Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “Jist like Popeye wae his spinach,” she’d cackled tae him the last time he’d paid her a visit.

  If it worked fur Springer Morgan, who’d been oan the drink fur twenty odd years, then it should be a piece ae pish fur smelly Harry lying there in the back, who’d only been pished every day fur three years, The Rat thought tae himsel.

  He missed the wee hidden turn aff and hid tae double back twice before he clocked it. The hedges wur well overgrown since his last visit, bit he saw the sign fur Tank Wood and drove alang the wee deserted road. He hid tae keep Sheepfold tae his right and Upper Stoneymollan o’er tae his left. Efter aboot twenty minutes, he spotted whit he wis efter. Chambered Farm looked like something oot ae the Addams Family, only scarier. He drove up the bumpy track and parked at the front door. There wisnae a soul in sight. He looked behind him and wondered if she hid moved oot wae aw the souls she’d saved, when the door creaked open. The Hunchback ae Notre Dam poked his heid and hunch roond the door and asked The Rat whit he wanted.

  “Ah’m looking fur Molly. Ah’ve goat a customer fur her,” he managed tae blurt oot, before the door slammed shut.

  Ten minutes later, Mad Molly, in aw her majestic glory, appeared oan the scene fae roond the side ae the building.

  “Hello there, Sonny boy. Would ye be lost now?”

  “Er, hello, naw Ah’m no. Ye maybe don’t remember me, bit Ah drapped aff Mr Springer Morgan a while back and picked him back up wance he goat the cure.”

  “Mr Morgan, the newspaper gentleman?”

  “Aye, that’s him.”

  “And he’s still breathing?”

  “Aye, he is that.”

  “Good, good,” she smiled, clasping her hauns thegither while The Big Bell Ringer stood blinking at him.

  The Rat stood there mesmerised, trying tae ignore the flapping wisp ae hair that wis trying tae escape fae the lump that wis The Bell Ringer’s heid, and which continued tae wave aboot in the gentle breeze coming aff ae Loch Lomond, doon in the valley. Mad Molly gently coughed.

  “Oh, sorry, Ah’ve goat a professional gentleman, who’s in need ae a wee bit ae attention because he’s goat an important court case next week.”

  “Drinking and driving?”

  “Naw, naw, he’s a lawyer…a brief. He his tae represent a poor wee soul ae a wummin who’s been stitched up by aw the big boys in the toon and he’s the only wan that kin attend tae her...if ye know whit Ah mean?”

  “And where is the gentleman now?”

  “He’s in the back ae ma car,” The Rat said, nodding towards the wee green Morris Minor Traveller, sitting at the front door.

  “And what makes you think I can help him?”

  “Well, if you cannae, he’s no the only wan that’s gonnae die soon.”

  “Does he want help?”

  “Oh, aye. He’s screaming oot fur it.”

  “I’ll see what I can do…Mr?”

  “Morrison.”

  “Well, Mr Morrison, without promising anything, I’ll take him for a week and see what level of detoxification he can support. I’ll want thirty pounds up front and a further thirty when he leaves,” she said, haudin oot her bony, gnarled fingers.

  The Rat blinked and jist aboot fucked aff back tae the car pronto, tae heid back doon the track, bit insteid, sighed, slipped his haun intae his raincoat pocket and coonted oot the notes. He lifted his snout up, tears in his eyes, watching the dosh slip intae the palm ae her woollen fingerless gloves. The Hulk lifted Harry oot the back ae the traveller, slung him o’er his shoulder like an auld carpet and disappeared through the front door.

  “Would there be anything else, Mr Morrison?”

  “Ah’ll need tae come and talk tae him sometime mid-week,” The Rat said, as he jumped intae the car and drove aff doon the track, heiding fur Gateside wummin’s prison in Greenock.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  “Whit dae ye think then?” Paul asked Tony.

  “Ah’ll take Johnboy in wae me. He’s goat the face ae an angel.”

  “Oh, well, that’s awright then,” Joe said, and everywan laughed, except Johnboy.

  They wur sitting oan tap ae the stable roof, debating who wis gaun intae The McAslin Bar tae speak tae The Big Man, tae see if the offer ae seven and a tanner a bottle oan the spirits wis still oan. Nowan, except Tony, hid volunteered tae go oan the mission.

  “Wid Ah no be better gaun wae ye tae sell the Murphy stuff tae Toby in The Gay Gordon insteid?” Johnboy asked casually.

  “Whit fur?” Paul asked.

  “Ah don’t know,” Johnboy replied.

  “The decision his awready been taken, Johnboy, ya stuffed fud, ye,” laughed Paul.

  “Aye, Johnboy, it’s aboot time ye earned yer keep aboot here, insteid ae wandering aboot wae yer heid up yer arse aw the time,” Joe piped in fur good measure.

  “Whit’s wrang?” Tony asked, looking at Johnboy.

  “Nothing.”

  “If ye don’t want tae dae it, Ah’ll take Silent wae me.”

  “Ah’ll go,” Silent said eagerly.

  “Naw, Ah’ll go. Ah jist thought somewan else might like tae go wae ye insteid ae me,” Johnboy said hopefully, looking aboot at the faces staring back at him wae ‘Ur ye fucking crackers?’ expressions oan them.

  “Right, that’s settled then. Let’s go,” Tony said, sliding doon the roof tae the gutter edge and drapping oot ae sight.

  As they wur disappearing oot ae the gates oan tae Stanhope Street, Johnboy looked behind him at the monkeys sitting side by side up oan the roof.

  “Remember, if ye manage tae get tae a phone, it’s nine, nine, nine,” shouted Joe, as they aw laughed.

  Johnboy reckoned nothing hid changed in the pub since he wis last there, although there wis nae sign ae Kirsty behind the bar. In her place wis a curly red-haired auld wummin wae a painted face who must’ve been aboot thirty if she wis a day. Her lips wur the colour ae blood and she wis cackling at something wan ae the men at the bar hid said. Johnboy thought her jezebels wur gonnae burst oot ae her V-neck jumper, the way she and them wur heaving and jiggling aboot.

  “Dae ye want tae touch them, son?” she asked Johnboy, before letting rip wae another crackling cackle fae that gub ae hers as Tony and Johnboy trooped past her.

  Aw the guys at the bar thought she wis hilarious. Johnboy moved fae Tony’s left tae his right side as they passed her, heiding south tae where they could see The Big Man and the Murphy brothers, hinging aboot doon at the bottom ae the bar.

  “Well, fucking well. Look whit the cat’s jist dragged in,” Mick scoffed, as aw their heids swung roond tae look at the two boys approaching their corner.

  “If it’s no ma wee honest thieving apprentices,” The Big Man declared tae aw and sundry, staunin there in his blue suit and matching shirt and tie.

  “Hellorerr, Pat,” Tony said, nodding.

  “Been stealing other people’s booze lately, ya manky wee basturts?” snarled Danny.

  Johnboy wanted tae shout oot, ‘Aye, yours, ya fucking knob, ye,’ bit jist gied him a wee sickly smile, kidding oan that he wisnae aboot tae shite his good five-o-wans that he’d wheeched aff a washing line up in Alexandra Parade, a while back, when Tony and Skull hid introduced him tae the art ae snow-dropping. If it wisnae fur the scary wan wae the painted face and lips, wae the ootsized bouncing paps, behind the bar at the far end, he wid’ve probably been oot the door before then. Tony didnae seem tae be too bothered though.

  “Is that offer still oan, Pat?”

  “Whit offer wid that be then, Tony boy?”

  “Seven and a tanner fur a bottle ae good spirits?”

  The Big Man didnae even blink, bit they Murphys jist aboot aw hid a heart attack thegither. Johnboy felt something snap like an elastic band behind him. He thought it wis the elastic oan the good pair ae underpants that his maw hid put oan him a couple ae weeks previously, when he’d been up at court, until he realised it wis something deep inside that arse ae his. He felt his guts dae The Hucklebuck.
He wis jist wondering whit their reaction wid be if he shat himsel, there and then, when Danny decided tae help him oot wae his situation.

  “Dae they wee manky shitehooses think we’re fucking saft or something? Dae we look fucking stupid?” Danny Boy snarled, trying tae oot-glower his ugly brothers.

  How Johnboy managed tae keep the cheeks ae his arse clamped shut and no faint, he’d never know.

  “Whit hiv ye goat?” The Big Man asked, finishing aff whit he hid left ae his pint ae heavy and picking up a full wan that wis sitting patiently oan the bar, waiting tae be slurped doon that neck ae his.

  Tony’s answer finished Johnboy aff and he hid tae make a move.

  “Cutty Sark whisky, gin and some right good vodka,” Tony said casually.

  Johnboy couldnae really remember who said whit or who did whit, bit it aw seemed tae happen at the same time. The Big Man burst oot laughing…no a wee titter, bit a big guffawing roar.

  “Wis it youse wee thieving basturts that tanned ma van and swiped ma good drink, ya wee galloots?” Mick snarled.

  Shaun, wae the ‘mars bar’ across the side ae his face, and Danny Boy’s faces baith turned white in disbelief at whit Tony hid jist come oot wae, blinking at Johnboy and Tony like a pair ae fairy lights. According tae Tony later, it wisnae whit he’d said that hid goat the reaction, bit whit Johnboy hid come oot wae next.

  “Is there a toilet aboot here? Ah need a shite desperately,” Johnboy said, staunin there wae his haun up, arse cheeks clamped shut and cross-legged as if he wis sitting in class at school, talking tae Olive Oyl.

  “O’er there,” The Big Man nodded tae a door in the corner, before muttering, “He must’ve scoffed wan ae yer good steak pies, Mick.”

  The only wan that laughed at The Big Man’s joke wis Tony. The other three gorillas jist stared, slit-eyed, at Tony, wae a puzzled look spread across their coupons. Tony telt the boys later that he’d jist aboot ran intae the bog and pulled Johnboy aff the wan and only shitter in the place when he’d heard that wan. Fae where Johnboy wis sitting, grunting and groaning in pain, he could hear them talking tae Tony, wance he’d calmed doon at the hilarious steak pie joke.

  “So, whit’s the score aboot fleeing the doos then?” Scarface Al asked.

  “We’re oot ae that game noo. We goat oor fingers burnt…at least Skull did…and mair.”

  “Aye, it’s a pity that, eh? Ah quite liked that cheeky wee shitehoose,” Mick, the lying basturt, said.

  “Aye, Ah think he liked you tae,” Tony replied, as another doze went flying oot ae Johnboy’s arse at the speed ae light.

  “So, whit hiv ye goat fur me then?” The Big Man asked.

  “Wan case ae Cutty Sark, wan ae Bells, two ae Beefeater Dry Gin, two vodka, and a case ae mixed bottles…aw good stuff.”

  “Whit’s yer vodka?”

  “Smirnoff.”

  “Ye widnae hiv goat it oot ae a wee red van by any chance, wid ye?”

  “If Ah telt ye ma source, Ah’d hiv tae kill ye,” Tony replied.

  “Aye, ye’re a game wee basturt, so ye ur, Tony. Ah’ll gie ye that. Isn’t he, boys?” The Big Man said tae the gorillas, lapping up the cheek.

  “Aye, a right bundle ae laughs, this wan. Where’s that shitey wee mate ae his gone?” Johnboy heard Mick ask.

  Johnboy gied up trying tae decide whit tae dae aboot the shitey water that wis overflowing oot ae the toilet pan in the wee smelly cubicle. He’d noticed, too late, that there wisnae any ripped sheets ae newspaper hinging fae the wire behind the door and he’d hid tae use his good clean underpants that his maw hid made him wear tae court tae wipe his arse. When he’d tried tae flush them doon the pan, they’d choked it and the shitey water hid started heiding fur the door.

  “Ye’re back?”

  “Aye, it must’ve been that pie Ah ate earlier,” Johnboy said, rubbing his belly, and looking as ill as he felt.

  “Aye, Ah bloody-well know how ye feel, so Ah dae,” The Big Man said, scowling at Mick, the comedian, who didnae find it funny, even though Johnboy did.

  When the boys hid tanned the loft dookit above the Murphys’ hoose, Skull hid nipped doon intae their kitchen and lifted the pastry aff the tap ae their good McCluskey’s ashet steak pie and shat in it. The Big Man and aw the Murphys, apart fae Mick, hid ended up in the hospital fur a week a couple ae days efter the meal.

  “Whit’s in the mixed case?”

  “This and that. Cointreau, two bottles ae Squires London Gin, something called Pernod and Bols mint liqueur…aw unopened,” Tony replied.

  “Whit kind ae gin did ye lose, Mick?”

  “Gordon’s.”

  “Right, seeing as Ah’m taking everything ye’ve goat, including the box ae mixed pish, sight unseen, it’s four fresh five pound notes fur the lot.”

  “We agreed oan seven and a tanner a bottle, so we cannae dae it fur that.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll take thirty big wans and if we come across any mair, we’ll gie ye first shout.”

  Silence.

  “If ye don’t want the stuff, Toby roond the corner in The Gay Gordon will probably bite the fingers aff ae us fur it.”

  “Deal. Drap the stuff aff at Horsey John’s later,” The Big Man said, lifting up his pint ae heavy.

  Johnboy wis so relieved when Tony hid finished daeing business. Fae where he wis staunin, he could see his shitey puddle creeping o’er the bar flair and wis desperate tae get tae hell oot ae there before it began tae lap against the heels ae The Big Man’s shiny Oxford brogues.

  Chapter Forty

  “That’s us then, Helen,” Gina said, putting her plastic mug oan the flair beside her feet, as she bit intae her cheese piece.

  “Whit is?”

  “Banged up until the morra.”

  “Oh, that’ll break the monotony.”

  “Aye, wance they lock ye up oan a Sunday at four o’clock, apart fae getting a mug ae tea aboot hauf eight, ye’re oan yer ain straight through.”

  “Whit happens if ye want a pee and the chanty pot’s full?” Helen asked, nodding at the antique sitting in the corner.

  “Hmm, Ah don’t know. Ah suppose ye hiv tae stick a cork in it.”

  “This is bloody awful, so it is.”

  “Aye, bit we hid a good laugh wae the other lassies, didn’t we?”

  “It wis bloody embarrassing, so it wis.”

  “Naw, it wisnae. It wis bloody great. There wis some stoating voices, gieing it laldy, doon in that yard. That Wee Morag sounded jist like that Cilla Black wan.”

  “She wis supposed tae sound like Dusty Springfield.”

  “Ah wisnae too sure ae Big Pat though. She sounded mair like ma coalman.”

  “Aye, bit her heart’s in the right place.”

  “Wheesht! It sounds like there’s a posse oan the landing. That means somewan’s in trouble, so it dis. The doors never get opened up efter four. They’re heiding this way,” Gina whispered, cocking her lug towards the door.

  “Oh, oh, they’ve stoapped ootside oor door,” Helen whispered back, as a key turned in the lock.

  “Taylor?”

  “Aye?”

  “Ye’re wanted,” Big Fat Martha grunted.

  “By who?”

  “Ah’m the wan that’s daeing the talking aboot here, hen. You jist dae as ye’re telt and we’ll aw get alang jist fine and dandy,” the screw growled, stepping aside tae let Helen squeeze past hersel and a wee skinny, scrawny screw, who’d a terrible twitch in wan ae her eyes that widnae stoap twitching.

  Christ, whit hiv Ah done noo, Helen thought tae hersel, biting that bottom lip ae hers as she followed The Twitcher alang the gallery and doon the stairs. Efter the ninth iron-barred gate hid been opened and slammed shut behind her by the bearded wardress, tae the nerve-jangling sound ae rattling keys, Helen’s sense ae direction hid deserted her. When they finally came tae the first wooden door Helen hid come across since she’d been in the place, Sideburn Sally roughly swung it open and nodded f
ur her tae enter.

  “Hello, Helen, nice tae see ye,” The Rat said, staunin up.

  It took Helen aw her strength tae keep her composure and face straight. Whit the hell wis he daeing here? Who the fuck hid let him in? Gina hid jist telt her that everywan wis locked doon fur the night, even though the sun wis shining in through the barred windaes ae the room.

  “Whit the fuck dae you want?”

  “Ah’ve come tae see if ye’re awright and okay,” he said, looking aboot the room.

  “Well, ye’ve seen me, noo fuck aff before they pin an assault charge tae ma sheet.”

  “Ye’re oan a wee bit ae a sticky wicket noo, Helen. Ah’m only trying tae help ye get oot ae here, so Ah’d appreciate if ye wid try and at least kid oan that ye don’t hate me.”

  Helen wis jist aboot tae aboot turn and heid fur the door when The Rat pulled oot a box ae Swan Vestas and a twenty packet ae Woodbines fae his crumpled raincoat. He saw her hesitating.

  “Here, help yersel. Why don’t ye grab a pew,” he said, throwing the packets oan tae the worn Formica-topped table, as he nodded tae the empty chair sitting in front ae it.

  Helen picked up the fag packet and looked at it, turning it o’er in her haun. Even though she hated the taste ae Woodbines, she fought the urge tae burst intae tears and jist managed tae haud hersel thegither. She plapped her arse doon oan tae the bare metal seat.

  “Whit dae ye want?” she finally asked again, taking the strong smoke doon intae her lungs, before exhaling it towards the ceiling.

  She placed the matchbox oan tap ae the fags at her side ae the table. Even though it hid only been a few days since he’d seen her, she’d lost weight, The Rat thought tae himsel. He wid hiv tae be careful here…very careful. Wan false move and he wis fucked. Aw his good work wid go doon the drain.