any chance ae him turning up the radio, so we kin aw hear the music oan Radio Wan. Tell him a happy workforce will always increase production.”

  Silence.

  “Look, Ah know whit ye’re thinking, bit he won’t tell ye tae piss aff. He thinks ye’re his number wan bum-boy wae the amount ae bandoliers that ye get through in a day. Ye’re Stafford’s brightest star in here, so ye ur. Fuck, look at him. He’s sick as a parrot that he’s losing ye,” Johnboy hid soothed.

  Silence.

  “Jist remember tae tell him that ye think that the turno’er will increase if the boys ur happy being able tae lug in tae the music,” Johnboy encouraged him, trying no tae get irritated by the deafening silence.

  Silence.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Silent, trust me, Ah know whit Ah’m talking aboot here.”

  Silence.

  “So, will Ah get somewan else tae dae it then? Is that whit ye’re saying?”

  Silence.

  “Silent, dae ye want tae end up in the barber shoap, knowing we’re aw o’er here enjoying oorsels, upsetting the screws or dae ye want tae be here when it aw kicks aff?”

  Silence.

  “Look, it’ll only work if ye’ll dae whit Ah ask ye. There’s nae other way, so there isnae, so either help us oot, or don’t.”

  Silent hidnae responded, bit hid jist turned roond, taking that happy vacant look wae him, and gone back tae his bandoliers. Tony and Snappy knew fae experience no tae butt in oan the conversation between Johnboy and Silent. A lot ae people thought, tae their cost, that because Silent wis quite, he must be stupid, bit he wis anything bit. He wis as sharp as a razor. Johnboy hid stoapped trying tae explain Silent long ago tae people who couldnae figure him oot. The Mankys aw knew that Silent took in exactly whit wis being said roond aboot him maist ae the time and he never, ever…well seldom ever, let anywan doon in a tight spot. Even though Silent could be sitting there, bang in the middle, being part ae whitever wis gaun oan or being planned amongst The Mankys, he gied ye the impression that he wis sitting somewhere else, a thick glass partition separating them, observing, taking in, bit no contributing, jist gaun alang wae whit wis being decided. It could be so frustrating. There wur times when it wis clear…at least, it wis tae Johnboy…that he didnae really agree wae whit hid been decided, bit it wis as if he couldnae bring himsel tae challenge or put forward his point ae view, despite Johnboy encouraging him o’er the years tae get stuck right in there. Johnboy knew that if he ever tried tae explain that tae anywan, it widnae make sense, bit he knew whit he wis talking aboot. Two hours efter Silent hid turned his back oan him that last time, he suddenly stood up wae a completed bundle and heided across tae Stafford. Everywan knew that it wis a done deal when Stafford jist aboot fell o’er in shock at Silent even acknowledging his presence, let alone actually talking tae him. Two minutes later, Stafford heided doon tae the office and turned the music up before sauntering back tae his post as everywan behind their machines howled oot ‘Goodbye ma friend, it’s hard tae die,’ as Terry Jacks mournfully bleated aboot the seasons in the sun, while aw the stoat-the-baws up the back stoapped whit they wur daeing tae stare at the mad choral society, wae their heids bent o’er, rattling oot bandoliers, twenty tae the dozen, in front ae them. Everywan in the shoap hid been primed tae increase their production if the music goat turned up and by the sound ae the machines whizzing away and the happy look oan Stafford’s face, it hid worked. The Barlanark crowd wur the first ae the YOs tae be approached tae be involved. Wan ae them wis hopeless oan the machine, bit the YOs roond aboot him passed across extra bandoliers tae him tae make up the deficit. The next morning, the Carntyne and Garthamlock boys started churning oot loads followed by The Mankys and Stu in the efternoon. Within two days, nowan blinked an eye tae see the table in front ae Stafford crowded wae YOs humming alang tae ’Ah Know Whit Ah Like’ by Genesis or ELO’s ‘Ma-Ma-Belle.’ It hid been while aw this prep wis gaun oan that two cracking opportunities hid come and gone. It hid been painful tae watch, particularly when Stafford actually turned his back oan the boys, leaving the clip sitting there screaming oot tae be picked up. The only problem wis that the timing wis wrang. Sammy hid entered the sewing machine shoap fae the painters’ next door, only tae be called back wae that trolley ae his. The other problem that hid tae be sorted oot wis nominating somewan tae distract Stafford. Whoever that wis, wid probably end up being the main suspect efter the clip disappeared. Silent wis a non-starter because his bandoliers wur always perfect and Stafford hardly gied them a second glance. The Carntyne boys volunteered, bit Tony wanted the face-tae-face wae Stafford tae be wan ae The Mankys. Johnboy, Tony, and Snappy spent hauf a morning gaun up individually, observing how Stafford reacted tae the completed bandoliers. It soon became clear that Stu’s work, although usually accepted by Stafford, wisnae always up tae scratch and Stafford always double-checked his completed bundles closely. Due tae Stafford’s misplaced trust in Silent’s work ethic, it wis Silent, much tae the annoyance ae Snappy, that hid been chosen tae staun doon wind ae Stafford’s gaze, snatching the clip up before sending it spiralling doon the table tae Dockland Sammy and his trolley at the far end. Johnboy wis glad that the responsibility hid been gied tae Silent. Although he didnae or couldnae say it, Silent hid been fair chuffed at being chosen. Everywan knew that it wid be a good farewell tae the sweatshoap, especially seeing how hard he’d worked tae ensure the army hid quality kit tae support them tae shoot people. By the Thursday morning, everything wis ready tae roll. Sammy hid strolled in, as per usual, bit far too slowly…farting aboot…talking tae the boys at the tap row ae machines fur too long, even when they wur ignoring him. Tony hid melted they ears ae his at lunchtime across in the dining hall. During the efternoon shift, Sammy hid goat it spot oan. Aw the Barlanark, Carntyne/Garthamlock, Mankys and Stu wur up at the table, bit Stafford hid kept the clip in his pocket. Oan the Friday morning, the same thing hid happened. They wur aw noo starting tae get desperate. They knew they’d get the clip eventually, bit everywan wanted tae get a haud ae it before Silent left fur his new job. It being Silent’s last day, everywan wanted tae be involved in a wee celebration. Oan the Friday efternoon, the tea break came and went and there wis still nae sign ae Sammy. At hauf three…nothing. At quarter tae four…nothing. Everywan wis frantically looking at the clock above the office because the machines goat switched aff at four o’clock. Then, at ten tae four, the paint shoap door finally opened and Dockland Sammy appeared. Everywan could tell he knew fine well he’d be blamed if Silent didnae get his chance tae get wan o’er oan Stafford. It wis written aw o’er that face ae his.

  “Ah hope he keeps his cool and takes it easy,” Tony scowled at Johnboy, as Sammy leaned o’er tae talk tae wan ae the boys, who let oot a laugh at whit he’d come oot wae.

  So far, so good. It wis Silent that stood up first and casually heided tae the table wae a bundle ae bandoliers, quickly followed by a couple ae the Carntyne boys. Wance they’d reached the table, wan ae the Garthamlock YOs bent o’er and li
fted up his finished bundles. Tony and Snappy followed suit. Jist as they goat tae the table tae await Stafford’s inspection, the rest ae the Carntyne and Barlanark YOs stood up, at the same time as Johnboy. It hid been agreed that nowan except fur Johnboy wid be allowed tae keep an eye oan whit wis happening up wae Dockland Sammy. Everywan wis tae focus oan whit wis gaun oan at the quality control table in front ae them. Johnboy looked up tae the back ae the shoap oan route tae the table. Sammy wis talking tae somewan else. Dickheid Dick and The Tormentor wur engrossed in talking tae the beasts. Bliss, the other broon-coated screw wis bent o’er, peering at the cloth-cutter, as Peter the Pervert wis attempting tae dislodge a bit ae cloth that wis jammed oan the cutting blade. When Johnboy arrived at the table, Stafford wis slipping the clip intae the bullet pouches, grunting wae satisfaction, before throwing the acceptable bandoliers into a big square canvas bag behind him. Johnboy wisnae sure if it wis his heart he could hear thumping or the heart ae Stu, who wis staunin oan his left, waiting fur his turn. Wan ae the Carntyne YOs received a grunt ae approval fae Stafford before casually turning aroond, and strolling back tae his machine. Stu haunded o’er three bundles, the middle wan containing a couple ae deliberate duffers. Stafford hardly glanced at the first wan, before picking up the second bundle. Aw the YOs leaned forward, haudin oan tae the bundles in front ae them in anticipation. Everywan wis following Stafford’s hauns as he slipped the clip intae every third or fourth bandoleer pouch. Fae where Johnboy wis staunin, the bullets in the clip looked the size ae torpedoes. Suddenly there wis a pause, a frown, and Stafford wrenched oot a bandoleer fae the middle ae the tied bundle as Little Richard let rip wae the first twelve bars ae ‘Lucille’ fae the speakers up oan the wall.

  “Hmm…” Stafford murmured, trying tae push the clip intae wan ae the pouches, bit failing. “Hmm…” he murmured again, laying the clip doon oan the table as he inserted two fingers fae each haun, pulling the pouch apart wae aw his strength, the bandolier stretched across his chest.

  It aw seemed tae happen in slow motion, although Johnboy knew that if anywan hid blinked, they wid’ve missed it. Dockland Sammy wis in place. Johnboy nodded tae Silent. Silent casually reached across the divide between him and Stafford, shielding the clip wae the back ae his haun. In whit seemed like a fantastic deceleration ae sound and reality, where Little Richard’s voice took oan this really slow, twisted, subterranean growling sound, Silent slid the bullet cartridge back and away fae his body by aboot fifteen inches, before letting it fly, as the sound ae Little Richard’s voice and piano accelerated back tae normal. The cartridge skited alang the table in a blur, like an ice hockey puck, towards Sammy, as everywan staunin in the row snatched their bundles up aff the table, nae mair than a couple ae inches, in a fraction ae a second each, tae let the clip whizz by them, straight intae the ootstretched haun ae Dockland Sammy, jist before his escort screw turned roond fae opening the door tae let him disappear through tae the joinery shoap. Johnboy wis still staunin wae Tony, Snappy, Silent and the other YOs, when Stafford, withoot taking his eyes aff the bandolier he wis inspecting, stretched oot his erm, his fingers splayed, trying tae pick up the clip fae the table. It wis hypnotic. Eight sets ae eyes wur transfixed oan the crab-like fingers ae the haun, as they searched blindly and fumbled fur something that wisnae there. Johnboy looked alang the line and fixed his gaze oan the face ae wan ae the Carntyne boys. The laughter in the eyes said it aw.

  “Right, boys, lift up yer bundles, Ah’ve lost ma measuring tool,” Stafford said, pushing bundles ae bandoliers oot ae the way, a puzzled frown appearing across his coupon. “Hiv any ae youse picked it up?” he asked, surprise and panic in that voice ae his, looking at the row ae YOs in front ae him, aw looking like butter widnae melt in their lying-faced gubs.

  “Whit dis it look like?” Silent asked, oot ae the blue, as a few ae the weak-willed, undisciplined wans, burst oot laughing.

  “Whit? Whit wis that?” Stafford demanded, as he continued wae his rummaging.

  Stafford’s over-the-tap panic wis a picture for aw tae see, as he blindly scattered the piles ae bandoliers aw o’er the table, that wur piled up in front ae him. The poor basturt wis starting tae sound like a chicken that hid jist goat a finger thrust up its arse.

  “Ma measuring tool, ma clip…hiv any ae youse…right, never mind that. Back tae yer machines…now! Donald! Hit the alarm…ma fucking bullets hiv walked,” Stafford howled.

  Everywan strolled back tae their machines as ten screws came bounding through the different doors intae the machine shoap, batons drawn, the clanging ae the alarm bells, oddly enough, complimenting the base riff ae Little Richard’s horn players.

  “Christ, Ah hope Pat hisnae fucked aboot next door wae that clip,” Tony said drily, as Johnboy, Silent, Stu and Snappy sat doon, failing tae keep big grins fae spreading across their faces, as panic-induced chaos and confusion exploded roond aboot them, as Little Richard’s fingers tore up and doon the ivories, pursued by the wailing sound ae a demented baritone saxophone, as he shouted at Lucille tae come back tae where she belonged.

  “Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.

  A young nurse has been run over and killed by a hit-and-run driver as she finished her work at Stobhill General Hospital late last night. Twenty-year-old staff nurse, Rose Bain, was crossing Balgrayhill Road just after 11pm when the tragic incident occurred. It’s believed that local residential car owners, who park around the hospital, have been plagued by young joy riders as this is the second such tragedy to have happened in the area in recent months. In January, an elderly man was knocked over and killed on Belmont Road. Two fourteen-year-old youths who stole a hospital consultant’s car, have already been charged in connection with that incident. Police are trying to trace a black or dark blue Transit van seen driving off erratically after the incident…

  Police are investigating the disappearance of a lorry from George Bellows & Sons transport depot in Balmore industrial estate, Lambhill, early this morning. The lorry, believed to be containing an undisclosed amount of 10-year-old Johnny Walker Black Label export malt whisky, had only arrived a few hours earlier from Johnny Walker’s bottling plant in Port Dundas Road, Cowcaddens…

  Police Traffic Superintendent John Bower has asked for the public’s help in identifying the driver of a silver racing car that has been plaguing the city’s West End in the early hours of the morning intermittingly at weekends for a few months now. A total of seven policemen have now been taken to hospital following multiple car crashes whilst pursing the driver along Great Western Road. Concern for the safety of the public has been growing since police have failed to stop the car or apprehend the driver…

  A Castlemilk coalman, who won almost 10,000 pounds on Vernon’s Pools three months ago, has been found dead of alcohol poisoning. Craig Robertson who…”

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  The Stalker felt the plane bank tae the left, as the contents ae his stomach threatened tae end up oan the back ae the heid ae the passenger sitting in front ae him. He grasped the ermrests firmly, supressing the urge tae jump up oot ae his seat, and run screaming doon towards the wee air hostesses who wur sitting at a forty five degree angle facing everywan wae fixed, company-issue smiles spread across their coupons, tae demand tae be let oot ae the flying coffin. The fact that they wur coming in tae land, as opposed tae taking aff, wis whit probably saved him the embarrassment ae gieing himsel the biggest showing-up ae his life. He opened his eyes as he felt the plane straighten oot ae its death curve and grabbed his nose wae his thumb and index finger and blew wae aw his might, relieved tae hear baith ae his ears pop like champagne corks and the pain in the left wan recede. He couldnae understaun why the passengers roond aboot him didnae seem too concerned aboot dying, as something in the pit ae his stomach threatened tae escape through that flapping arse ae his. His pretend nonchalance wisnae fooling the wee wean sitting across the aisle fae him who wis sitting pointing at him and laughing as the p
lane wance again, descended tae certain death. He took a wee bit ae comfort fae the female yelp that came fae somewhere doon tae the right ae him, knowing it wisnae jist him that wis terrified, as the wheels hit the tarmac and the screaming ae the engines threatened tae throw him intae another uncontrolled panic. He swore if he ever goat aff ae that plane alive, he’d never again take his life fur granted and fly again. Noo he knew whit Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and The Big Bopper must’ve experienced before they copped their whack in that snowy field back in the late fifties. It took him aw his strength no tae go doon oan his hauns and knees in the hot sunshine and kiss the tar efter he pushed people aside and took the stairs two at a time, tae get his feet back oan tae terra firma. His two weeks in the sun hid been pleasant enough, bit it hidnae been worth the stress and anxiety ae hivving tae be hermetically sealed intae a big giant Castella cigar tube fur hours oan end, wondering if every wee bump wis the start ae the plane plunging towards mother earth. Oan the way oot he’d jist aboot shat himsel when he’d clocked bits ae the wing moving aboot. He’d wanted tae scream tae the wee hostess lassie that there wis something wrang wae the wings and that they wur aw gonnae die, when the fat bloke beside him put his fears at ease.

  “Amazing whit technology kin dae, eh?” he’d said, thrusting his fat face forward between The Stalker and the back ae the seat in front ae him tae peer oot ae the wee windae, gieing The Stalker a birds-eye view ae his dandruff-infested skull.

  The Stalker thought he recognised wan ae the customs boys who raked through his suitcase ae dirty laundry, bit couldnae place the time and the place. He wis even mair surprised tae see Bumper staunin oan the other side ae the barrier waiting fur him.

  “Christ’s sake, Paddy, ye look like a darkie, so ye dae.”

  “That’s because Ah’ve been sizzling that arse ae mine in amongst aw they dolly birds in Española, that’s why,” he retorted, rolling up his shirtsleeve tae gie Bumper a good swatch ae his tan under they hairy erms ae his.