The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “It’s awright, Simon, it only takes wan cartridge at a time,” Tony said wae a big smile oan his coupon.

  “This is unbelievable, so it is,” Snappy said, racing across tae finger the ragged hole in the door before Simon goat tae it first.

  “Noo, that’s whit awaits Tam Simpson oan Friday morning...as long as we kin get oor shit thegither and make sure that we’ve goat everything in place...the way it needs tae be,” Tony impressed upon them.

  “Whit dae we need tae dae then, Tony?” Pat asked, as Snappy and Simon looked across at him, eager tae hear whit his answer wis.

  “Right, Ah’ve goat aw the measurements ae Tam Simpson’s lobby. The reason we’re here is that we hiv tae set this lobby up, as close tae his pad as we kin.”

  “So, we’re gonnae dae a mock-up ae his place then?” Snappy asked.

  “Spot-on.”

  “Whit fur?”

  “Because he’s probably gonnae be wae that social worker and when he opens his door and trips the wire and sets the Poacher’s Retreat aff, Ah want tae try and keep the shot in the cartridge thegither, rather than allow it tae splay oot across the lobby. Ah want tae try and avoid hitting her, so we need tae get the distance right between the first wan through the door and the cartridge gaun aff,” Tony explained.

  “Fuck her...that’s whit she gets fur running aboot, getting humped by a gangster, especially a prick like Tam Simpson,” Simon scowled, tae nods ae approval.

  “Bit whit if she’s through the door first, Tony?” Pat asked.

  “I’m coonting oan the fact that he ain’t no gentlemen and that he’ll walk through first, rather than haudin the door open fur her tae go in.”

  “Jist like Snappy,” Pat said, smiling.

  “If Ah wis guaranteed ma nooky, Ah’d sling her through first, jist in case she changed her mind,” Snappy said, tae laughter.

  “It’s a social worker that he’s gonnae be shagging, Snappy, no a bloody chimp. Whit bird wid let somewan like you perch oan her if she didnae hiv an abundance ae body hair fae her eyebrows doon tae her ankles, eh?” Simon said, laughing.

  “Aye, well, it wis jist as well ye dumped that Paula Baker wan, so it wis,” Snappy shot back.

  “Whit the fuck his Paula Baker goat tae dae wae any ae this?” Simon asked, being taken by surprise at the change ae subject.

  “Nothing, bit she jist telt me yesterday morning that she’s pregnant, so she is.”

  “Whit, ma Paula?”

  “Aye, your Paula. Ah wis gonnae tell ye last night, bit Ah could tell that ye wur still a bit doon efter yer split wae her three months ago, so being the sensitive type, Ah held back. Ah’m gonnae be a daddy, so Ah am,” Snappy announced tae everywan, o’er the noise ae the demolition, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  “Pat? Ye’re here? Whit the fu...” Shaun Murphy spluttered.

  “Aye, hellorerr, Shaun, Ah’m jist oan a wee flying visit, so Ah am. Ah’m heiding back tae Spain later oan the night,” The Big Man replied, deriving a lot ae pleasure fae the look oan his right-haun man’s coupon.

  “Bit, ye should’ve said...Ah wid’ve put oan a wee bash wae the boys, so Ah wid’ve,” Shaun spluttered, looking fae The Big Man tae Wan-bob, The Goat and Charlie Hastie, then back again.

  “Aye, well, Ah wanted tae keep ma movements under wraps while Ah took care ae a wee bit ae business.”

  “Thanks fur fucking telling me, Bob,” Shaun snarled across at Wan-bob.

  “Shaun, it’s no Bob’s fault. Ah telt him no tae. If ye’re annoyed at anywan, it should be at me,” The Big Man said calmly, eyes narrowing.

  “So, er, how long hiv ye been back then, Pat?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Long enough? Fur whit? Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”

  “Jist tae see whit’s been happening. Ah’ve been picking up a few wee rumours here and there, so Ah hiv.”

  “Noo, there’s a surprise,” Shaun declared, glaring at Wan-bob and Charlie.

  “Shaun, ye’re gonnae hiv tae change that attitude ae yours. Ah hivnae seen ye fur months and the first thing ye dae is bad mooth Bob here in ma company...”

  “Bit...”

  “So, shut yer gub and listen up. Ah hivnae goat much time before The Goat takes me doon the road. Ah hear yersel and Toby Simpson hiv been getting alang like a hoose oan fire?”

  “Me and, er, Toby Simpson? Naw, naw, Ah don’t know who’s been telling ye that, bit whoever it is, is speaking through a hole in their arse, so they ur.”

  “So, it’s no true that The Simpsons hiv moved intae the property business in the West End then?”

  “Er, Ah’m no sure whit ye’re getting at, Pat.”

  “Ur Tam and Toby Simpson noo partners wae Ali and Mohammed Sing?”

  “Er, aye, Ah think so.”

  “Ye think so?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye let that happen...oan ma patch...and did sweet fuck-aw aboot it?”

  “Er, well, Ah thought ye, er, didnae want tae go in wae the Sing brothers.”

  “Ah wanted tae make them sweat a wee bit before entering intae negotiations. Noo look at them...they Simpsons hiv been allowed tae take them o’er. Noo we’ve nae chance ae getting oor hauns oan they fucking properties!” The Big Man roared.

  “Bit, Pat, Ah kin expla...”

  “Shut the fuck up when Ah’m speaking, Shaun. Wan mair word oot ae that mooth ae yours and Ah swear tae God, Ah’ll hiv ye fucking buried in a shallow grave up in that forest behind us, so Ah will, so help me God,” The Big Man snarled.

  The only sound that he could hear wis his ain breathing. Pat swithered whether jist tae get it o’er and done wae. Shaun hid let him doon badly. Trying tae set up young Tony Gucci wis pure bang oot ae order…and as fur dealing wae Toby Simpson? He tried tae control his breathing. He knew that he should try and keep calm or Shaun wid be getting carted oot wae a bullet in that thick heid ae his. He knew he’d regret it and it wid mean he’d hiv tae hing aboot in Glesga longer than he wanted. There wis nae way he could get rid ae Shaun withoot hivving tae deal wae that brother ae his, Danny.

  “Right, tell me aboot Woodside Accommodation?”

  “Whit aboot them?”

  “Whit’s the score wae Bob Montieth and that face ae his?”

  “Him and Toby Simpson hid a wee disagreement, fae whit Ah’ve heard. Toby gied him a wee skelp across the kisser fur his cheek. Y’know whit Montieth’s like? Cannae take a bloody telling. He wisnae that badly hurt, so he wisnae...nothing mair than a poxy wee scratch.”

  “And whit wur ye daeing when aw this wis happening?”

  “As Ah said, it wis jist a wee disagreement, so it wis.”

  “So, a profitable partner ae oors gets scudded o’er the face by a rival and ye don’t think it his anything tae dae wae us. Is that whit ye’re saying?”

  “It’s no like that, Pat. Everywan knows whit a cheeky hauf-wit that Montieth is. He jist opens that gub ae his and lets his belly rumble, so he dis. A wee slap noo and again wullnae dae him any herm.”

  “So, it’s acceptable that The Simpsons kin walk aboot, slapping oor interests aboot, and no expect any comeback?”

  “Whit Ah’m saying is...Ah spoke tae Toby Simpson and he apologised up front. If ye want tae be worried, Ah’d concentrate oan that wee manky mob who’re causing aw sorts ae bother fur us up in Springburn. Ah telt Wan-bob aboot it the last time he wis back, bit he jist let the basturts run riot, so he did.”

  “Who’s running riot?”

  “That Tally wan and his crowd.”

  “Fae whit Ah’ve heard, they’re the only fucking wans aboot here that ur prepared tae staun up tae The Simpsons.”

  “Ah don’t know whit Wan-bob’s been feeding ye, Pat, bit they’ve been trying tae drag us intae their wee spat wae The Simpsons fur o’er a year noo. If it wisnae fur me, we’d be at war, so we wid. Kin ye imagine the hassle that wid cause?” Shaun retorted, gieing Wan-bob another dirty look.

&nbs
p; “And Blaster Mackay? Where is he in aw this?”

  “In whit?”

  “The poultry business.”

  “Blaster Mackay isnae in the poultry business, Pat. That farmer wan, McPherson, widnae come doon oan his asking price. And anyway, we’ve goat o’er a dozen farmers supplying us. Losing wan isnae gonnae bankrupt us.”

  “Ye jist don’t get it, dae ye Shaun? Ah deliberately telt ye that ye hid tae come doon hard oan anywan that tries tae mess us aboot. The description the farmer gied wis Blaster’s, doon tae a T. And whit aboot the hijack up in Colston, eh?”

  “That’s Wan-bob’s Tally wan and his manky crew, so it is. They’re always hijacking poultry wagons at this time ae the year, so they ur. There’s nae way Blaster Mackay...or any other basturt fur that matter, wid dare hijack any ae oor vans.”

  “Well, somewan did, up in Colston, jist across the bridge fae Milton...Blaster Mackay’s patch.”

  “Pat, Pat, Ah’m telling ye, it wis Gucci. That Atalian prick his nae respect fur anywan,” Shaun whined.

  “So, Wee Eck Thomas running aroond punting Rob Roy chickens tae hauf ae Milton is a figment ae ma imagination, is it?”

  Silence.

  “Right, Ah’ve made up ma mind. This is fur yer ain good, Shaun. Noo, do not under any circumstances cross me oan this. If Ah hear wan cheep oot ae you or that brother ae yours, Ah swear tae God, Ah’ll fucking waste the pair ae youse. Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Er, aye, Pat.”

  “Right, Ah need tae get back tae Spain. Wan-bob is gonnae be in charge while Ah’m away. We kin speak aboot how we move forward when Ah get back. Ah want Charlie here tae be Wan-bob’s right-haun man. They’re in charge ae everything. Whit they say goes and hell mend any basturt that disnae dae as they’re telt. Hiv ye goat that, Shaun?”

  “Er, bit, Pat...”

  “Hiv ye goat that, Shaun?”

  “Aye, aye, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, Pat…er, congratulations, Bob,” Shaun mumbled tae Wan-bob, who ignored the gesture, as the tension in the farmhoose kitchen relaxed a bit.

  “Right, Bob, before ye drap Shaun aff in the toon, hiv a wee chat wae him aboot oor plans fur Friday, seeing as he his a key part tae play.”

  “Right, Pat,” Wan-bob said, as they aw heided fur the kitchen door.

  “Oh, and Bob?”

  “Aye, Pat?”

  “Go and see The Rat. If he’s goat ma dosh fae that basturt, Owen...fine. If he hisnae, get that rat’s arse ae his oot here, pronto, bit don’t bother bringing him intae the hoose. Ye know whit tae dae. Here, ye better take The Princess’s ring wae ye, jist in case he comes up wae the goods,” The Big Man said, tossing the ring across tae Wan-bob, who caught it.

  “Nae bother, Pat,” Wan-bob replied, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Digger Day Twelve

  Johnboy felt a lot chirpier than he hid at the same time the night before. His back wisnae as sore as it hid been and he’d managed a good kip in-between his exercises during the day. The screws hid obviously picked up oan his happiness and wur trying tae noise him up again.

  “Whit aboot yer mattress then, Taylor?” Fuck Face McVey hid asked him, when he’d gone oot and picked up his pyjamas and blanket and goat changed.

  He hidnae even replied or acknowledged the prick, other than tae gie him a shitty smirk oan the way past as he sauntered back intae his cell. There wid be nae stoapping him noo. Efter the next day, he’d be as free as a bird tae dae whit he wanted, when he wanted. Earlier oan in the day, he’d hid a dream where he’d wiped that cod-like smiling grimace aff ae that AG’s smarmy sweaty coupon. Johnboy couldnae remember whit he’d done tae achieve it, bit it hid felt so good tae hurt the prick...tae let him see whit pain and humiliation really felt like. He wis sitting wae his back against the brick wall, wae his blanket draped across his shoulders, watching Rabbie tucking intae his tea. He’d miss the wee thing, bit then again, he missed whit wis waiting fur him ootside even mair. He wisnae sure whit the life expectancy ae a moose wis in Polmont, bit he felt he’d done his bit tae keep the wee thieving basturt gaun fur two weeks longer than it might’ve done, if he hidnae taken up residence in the digger. He could identify wae Rabbie. The moose hid tae duck and dive fur survival, the same as he did. He’d clocked mair than a few cats oan the go in Polmont when he wis back oan the wings. If ye’d tae compare a cat tae somewan like Toby Simpson, then there widnae be much difference between him and Rabbie, he thought. Moose - Cat - Johnboy -Toby Simpson…baith tiddlers hivving tae go up against deranged mangy fuckers who didnae gie a shit aboot anywan bit themsels. He wondered whit hid gone through Tam and Toby’s heids when they’d arrived up at their ma’s hoose oan the day she’d contacted them first, before the polis, and screamed tae them tae say that she couldnae get Kate tae waken up? Johnboy still couldnae fathom oot why The Simpson’s blamed The Mankys fur their sister’s death. It hid been them that hid battered Joe tae within an inch ae his life, and fur whit? Because Joe, the stupid basturt that he wis, hid fallen in love wae their wee sister? Joe hid showed her nothing bit respect. Granted, he’d been a bit ae a scallywag aw his days and hid a lot ae form behind him, bit he wisnae a right basturt tae anywan that didnae try and staun in his way. He’d even mentioned tae Johnboy aboot gaun straight…maybe even gaun tae college. Johnboy thought Tam and Toby hid a bloody cheek, given their track record o’er the years. Johnboy and The Mankys wur aw tit-heid amateurs compared tae The Simpsons when it came tae upsetting people. Johnboy let his thoughts wander back tae Kate’s funeral. He’d never been tae a proper funeral before, and certainly nae a Catholic wan at that. He always thought it strange that The Simpsons wur Catholics, when maist ae the bears that they led wur die-hard blue noses. Somewan wance telt him that the IRA hid a few blue noses running aboot wae them, which he felt wis hard tae believe...something aboot the loyalists being fur queen and country while the IRA wur mair political...no gieing a fuck aboot religion, he’d been telt. Although a Proddy himsel, he hated whit the queen stood fur and anything tae dae wae the royals. He’d spent maist ae his life gieing the auld cow too much pleasure ae his time tae even gie her, or the fruits ae her Greek man’s loins, the time ae day. Being brought up a Protestant, under a ma that wis an atheist Catholic, who hated priests, probably hid gied him a balanced view...that and the fact that he lived roond the corner fae the headquarters ae the West ae Scotland Orange Order oan Cathedral Street, where hauf the boys he’d been tae primary school wae, wur noo aw in flute bands. Oan the other side ae that, Tony, Paul, Joe and Skull aw kicked the baw wae their left fit and expected him tae trail efter them when they went across and jumped o’er the turnstiles at Parkheid when they wur aw snappers. Not wance could he get the basturts tae go tae Ibrox, unless Rangers wur playing Celtic and even then, he hid tae troop efter them tae the Celtic end. If they ever saw a priest at the game, which they did regularly, they used tae staun a few feet behind him and spit oan the back ae his heid, feigning innocence when he’d turn and glare at the supporters behind him, trying tae stare the basturts doon who wur soaking the back ae that heid ae his. As well as Skull always wearing his da’s auld Partick Thistle jumper, wae a Celtic tammy oan his napper seven days a week, Tony, Joe and Paul hid wance worn Ranger’s scarves that they’d blagged aff ae some Rangers supporters, at the Celtic end ae an Auld Firm game.

  “See, that’s jist tae show ye how supportive we ur ae ye, Johnboy,” Joe hid said, laughing and ignoring the abuse fae the Celtic supporters roond aboot them at the time. Wae aw that mixture ae Catholics and Protestants, religion hid never been a big deal in Johnboy’s life. He didnae dislike priests because they wur priests. He’d jist gone alang wae that attitude because his ma and pals…aw Catholics…hated them. They could’ve been church ministers fur aw he cared. So, when Tony’d heard that Johnboy’d been persuaded by the lassies tae go tae Kate Simpson’s funeral in St Teresa’s chapel, Tony hid jist aboot hid kittens.

  “Ur you bloody nuts or whit?” he’d growled at him.


  “Ah’m jist gaun tae show face,” Johnboy hid said defensively.

  “Show face? If they Simpsons even clock yer face anywhere near that chapel, ye won’t hiv a face left tae kiss yer reflection in the mirror in the morning, ya bloody eejit, ye.”

  “Look, Ah know ye didnae like her, bit she died fur Joe. It’s the least Ah kin dae,” he’d replied, oan the defensive.

  “Johnboy, ur ye oot ae yer fucking trumpet? They basturts will kidnap ye fae right under the nose ae that priest, so they will. In fact, the priest will probably haud the boot ae the car open while they toss ye in.”

  “Tony, if ye don’t want tae go, fine, bit Ah’m gaun,” he’d retorted, staunin up tae Tony. “The lassies said they’d aw staun aroond me and make sure Ah get in and oot safely. And anyway, Ah’ll be sitting up the back, so Ah will.”

  Tony hidnae been happy wan bit. Senga Jackson hid telt Johnboy later that Tony hid ripped intae them wan night in Jonah’s, telling them that they wur gonnae be responsible fur Johnboy getting murdered. He’d then hid the cheek tae start prattling oan tae Johnboy aboot how a Protestant shouldnae disrespect a Catholic mass, especially a funeral mass...that coming fae the guy who, alang wae Joe, hid wiped his arse oan the nice purple cloth sacraments that wur draped doon the front ae the alter in St Mungo’s chapel in the Toonheid when they’d been dogging school as snappers. Johnboy smiled, thinking back tae that day, no long efter he’d started running aboot wae The Mankys. He’d been the only wan ae them...and him a Protestant...that hid thought they wur aw committing a sin. Efter taking a drink fae wan ae the oblong marble holy water sinks that wur imbedded in the walls jist in fae the entrance, Paul and Skull hid washed their hauns in it.

  “Look, Ah’m gaun and that’s that. Ah couldnae look Joe in the eye if Ah didnae, and anyway, Ah actually liked her, even though she didnae smoke or drink and wis a vestal virgin till she met Joe,” he’d shouted at Tony.