by Todd, Ian
“Jist take a seat oan the chair, alang the corridor, ootside his office and Ah’ll let him know ye’re here, Inspector,” she’d pouted, picking up the phone, bit no talking intae the receiver until he wis well oot ae earshot.
He knew he wis walking oan thin ice. That’s whit hid been making Bumper nervous, especially efter the last carry-oan when he goat his sudden promotion, efter contradicting everywan and their dug by putting Tam Simpson’s killing at the feet ae Tony Gucci and his Manky Mob. It hid been nearly four months since he’d hid his wee chat wae Haufwit up in Stobhill and three and a hauf months since he’d last hid Wee Eck Thomas’s baws crushed in the palm ae his right haun. He’d decided that he’d wait and see whit Daddy wid come up wae before he spilt the beans and confessed whit he’d picked up oan his travels. Even though Glesga hid nearly a million people living and dying in it, it wis still a village as far as the gossip mongers wur concerned. The buzzer oan the door startled him. He never saw the wee red light above the door change tae green. He stood up and took a deep breath before stepping forward and turning the haundle. Jist before he disappeared through it, he glanced alang the corridor tae Peggy and they nice paps ae hers. He hidnae realised she’d stoapped typing and wis sitting, staring silently in his direction, wae whit looked tae him like pity in her eyes. He wondered whit her response wid be, if he aboot-turned and strolled back alang the corridor tae her desk, and asked her if she fancied gaun oot oan a date wae him? Or, maybe that distant look ae hers wis the same expression a condemned man could expect fae the priest, jist before he crashed through the trap door.
“Aye, ye’ve arrived, Paddy. Take a seat,” Daddy growled, nodding tae the hard-arsed chair in front ae his desk.
“Ye wanted tae speak tae me?” The Stalker asked, forcing himsel no tae look away fae the blue watery piercing eyes that wur drilling intae his.
“Aye, Ah dae,” Daddy muttered slowly and thoughtfully, eyes no wavering.
“Ah see that wee blond thing alang the corridor still isnae hitched yet. Anything Ah should know aboot?” he asked, trying tae keep things oan the light side.
“Seemingly, she hates cops.”
“Really?” The Stalker exclaimed, no expecting that wan.
“Aye, especially lying conniving wanker wans, who cannae be trusted tae keep their heids doon and get oan wae the job, insteid ae fucking aboot, getting involved in things that shouldnae concern them,” Daddy growled accusingly, no taking they watery eyes ae his aff ae The Stalker’s face.
“So, Ah’m in wae a shout then?” The Stalker replied, breaking the eyeball tae eyeball first, and looking aboot the office.
Apart fae a few personal photos ae whit looked like Daddy’s grandweans and a photo ae Daddy receiving some commendation fae a smiling Teddy Taylor, wan ae the local hang-em and flog-em MP merchants in the toon, nothing hid changed fae Sean Smith’s day, back in the sixties. He peered closely at the wall jist tae the right ae Daddy tae see if he could detect any sign ae the bullet hole fae where Sean hid blown his brains oot efter The Big Man hid set him up. Pat Molloy hid passed oan a brick-thick file oan polis and Corporation cooncillor corruption in the city tae The Glesga Echo, that hid set aff a tidal wave that hid engulfed everywan above the rank ae sergeant in the Central, North and parts ae the West ae the city.
“So Paddy, whit’s happening up in sunny Springburn then?” Daddy asked him, leaning back and resting his hauns behind his neck.
“Jist the usual murder, mayhem and madness, wae a few wee interesting ditties slung in noo and again tae keep the troops amused.”
“And?”
“And whit?”
“And why wur you and that big lump, Bumper O’Callaghan, clocked gaun intae The Lyndella, The CA’DORO in Union Street and The Alhambra Inn, doon in Wellington Street last week, making oot that youse wurnae looking fur somewan? Anything Ah should know aboot?”
“Christ, ye cannae go fur a shite in this city withoot somewan wanting tae know if ye’ve wiped yer arse,” The Stalker cursed. “Ah never knew it wis a crime fur officers tae go oot oan a wee pub crawl in the toon nooadays when they wur aff duty.”
“Paddy, don’t gie’s that shite. It’s me ye’re talking tae…remember?”
“Whit ur ye wanting me tae say?”
“Ah want ye tae tell me why the baith ae youse then split up last Saturday night tae go oan another pub crawl, this time oan yer lonesomes, before the baith ae youse ended up putting the squeeze on the doorman at Clouds, looking fur Wee Eck Thomas? Youse then spent the rest ae the night huddled in the far corner ae The Chez Gordon in Royal Exchange Square looking like a couple ae harry-hoofters oot oan a first date. Maybe Ah should put a wee word in wae Peggy fur ye efter aw,” Daddy scowled, swatting a buzzing fly away fae that face ae his.
“It’s jist a hunch Bumper hid.”
“Is it?”
“Aye.”
“Well, how aboot sharing the hunch. Ye know whit Quasimodo said tae Esmeralda…if Ah could share this wae anywan, darling, then you’d be the first in line.”
The Stalker took a deep breath and went oan tae explain his nocturnal visit up tae see Haufwit at Stobhill, the night he’d croaked it. He telt Daddy how him and Bumper hid put two and two thegither and goat a grip ae Wee Eck Thomas tae try and get some corroboration oan whit Haufwit hid said. It hid soon become obvious that Wee Eck wis behind hivving Haufwit killed, efter realising his mistake ae telling him too much info wan night when they wur oan a binge drinking session thegither.
“And did he?”
“Whit?”
“Corroborate whit this haufwit, Haufwit said tae ye?”
“Well, maist ae it, he did. Keep in mind, it wis hard tae make oot whit Haufwit wis mumbling aboot. It wis aw coming oot in a jumble ae words.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Whit dae ye mean nothing?”
“Ah mean, Haufwit wis deid by this time. Wee Eck, wae a bit ae encouragement, basically confirmed whit some ae us always knew in that Gucci’s wee manky crowd hid set Tam Simpson up.”
“He didnae mention Simon Pawlak, the plasterer guy fae Huxley Street across in Ruchill, by any chance, did he?”
“Pawlak?”
“Python Lee Jackson…Possil’s answer tae Rod Stewart…who ended up dumped in a cellar in the auld Firhill Iron Works up in Ruchill efter being drooned in a hoose somewhere?” Daddy asked him hopefully, ignoring the dig.
“Aw, him? Ach, only tae confirm that the actual snuffing oot certainly wisnae done by any ae Wan-bob’s crowd. Ah’ve since picked up that maist people think that by getting shot ae Python Lee, it wid act as a warning tae any ae the other local showbiz crowd aboot whit wid happen tae them, if they crossed the line, or in Python Lee’s case, the Clyde, tae play in any ae The McGregor’s joints.”
“The post mortem said that it wis tap water that he droont in. Ah’d hardly say the water oot ae the Clyde wid fit that description,” Daddy reminded him, wondering whit The Stalker wisnae telling him.
“It’s weird though…Haufwit mentioned somewan called the silent wan, or the quiet wan. He also mentioned the youngest ae the Simpson brothers.”
“Oh?”
“Wur ye aware that the youngest ae The Simpson clan, Toffee, wis hiding oot in Python Lee’s flat across in Huxley Street efter he goat oot ae Polmont in February 1972?”
“And yer point is?”
“Toffee allegedly stabbed wan ae the Mankys, Silent Smith…The Mute…when they wur baith in borstal at the tail-end ae seventy wan. It wis quite serious. Smith spent a week in Falkirk Royal Infirmary wae a punctured lung.”
“Ye’re no suggesting yer wee angels wae dirty faces wur behind Python Lee’s demise, ur ye?”
“If it hid been an internal dispute, Wee Eck said that he wid’ve probably picked up oan it. He claimed that he wisnae too sure who wid’ve done the actual damage, bit thought it highly unlikely that Wan-bob wid’ve goat wan ae his ain boys tae get shot ae him, seeing as Python Lee wis p
art ae Frankie MacDonald’s stable ae entertainers. Everywan knows fine well that Frankie MacDonald is jist the front man fur the Top Stars Entertainment Agency and that he’s only goat aboot a twenty five percent stake in the business…the other seventy-five being owned by The Big Man. Ah spoke tae a few pub crooners efter ye’d put oot the word fur us tae see if we could find oot anything oan the ground. Like Ah’ve jist said, they assumed that it wis Wan-bob’s way ae saying that if this is whit happens tae wan ae Top Stars’ big money earners, jist think whit wid happen tae anywan who fucks them aboot by moonlighting across the river.”
“Ah’m sorry, bit ye’re starting tae confuse me here. Whit exactly is it that ye’re hinting at, Paddy?”
Silence.
“Look, Ah’m no gonnae hiv a go at ye. Jist spit it oot, fur Christ’s sake.”
“Right, well, jist remember that. Here ye go. Very few people wid’ve known that Python Lee hid terminal lung cancer, probably caused by aw they years ae floating aboot in amongst aw that plasterer’s dust and smoky bars and social clubs. Surely he wid’ve telt Frankie McDonald, who wis his manager and the main man that goat Python Lee aw his future bookings.”
“And yer point is?”
“If Python Lee wis dying anyway, him being despatched ootside ae Wan-bob’s protection shield, widnae hiv been as sore as if he’d been alive, bringing in the sheckles?”
“Right, Ah see where that could’ve come fae. That’s a fair assumption tae make. Bit, then there’s his conviction in 1959, doon in Cardiff, when he wis oan the tools? The perverted basturt goat captured transporting a fourteen-year-auld school lassie who wis bound and gagged. Who knows whit wid’ve become ae her, if he hidnae goat stoapped wae a faulty tail light oan the back ae his van. He goat three years fur that, before heiding back up the road tae Scotland in sixty three, back tae they Polish parents ae his, who wur living across in Stoneyhurst Street at the time. Ye hivnae picked up anything aboot his criminal background being known oot and aboot oan the streets, hiv ye? Ye know how people feel aboot stoat-the-baws, especially roond aboot The Big Man’s bears?”
“Naw, that’s never come up. If it hid, he widnae hiv been allowed in Frankie MacDonald’s stable ae entertainers. However, there’s somewan else who’d hiv a motive.”
“Aye?”
“Ah’ve jist telt ye. It could’ve been that mad mute, who done the damage tae Python Lee, as a comeback fur being stabbed by the younger ae The Simpsons.”
“Christ, Paddy, so The Mankys droont Python Lee Jackson and then went tae aw that trouble ae dumping his body in the Iron Works? Ask yersel, in aw honesty, dis that sound like they wee manky fuckers or wid they no jist’ve laid the basturt oot, where they’d killed him?” Daddy challenged him.
“If Python Lee allowed Toffee Simpson tae hide oot in his place, The Mankys widnae hiv been too happy. Think aboot it? Everywan knows fine well that they’ve been hunting fur Toffee Arsed Simpson since the mute wan goat oot ae borstal, at the tail end ae 1971. Young Simpson hisnae been seen since, due tae the fact that he disnae hiv his brothers tae protect him anymair. And remember, the last known sighting ae Python Lee wis oan the 24th November 1972, as he walked alang Firhill Street, efter he returned fae a plastering contract doon in Wales the previous week. Ah’ve also picked up that Tony Gucci took o’er a couple ae flats in the area roond aboot that time as well.”
“And ye think Wan-bob Broon wid allow Gucci’s crowd tae get shot ae wan ae Top Stars Entertainment’s biggest money makers, jist because he put up the youngest ae The Simpsons fur a few nights due tae the fact that The Mankys wur efter him?”
“Normally no, bit they wur gonnae lose Python Lee tae cancer anyway. So, Wan-bob let them take oot wan ae his big stars, knowing fine well his true worth wis aboot tae expire anyway. It wid jist be another wee tick oan the tab. That’s how Wan-bob Broon works. Nowan gets anything fur nothing. He dis ye a favour and it costs ye two in return. It’s a well-known fact that The Big Man his been trying tae bring young Tony Gucci intae the fold fur years. The Big Man his always seen Gucci as the son he never hid. It’s Gucci he sees as taking o’er fae him wance he’s gone.”
“Paddy, where the fuck dis that vivid imagination ae yours come fae? Honestly, ye should’ve been a bloody scriptwriter fur Dixon ae Dock Green insteid ae a bizzy. Ah’m starting tae worry aboot you, so Ah am. That obsession ae yers wae that Atalian-arsed wan his goat tae stoap, so it his. Right…back tae Wee Eck Thomas. There wis nothing mentioned aboot where Shaun Murphy finally ended up?”
“Naw, although he did say that Snappy Johnston telt him wance a few years back that The Mankys hid access tae the boiler-room at the back ae the swimming baths up in Kay Street.”
“Aye, bit did he say that they used the furnace tae get shot ae people?” Daddy asked him, his voice loaded wae cynicism.
“Naw.”
“So, whit else did Wee Eck say then?”
“Basically, gie or take a few painful groans, the same as whit Haufwit awready telt me.”
“Why did ye no come and speak tae me efter Bumper put two and two thegither and came up wae seven?”
“And say whit? Ah tried that before and see where that goat me…remember? Whit wid’ve been the point? The fire boys report oot in Dumbarton concluded that the farmer’s death wis an accident and the doctor wis a depressed sadomasochist, who liked getting that arse ae his thrashed.”
“And the lassie…the young nurse?”
“Bumper spoke wae Big John Robertson, wan ae the local sergeants oot in Bishopbriggs. Fae whit he said, she probably never knew whit the hell hid hit her. He said she wis dragged under the Transit van fur aboot twenty feet before the back wheels went o’er the tap ae her. She wis deid by the time the ambulance goat tae her. Jist another hit-and-run tae add tae the rest in the city, although, unusually, the van wis never traced.”
“And yer point is?” Daddy asked, biting.
“That it wis definitely a professional job. How many hit-and-run vehicles dae ye know that urnae found abandoned or burnt oot somewhere within a couple ae hours efter they’ve run o’er the tap ae some poor basturt crossing the road?”
“Greasy Jake’s?”
“That’s whit ma money wid’ve be oan.”
“Did ye know that baith you and Bumper wur tailed within ten minutes ae hitting the toon centre…baith times?” Daddy informed him, changing the subject.
“Oh?”
“Aye, they worked a two-man team oan youse. It made oor job even harder, trying tae watch your arses while covering oor wans at the same time, wondering if they wur daeing the same tae us.”
“Did ye know who they wur?”
“Spotty Hector and that ugly pal ae his, Chic Shand…two ae Greasy Jake’s gunmen and Peabody Moffat and Charlie Drake, two ae Peter The Plant’s enforcers. Ye mean, ye honestly didnae know they wur oan tae youse?”
“We wur too busy trying tae avoid your tails.”
“Anyway, ya bloody eejit, ye. It also means Wan-bob Broon is oan tae ye as well. Christ, Paddy, and they call ye The Stalker? Noo, wid that hiv happened ten or even five years ago, withoot ye being aware ae whit wis gaun oan? Ye need tae accept that yer time his come and gone. Ye need tae stoap farting aboot and accept that it’s a young man’s game noo. That’s why ye’re an inspector. Why kin ye no jist leave things tae other people and get oan wae whit ye’re supposed tae be getting oan wae, insteid ae aw this pissing aboot and getting involved in matters that ur none ae yer bloody business, eh?”
“The only person who knows whit we’re up tae, apart fae masel and Bumper, is sitting in front ae me,” The Stalker replied, making sure Daddy understood that nowan ootside ae the room wis tae be telt whit wis gaun oan.
“Paddy, ye’re such a bloody dumpling…you and that big glaikit pal ae yours. Did ye no hear whit Ah’ve jist said tae ye? Wan-bob is oan tae the pair ae youse!”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s two steps aheid ae ye, ya eejit. Let’s jist say that whit ye’ve said i
s true aboot yer wee manky shitehooses being responsible fur daeing away wae Shaun Murphy and Tam Simpson…and Wan-bob getting shot ae Toby, Bootsy and Blaster McKay. Where dis that leave ye? Ah’ll tell ye, will Ah? Wee Eck Thomas is long gone. If Wan-bob Broon even goat a whiff that youse two lumps hid goat yer hauns oan him, he wis as good as deid, so he wis. Noo, in some quarters aboot here,” Daddy said, glancing up towards the ceiling, “that wid be akin tae being an accessory tae murder, so it wid. However, as ye’ve so subtly pointed oot, there’s only me and youse pair ae bampots that know whit youse ur up tae, meaning ye’ve still goat time tae redeem yersels, by putting yer cocks back intae yer flies and zipping them up. Ye hid yer chance and as per usual, ye bloody-well blew it. Meanwhile, chaos reigns up in Springburn while ye’ve goat Biscuit, Froggie and that other pair ae wasters, Hope and Glory, fannying aboot ootside pubs when they should be daeing whit the rest ae us ur daeing and that’s catching crooks. Wee Eck Thomas’s maw his been oan the blower, alarmed that something’s happened tae her son and demanding tae know why a plainclothes bizzy his been hinging aboot ootside her hoose fur the past few weeks. By her description it could only be The Bushwhacker…big ugly basturt, face that wis born tae scare weans, acting like an undercover bizzy.”
