by Todd, Ian
“Ah mean…be honest, Fanny…efter whit that dumpling did tae the heids ae The Beastie Boys, wid ye let somewan like him anywhere near that hair ae yers? Be honest noo,” Snappy asked her grinning, breaking intae her contemplation.
“Ach, Ah don’t know aboot that, Ah think it suited them,” Johnboy said tae laughter.
“Ah’m telling ye boys, ye’re oan the wrang track, so youse ur…that’s aw Ah’m gonnae say,” The Chief whispered conspiratorially, sitting back and winking, folding they erms ae his across his medal-ribboned chest.
“Good,” a chorus ae voices replied.
“Right, Bob, ye wur saying?” Wee Mick McGeachy asked.
“Ooh, that’s a good wan,” The Tormentor exclaimed…being ignored.
“So, we’ve agreed oan a tent then?” Paul Morrison fae the Carlton asked the others.
“Ah’d throw in a wee saw while ye’re at it,” Brian Connell said tae nods.
“Ooh, that’s a good wan,” The Tormentor exclaimed…again being ignored.
“Er, should we no be discussing the tropical island, boys?” Dickheid Dick asked the Barlanark YOs.
“Ah’m telling ye, the auld Zodiac Mk four might’ve been a tank, bit it could dae a lot ae damage tae the front double doors ae a building, so it could.”
“Aye, bit, in ma experience, they won’t drive away efter it. And if that big fuel tank goes up? Well, roast chicken takes oan a new meaning. Naw, gie me a big souped-up Mark Three rust-bucket Cortina, wae its four-speed manual transmission, any day ae the week.”
“The Zodiacs ur aw right if ye hammer yer fit doon oan the pedal, letting oot yer clutch and haunbrake rapidly, two seconds apart in reverse.”
“Aye, and the smoke aff ae they screaming wheels gies ye guaranteed good cover,” somewan said tae laughter.
“Look, Ah know Ah shouldnae be saying this, bit think ae water and whit’s swimming aboot in it,” The Chief volunteered, winking and tapping the side ae his nose wae a nicotine-stained finger.
“Eh?”
“Y’know…water…the sea? Fur Christ’s sake, boys, ye don’t want me tae hiv tae spell it oot, dae youse?” he squealed in exasperation, looking aboot tae make sure nowan fae the other groups wur lugging-in.
“Naw, we don’t, so shut the fuck up!” Wee Mick McGeachy hissed at him fur the umpteenth time
Fanny wanted tae look at her wristwatch, bit knew that it widnae go un-noticed. Time wis marching oan. Apart fae the mention ae the fishing rod at the start ae the session, the YOs in her group hid totally ignored the task in haun. She glanced o’er her shoulder tae see whit wis happening elsewhere. Father Leonard seemed tae be enjoying himsel. He wis sitting oan the edge ae his chair, sandals folded o’er each ankle wae the palms ae his hauns clasped thegither across his portly stomach. She knew she shouldn’t think it, bit he reminded her ae a happy wee gnome sitting there, withoot the garish green colours and feathered hat. The Chief’s group wis the loudest. He looked tae be in a foul mood, sitting back, scowling and glaring at his YOs. She turned back tae the Springburn YOs. They wur aw cackling amongst themsels wae laughter at something Snappy Johnston hid jist said that she hidnae caught. She wis relieved that the source ae amusement didnae seem tae be her as she wisnae getting wee guilty furtive glances fae Johnston. She looked across at Samuel Smith. He still hidnae said a word since she’d sat doon or since his earlier interruption, wanting tae know whit a sociopath wis. While the other three wur cackling away, he jist sat, looking at his pals wae whit might, at a push, hiv passed as a grin, oan that face ae his. Despite hivving gone o’er his file oan numerous occasions, she still couldnae fathom oot how he coped or survived. Oan the surface, it seemed tae Fanny that he wis taking everything in. When any ae the Springburn boys individually spoke tae the other members as a group, she noticed that they always included Smith in the discussion, even though he never seemed tae gie any visible indication that he’d understood whit hid been said or attempted tae offer up any sort ae response. She realised that it wis only by studying Silent Smith in a setting…a group setting…where the group wur used tae him and who he wis obviously comfortable wae…that Dr Henderson’s diagnosis ae Depersonalisation Disorder made any sense tae a lay person like her. Although he smiled when the other boys did, she could detect through his body language and that ae his pals, a definite delayed separation fae whit wis gaun oan or whit wis being said between them. It wis clear that the other members ae the group took Smith’s behaviour fur granted and in their stride and either deliberately ignored whit wis in front ae their eyes or jist accepted that that’s who Samuel Smith wis. She knew that Smith and Johnboy Taylor hid lived thegither, sharing a flat fur a number ae years. Whit did Taylor think wis gaun oan in Samuel Smith’s world, she wondered, looking across at Taylor. Did he ever wonder or question why his pal wis different…different fae anywan he wid’ve been likely tae hiv come across when he wis oot and aboot in Glesga? She thought she could noo understaun Gucci’s warning tae back aff fae Smith. Looking at the sad-eyed blond youth sitting across fae her, she could well understaun Gucci’s protectiveness, particularly if Smith’s traumatic experience at the hauns ae a predatory member ae staff in a remand home, who wis supposed to be there tae protect him when he wis a child, wis true. How he’d managed tae avoid being sectioned under The Mental Health Act, wis nothing short ae a miracle, or an injustice, Fanny thought. She wis absolutely amazed at his ability tae survive, and be accepted, by the youths sitting in front ae her. Surely even they could see he required help…professional help? Who wur The Mankys?
Snappy Johnston initially came across as self-opinionated and aggressive tae everywan bit, in particular, towards any suggestions that Taylor and Gucci came up wae. Within five minutes ae sitting doon, though, Fanny hid realised that maist ae whit he threatened wis bluff and bluster, and like Gucci and Taylor, she found it difficult no tae smile, despite the outrageous and unacceptable comments he threw aroond like confetti. She wondered if the same bluff and bluster applied tae Gucci and Taylor? Wur the intelligence reports and psychiatric assessments oan these YOs ever so slightly twisted due tae their reputations fur non-conformity preceding them she wondered? She found the dynamics ae the group fascinating and regretted that Patrick McCabe…the emerald ring expert…wisnae sitting amongst them. She looked doon and smiled tae hersel as she realised that she wis twisting her great grandmother’s ring aroond her finger. It wis abundantly clear that these boys wur very, very close. It wis also clear that Tony Gucci wis the natural leader ae the pack. It wisnae patently obvious…at least no tae Fanny…whit Taylor’s position within the group wis though. The intelligence files oan The Mankys said that, back in Glesga, there wur aboot seven or eight core members ae the gang, wae aboot another couple ae dozen or so oan the fringes, attached tae individual members. The reports described them as a gang within a gang. It seemed tae her…although she knew she could be wrang…that while Johnston hid a whining, whinging deferential respect towards Gucci, Johnboy Taylor seemed tae be the main facilitator between Silent Smith, Snappy Johnson and Tony Gucci. Despite Tony Gucci’s cool, laid-back demeanour, Taylor came across as the maist tolerant oot ae them aw, particularly towards Samuel Smith. It wisnae anything Taylor said, bit by observing and listening attentively, she detected a flow fae Gucci, through Taylor, tae the other boys and back again. She again wished that Patrick McCabe hid been present. His presence wid’ve confirmed or dashed her theory and perhaps confirmed that she wis oan the right track…or no. Another thing that Fanny suddenly realised, sitting wae the affable Springburn YOs wis that, although she’d come across young lads who’d goat caught up in a gang fight or who’d drunkenly gone too far in a fistfight, which hid led to somewan being killed or maimed, she’d never met any murderers…cold killers…at least, none that she wis aware ae. Their intelligence files screamed oot tae anywan wae access tae them, that this group ae teenagers hid killed, sometimes mair than wance, and hidnae been charged or convicted ae any them. It wis extraordinary. Other than Sn
appy Johnston’s extrovert behaviour, the Springburn YOs came across as being relatively normal compared tae aw the other YOs present in the room. Whit wis crystal clear tae Fanny wis that Johnboy Taylor hid a major influence and role in the make-up ae the Springburn boys, that wis mair than jist a passive indifference tae how they conducted themsels. She wondered whit the implications wid be fur Samuel Smith when the boys wur finally released, leaving Taylor behind tae serve oot the remainder ae his sentence. Snappy Johnston and Tony Gucci didnae strike her as the tolerant types, despite the visible respect shown towards Smith by aw the boys. Fanny wondered whit wid become ae him wance the umbilical cord that tied him tae Johnboy Taylor wis cut. Wid he be able tae cope? Wid he survive withoot Johnboy Taylor? She looked at her watch. Ten minutes tae go and still nae focus oan whit they wid take tae the tropical island wae them.
“Aye, ye may laugh, Father, bit clocking that Johnboy Taylor wan and that side-kick ae his, Silent, running aboot the toon centre, daeing Billy Whizz and The Flash impersonations, like something oot ae they DC comics, made ye seasick, jist watching the pair ae them,” Hugh Pelly sniggered.
“How the fuck…er…sorry, Father…Johnboy managed tae make any money wae somewan like Silent in tow, is a bloody mystery tae me. It jist shows ye that ye cannae judge a book by its cover.”
“That’s why Silent’s The Mankys’ secret weapon, so it is. There’s mair tae that blond yin than they’re letting oan. How else wid they allow somewan like him tae run aboot wae them?”
“Well, whitever it is, they’re the knobs that hiv the right connections fur the toon centre. Somewan…somewhere…is gieing them a wee haun up, so they ur. If they wurnae, they widnae be sitting here taking the piss oot ae Napoleon The Boar.”
“Whit dae ye think yersel, Father? Dae ye think there’s mair tae Silent Smith, other than no hivving much tae say aboot life in general?”
“Oh, I’m quite sure of that, Hugh,” Father Leonard replied, no fur the first time wondering whether his group wur deliberately ignoring the task in haun and wondering whit the reaction fae Chief Baker wis gonnae be when they didnae come up wae any answers oan whit they’d take tae a tropical island wae them.
“So, we’ve goat a tent and a saw. Whit else?”
“How aboot a torch?”
“A pack ae cards, keeping in mind it wid be boring at nights, so it wid.”
“Nice wan,” The Tormentor said, impressed, nodding tae himsel…ignoring being ignored by the group.
“A torch? Ur we aw okay aboot taking a torch wae us?” Paul Morrison asked them, getting nods ae agreement back.
“Yes!” The Tormentor muttered under his breath, smiling and writing doon the answer, obviously chuffed that his group wur oan tae a winner, as the YOs continued tae ignore him by looking aboot tae see how the other groups wur daeing.
“Don’t fucking talk tae me like that ya cheeky wee gnome, ye,” The Chief growled at Wee Mick McGeachy.
“Well, fucking butt oot and stoap spoiling it fur us. How the fuck you goat the job in the first place wae the shite ye’re suggesting, Ah don’t know.”
“Christ, the other wans getting interviewed must’ve been Sad Sack material if they gied you the job,” Henry Sinclair fae Kinning Park scoffed.
“Right, boys, listen up. Five minutes! Five minutes!” The Chief shouted as he stood up, looking at his wristwatch.
“Triumph GT6 MK3s ur okay if ye want tae get oan yer bike pretty pronto, bit speed isnae everything. Ye need a big tank in the first place. The main thing is tae nip back tae where ye know the lay ae the land is. Fuck, how many times his Sloppy Joe took oan they bizzies and whipped their arses in their big fancy jam sandwiches oan wheels, eh? Took them tae the cleaners, every time, withoot breaking sweat in amongst the hoosing scheme.”
“Aye, bit that’s why two sets ae wheels ur the answer. Wan tae dae the damage and wan tae rip roond they wee streets and crescents.”
“Boys, boys, Ah’m sorry, bit hiv ye forgotten the task in haun here?” Dickheid reminded them.
“Did you jist open yer gub and say something, Peter?” Mick Grant asked, as the boys in the group laughed.
“Ah wis jist saying…Christ, ye’ve only goat aboot two minutes tae go,” Dickheid persisted.
“Wan Minute!” The Chief shouted.
“Right, hiv we aw come up wae oor answers then?” Tony asked, looking at Johnboy, Snappy and Silent.
“Right, whit hiv we goat?” Mick Grant asked the Barlanark crew.
“Okay, fire away,” Neil McKinnon, fae Carntyne, said tae the YOs in Father Leonard’s group.
“Right! Ah’ve jist aboot hid it up tae here wae you, ya wee ugly retard! Mr Dick? Put that cheeky wee basturt oan report,” The Chief bawled.
“Me? Whit the fuck hiv Ah done?” Wee Mick McGeachy demanded.
“Cheek and insolence tae start wae!”
“Cheek and insolence? Fuck you, ya pig-faced wanker, ye!” the YO screeched, kicking a chair away fae the front ae himsel, heiding towards the door wae Dickheid scurrying behind him, tae catch up.
“Right, the rest ae youse, line up and nae chatting. Ah knew this wis a bloody bad idea and a complete waste ae ma time. C’mone, ye heard me, dib, dib!” The Chief shouted, sending spit in aw directions, as the smiling YOs started tae line up o’er by the door.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Police are searching for a gang of young thugs who attacked and slashed two men as they stood at a bus stop on Paisley Road West last night…
A police officer was said to be in a stable condition in The Royal Infirmary after being set upon by a large gang of youths on Cowcaddens Road late last night. Superintendent Daddy Jackson from Central condemned those responsible and has appealed for witnesses to the vicious assault to contact…
Glasgow is the official murder capital of Western Europe, it was confirmed this morning, as figures show a thirty percent increase in murders in the city compared to the same period last year…
A new tourist initiative has been launched to attract foreign visitors to Glasgow, highlighting the city’s West End architecture…
Firemen spent over fifteen hours attempting to contain a fire in a warehouse in Anderston overnight. It is thought the fire was started deliberately…
Police have arrested and charged a number of women in Springburn after a warrant sale turned ugly and police and sheriff officers were attacked whilst attempting to protect buyers and traders who turned up at a household furniture sale in Gourlay Street. A report has been sent to the procurator fiscal…
A significant increase in the number of licensed premises in Great Western Road applying for extensions to their opening times at the weekends, has taken councillors by surprise. Arguing against the applications at today’s licencing committee, Chairman, Councillor Ron Smart, argued that granting the extension to licenced premises would be encouraging the mystery driver of a racing car that has been causing chaos on Friday and Saturday nights, bringing people out onto the streets of Great Western Road at the weekends in anticipation of spotting the driver, the public have nicknamed, The Silver Arrow…
Two nurses have been assaulted in Glasgow Royal Infirmary’s Casualty department as they attended to a drunk driver who had been admitted earlier in the evening after crashing his car into a lamppost in Tollcross…”
Chapter Forty Two
It wis inevitable that they’d be spotted. It hidnae helped that Bumper hid been like a walking, talking, parrot, reminding him ae that fact every five bloody minutes.
“We’ll be clocked. Ah’ll gie us nae mair than ten minutes flat, and Daddy’ll be oan tae us like a rash, so he will. You kin dae the talking. Ma alibi is that Ah’m jist here tae keep ye company, so Ah am.”
Bumper’s whining hid been incessant. The Stalker knew that it wid be risky, bit whit choice did they hiv? He wis surprised that it hid taken Daddy Jackson, The Superintendent doon in Central, so long tae come and n
ip them in the bud. Maybe he’d awready goat wind ae whit they wur up tae and wis jist letting them get oan wae it, until he goat fed up waiting fur them tae catch up wae their man, Wee Eck Thomas…that dirty, wee, conniving, shifty basturt, that widnae pish oan ye if ye wur oan fire. Even though he wis noo making good money, running The Big Man’s newly acquired scrap yard up in Lambhill, the wee cretin wid still break intae yer auld granny’s gas meter if he thought he could get away wae it. The only problem fur The Stalker wis that the wee fucker hid gone AWOL, or as Bumper put it…missing in action. The Stalker hid put the word oot…surreptitiously, of course. He hid The Gruesome Twosome ae Dave McGovern and Shane Priestly, the two sergeants fae across in Possil, scouting aboot the pubs across there, as well as up in Balmore, High Possil, Lambhill and Milton. They might hiv a bit ae a reputation fur being nasty fuckers, bit they wur good boys. If Wee Eck wis oan the go up in that part ae the toon, then they wur the wans tae sniff him oot. Up in Burmulloch and Balornock, he hid wan ae his ain sergeants, Fitz Kennedy, or The Bushwhacker, as he wis known oan the streets, scouring the boozers up there. In Springburn itsel, the local pavement pounders wur working in pairs oan opposite shifts. Biscuit Smith and Froggie Shearer wur taking it in turns wae Bob Hope and Spencer Glory, tae sit ootside or tae turn up at Springburn pubs known fur late night lock-ins, in search ae the shifty, wee sleekit basturt. The night before, they’d checked oot Bauldy Banes, The Caley, The Cawder Vaults, Clarks, and The Vulcan, paying particular attention tae The Railway Tavern or The Bottom Shoap, as everywan called it and The Highland Fling doon oan Cowlairs Road. He knew Hope and Glory wur gonnae be turning up at The Stag Inn, Bells, The Eureka, The Morven and The Victoria Bar later oan that night. Bumpers assertion ae Wee Eck Thomas being missing in action, wis noo starting tae germinate intae reality, in the back ae The Stalker’s mind. The main chat amongst the lads in the canteen wis aboot the amount ae drinking dens there wur in Springburn, something nowan hid really ever thought aboot. They wur jist always there and there wis nae reason tae sit and coont them. Bumper reckoned there must’ve been aboot fifty aw in. The Stalker shut his eyes and sighed. He hidnae been sleeping much since that wee chat wae Haufwit Murray, before he’d croaked it, up in Stobhill. He’d spoken tae Biscuit and Froggie Shearer jist before they finished their shift the night before. Biscuit hid the start ae a swollen eye where some wee Ned hid put wan oan him before Froggie hid split the wee fucker’s heid wide open wae that baton ae his. The Stalker wisnae surprised tae learn earlier that the wee puncher hid been kept in up in Stobhill wae a fractured skull fur his trouble. Well, he’ll maybe think twice in the future before assaulting a bizzy oan duty, The Stalker thought tae himsel, glancing alang the corridor tae where Peggy McAvoy, Daddy’s typist, wis sitting clacking away at her typewriter. He wondered whit wis wrang wae her. Blonde, early tae mid-thirties, quite tidy, wae a nice pair ae paps trying tae burst oot ae her blue uniformed shirt oan either side ae her black tie. There wis jist something aboot a wummin in a uniform, he thought tae himsel. She used tae drive Big Liam Thompson…the sergeant that Johnboy Taylor hid blasted in the bank up in Maryhill Road…crazy, back in the days when she worked under Sean Smith, the superintendent who’d committed suicide in Central, back in the sixties. He knew hauf the uniformed boys in the city hid been trying tae get intae her pants since the mid-sixties, bit she wis still Miss McAvoy…the blond yin wae the nice tits. He’d clocked that there wis still nae ring oan that finger ae hers when he’d presented himsel in front ae her desk.
