Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “See, Ah telt ye, we’d get ye some seats, Johnboy,” Paul said, putting doon a yellow Cutty Sark box beside the wardrobe before plapping his arse doon oan it.

  “Whit’s in the white boxes then?”

  “We’ve goat two boxes full ae whisky, two ae Gordon’s Gin and a box ae vodka.”

  “Brilliant. That’ll mean we don’t hiv tae tan any pubs or licensed grocers,” Paul said.

  “Naw, we’ll still hiv tae go aheid wae that. We’ll see if we can tan a pub and mix this stuff in wae it. The Big Man won’t know the difference.”

  “Ye don’t think this is The Big Man’s stuff, dae ye?” Johnboy asked.

  “Of course it is. That’s whit makes it even better. Ye don’t think that thieving basturt paid the full price fur this, dae ye?”

  “Should we be annoying him and The Murphys efter whit happened tae Skull?” Johnboy asked doubtfully, fear in his voice.

  “Oh, Johnboy, shut yer arse,” Joe said, as Silent looked across at Johnboy and gulped.

  “So, how much hiv we made then?”

  “He says he’ll gie us five bob fur a bottle, and seven fur a forty-ouncer, if it’s quality, branded stuff.”

  “Is aw this good stuff then?” asked Johnboy, throwing up a green bottle ae Cutty Sark and catching it, hivving accepted that if ye cannae beat them, join them.

  “Who knows, bit there needs tae be mair ae the same kind ae stuff as whit we’ve goat here. We’ll need tae make sure we go fur the same labels, so there’s mair than whit we’ve blagged. We’ll also ditch the boxes, jist in case they’ve taken a note ae they numbers oan the side ae the cases.”

  “Ah reckon we’ve goat aboot twenty smackers-worth here, at least, if he sticks tae his agreement,” Paul mused.

  “Well done, wee man. How’s that arse ae yers?”

  “In tatters,” Silent said, lifting his cheek and letting oot a corker.

  “We’ve aw been there many a time, eh?” Tony said, rattling the windae frame wae a beezer fae that arse ae his.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Tony. Whit the hell hiv ye been eating, ya smelly basturt, ye?”

  “Trotters, tripe and onions. It’s ma maw’s favourite. She made it last Sunday when ma granny came roond fur her tea. Bloody lovely, so it wis. It must’ve been the onions in it,” he said, laughing and waving that haun ae his rapidly behind his smelly arse.

  “Or, maybe because it’s the fucking Friday efter and ye’re gonnae die wae an arse that smells like that.”

  “Aye, if Skull hid been here, he wid’ve shat in the back ae their van as a wee thank ye fur the presents,” Joe said.

  They aw burst oot laughing in hysterics as Silent stood there looking at them wae a puzzled expression oan his coupon.

  “Skull wis something else, so he wis. If he tanned a shoap or a hoose and he knew ye, bit didnae like ye, he’d shite somewhere tae spring a wee surprise oan ye.”

  “Like in they Murphys’ good McCluskey’s steak pie, the night we tanned their loft.”

  “Or Fat Sally Sally’s bed.”

  “Or Crisscross’s polis hat.”

  “Aye, he wis a right manky wee shite, so he wis.”

  “Did he no shite in yer teacher’s desk as well, Johnboy?” Paul asked, as they aw looked at him.

  “Naw, that wis Stuart Hurley, so it wis. He nipped back tae the classroom when we went oot at playtime. When we came back in efter the break, Olive Oyl, the daft cow that she wis, poked her haun intae her desk, withoot looking, and stuck her fingers right intae the middle ae it. Ah think she wis aff school fur aboot a week efter that wan.”

  “Did he get caught?”

  “Aye, he’d asked fur a pencil or something and that gied the game away.”

  “Aye?”

  “In the five years he’d been at school, that wis the first time he’d ever asked fur anything, never mind a pencil, the daft tit,” Johnboy said, as the bell fae the primary school and The City Public at the bottom ae the street went aff.

  “School’s oot.”

  “Aye, Ah’ll need tae watch oot. Two ae ma sisters go tae The City Public and Ah don’t want them seeing me or they’ll tell ma ma that Ah’m hame.”

  “So, whit ur we gonnae dae the night then?” Paul asked Tony.

  “It’s Friday night. Everywan will be drunk. The bizzies will be busy fur a change. We’ll tan wan ae the pubs later oan tae top up oor stock.”

  “How aboot The Big Man’s pub, The McAslin Bar?” Johnboy asked, wae a nervous laugh.

  “Johnboy, why the fuck wur you let oot fae The Grove, insteid ae some brainy deserving boy who could’ve maybe made something ae his life?”

  “Aye, Johnboy, let’s try and no get oorsels murdered this week, eh?”

  “If we’re gonnae dae anything tae that pub, it’ll be tae burn the basturt doon, hopefully wae they Murphy fuck-pigs and The Big Man inside,” Joe said grimly.

  “Right, listen up. We’ll need tae wait until later till the boozers shut. Whit will we dae until then?”

  “Hing aboot?”

  “Heid intae the toon centre?”

  “There’s a good film oan in The Grafton,” Johnboy volunteered.

  “Whit’s it aboot?”

  “A mad basturt and his pals running aboot shagging wummin.”

  “Dae ye get tae see their paps?”

  “Ye get tae see everything.”

  “Who’s in it?”

  “Some madman who’s the leader ae a bike gang.”

  “Naw, naw, ya eejit. Ah mean, whit Hollywood star?”

  “Ye don’t hiv stars in The Grafton’s films.”

  “Why no?”

  “Because it’s The Grafton and it smells ae auld people and Hollywood stars widnae be seen deid in the place.”

  “So, how dae ye know we get tae see everything then?”

  “Because the poster in the windae ootside shows a madman oan a bike, wae a big dolly bird sitting behind him, wiggling they diddies ae hers at everywan oan their way past.”

  “Sounds good tae me.”

  “Aye, Ah’d love tae see some big diddies being wiggled aw o’er the place,” Silent piped-up enthusiastically.

  “So, that’s whit he sounds like? Fuck, it’s only taken a week,” Paul said, tae mair laughter.

  “Right, Johnboy, if we don’t see big tits being wiggled aw o’er the shoap the night, we’re haunin ye o’er tae wan ae the priests up in St Mungo’s, where it’s mair than tits that’ll be wiggled aboot in front ae they eyes ae yours.”

  “Whit’s the film called?”

  “Motorpsycho.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  “Liam, get yer arse in gear. Colin wants tae speak tae yersel and Big Jim in his office,” said the desk sergeant, Happy Harry, popping his heid roond the canteen door.

  “Again? This is becoming a bad habit, so it is,” Big Jim growled, staunin up.

  “Aye, well, Ah widnae worry. We hivnae done anything, at least no that Ah’m aware ae,” The Sarge said, haudin the door open fur Big Jim tae pass through.

  “Right, listen up, boys. Paul McBride and another wee sticky-fingered shitehoose hiv absconded fae The Grove,” Colin announced as they entered his office.

  “Ah thought it wis him that me, Jobby and Crisscross wur in pursuit ae earlier oan, alang wae the rest ae his pals. Ah thought Ah must’ve been mistaken. Ah notice that ginger nut Taylor wan is back in circulation as well.

  “How long his McBride been oan the run fur?” Big Jim asked.

  “Since yesterday morning.”

  “And it’s taken them twenty four hours tae let us know?”

  “Naw, it came in yesterday, bit Ah didnae get the message until Ah came in this morning. Ah wis at the mother-in-law’s funeral aw day yesterday,” The Inspector said, a look ae pain showing up oan that ruddy face ae his.

  “Er, aye, we heard, Colin. Sorry aboot the bad news,” The Sarge mumbled, as Big Jim looked at his feet.

  “Bad news? Christ, it wis the best news Ah’ve hea
rd in years. She wis a foul-moothed auld hag that couldnae haud her tongue wance she goat started. Made everywan’s life a bloody misery, so she did. Naw, it wis the pissing aboot aw day that goat tae me, wae everywan trying tae show they wur mair heartbroken than everywan else, despite the fact that it wis obvious that everywan wis fair chuffed that the auld basturt hid finally departed, leaving them in peace efter aw these years ae misery. Ah totally objected tae gieing up ma day aff fur the auld cow, though,” Colin retorted, smiling.

  “If ye think she wis bad, ye should see whit Ah’ve goat fur a mother-in-law,” Big Jim said. “God, Ah’d even pay somewan tae dae away wae her, if Ah thought Ah could get away wae it, so Ah wid.”

  “It’s that sister-in-law ae mine Ah’ve tae contend wae. A right fucking nag, so she is. That poor brother ae mine hisnae hid a life worth living since they goat married. Nae wonder he’s an alcoholic, living wae that thing, twenty four hours, seven days a week. ‘Twenty years ae purgatory,’ he kept repeating tae us, the last time he wis roond at oors,” The Sarge mused.

  “Aye, well, we better change the subject before Big Jim there comes back tae better that wan, eh?” The Inspector interrupted, before continuing. “Ah want that manky toe-rag McBride picked up before yer shift finishes the night. He might only be twelve years auld, bit the longer he’s oan the loose, the mair damage he’ll dae and Ah don’t want JP doon here bumping his gums aboot the crime wave that’s descended oan the patch.”

  “Crime wave? Whit crime wave?” Big Jim asked, clearly confused.

  “The wan that’s jist aboot tae erupt if we don’t get him and his wee manky pals locked up, pronto.”

  “Ye said there wis two ae them, Colin.”

  “Aye, Ah widnae worry aboot his pal though. He’s a Care and Protection case…some sort ae an orphan. Anyway, furget him…it’s McBride we hiv tae worry aboot. Even better, see if youse kin nab Gucci, Taylor and McManus while youse ur at it. Kin ye imagine the brownie points we’d get fae JP and The Chief, if we could get shot ae that wee bunch, wance and fur aw?”

  “Any word oan whit The Rat’s up tae, Colin?” The Sarge asked.

  “Ah clocked him in the courtroom when JP remanded the Taylor bitch. He looked as sick as a parrot, so he did. JP’s put him oot ae the game. Ah widnae expect tae hear too much fae him noo that she’s been sent doon tae the wummin’s nick in Greenock. If youse kin nab that wee manky mob, it’ll be the icing oan the cake. Get them and The Rat will be well and truly stuffed up the arse, so he will.”

  “Any word oan the fire?”

  “Nothing. Forensics ur saying they believe it wis foul play, bit there isnae any suspects.”

  ”Whit’s the boy’s family saying?”

  “Nothing. The maw’s been sectioned and the da’s been carted aff tae a secure hospital, where he cannae dae himsel or anywan else any damage. There wis a sister, a year aulder than the boy, bit she’s been put in a home under Care and Protection, so at least she’ll be okay. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened tae her, so it is.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  They sat oan the pavement across fae The Grafton oan Parly Road, watching whit wis gaun oan, as they chomped intae two bags ae fritters between them and took it in turns tae wash them doon wae a bottle ae Tizer. Wan minute the road wis quiet, apart fae a few cars and buses heiding up and doon, and the next, the charge ae the auld brigade began in earnest. Some ae them wur in a group, others wur oan their lonesome and some, like Johnboy’s granny and granda, wur obviously thegither. Wan thing they aw hid in common, apart fae the grey hair and wrinkles, wis that they wur aw gaun like the clappers, trying tae reach the door first, before the others goat there. Johnboy didnae want his granny and granda tae clock him, bit he’d nothing tae worry aboot. There wis a scrum at the door, wae them aw trying tae elbow each other oot ae the road.

  “Hoi, hoi, settle doon and wait yer turn, girls. Kin ye no see there’s a queue oan the go here?” an auld wan shouted, as he pushed a couple ae auld wummin oot ae the way, who’d nipped in, in front ae him.

  “The first twenty probably get in fur hauf price,” Paul suggested, licking the vinegar aff ae a fritter.

  “Or the couples want the back row fur a good auld winching session and it’s first come, first served.”

  “Dae ye no mean, first gum, first served?” Joe said tae laughter, as an auld baldy wan fell oan tae his arse between the double glass doors, before getting back up and re-joining the battle ae the door jam.

  “Ladies, ladies! Gents! Haud yer horses! Wan at a time! There’s nae rush, noo. There’s plenty ae seats fur everywan,” the auld usher shouted, before disappearing under the next tidal wave.

  “That’s auld Peter. Ma granda says he’s been an usher in there since he wis thirteen…a hunner year ago.”

  “Somewan wants tae get him a hat that fits him. He looks like a bloody Russian general under that thing he’s goat spinning aboot oan tap ae his napper.”

  “So, how dae we get in then, Johnboy?”

  “We wait until the crush moves past the ticket booth and intae the picture hoose. Wance we know they’re in, wan ae us goes in through the door and asks Big Irene in the booth fur some change ae a tanner or a bob. He gets the change, and then walks oot.”

  “And?”

  “And whichever wan ae us goes in through the door, keeps Irene talking, while wan ae us crawls in at his feet oan the flair at the same time.”

  “Aye? And?” the choir let rip again.

  “The wan that gets the change walks oot and the wan who’s noo sitting underneath her booth crawls roond tae the left, minding tae avoid aw the pish oan the carpet fae where the auld wans wur aw getting excited. He then nips alang the wee corridor and through the double door intae another corridor that runs doon the length ae the picture hoose tae the bottom. At the bottom, there ur a couple ae fire exit doors. Ye jist need tae push the bar, and in we go.”

  “Aye, well, seeing as ye know the layout, ye’re oan crawling duty, Johnboy,” said Tony.

  “Kin Ah no dae the crawling bit?” Silent asked, clearly confident efter his earlier daring escapade.

  “Naw, let Johnboy dae it. He knows the layoot.”

  “We’ll dae it thegither, Silent,” Johnboy offered.

  “Brilliant!”

  “Right, who’ll talk tae Big Irene sitting in the ticket booth?” asked Tony.

  “Ah’ll dae that,” Paul volunteered.

  “So, it’s aw settled then?” Tony asked and everywan nodded in agreement.

  “Tae reach the back exit doors, jist nip through wan ae the closes in Murray Street,” Johnboy said, as aw eyes followed hauf a dozen stragglers, shuffling doon Parly Road, still in their slippers, heiding fur the flicks.

  “So, who’s goat the money tae ask fur the change then?” Paul asked.

  “Ah’m skint.”

  “So am Ah.”

  “Fucking brilliant idea that wis, Johnboy, ya knob, ye.”

  “Ah’m sure ye’ll be able tae make something up as ye go alang, Paul,” Tony laughed, as him and Joe heided across the road towards Murray Street.

  “Whit will Ah say?”

  “Tell her ye want a ham shank aff ae her, bit if she’s busy, a quick shag will dae fur the time being,” Joe shouted back, dodging in front ae a big blue Taylor’s lorry.

  “Johnboy, if this disnae work, ye’re deid.”

  They arrived at the entrance, jist as the last ae the auld wans disappeared oot ae sight, efter getting their tickets. Paul swung the glass door open and strode through as Johnboy and Silent crawled and scurried across the flair, before plapping their arses doon under Big Irene’s wee glass, arched windae.

  “Whit kin Ah dae ye fur, son?”

  “Ah don’t suppose ye could gie me a wee ham shank by any chance missus?” Paul asked, clutching his crotch.

  “Eh?”

  “Or wid ye prefer tae gie that wan-eyed monk ae mine a wee tug insteid?”

  “Ya cheeky wee shite, ye,” Irene ho
llered, clearly affronted by the cheek. “Get yer arse oot ae here before Ah put that haun ae mine across that dirty, filthy mooth ae yers.”

  “Ah take it that’s a naw then?”

  That hid been that. Johnboy couldnae help himsel and burst oot laughing.

  “Whit the hell’s gaun oan here, ya wee cretins, ye?” Big Irene screeched, getting her big arse aff ae that stool ae hers and pushing open the wee door oan the side ae her booth.

  Johnboy jumped up and ran efter Paul, who wis awready heiding fur the double glass doors, as Silent nipped roond the other side ae the booth and disappeared.

  “Ah know youse, ya wee reprobates. Ah’ll be telling yer maws oan ye, ya wee foul-moothed, manky toe-rags, ye.”

  A minute and a hauf later, Silent pushed open the fire exit door and they aw piled in tae the corridor. Tony opened the door intae the picture hoose an inch and peeped inside. There wis a right commotion gaun oan, as hauf the auld wans swapped seats wae each other, so they could sit beside their pals.

  “Right, oan yer knees and follow me,” Tony said, kneeling doon.

  They crawled through the door and heided fur the front row. The first six rows wur still sitting empty as the lights went doon. They plapped their arses doon oan the flair, wae their backs against the upturned seats, oot ae sight ae everywan.

  “Yuck, whit the fuck’s that smell?” Paul whispered.