Dumfries

by Todd, Ian

  “Oh, ma God, Simon! The polis? Ur ye serious?”

  “Why no?” Simon hid replied, shrugging they shoulders ae his. “Christ, look at yer reaction? Why wid you ae aw people no believe that something like that could happen? Is the polis brutality that ye’re confronted wae in the casualty department every Friday and Saturday night real or imaginary? Think aboot it. Ah still think yer pal is havering and putting two and two thegither and coming up wae fifty five, bit Ah kin see ye’re getting ma drift. Ye’ve goat tae speak tae yer pal and convince her tae keep her trap shut. There could be implications in there fur people other than the three poor basturts that hiv died well before their time. Ah’m a hunner percent convinced that the circumstances ae whit happened tae that poor wee nurse and the doctor wur jist unfortunate flukes.”

  “And the farmer?”

  “Ye said yersel that the guy smoked like a chimney, and in his bed as well. Thank God, Ah don’t smoke, that’s aw Ah kin say. Look, Ah’ve been heiding doon tae Dumfries every two months since they’ve aw been in the jail, jist tae keep in contact wae Tony, plus Ah usually take some ae the lassies doon wae me as well. Ah’ll mention aw this tae him, if Ah remember tae, bit Ah’m telling ye, he’ll jist come tae the same conclusion as me. Ah’ll tell ye whit, Senga, why don’t ye come doon wae me?”

  “Me? Visit Tony Gucci? In the jail?”

  “Naw, ya twat, ye. Ye kin visit Johnboy, while me and the lassies ur visiting Tony, Silent, Snappy and Pat.”

  “Bit, Ah cannae jist turn up and visit Johnboy,” she’d exclaimed, laughing nervously. “Ah, er, widnae know whit tae say tae him. Ah sent him a letter, no long efter he goat sentenced,” she’d said, feeling her face redden.

  “Aye, a Dear John. We heard aboot that, and him aw innocent as well.”

  “Dear John? Simon, fur goodness sake, that wisnae a Dear John. There wis never any romance tae start wae, tae merit a Dear John,” she’d retorted, flustered.

  “Aye, well, whitever,” he’d said, shrugging they shoulders ae his and gaun back tae tapping his fingers oan his knee.

  “Look, Ah couldnae jist turn up, oot ae the blue, aw ae a sudden.”

  “Aye, ye’d need tae write tae him and ask him tae send ye oot a visiting pass. Nae pass, nae visit.”

  “Ye said lassies?”

  “Aye, so far, fur this month, Ah’ve goat the usual gaggle ae Aggie McCoy, Helen Birnie, Frances Smith and Paula Baker. Ah’ve booked rooms in Dumfries this time as they’d been complaining ae being stuck away oot in the sticks, the selfish basturts. Ah’ve goat them booked in tae The Station Hotel, which is pretty central seemingly, so they kin heid oot oan the ran-dan oan the Saturday night. Another body, especially wan as luscious as yours, widnae be a problem. They telt me they want tae take advantage ae drinking somewhere different fur a change. If ye dae decide tae join them, make sure Johnboy sends ye oot two passes. Wan fur the Saturday and the other fur the Sunday.”

  “So, there’s four ae them heiding doon? Er, which wan is visiting Johnboy?” she’d stupidly asked, then cursed hersel under her breath, no wanting Simon tae think that she wis interested in who wrote tae or visited Johnboy Taylor, which she wisnae.

  “See, ye’ve goat it wrang…typical wummin…jumping tae conclusions awready. Christ, ur aw nurses like you and that mate ae yours?” he’d chided her playfully, smiling. “Johnboy hisnae written a letter or sent oot a pass tae anywan since he’s been sentenced. Ah think the last visit he goat wis fae you when he wis up in the untried hall in the Bar-L. Naw, Aggie and Helen ur visiting Silent thegither. They always visit him in twos so they kin keep each other company. Ye know whit he’s like. Imagine travelling aw the way doon tae Dumfries jist tae sit in silence fur two hours? Paula started gaun oot wae Pat jist before he goat nicked.”

  “Aye, Ah knew that.”

  “And Snappy will hiv the pleasure ae Frances’s company.”

  “Aye, Ah’m aware ae whit’s happening there as well. Ah see and speak tae maist ae the lassies doon in Dirty Jake’s, maist Saturdays, if Ah’m no oan a shift, so Ah dae. So, whit aboot Kim Sui then?”

  “If ye see the lassies every week, whit ur ye asking me that fur? Dae youse no talk tae each other?”

  “We speak aboot a lot ae things, Simon, bit up-and-coming failed gangsters, daeing time, isnae wan ae them,” she’d retorted, oan the defensive.

  “Ah go doon tae see Tony oan ma lonesome. Business and aw that,” he replied, ignoring the jibe. “Tony disnae mind the others being tormented by the sight ae fanny coming and gaun, bit he prefers tae keep his visits strictly business, tae catch up oan whit goes oan oot here, oan the ootside,” he’d replied, smiling.

  “Simon, hiv ye ever thought ae becoming a poet?”

  “Me?”

  “Yer use ae language is something else, so it is,” Senga hid said drily.

  “See, ye’re getting back tae yer auld lippy self. That’s much better than when ye first walked through that door, scaring me and ma customers shitless.”

  “Naw, seriously, Simon, Ah couldnae. Ah mean, no efter aw this time…it jist widnae feel right fur him…or me. Ah’m probably the last person Johnboy wid want tae talk tae.”

  “Well, there’s only wan way tae find oot. If ye end up making an arse ae yersel, then it’ll only be between youse two.

  “Look, Ah cannae. And anyway, whit wid Ah say?”

  “How aboot telling him whit ye’ve jist telt me, remembering no tae leave oot the bit aboot finding oot he’s innocent and that ye’re maybe sorry fur ever doubting his word oan that front. Ah’m sure he’d appreciate the news aboot The Stalker knowing aboot him no hivving shot they bizzies in that bank up in Maryhill Road coming fae somewan like you. It wid also gie him a chance tae tell ye that, despite whit that lying stalking basturt might believe, Johnboy certainly never shot somewan like Shaun Murphy.”

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

  Police are searching for two masked men who held up a Clydesdale Provident Company representative with a knife in a closemouth in Abington Street, Maryhill, last night. Two men, wearing masks, were seen running towards Garscube Road, a short time after the incident and police are asking for any witnesses to contact them at…

  Two youths, convicted of disfiguring a police officer by stabbing him in the face with a broken bottle, have been sent to the High Court for sentencing after Sheriff Clifford Burns stated that the maximum two-year sentence he could impose, was insufficient, given the gravity of the crime…

  A couple in their mid-twenties, believed to be drugs users, have been found dead in a flat in Havelock Street, Partick. Police have said that the bodies appear to have lain for sometime before being discovered after neighbours complained of a foul smell…

  A man was remanded in custody after being charged with cattle rustling. Thirty-two-year-old Thomas Docherty from Hogganfield Street, Blackhill, Glasgow, was ordered to reappear from custody at Dumbarton Sheriff Court in eight days time…

  It will be eighth time lucky for eighty-two-year-old business women, Agnes Macbeth, after she was married at Martyr Street registry office today to forty-four-year-old Jack McConnell. The blushing bride, who wore a white chiffon lace trouser suit, said that this time, her marriage was for life…

  Physical and corporal punishment is not the answer. That was the message from the newly-appointed Superintendent of Larchgrove Remand Home on Edinburgh Road today after taking up his new post. Mr Brian Irvine, said that he did not believe in physical punishment, and that all forms of corporal punishment will be banned at the home where a string of revelations have been raised recently of ill-treatment against the juvenile inmates that have been incarcerated there over the years…

  An Easterhouse woman is fighting for her life tonight after a delicate seven-hour operation to remove a poker from her skull was concluded at five o’clock this morning at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. The woman, a mother of three, Mrs Ina Williamson, was taken to hospital after
apparently being assaulted by her husband who is tonight in police custody and due to appear up in court tomorrow morning…

  A man who claimed he was a happy drunk, was fined twenty pounds at Glasgow District Court this morning for assaulting his wife after hitting her over the head with a beer bottle whilst under the influence of alcohol…”

  Chapter Forty Four

  It wis at this time ae the night that Simon appreciated the quietness and solitude ae being able tae sit in the dark oan his lonesome, collecting his thoughts, trying tae put his world tae bed before he took advantage himsel. He looked across the room, oot in tae the lobby, towards the landing door at the far end. Somewhere in the block, David Bowie wis mournfully bleating aboot aw he ever goat fae the lassie wae the long blonde hair and the eyes ae blue wis sorrow. He knew the feeling. Fur some strange reason, he always seemed tae find himsel attracted tae lassies that wur oot ae erms reach, lassies that wur awready gaun oot wae somewan else or when they did become available, he’d somehow in the intervening time, hiv lost interest in them. Senga Jackson wis a classic case in point. He’d fancied her fur a long time. Aw The Mankys, apart fae probably Tony, hid expressed an interest there at some time or another, bit because ae the Johnboy connection, hid kept their distance. It hid been Johnboy who’d pointed oot tae him wan night that oan the girlfriend front, it wis jist his heid making excuses oan his behauf, so that he didnae feel guilty aboot a lack ae commitment towards anywan. Simon smiled. That wis rich coming fae somewan who’d the longest platonic relationship in history, wae a lassie he’d never kissed…the plonker. Young Plum, that young tomcat ae his wae the ootsized plums, who’d adopted him eighteen months earlier, and who wis noo sitting oan the windae ledge looking across at him every noo and again, hid his life doon tae a T. He looked pretty awesome sitting there, wae wan ae the street lights directly behind his heid, blurring his ootline and features, turning him intae a dark, scary, shrunken effigy ae Batman. He wondered whit advice Plum wid gie somewan like him oan the wummin front. He tried tae ignore the cat and keep his mind focussed oan the situation in haun. It seemed that the longer he ignored the cat, the louder the purring became…jist like a lot ae the lassies he’d gone oot wae, before he’d moved swiftly oan. Simon knew fine well whit the cat wis thinking. It wore its feelings oan its sleeve, or in his case, its tail. Every noo and again, a sharp, swishing, flick ae its tail wid be launched like a whip, jist tae make sure Simon hidnae furgotten who’s company he wis allowed in…jist like a lot ae the lassies he’d gone oot wae before he’d moved swiftly oan, he thought, smiling tae himsel again. Maybe Johnboy hid a point. Maybe his excuse wis that he wis too easily distracted. He’d read somewhere that cats decided who they wanted tae master and no the other way aboot. Well, that wisnae a luxury that wid be easily transferred wance anywan crossed the threshold ae the Epstein pad. Jumping up or oan board, uninvited, wisnae tolerated in Simon’s world, no matter who ye wur. He knew the cat wisnae happy wae the management set-up, bit fuck him, he never paid fur the tin ae Kit-e-Kat that wis put doon in front ae him every night. Simon looked beyond the cat, oot ae the windae, towards the distant thrum ae traffic. The bells ae the cop cars in the distance, still whizzing up and doon Great Western Road in blind panic, chasing silver arrows and shadows, made him feel better. Stupid basturts. He’d known as soon as he’d clocked Senga Jackson, hinging aboot up at the entrance tae the cobbled yard, that trouble wis following fast in her footsteps. Oan the wan haun, he’d been pleased that she’d sought them oot. It wis like coming back tae her roots, recognising that although she’d pissed aff intae the big wide world, leaving the rest ae the lassies behind, she wis honest enough tae recognise that in some situations, whit she’d run away fae, still hid its uses. Alternatively, it could be a bit mair uncomplicated than that and like a moth, maybe she wis wan ae they lassies who couldnae resist the attraction ae the flame? Even efter aw these years, he still wisnae sure which wan it wis. He wondered why she’d hung aboot wae The Mankys fur aw that time anyway. It wis no as if she wis gonnae end up wae any ae them. Tony always maintained, oot ae earshot ae Johnboy, that somewan like Senga Jackson jist wanted her cake and tae eat it. Staunin back and looking at it, Tony wis probably right. Senga always did tend tae dae whit she wanted tae and no fly alang the same route as the rest ae the flock always took. Pearl Campbell wis another strange wan, bit she’d upped sticks and fucked aff up tae the Highlands tae become a journalist. Officially, it hid been because her boss at The Glesga Echo hid hung hersel, bit Simon hid picked up that it wis because her and Senga hid fallen oot wae each other efter Pearl hid found oot that Senga hid been scheming behind her back tae get aff wae Johnboy. While aw The Mankys knew aboot the Senga-Johnboy attraction, seemingly none ae the lassies hid, fur some strange reason that he found hard tae believe. Maybe that wis why Senga and Johnboy hid never ended up meeting in the middle. Maybe their timing fur getting it thegither hid always been shite, wae aw the distractions gaun oan roond aboot them. Even efter getting a Dear John…a shite thing tae happen tae anywan, especially in the jail…he suspected Johnboy wid still want her protected at aw costs, which left The Mankys jist as vulnerable as her and that flatmate ae hers. The reaction fae Ben, Jake and Peter the Runner, oan the other haun, hid certainly been as expected, wance the euphoria ae finding oot that Johnboy’s innocence and mair importantly, corroboration fur the bank job hid at last, surfaced, even if it wis via wan ae the worse possible routes.

  “Fuck, Ah’m jist surprised that ye didnae turn up declaring that ye’d good news and bad news, and whit did we want first?” Jake hid said drily, gieing himsel plenty ae cover tae let whit Simon hid jist come oot wae sink in, while the other pair hid let oot wee nervous titters, bit no underestimating fur wan second the seriousness ae the situation that he’d jist hit them wae.

  “Right, oan ye go, Simon. Back tae the beginning, bit take it a bit slower this time, withoot skipping roond the block and back. Ah need tae get ma heid roond whit ye’re saying,” Peter hid said, settling back oan tae the settee wae another mug ae tea, as Simon went o’er his conversation wae Senga fur the third time.

  “We cannae risk becoming involved. Well, at least, no at this stage,” hid been Ben’s reaction at first, too quickly fur Simon’s liking, eyeballing Jake and Peter, clearly pitching fur support. “Think aboot it. If we breath wan word ae any ae this tae anywan ootside this room, then they’re deid, nae ifs or butts, so they ur. That makes it impossible fur us tae dae anything aboot it withoot putting them in mair danger than they’re awready in…if that’s possible.”

  Smart response, Simon hid thought. If the baw hid been oan the other fit, that’s whit he wid’ve probably come oot wae, although hopefully, wae a bit mair subtlety. Whit Ben hid been saying, loud and clear, wis that this wis a decision fur Tony and no them…at least, certainly no Simon.

  “Well, Ah’m sure glad ma life isnae dependent oan some selfish, so-called pal like you, wae an attitude like that,” Jake hid hit Ben wae, breaking the silence, before continuing. “Ye’re no suggesting we sit back and dae nothing aboot it, ur ye? Ah’m sure that’ll go doon a storm in Dumfries.”

  Silence.

  “Senga Jackson moved oan tae pastures new. Aye, it’s tough, bit dae ye want tae be here hivving conversations like this when we’re pensioners? She’s no oor responsibility noo. Tell him, Simon,” Ben hid eventually replied, breaking intae everywan’s thoughts efter the mention ae Dumfries.

  “So, ye’re saying we don’t bring it up wae Tony when Simon heids doon next week then, Ben?” Peter hid challenged him.

  Simon hid jist sat back, looking across at them, allowing whit he’d jist telt them tae sink in, tae let the implications play oot in they heids ae theirs. He didnae know how he’d managed tae sit still in the office efter Senga hid telt him about Haufwit Murray telling The Stalker that Johnboy wis innocent. He’d wanted tae jump up, oot ae that chair ae his, and go and dae a wee triumphant lap roond the warehoose. Of course, that widnae hiv been the right thing tae dae,
no wae the tale she wis come oot wae. He’d never asked tae be left in charge, although he hidnae argued against the suggestion, when Tony hid brought it up. And whether the three people sitting in front ae him agreed or no, Simon thought that he’d done okay up until noo, considering the argumentative basturts sitting across fae him that he hid tae deal wae oan a daily basis. Aye, there hid been wee problems popping up every other week, like the recent stabbing ae wan ae the McCaskill brothers up in Roystonhill or the run-ins wae Honest John McCaffrey and they son-in-laws ae his, bit he’d been quick tae nip maist things in the bud, as soon as they arose, before things goat oot ae haun. The carry-oan wae Senga Jackson and her flatmate wis different though. The warnings…naw…the danger signals…hid been exploding like fireworks aw o’er the room, as he’d sat there watching the three Mankys trying tae take in and rationalise the implications fur them individually and fur The Mankys as a whole. Simon didnae need tae exaggerate the danger tae grab their attention. It wis a shitey situation fur them tae find themsels in, although granted, no quite as bad as it wis fur Senga and that flatmate ae hers. Despite Ben’s initial ootburst, Simon knew that whit Ben wis daeing wis getting tae the crux ae the matter. Should they protect Senga Jackson and her flatmate or no, meantime? If it wis a naw, then they’d hiv tae move oan. If it wis an aye, then it wis up tae them tae keep her safe until Tony telt them whit he wanted done. He’d wanted tae smile, watching the three ae them sitting, staring across at him, searching his face fur signs ae a solution, waiting tae challenge him and clearly no hiding the fact that they wur comparing whit he’d dae next wae whit they thought Tony wid dae. Tony hid attempted tae explain how tae deal wae them should Simon ever find himsel in a situation jist this this, shortly before he’d been sent doon, bit Simon hid cut him aff and telt him that he’d deal wae things his way. He noo tried tae remember whit Tony hid said before being telt tae shut the fuck up. He knew that at some point in the future, if The Mankys wur still left staunin, there wid be a post-mortem…twenty post-mortems even. Simon wisnae concerned aboot that. None ae The Mankys wur as naive as tae think a showdoon wisnae an eventuality some day wae some or aw ae Wan-bob Broon’s bears. The problem fur Simon, at this particular time and place in his life, wis the timing. There wis still so much needing tae be done, like taking care ae that fat greedy double-crossing prick, Honest John McCaffrey. Whitever happened, that basturt wid be the first oan Simon’s list tae cop his whack, he thought tae himsel, as he ignored another swish ae Young Plumb’s tail. Ben wis right. They aw wur. Clearly, the answer lay south, doon in Dumfries. How much favour Senga Jackson’s predicament wid find wae Tony Gucci wis anywan’s guess. Wid Tony be prepared tae put everywan and everything they’d worked fur aw these years at risk tae save her? At the end ae the day, it wid be Tony who’d determine Senga and her flatmate’s fate, no Wan-bob Broon…or Johnboy. Everything said or uttered o’er the next week until the visit, when he could haun o’er the responsibility, wid be chewed o’er in the finest detail by the rest ae the Mankys, bit wae Tony in particular. If there wis a positive ootcome, then everywan wid be slapping their ain and each other’s backs before swiftly moving oan, bit if there wisnae, then Tony wid be mulling it o’er fur a long time, noting where and when the balls-up hid occurred and who’d been responsible…who’d let the team doon…who’d fucked up and, given the seriousness ae the situation, who’d be oot oan their arses. Nowan sitting in the room needed tae be reminded that Senga Jackson wis in deep shit. If Wan-bob Broon or Charlie Hastie goat a finger’s whiff ae anything that Senga hid telt him doon at the warehouse earlier, then her and that pal ae hers wur goners.