by Todd, Ian
“Christ, wis it hot?”
“Ye could’ve fried an egg aff ae the tanned arses ae aw that fraulein fanny that wis lying aboot, hauf naked, aw o’er the place, so ye could’ve.”
“Sounds great, bit Ah’m no sure Ah’d be able tae cope wae aw that foreign muck they call food.”
“Ye like Vestas Curry, don’t ye?”
“Aye…”
“Well, it’s the same thing, only worse. Anyway, whit the hell ur you daeing here?”
“Picking ye up tae save ye hivving tae humph yer bags wae the rest ae the cattle oan tae a bus aw the way back intae St Enoch’s Square before hivving tae get another bus up the road.”
“Using a squad car? Christ, ye’ll get yer baws felt if anywan finds oot.”
“Ach, well, Ah widnae worry…the inspector’s been in Spain fur the past two weeks,” Bumper said, as he took an auld battered suitcase fae The Stalker’s haun and slung it intae the boot.
“Whit a difference the motorway his made, especially fur aw youse international jet setters, eh? Remember the auld road? We’d still be sitting in Abbotsinch, scratching oor auld hee-haws jist noo, so we wid.”
“Y’know, gaun across the Kingston Bridge always gies me the willies, so it dis, jist thinking aboot aw the stiffs that must be doon there, haudin it up,” The Stalker mused oot loud, crossing himsel, a shuddering shiver following tae emphasis his point, as the cables haudin up the bridge came in tae view.
“Anywan that ended up doon there probably deserved it, and mair. We might no admire the basturt, bit ye hiv tae gie The Big Man a bit ae credit. He wis a past master at getting shot ae people oan a permanent basis who upset him, withoot any fear ae a comeback. Wan-bob Broon jist isnae a patch oan him, when it comes tae substance or style, if ye ask me.”
The Stalker wanted tae say something back, bit decided no tae. Insteid, he gazed oot ae the windae at the passing warehooses oan either side ae the Clyde, wondering whit swag they contained. He wisnae too sure if he agreed wae Bumper regarding Pat Molloy. Substance and style wisnae whit sprung intae his heid when he thought ae that murdering basturt, laying there, soaking up the sun, in amongst aw that luxury oan the Costas. The Stalker hid hired a wee car and hid gone fur a drive aboot Marbella, hoping tae catch a glimpse ae Pat, bit he’d been naewhere tae be seen. He’d goat talking tae an English guy who wis a mechanic back hame in Leeds, bit who worked in the bars oot there during the summer, who pointed him in the direction ae Gangster’s Row. When he’d driven up past the big fancy hooses wae their electric gates, he’d thought ae Pat Molloy, sitting by a pool in wan ae them, sipping his Pina Colada, wae his haun resting oan the arse ae some big-titted dolly bird, young enough tae be his granddaughter, while people like him and Fin hid tae work tae earn their daily crust.
“So, whit’s up, Fin?”
“Whit dae ye mean, whit’s up? Nothing’s up.”
“Whit’s happened while Ah’ve been away?”
“Everything’s as ye left it, apart fae a wee…whit ye wid call…a few wee discrepancies tae the grand order ae things, that probably mean nothing and ur no connected in any shape or form…if ye know whit Ah mean,” Bumper declared, indicating and moving intae the inside lane, tae exit the motorway at Coocaddens.
“Don’t bother leaving the motorway here, Fin. Heid up tae Castle Street and we’ll go fur a cup ae tea at The City Café. Ah’ve no hid a decent brew fur a few weeks. Even the tea in the airport doon in London tasted as if it hid been brewed using a flair cloth,” he said.
“A big pot ae tea, hen,” Bumper said tae the wee waitress lassie as they took their seats.
“It’s days ur definitely numbered,” The Stalker said wistfully, looking aboot the café and feeling the vinegar catch in his nose fae the mince pie and mushy peas being served tae the toothless auld couple oan the table opposite them.
“Aye, Ah think they call it progress. She wis a mad bitch that Helen Taylor wan, bit she knew whit she wis talking aboot when she said they’d flatten the place. Springburn is crawling wae men in suits and McAlpine hard hats nooadays,” Bumper sighed, taking a sip ae the strong brew.
“Right, Fin, spit it oot,” he eventually commanded, slurping his tea and smacking they lips ae his in satisfaction, while looking at his partner ae eight years o’er the rim ae his cup.
“Well, as Ah’ve said, it might be nothing, bit then again, ye never know.”
“Ah’m aw ears, so Ah am.”
“Wee Eck Thomas?”
“Whit aboot him?”
“He’s gaun AWOL, so he his.”
“So?”
“So, if ye cast yer mind back tae a wee while ago, when you and me interviewed the wee cretin in the back ae the Black Maria, tae try and obtain corroborating evidence oan whit yer pal, Haufwit, telt ye at yer bedside chat…remember?”
“Aye, bit he only confirmed whit Haufwit said in that it wis Charlie Hastie that done the damage tae Toby Simpson and Bootsy Bell in Bob Montieth’s front office, before Shaun Murphy transported them, and later oan, Blaster Mackay, across tae the Coocaddens tae hiv them finished aff. Noo, disappointingly fur us, fur whitever reason, bit probably through fear, the wee wanker refused tae confirm whether it wis Helen Taylor’s boy that done in Shaun Murphy. Thinking back, we should maybe hiv taken the skin fae that arse ae his, bit there wis nae way he wis gonnae sign anything that wid’ve stood up in court, especially efter you’d finished wae him.”
“The chicken farmer? Remember him?”
“Aye, auld McPherson…runs a farm jist ootside Alexandra. Whit aboot him?”
“Well, he’s pan-breid noo, so he is. Died in a hoose fire at his remote farmhoose in rural Dunbartonshire, the day ye left tae go oan holiday. Smoking in bed, hivving been known fur setting himsel and that missus ae his oan fire in the past…apparently.”
“So?”
“So, then there’s yer doctor pal, Dr Walsh?”
“Don’t tell me…” The Stalker said o’er the rim ae the cup.
“Committed Hari-kari…apparently. He wis found by his cleaner last week. When she opened the front door in the morning, she wis confronted by him hinging fae the balustrade ae his staircase in the hall ae that big fancy hoose ae his across in Pollok. The boys across in the south side couldnae get a word oot ae her fur days, she wis that traumatised. There wis a wee mention ae it in the papers and oan the news wan night last week, bit some fancy big wedding attended by the Queen grabbed aw the heidlines. Whit the news didnae say wis that when they cut him doon, his wrists and ankles hid rope burns oan them and his arse and back wur in shreds, suggesting somewan hid flogged the fuck oot ae him.
“Ach, well, nothing oot ae the ordinary there then, wis there? Whit a state he wis in when Ah cut him loose fae the bed efter Big Bella McPhail wis finished wae him when we busted her place last year.”
“Aye, well, they busted her again in the efternoon, the same day they found him. He’d a book ae matches oan him that hid Bella’s phone number written oan the inside flap. Her and some ae the other lassies, as well as a few ae their clients, in exchange fur being let aff, confirmed that yer doctor pal hid been in the night before. A taxi hid picked him up at ten past eleven and drapped him aff aboot twenty tae twelve across in his hoose in Pollok. Everywan said he wis as pished as a fart and could hardly staun up.”
“And the taxi driver?”
“Seemed clean enough. No known connections. They did a background check and nothing came up. The taxi company recorded the time ae receiving the call fae Bella’s at quarter past eleven, yet everywan is adamant he left jist before eleven.”
“And the taxi company?”
“Independent. No allowed tae stoap fur punters in the street. Telephone calls and pre-bookings only. Nothing that wid staun up in court, bit definitely wan ae The Big Man’s ootfits. Oh, and another thing, yer doctor pal wisnae working up in Stobhill any mair. He’d been shifted across tae The Western Infirmary since ye last spoke tae him.”
“Is that significant?”<
br />
“Naw, moving aboot is seemingly normal fur practicing doctors. Something aboot developing their practice, towards becoming a consultant.”
“Right, well, let me see whit Ah think ye’ve come up wae here, Fin,” The Stalker said, haudin oot his left haun, fingers splayed, index finger oan his right wan poised at the ready above the index oan his left. “We’ve goat a wee nasty reprobate, who is definitely a member ae Wan-bob Broon’s team, who’s gone missing. An auld farmer, probably wan amongst hundreds, that supplies chickens tae a company probably owned by The Big man, like Rob Roy’s Poultry oot in Kirkintilloch, who his set himsel alight fur the umpteenth time. A kinky doctor that likes that bare arse ae his being thrashed by a big wummin fae Patrick who phoned a taxi tae take him hame efter a good night’s thrashing…a taxi company probably owned by the same gangster that probably owns the brothel,” he added, finishing oan his pinkie. “Ah’m sorry, Fin, bit if Ah wis due up in court in the morning and Ah hid Stuart McKenzie or Stephen Charles as ma QC, Ah don’t think Ah’d be losing too much sleep the night because ae whit ye’ve jist rattled aff.”
“Aye, well, read this. This will maybe encourage ye tae explore whit Ah’ve jist said a wee bit mair closely,” Fin volunteered, sliding his haun intae his jaicket before laying doon a folded-up copy ae the early edition ae that day’s Evening Citizen, folded o’er oan page seven.
The Stalker read it in silence and felt his sphincter snap.
“How do we know it’s the same wee lippy thing that Ah spoke tae?” he croaked.
“Ah spoke tae Big John Robertson up at Bishopbriggs while Ah wis drapping aff some wee Ned at the station there, jist before Ah came across tae get ye fae the airport. He’s the investigating officer. When he clocked me, he said he’d been planning tae gie me a shout as he wanted tae find oot who aw the wee car thieves wur in oor neck ae the woods. He let me hiv a look at whit he hid so far, which wis fuck aw, fae whit Ah could fathom oot. Anyway, whit he did hiv wis the staff rota fur the ward that the wee nurse worked covering the past three months, which included the family support room, where ye met that haufwit, Haufwit. Seemingly, there wur three members ae staff…aw nurses…oan the nightshift that night, excluding the sister in charge and yer kinky doctor pal. Oot ae the three ae them, wan wis thirty two, another thirty eight, and the wan that wis knocked doon last night, who wis twenty. Did ye no tell me that the lippy wee nurse who threw ye oot wis a young whipper-snapper?”
“Aye,” The Stalker croaked.
“Well, call me suspicious if ye want tae, Paddy, bit that young lassie, Rose Bain, looking up at ye fae the photo oan that page in front ae ye, is none other than the mouthy wee thing that wis working in the room, the night Haufwit croaked it,” Bumper said, leaning back in his chair, looking across at his boss.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Two youths have been sentenced to life in prison for the murder of a man in Waterloo Street in June of this year. Mr Charles Grey was kicked about the head and body to his severe injury after leaving a bar. He later died in the city’s Western Infirmary. The youths, John Smith and Patrick Maguire also robbed Mr Grey of a sum of money believed to be just over four pounds. The youths showed no emotion as they were sentenced…
Glasgow has once again been praised for its tourist attractions by the city’s Tourist board, citing Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery and The Museum of Transport as the top destination for tourists travelling north of the border…
The body of an unknown man was fished from the River Clyde beside the Prince’s Dock in Govan today. It is not known how long the body had been in the water, but police believe it may have been there for some time…
Traffic came to a standstill in the city centre this afternoon after a lorry containing ducks was in collision with a bus at the corner of Argyle Street and Hope Street. A substantial number of the birds were said to have escaped and are believed to be wandering about the lanes of the city centre. Passers-by have reported seeing the birds wandering about as far apart as George’s Square and Garscube Road, Cowcaddens…
And finally, the tour bus taking rock stars, Blood Sweat and Tears, who are playing the Greens Playhouse tonight, broke down in Argyle Street outside Lewis’s. Band member, Jerry Fisher, laughed off the incident and told journalists that that was just ’Rock and Roll’…”
Chapter Forty
Johnboy stretched, erms upwards, forcing his toes forward towards his cell door, before jumping up aff ae his bed in agony as a spasm ae cramp goat a grip ae his instep. He could get used tae this, he thought tae himsel, efter returning tae the position he wis in before being painfully interrupted. He turned the volume oan the radio up, jist as Rod Stewart finished whining aboot Sailing away wae Britt Ekland and David Bowie arriving oan the scene, trying tae connect ground control tae Major Tom. The only thing missing wis a decent book. He leaned o’er the side ae the bed and pulled wan ae his crisp boxes oot fae under it, hoping that, miraculously, a book other than the first three volumes ae Winston Graham’s Poldark series and R F Delderfield’s, A Horseman Riding By, wid’ve somehow found its way intae his box. He’d awready read them aw twice in short succession, so the thought ae gaun through them again jist didnae appeal. The last time he’d tried tae raid Tony’s box ae books, he’d goat the short, sharp, shock treatment ae being telt tae fuck aff. Wance Tony goat a book, he kept it furever, underlining key passages that meant nothing tae anywan, bit clearly hid some future use fur him. The last raid hid been a disaster because ae the subject matter oan display. Johnboy couldnae make up his mind whit tae steal, so hid goat caught red-haunded. Tony liked reading aboot generals. A few years back, he’d goat his hauns oan a book aboot some Chinese wan called Sun Tzu and wis furever quoting him…‘Keep yer friends close, and yer enemies closer’ or ‘If ye’re strong, appear weak, bit if ye’re weak, appear strong’ being a couple ae quotes that sprung tae Johnboy’s mind. Seemingly, this hid been Tony’s bedtime reading material jist before he’d set the trap fur Tam Simpson in Tam’s love-nest up in High Possil.
“Ah’m no interested in the actual battles themsels, bit it’s the thinking that went oan in the heids ae the wans that put the plans thegither before everything kicked aff that interests me,” he’d retorted tae Snappy, who’d accused him ae being a boring basturt wan night when Tony wis trying tae explain whit no tae dae when taking oan somebody much bigger than yersel.
He tried tae remember whit Tony hid been intae lately. Johnboy hid goat a good insight intae where Tony wis coming fae, efter listening tae him spouting aboot aw these mental generals when they wur sitting in the sewing machine shoap, whiling away the hours. Tony liked Frederick The Great and spoke aboot some war that he fought fur seven years before winning. Another wan Johnboy knew Tony liked wis Genghis Khan.
“Totally fucking mental, so he wis, and great at playing wae people’s heids,” Tony hid delighted in telling him.
Another wan hid been Hannibal who’d taken a herd ae elephants aw the way fae Africa o’er the Alps tae hiv a go at the Romans. According tae Tony, it wis the first time that the Romans hid goat gubbed and their arses well skelped by anywan. Efter Sun Tzu, his next favourite wis Napoleon.
“Ye’ve heard ae people hivving a Napoleon complex, hiven’t ye?” he’d asked Johnboy, Snappy, Silent and Stu recently at break time.
“Naw,” Snappy hid replied oan behauf ae them aw.
“Youse fucking hiv, ya bunch ae knob-end, thick pricks, ye. Napoleon wis gaun oan two foot two, bit could fight like a giant…hated people being taller than him, so he did, bit it never stoapped him knocking fuck oot ae aw they big tall Russians, Prussians and other bampots who thought that height mattered,” Tony hid lectured and they’d aw laughed and taken the piss oot ae him fur the rest ae the efternoon.
He’d take a run across tae Tony’s cell when they goat opened up tae see whit he hid. In the meantime, efter reciting Senga’s Dear John letter oot loud tae John Lennon’
s ‘Dear Prudence’ fae the radio, satisfied he hidnae missed a word or beat, Johnboy lay his heid back oan his pillow and thought back tae the events in the sewing machine shoap. Wance the screws hid realised that the clip hid definitely gone AWOL, they’d kept everywan anchored until aboot seven o’clock that night before marching the Garthamlock/Carntyne, Barlanark, Mankys and Stu straight doon tae the digger. Anywan that Stafford could remember hivving gone up tae the table wae bandoliers during the period ae when he’d hid and then lost the ammo clip, hid ended up in the dungeons. Fur everywan else in the workshoap area, starting in the paint shoap next door, they’d taken each YO forward and strip searched them before they’d escorted them back across tae their cells. The next batch tae be searched hid been the YOs through in the joinery shoap. When it’d been the turn ae the sewing machine shoap, the YOs who’d been up at the quality assurance table hid aw been called oot last. It hid been clear who wis getting the blame. Fae where Johnboy hid been sitting, he’d been able tae see the YOs ootside in the corridor getting stripped naked and their clothes checked o’er. Snappy hidnae taken this lightly and hid demanded tae speak tae The Chief, Baker the Basturt, and The Governor, Crawford. It hidnae altered the course ae whit wis tae come, as they’d duly arrived oan the scene, looking well pissed aff, and hid telt him tae shut the fuck up. As the sewing machine YOs wur waiting their turn tae be searched, they’d heard the paint shoap and the joinery shoap next door being pulled apart. Efter hinging aboot, the accused hid aw been frogmarched individually, wan at a time, tae the digger. The next morning, and fur the next two days, Stafford and Dickheid Dick, alang wae The Governor and The Chief hid interrogated everywan aboot why they’d aw happened tae be up at the table at the same time. Efter that, the lot ae them hid been left tae stew in the digger, hivving singing competitions and quizzes through the cell doors o’er the next week. When they’d eventually been let oot, Johnboy’d thought they’d aw be kicked back oan tae the bottom flair ae B Hall, bit hid been surprised tae be taken back tae his fourth flair penthoose suite in C-Hall. That hid been oan the Friday evening, jist o’er a week previously. Johnboy wisnae sure if it hid been in revenge or jist oot ae playfulness, bit wee Pat Daniels, the boy who looked efter the office in the sewing machine shoap and who hid the misfortune ae hivving tae make the tea fur the screws at break time, hid decided tae up the ante. Above the office there wis a big space where aw the completed bundles ae bandoliers wur stored. On the same Friday as The Mankys and Co hid goat huckled doon tae the digger, Wee Pat hid been up above the office, stacking the bandoliers and hid used a flint embedded in a shaving brush and a wee bit ae burned pyjama cotton tae leave a smouldering tinder in amongst the bandoliers. Pat hidnae been sure if it wid work and he’d hid tae wait until the middle ae the Sunday night tae find oot, when the whole place, including everywan in the digger, hid been awakened by the alarm bells clanging and the sounds ae fire engines entering the nick. The YOs in the cells oan the same side ae B-Hall as the workshoaps, hid said that they could see part ae the roof above the sewing machine shoap buckling and smoke billowing oot ae it. Since then, aw the YOs fae the sewing machine shoap hid been locked up during the day, apart fae being let oot fur their breakfast, lunch and evening meals at night. The only real victims hid been Silent and Father Leonard. Nowan fae the screw side ae the nick hid said anything tae them, bit Silent hidnae started in the barber shoap efter being let oot ae the digger and Johnboy hidnae been allowed oot tae hiv a chat wae the priest aboot playing guitar at his service…which hid suited Johnboy jist fine. Snappy hid been in his element. He preferred tae be locked up rather than hiv tae work in whit he called the sweatshoap. Johnboy wisnae bothered either way, seeing as they wur allowed oot tae rec at night. Life wid be a lot better though, if he could only find himsel a decent book. Johnboy stood up and peered oot ae his windae. The summer wis drawing tae an end and winter wis jist roond the corner, he thought tae himsel, as Pink Floyd’s ‘Us and Them’ wafted oot ae his Roberts radio, that wis sitting oan the chair beside his bed.
