Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “Deid bodies,” Johnboy said knowingly, as aw the farting started up, coming fae aw directions and competing wae the sound ae the chicken crowing at the start ae the Pathe Pictorial News.

  “That bampot widnae hiv lasted hauf an oor in the Toonheid,” Paul declared, walking up Parly Road efter the picture finished.

  “Who?”

  “That big girl’s blouse wae the motorbike, who wis supposed tae be a right hard basturt.”

  “Aye, the Murphys wid’ve hid him pan breid and buried in two minutes flat, as well as hivving that motorbike ae his stripped doon and sold aff as scrap.”

  “And whit the hell happened tae aw the diddies that wur supposed tae be hinging and swinging aw o’er the place, Johnboy? The closest Ah goat tae seeing a tit the night, wis sitting next tae you, ya eejit, ye.”

  “Right, which wan ae youse is first up the drain pipe at the back ae the tenement tae open the hoose door fae the inside then?” Tony interrupted, as they arrived at a closemooth opposite The Gay Gordon, oan the corner ae Black Street.

  It wis aboot hauf past ten and getting dark. They’d jist watched the place being locked up fur the night and the two barmen heid up and intae Tony’s chip shop.

  “Ah’ll dae it,” Joe volunteered, sauntering across the road before disappearing through the closemooth beside the pub.

  “Right, remember, keep the noise doon wance we’re in. Ye never know who’ll be walking past the pub. We don’t want the bizzies sitting waiting fur us when we come oot.”

  Efter they’d left Abdul Sing’s in Ronald Street earlier, avoiding the wee red van ootside the Murphys’ closemooth, they’d gone roond tae check oot the poster oan the windae box doon at The Grafton. They’d then wandered up and doon Parly Road, Castle Street, Stirling Road and Cathedral Street, trying tae decide whit wis the best boozer tae tan. They’d chosen two maybes oot ae aboot twenty five, these being The Hansard doon at the North Fredrick Street end ae Parly Road and The Gay Gordon. Neither ae the two hid alarms stuck oan the wall ootside, as far as they could see. As they’d stood arguing, opposite the Gay Gordon, o’er which pub wis gonnae be the lucky wan, Calum The Runner, hid arrived oan the scene.

  “Whit ur youse up tae, boys?” he’d asked, uncoiling a length ae clothes line fae his haun before starting tae skip oan the spot.

  “We’re trying tae decide whit pub tae tan the night,” Tony hid telt him.

  “Oh, aye? And whit wan’s the lucky winner then?”

  “The Hansard.”

  “How ur youse gonnae get in?”

  “We’re jist gonnae tan the windae at the front and nip in and grab whit we kin.”

  “So, whit’ll that be? A couple ae bottles ae beer and ten woodbines each then?”

  “Aw the other wans aboot here ur aw bolted up like fortresses.”

  “So, why no try and get in another way?”

  “Like whit?”

  “Check oot The Gay Gordon, across the road. Whit dae ye see?” Calum hid asked them, picking up a good skipping pace, as their heids swivelled across tae the pub.

  “A shut pub, wae windaes that hivnae any lights oan inside until it opens at hauf six.”

  “Naw, naw, ye dafty, ye. Whit dae ye see above it?”

  “A hoose wae curtains in the windaes.”

  “Naw, ye’re looking at an empty hoose wae curtains oan the windaes, so ye ur. Why dae ye no get in doon through the flair?”

  “Fuck, Calum, ye should be a bloody crook, insteid ae wasting aw that energy, running aboot like a man possessed, so ye should,” Joe hid said, as they laughed at Calum, staunin there, hauns oan hips, stretching fae side tae side, looking nonchalantly at the amateurs.

  “Ur youse three time losers jesting or whit? Youse ur no exactly the best adverts fur leading a life ae crime, ur ye?”

  “Ah don’t know aboot that. We fucked they Murphy wank-heids wae their doos, didn’t we?” Joe hid said smugly.

  “Wan fluke disnae make ye a great train robber.”

  “That’s next week.”

  “Oh, by the way…ye widnae happen tae hiv emptied a wee red van full ae boxes ae booze up in Ronald Street earlier, wid youse?”

  “Aye, why?” Paul hid laughed.

  “Because The Big Man is daeing his absolute dinger and Danny and Mick Murphy ur roond at The McAslin Bar getting their ears melted as we speak. They’ve put the word oot that whoever done it is gonnae end up severely weighted doon up in the Nolly.”

  “Good fur them, the tadgers that they ur,” Joe hid laughed.

  “Ah’m telling ye. They’ll bloody waste anywan they catch trying tae get wan o’er oan them jist noo.”

  “So, if they ever find oot that they’ve bought back their ain bottles ae spirits, that’ll really upset them then?” Tony hid said tae mair laughter.

  “Youse ur pissing close tae the wind, so youse ur. Ah’m telling ye, they twins, especially that Mick wan, wullnae haud back if ye’re caught. Don’t say ye wurnae warned.”

  “Aye, well, they’ll hiv tae join the queue then, won’t they?”

  “Right, Ah’m aff. Hope youse dae well in the pub trade. See ye,” Calum hid said cheerfully, high-tailing it in the direction ae The Grafton.

  Wance Calum hid left, they’d gone roond the back ae The Gay Gordon and Joe hid slithered up the drainpipe. The windae ae the hoose hid slid up and he’d disappeared fur a minute, only tae reappear, looking doon at them through a broken pane in the stairheid landing windae.

  “Up youse come. Ah’ve opened the door fae the inside.”

  It wis a room and kitchen wae an ootside toilet. Efter looking aboot, they’d decided they’d go doon through the flair in the room at the front ae the tenement when they came back later oan. The wee access hatches wurnae really hatches, bit shortened flair boards that wur aboot eighteen inches long that hid been cut and nailed doon fur easy access at a later date, fur any workmen wanting tae get under the flairboards. When stripping the lead oot ae empty tenement buildings, The Mankys always looked under the flair hatches first tae see if there wis any blocked tin oan the go, as they goat four times the price fur blocked tin than whit they goat fur lead.

  “That’s oor way in,” Paul hid said, nodding. “Wance we get these boards up, we’ll kick a hole doon through the pub ceiling.”

  “We’ll need something tae get the flair boards up wae,” Joe hid said.

  “Aye, that’s your job, Joe. See if ye kin get a jemmy or something before we come back later oan,” Tony hid said, as everywan heided fur the ootside door oan tae the landing.

  Efter they’d come oot ae The Grafton at aboot hauf nine, Joe and Silent hid disappeared in search ae something tae get the flair boards up wae. They’d only been away fur aboot five minutes before they’d caught up wae the others, heiding up Parly Road.

  “So, whit hiv ye goat, Joe?” Tony hid asked.

  “We’ve goat a hatchet. We goat it oot ae the slater’s yard oan St James Road beside the blue polis box that we burned doon.”

  “Will it dae the job okay?” Johnboy hid asked, running a finger alang the blade end.

  “It’s a wee bit blunt, bit aye, it shouldnae be a problem.”

  It took them aw ae five minutes tae get intae the pub. As soon as they arrived in the front room, Paul pulled oot the hatchet and skelped it straight between two ae the wee short access flairboards. Wance it wis imbedded, he used the heel ae his shoe and his weight tae get the board tae spring up. Efter that, the other four flairboards wur up in aboot two seconds flat. When the mad axe-man wis finished, Tony stood wae his hauns oan Paul and Joe’s shoulders and used the heel ae his shoe tae kick a hole through the ceiling intae the bar below.

  “Wait until the dust settles before sticking yer heid through the hole, Paul,” Tony advised.

  “Aye, and watch oot fur any jagged ends ae the Latham. Ah knew a guy wance that lost an eye wae that stuff,” Joe added, nodding doon at the dust-filled hole between the soot-covered rafters.

  “Latham?” Silent aske
d.

  “Aye, aw the walls and ceilings hiv goat Latham plaster oan them. Ye nail oan thin strips ae wood, leaving wee gaps between them and then ye whack oan heaps ae plaster. Before ye know it, ye’ve goat yersel a wall or a ceiling.”

  “So, is this building made ae that?” Johnboy asked, thumping the windae wall wae his haun.

  “Naw, they use bricks oan the main walls and then cover it wae Latham. They mix horsehair in wae the plaster. Don’t ask me why the they dae that though.”

  “It’s tae keep stupid pricks like youse talking, insteid ae climbing through holes like youse ur supposed tae be daeing. Right, who’s first?” Paul demanded, looking up fae the ragged square hole that the rest ae them wur staunin peering doon intae.

  “Whit’s below the hole, Paul?” Tony asked.

  “The bar itsel. It’s jist aff tae the left. We’ll hiv tae swing o’er a wee bit before we land.”

  “Right, first doon is Joe, then Silent, Johnboy and then masel. Everywan, get yer socks aff and oan tae yer hauns. We don’t want tae leave any dabs aboot the place. Paul, you stay up here and keep a look-oot.”

  “Look oot fur whit? There’s nae fucker tae look oot fur. We’re in a bloody empty hoose.”

  “We’ll need somewan tae haun the stuff up tae. Ah want ye tae keep peeping oot ae the windae oan tae Parly Road, tae make sure there’s nae bizzies oan the go.”

  “Why the fuck should it be me? Whit’s wrang wae wan ae they other knob-ends staunin aboot here, daeing sweet fuck aw?”

  “Cause Ah said so, that’s why.”

  “Aye, shut the fuck up and dae whit ye’re telt, Paul, ye whinging whingerer. Get tae fuck oot ae the way, and let the real expert in,” Joe said, sitting doon and putting his legs through the hole.

  “Fuck you, Joe. The only thing ye’re an expert at, is letting that dirty heathen, Father McSwiggan, wiggle that fat sticky finger ae his up that smelly arse ae yers when ye tried tae wangle yer way intae being an altar boy.”

  “Aye, he did say tae me that he dumped ye when he discovered some other dirty basturt hid goat there before him,” Joe said, as he swung himsel roond oan tae his belly and slid through the hole, hinging oan wae his sock-covered finger tips.

  “Kin ye see the bar, bum-boy?” Paul asked, lying flat wae his face peering between Joe’s hauns.

  “Kin Ah fuck. Ah’m facing the wrang way. Ah’ll need tae turn roond.”

  “See? Ah telt youse,” Paul said in disgust, looking up at them.

  “Hurry the fuck up, Joe. We hivnae goat aw night,” Tony grumbled, as Joe’s hauns moved roond the square opening, before disappearing six inches further doon and gripping oan tae the Latham plaster that wis haudin the bar’s ceiling up.

  “Ah see it!” he whooped, before suddenly disappearing.

  This wis followed by a loud crashing thud and a long painful groan two seconds later.

  “Ur ye aw right, Joe?” Paul whispered, as they aw knelt roond the hole, peering doon intae the semi-darkness.

  “Naw, Ah’m fucking no. The fucking plaster came aff in ma hauns, so it did,” moaned Joe, fae the darkness below.

  Everywan burst oot laughing.

  “Shhhh!” Tony giggled at them.

  “Joe, ur ye still wae us?” Paul whispered doon, laughing quietly.

  “Ah’ve jist fucking telt ye. Am Ah fuck,” he groaned.

  “Right, Silent, oan ye go. When ye get through, Ah’ll haud yer haun and swing ye across towards the bar. Jist tell me when tae let ye go…okay?”

  “Er, aye, okay,” Silent mumbled nervously, as he drapped doon oan tae his stomach and wiggled backwards through the hole, haudin oan tae Tony’s ootstretched haun.

  “Noo!” Silent hauf squealed.

  Tony’s haun appeared oot ae the hole, jist before they heard an even bigger thud, yelp, crash and groan.

  “Ah think he skidded aff the bar,” Tony said, looking up, as Johnboy and Paul doubled up wae laughter again, listening tae the groans coming up through the hole, which wur quickly followed by the smell ae shite.

  “Whit ur they up tae?” Johnboy asked, screwing-up his face.

  “Wan ae them is in wan corner and wan is in the other and they’re baith daeing a shite, the filthy basturts,” Tony replied, grinning.

  “Right, tell them tae stack up some ae the tables in the bar when they’re finished, so we kin drap doon oan tae them, Tony,” Johnboy said, peering past Tony’s heid intae the hole.

  “We heard,” Joe shouted fae below.

  “Aye, well, keep the noise doon. It’s a wonder the whole ae Parly Road hisnae been woken up,” Tony growled, changing position and swinging his legs roond intae the hole.

  Tony, followed by Johnboy, drapped doon oan tae the wobbly tables that wur stacked up, three high tae the left ae the bar.

  “Ur youse okay then?” Tony asked them.

  “Ah bloody-well telt ye. Ur we fuck. Ah think Ah’ve broken a rib and Silent’s cracked his skull when he thudded it aff the tap ae the bar,” Joe whinged.

  “Right, Joe, ya shitey basturt, where the fuck did ye dae that shite? Ah don’t want tae be trailing through it,” Johnboy said, treading carefully.

  “O’er beside the toilet door.”

  “Silent…shite?”

  “Jist in front ae the front door.”

  “Aye, whoever walks through the door first better no be in their bare feet, eh?”

  “Silent Shite. Is that no some sort ae a Christmas tune?” Paul asked, looking doon at them.

  “Carol.”

  “Whit, is she the singer?” Joe asked fae behind the bar.

  “Naw, it’s called a carol…a Christmas carol,” Johnboy said, wondering how the fuck Joe ever managed tae stay oot ae The Grove fur mair than a day.

  “How dis it go then?” Paul’s heid asked fae the hole up in the ceiling

  “Ah think Ah know.”

  “Well, spit it oot, Carol, darling,” Paul cooed, as everywan stoapped poking aboot and looked across at Silent.

  “Oh, come aw ye faithful...” Silent started tae sing badly.

  “Silent, that’s ‘Oh Come Aw Ye Faithful’, ya diddy, ye. Even Ah know that and Ah’m a Catholic,” Tony scoffed.

  “Naw, ye’re a fucking Atalian grease-ball, Tony. There’s a big difference. Don’t think we don’t aw know that. Fuck knows why we allow a greasy foreigner tae run aboot wae us, that’s aw Ah kin say,” Joe said, looking aboot wae a glint in they eyes ae his.

  “Okay, is this it? ‘Away in a manger, no crib fur a...”

  “Paul. Ye’re worse than Silent Shite o’er there.”

  “Right, fucking Holy Wullie, gie’s a wee verse fae yersel then,” Tony challenged fae behind the bar.

  “Tony, shut the fuck up. Kin ye no see that Ah’m putting oan ma singing heid.”

  “Well, stoap fucking aboot and get oan wae it, ya bloody haufwit, ye.”

  “Right, here goes then. Listen and learn,” Joe said, composing himsel. ‘Hark the herald angels sing, glory tae...”

  “That isnae it,” a choir ae voices hooted at him.

  “It fucking is so. Tell them, Johnboy.”

  “Right, here’s whit ye should aw be singing, ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright...” Johnboy sang, feeling chuffed wae himsel, leading a choir fur the first time in his life.

  Everywan wis wandering aboot, hauf-singing and hauf-murmuring the carol, oot ae tune, as they went aboot their business ae rifling the place, avoiding the two steaming shite piles. They heard a car pull up ootside and they aw froze oan the spot where they wur staunin.

  “Paul, go and see who the fuck that is,” Tony whispered.

  Aw eyes watched Paul’s heid disappear fae the hole and reappear aboot five seconds later.

  “It’s that Sarge wan and that skelly-eyed Crisscross,” Paul whispered doon tae them.

  “Whit the fuck ur they daeing?” Tony whispered up tae him.

  “Sitting scoffing fish suppers,” Paul whispered back, as everywan ti
ptoed o’er tae the front door, cocking their heids and making sure they knew where Joe’s pile ae shite wis.

  “Aye, she won’t be so fucking loose wae that tongue ae hers noo, the bitch,” they heard Crisscross saying, burping and smacking they lips ae his, efter guzzling doon hauf a bottle ae Irn Bru.

  “Right, the rest is mine, ya greedy basturt, ye,” The Sarge retorted, swiping the bottle aff ae Crisscross and placing it oan the flair between his feet.

  “That’s no bad that, when ye think ae it.”

  “Whit isnae?”

  “The maw’s in the clink, the auldest boy’s in borstal and the wee toe-rag hopefully goat his arse humped oot in The Grove. Some bloody family, eh?”

  “Aye, well, he might’ve been in The Grove, bit Ah kin still feel his presence and aw they ugly wee cronies ae his. It’s funny, even when ye know they’re no staunin in front ae ye, ye kin still sense them roond aboot ye, so ye kin,” The Sarge said, lifting up the bottle and taking a slurp.

  “Well, Ah widnae worry too much aboot Ginger Nut. It’s the wee sticky fingers ae they pals ae his that we hiv tae worry aboot the noo. Get Gucci, McManus and McBride and Taylor will disappear fae view.”

  “Aye, it widnae surprise me if the wee foxy basturts wurnae sitting watching us right this minute,” The Sarge agreed, sticking his haun oot ae the car windae and shining his torch up and doon the front door ae The Gay Gordon, before stuffing five chips intae his gaping mooth in wan go.

  “So, dae ye reckon the two that fucked aff fae The Grove the other day there will hing aboot the Toonheid?”

  “Ah don’t know aboot the wee wan fae Kirkintilloch bit the other wan will definitely be skulking aboot.”

  “So, whit’s gaun oan doon at Central then, Sarge?”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “C’mone, ye know whit Ah’m talking aboot.”

  “Well, if ye gie me a bloody hint, Ah might be able tae answer ye. Spit it oot. Whit hiv ye heard?”

  “Oh, Ah don’t know. Ah’ve been telt no tae mention whit Ah’ve heard, if ye know whit Ah mean?”

  “Crisscross, Ah don’t hiv a clue whit ye’re oan aboot and naw, Ah don’t know whit ye mean, so spit it oot.”

  “Ah, cannae. Ah’ll get shot by JP.”