The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “Where’s he aff tae then?” The Stalker hid asked Happy.

  “Somewhere where ye’re no wanted,” wis aw he’d goat oot ae Happy.

  “Aye, Daddy,“ he said intae the receiver, haudin his breath and shutting his eyes.

  “Ah don’t know whit the fuck ye’ve been up tae, McPhee, bit Ah’ve jist been telt tae tell ye that, as ae noo, ye’re the new inspector fur Springburn.”

  “Eh?”

  “Aye, Tipple his shifted Chic oot tae a wee cushy number o’er in King’s Park, tae fill the vacant slot efter Monkey McCartney died ae boredom. Ye’ve been promoted.”

  “Bit, Ah, er...”

  “And efter ye pick yer arse up aff ae the flair, ye’ve tae get doon tae St Andrew’s Square by five o’clock sharp. Tipple wants tae speak tae ye, so he dis.”

  4.35 P.M.

  “Ah’m no convinced,” Erchie The Basturt said tae his brother, Mad Philip.

  “Here then?”

  “Hmm, nah.”

  “Here?”

  “O’er tae the left a wee bit...right, stoap...left a bit...perfect!”

  Mad Philip came and joined his brother, who wis staunin facing the coonter at the bottom ae the steps in the basement, looking at the glass and mahogany case that Mad Philip hid jist screwed up oan the wall.

  “Whit dae ye think then?” Erchie asked him.

  “Dae ye no think we should get a wee placard or something?”

  “Fur whit?”

  “Well, the last time Ah wis oot at The Kelvingrove Art Gallery, Ah remember they hid wee placards beside aw the stuff in their display cases, telling ye aboot the history ae the things that wur oan show, so they did, they did.”

  “Oh, right, that sounds like a good idea.”

  “Aye, Ah’ll maybe put something thegither using a bit ae shoe leather.”

  “Saying whit?”

  “Ach, jist a wee bit ae history aboot the Poacher’s Retreat and how stupid they fucking bizzies ur in Glesga in managing tae lose their prime evidence piece oan the same day it wis used tae wipe oot wan ae their favourite devils,” Mad Philip quipped, as the baith ae them burst oot laughing, before heiding back up the steps tae the shoap.

  5.10.pm.

  Mary Marigold took a seat in front ae Tom Bryce, the crime sub-editor’s desk. She wis frustrated tae be sitting there as she could hear the buzz and commotion behind her in the crime news section. Stories wur breaking by the minute and she wanted tae be oot there in amongst it. It hid been hard work tae get tae where she wis as a journalist. As a wummin, working in a man’s world, she’d hid tae put up wae a lot ae shit tae prove her credentials. While she’d never really relaxed aboot her position or taken it fur granted, she felt her position wis secure enough oan the basis ae her output and the quality ae her writing. She sat waiting impatiently tae hear whit he wanted.

  “Look, Mary, there isnae an easy way tae say this…bit ye’ve being promoted.”

  “Promoted?”

  “Er, aye. We need a features editor and ye’ve been picked as the best candidate.”

  “Promoted tae being a features editor? Daeing whit?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. Ye kin basically choose whit it is that ye want tae write aboot. Like fashion, fur example. Ye like yer trendy clobber, don’t ye?”

  “Tom, whit’s gaun oan?” Mary demanded, shocked, tears welling up in they heavily made-up eyes ae hers.

  “Nothing’s gaun oan, Mary. Why ur aw youse wummin always suspicious when yer worth is recognised, eh? Upstairs want a section in the paper that’ll appeal tae wummin readers, so they dae, and they thought that a young modern dolly-bird like yersel wid be the ablest person tae deliver that.”

  “Tom, Ah cannae believe this,” Mary exclaimed, mystified by the turn ae events. “Kin Ah speak tae Hamish?”

  “Mary, Mary-doll...it wis Hamish that took the decision. He’s in conference wae Lord Frank aw day, wae aw this shooting stuff gaun oan. The decision’s been made. Ye’re oot, so ye ur.”

  “Kin Ah ask who ma replacement is?”

  “Er, well… Ah believe it’s Sammy Elliot, so it is.”

  “The Rat? Ye’re telling me that Ah’m being unceremoniously dumped tae be replaced by a rat?”

  “Look, Ah know ye’re upset, bit it’ll prove a good move in the long run…ye’ll see. The content and subject matter ae whit ye write aboot will aw be yer ain...it’ll be jist like being yer ain boss, so it will,” Tom said, attempting tae instil a bit ae excitement intae that voice ae his. “Ah’ll make sure that that’s written intae yer new contract, so Ah will. There will be nae interference fae management.”

  “Ye’re only saying that because Ah’ll be stuck in between the bloody letters page and the adverts.”

  “Mary, hen, it’s a big opportunity, so it is. Wae yer talent and writing skill, Ah’m sure ye’ll manage tae attract readers tae whitever page number ye end up oan, so ye will.”

  6.50. P.M.

  The meeting wae Jack Tipple, The Assistant Chief Constable, hid goat cancelled. The Stalker wis glad. Whit else wis there tae say, other than whit he’d said tae him in the car earlier. The fact that he’d been telt tae take o’er in Springburn hid been endorsement enough. It hid been some day, wae winners and losers oan aw sides. Bumper hid said he wis feart tae go fur a shite in case he missed something. The shock ae him replacing Chic Taylor as inspector hid died doon sooner than he’d expected. The boys in the station hid hardly caught their breath when the news hid reached everywan that the contraption used tae kill Tam Simpson hid gone AWOL. If the station in Springburn wis anything tae go by, then there wid be uproar in every polis station across the city. Speculation abounded and The Stalker hid hid tae get everywan intae the canteen tae hiv a word wae them.

  “Look, the press ur gonnae be hounding everywan, especially in Partick, Maryhill, Possil and across here in Springburn, when they get a haud ae this. Fae whit Ah kin gather, it goat lost in transition between Partick and the forensic building across in the Gorbals. They’ve been scouring the streets oan the route the van took, although the chances ur that some basturt his blagged the fucking thing. Whit we hiv tae dae is tae stoap speculating, get oor heids doon and do not…Ah repeat…do not talk tae anywan fae the papers. Anywan caught passing oan gossip in this climate will no only lose their hee-haws, bit will be oot the door withoot a sniff ae a pension, so they will.”

  The evening news hid been awful. St Andrew’s Square wis under siege. Words like incompetence and corruption hid been the order ae the day. Everywan in the force wis dreading The Glesga Echo in the morning. Wan good thing aboot it wis that Gucci and his pal, McCabe, wur noo sitting through in the cells, helping the polis wae their enquiries, under the suspicion ae being involved in the murder ae Tam Simpson. The Stalker could taste the satisfaction he’d hid when himsel and Bumper, wae hauf a dozen others as a back-up, hid kicked doon Gucci’s door across in Petershill Road an hour earlier. The filthy basturt hid been lying in his kip wae that wee Chinky floozy at hauf four in the efternoon. The Stalker hidnae even gied him time tae get his gear oan. It hid been oan wae the hauncuffs, before frog-marching him doon the stair intae the Black Maria. Gucci’s face hid been a picture, so it hid. Bumper hid jist been through and gied him a blanket tae cover himsel up wae. Gucci hid been his usual charming self, demanding tae speak tae his brief. The other wan, McCabe, oan the other haun, hidnae said a word. He’d been lying back, no asking fur anything. They’d torn Gucci’s place apart, wrecking everything they thought wis worth a few bob, bit hid found nothing incriminating, so far. The Stalker wis waiting fur feedback fae the forensic boys who said that they’d be there fur a few hours yet. McCabe’s wee maw hid been carted aff up tae Stobhill in an ambulance as a precautionary matter, efter fainting when she found oot whit her wee darling boy wis getting lifted fur. The Stalker hid lifted a wee book aff ae Gucci’s coffee table that looked as if it hid been well thumbed through and which hid sentences and paragraphs scored and underlined throughoot it…something tae
dae wae the sayings ae some Jap general fae bygone days. The Stalker hid slipped it intae the drawer ae his new desk when he’d goat back tae the station. He wid hiv a wee swatch ae it later, tae see whit Gucci hid found so interesting in it that he wid’ve taken the time tae mark oot passages.

  “Inspector?” Happy Harry said, popping his napper roond the door again.

  “Aye?” The Stalker asked, enjoying the sound ae his new title.

  “There’s a brief at the desk, alang wae somewan who’s the spitting image ae wan ae they guys, Thompson and Thompson, fae The Adventures ae Tintin, demanding tae speak tae his clients.”

  “Don’t tell me...”

  “Aye, that poxy wee prick, Portoy.”

  “Tell him Ah’m busy and Ah’ll be wae him as soon as Ah kin. Some ae us hiv a real job tae dae aboot here, so we hiv,” The Stalker said, sitting back in his chair, wae his feet up oan the desk, taking a sip ae his hot, steaming tea.

  Keep up to date with Johnboy Taylor on his Facebook page:

  Johnboy Taylor - The Glasgow Chronicles

  www.facebook.com/theglasgowchronicles

  Parly Road is the first book in The Glasgow Chronicles series by Ian Todd and is also available on Amazon Kindle:

  It is the summer of 1965 and things are looking up for ten-year-old Johnboy Taylor in the Townhead district of Glasgow. Not only has he made two new pals, who have recently come to his school after being expelled from one of the local Catholic schools, but their dream of owning their own pigeon loft or ‘dookit’ and competing with the city’s grown-up ‘doo-men’ in the sport they love, could soon become a reality. The only problem is that The Mankys don’t have the dosh to pay for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Lady Luck begins to shine down on them when Pat Molloy, aka The Big Man, one of Glasgow’s top heavies asks them to do him a wee favour. The Mankys are soon embroiled in an adult world of gangsters, police corruption, violence and crime.

  Meanwhile, Johnboy’s mother, Helen Taylor is busy trying to keep one step ahead of the local Provi-cheque men and organising a group of local women to demonstrate against the Corporation’s Sheriff officer’s warrant sales.

  Set against the backdrop of a condemned tenement slum area, the fate of which has already been decided upon as it stands in the way of the city’s new Inner Ring Road motorway development, the boys soon realise that to survive on the streets, they have to stay one step ahead of those in authority. The only problem for The Mankys is working out who’s really in charge.

  Parly Road is full of the shadiest characters that 1960s Glasgow has to offer and takes the reader on a rollercoaster journey that has been described as irreverently hilarious, bad-assed, poignantly sad and difficult to put down.

  Run Johnboy Run – The Glasgow Chronicles 2 is also available on Amazon Kindle:

  It is 1968 and The Mankys are back with a vengeance after thirteen-year-old Johnboy Taylor is confronted by a ghost from his past. The only problem is, he’s just been sentenced to 3 years at Thistle Park Approved School, which houses Scotland’s wildest teen tearaways. Without his liberty, Johnboy is in no position to determine whether the devastating revelation is a figment of his vivid imagination or whether dark forces are conspiring against him.

  Elsewhere in the city, Glasgow crime lord, Pat Molloy, aka The Big Man, is plotting to topple those who he believes were responsible for putting him out of the city’s thriving ‘Doo’ business three years earlier. Unfortunately for him, The Irish Brigade, a group of corrupt police inspectors, who rule the city with an iron fist, are not about to stand by and allow anyone to dip their fingers into their honey pot, without a fight.

  Meanwhile, Helen Taylor, Johnboy’s mother, has come up with a dangerous plan that she believes will finally overturn The City Corporation’s policy of selling their tenants’ household goods through humiliating public warrant sales. Reluctantly, she is forced to join forces with The Glasgow Echo’s sleazy top crime reporter, Sammy ‘The Rat’ Elliot, whose shadowy reputation of having more than one master makes him feared and reviled by the underworld and the establishment in equal measure.

  Run Johnboy Run is an explosive tale of city crime in 1960s Glasgow, involving a heady mix of establishment leaders and gangsters, who will use anyone to keep control of the city’s lucrative underworld. The only problem is, can anyone really be trusted?

  With more faces than the town clock, Run Johnboy Run dredges up the best scum the city has to offer and throws them into the wackiest free-for-all double-crossing battle that Glasgow has witnessed in a generation and The Mankys are never far from where the action is.

  The Lost Boy And The Gardener’s Daughter – The Glasgow Chronicles 3 is also available on Amazon Kindle:

  It is 1969 and 14-year-old Paul McBride is discharged from Lennox Castle Psychiatric Hospital after suffering a nervous breakdown whilst serving a 3-year sentence in St Ninian’s Approved School in Stirling. St Ninians has refused to take Paul back because of his disruptive behaviour. As a last resort, the authorities agree for Paul to recuperate in the foster care of an elderly couple, Innes and Whitey McKay, on a remote croft in the Kyle of Sutherland in the Scottish Highlands. They have also decided that if Paul can stay out of trouble for a few months, until his fifteenth birthday, he will be released from his sentence and can return home to Glasgow.

  Unbeknown to the authorities, Innes McKay is one of the most notorious poachers in the Kyle, where his family has, for generations, been in conflict with Lord John MacDonald, the Duke of the Kyle of Sutherland, who resides in nearby Culrain Castle.

  Innes is soon teaching his young charge the age-old skills of the Highland poacher. Inevitably, this leads to conflict between the street-wise youth from the tenements in Glasgow and the Duke’s estate keepers, George and Cameron Sellar, who are direct descendants of Patrick Sellar, reviled for his role in The Highland Clearances.

  Meanwhile, in New York city, the Duke’s estranged wife orders their 14-year-old wild-child daughter, Lady Saba, back to spend the summer with her father, who Saba hasn’t had contact with since the age of ten. Saba arrives back at Culrain Castle under escort from the American Pinkerton Agency and soon starts plotting her escape, with the help of her old primary school chum and castle maid, Morven Gabriel. Saba plans to run off to her grandmother’s estate in Staffordshire to persuade her Dowager grandmother to help her return to America. After a few failed attempts, Lady Saba finally manages to disappear from the Kyle in the middle of the night and the local police report her disappearance as a routine teenage runaway case.

  Meanwhile in Glasgow’s Townhead, Police intelligence reveals that members of a notorious local street gang, The Mankys, have suddenly disappeared off the radar. It also comes to the police’s attention that, Johnboy Taylor, a well-known member of The Mankys, has escaped from Oakbank Approved School in Aberdeen.

  Back in Strath Oykel, the local bobby, Hamish McWhirter, discovers that Paul McBride has disappeared from the Kyle at the same time as Lady Saba.

  When new intelligence surfaces in Glasgow that Pat Molloy, The Big Man, one of Glasgow’s top crimelords, has put the word out on the streets that he is offering £500 to whoever can lead him to the missing girl, the race is on and a nationwide manhunt is launched across Scotland’s police forces to catch Paul McBride before The Big Man’s henchmen do.

  The Lost Boy and The Gardener’s Daughter is the third book in The Glasgow Chronicles series. True to form, the story introduces readers to some of the most outrageous and dodgy characters that 1960s Glasgow and the Highlands can come up with, as it follows in the footsteps of the most unlikely pair of road–trippers that the reader will ever come across. Fast-paced and with more twists and turns than a Highland poacher’s bootlace, The Lost Boy and The Gardener’s Daughter will have the readers laughing and crying from start to finish.

  Still to be published by Ian Todd on Amazon Kindle:

  The Wummin

  Dumfries

 

  Todd, Ian, The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4