Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “Aye, well. Ah clocked him staggering alang Duke Street. Ah’m telling ye, Ah never recognised him. He looked as if he’d shrunk.”

  “Probably heiding fur The Tontine. Mind you, if ye say he’s shrunk, he must be hitting midget level by noo. He wis never an inch o’er five feet.”

  “Is that right? Ah must’ve goat the wrang drunk. This wan wis well o’er five and a hauf feet. Anyway, Charlie, nice tae see ye. Ah hiv tae get oan.”

  “Aye, okay, Sammy. Ah better get back tae business, eh?”

  Five feet, Sammy thought. Christ, he wid’ve put Harry at five feet five at least. It jist showed how wrang a person could be aboot these things when they hidnae seen somewan in a while.

  “Right, ma man. Ah need a full outfit. The best ye’ve goat and Ah don’t want tae spend mair than four bob, including the shoes.”

  “Dis that include a tie as well, sir?”

  “The full rig-oot.”

  “Nae problem, sir.”

  “Ah’m no sure Ah’m fit fur this,” Harry mumbled, efter sitting listening tae The Rat explain the situation.

  “Harry, ye jist need tae turn up. Ye kin dae this wae yer eyes shut, given whit ye’ve hid tae deal wae in the past.”

  “Bit, Ah don’t practice anymair, Sammy,” the brief winced, clearly in pain and shaking like a jelly.

  “Ye’re no practicing, ye’re defending. We cannae use anywan else. Ah’ve telt ye, if it gets back that the paper’s involved, we’re aw in Shite Street thegither.”

  “Ah’m scared tae take wan step in front ae me in case Ah drap ma guts in ma pants,” the brief groaned, clutching his stomach wae baith hauns.

  “Dae ye want me tae stoap and let ye oot behind these bushes that we’re coming tae?”

  “Naw, Ah wis shiting fur forty eight hours straight, even though Ah didnae want tae and noo that Ah dae, it feels as if Ah’ve goat a bag a coal stuck up ma arse.”

  “Harry, it’s no fur me tae say, bit ye hiv tae come back tae civilisation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the world needs ye. The Irish Brigade ur ruling the roost wae an iron fist.”

  “Whit his that goat tae dae we me?” Harry replied, rubbing his whiskery chin wae a trembling haun.

  “If people like yersel ur gonnae jist turn o’er and bare their arses tae be kicked, then the wee folk ur well and truly fucked.”

  “So, when did ye become part ae the revolution, Sammy? The last time Ah saw ye wis wae yer haun stuck up the arse ae Big Bill Bennett, defending his reputation as an honest businessman while he wis swindling the Forth Road sub-contracting companies oot ae thousands.”

  “Listen, Harry, Ah admit Ah hivnae much principles, bit whit’s yer excuse?”

  “Stoap the car a minute, Ah hiv tae puke up.”

  The Rat watched and listened tae Harry retching at the side ae the road. When he stood up and flicked some hinging slabbers away fae his mooth wae his fingers, a bit ae colour hid returned tae they ashen grey unshaven cheeks ae his.

  “The witch, Mad Molly, said this might happen fur a few days until Ah’m able tae keep stuff doon.”

  “Ye’re looking a lot better than when Ah last saw ye, when Ah picked ye up fae the gutter up oan the Ladywell.”

  “Is that where ye found me?”

  “Aye, kin ye no remember? Ye said that ye hid tae turn yer life aroond or ye wur gonnae end up pan breid. Ah telt ye aboot Mad Molly and ye insisted that Ah take ye tae her right there and then.”

  “Did Ah indeed?”

  “Ye sure did,” The Rat lied, turning up the drive towards the prison gates.

  Chapter Forty Five

  “So, Alex, tell us again where ye think that bunch ae manky basturts that done that tae yer face ur hiding oot,” The Sarge asked, sitting in the back ae the Black Maria wae Crisscross oan his left and Big Jim and Jinty oan his right, up in Pinkston Road, oot ae sight ae any nosey parkers.

  “Ah’ve telt ye, somewhere in-between St James’s Road and Stanhope Street. It’s either Ronald Street or Parson Street. It’s definitely wan ae the two,” Fat Boy whimpered, tenderly touching the hooped rope-burn weals oan that fat face ae his, facing them.

  “C’mone, Alex, ye kin dae better than that, son. That means they could be in any ae a hunner hooses between St James’s Road and Stanhope Street,” said Crisscross, who’d been patrolling the area fur the previous three years.

  “Look whit they’ve done tae ye. Ye’re no gonnae let them aff wae that, ur ye?” Big Jim challenged him gently.

  “It’s aw right fur youse tae say. Ah hiv tae live here.”

  “Aye, we know, bit put it this way, wance we get them, their arses will aw be slung in the clink, oot ae harm’s way.”

  “Ah telt ye, aw Ah know is that they’re always coming and gaun up aboot the tap ae Ronald Street. Ah’ve tried following them, bit they always heid aff or double back in pairs. They go in and oot ae aw the closemooths in wans and twos tae make sure they urnae being followed. Ah cannae get close tae them. If Ah follow two ae them, there’s a good chance another pair will turn up oot ae the blue and clock me.”

  “So, tell us again why they done that tae yer good face? It’s no because they’ve found oot that ye’re a gra...Ah mean, a special constable, is it?”

  “Naw, if they knew that, Ah’d be deid. Ah telt ye, me and ma pals wur oot collecting ginger bottles and they jumped us at the tap ae Taylor Street. We tried tae run, bit they caught up wae us roond the backs and tried tae strangle me.”

  “Whit aboot yer pals then?”

  “There wis only wan rope.”

  “Naw, Ah mean, whit happened tae them during aw this carry-oan?”

  “They goat kicked fuck oot ae as well. Aw fur nothing. They fucked aff wae oor ginger bottles that we spent aw day collecting.”

  “That’s pure bang oot ae order, so it is,” Jobby snorted in disgust.

  “Aye, we’re dealing wae fucking animals here,” Big Jim chipped in, wae a shake ae that heid ae his.

  “Then they lined us up and made us kneel doon and sentenced us tae two greasers each in the mooth.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake!”

  “Aye, so apart fae being lassoed roond ma coupon, Ah goat ten big greasy wans as well.”

  “Ah take it they don’t like yersel and they pals ae yours, eh?” Crisscross asked, hoping tae ingratiate himsel further.

  “Ah’ve never done anything tae them in ma life. Ah think it’s because they think Ah’m fat.”

  “Ach, Ah widnae say he wis fat, wid you, boys?”

  “Fat? Him? Not at all.”

  “Well built, bit certainly no fat.”

  “No that far away fae being athletic, fae where Ah’m sitting.”

  “Aye, weightlifting wid be a good career fur ye, Alex.”

  “Ah want tae be a famous detective,” Blubber Boy blubbered.

  “So whit else, Alex?” The Sarge asked, starting tae get irritated by the amateur dramatics ae the eejits oan either side ae him.

  “That’s it. They fucked aff wae oor ginger bottles, the basturts.”

  “Naw, Ah mean, whit hiv ye picked up oan whit they’re up tae?”

  “They screwed The Gay Gordon.”

  “Wis that them?”

  “Aye. Ah think they flogged the stuff tae The Big Man.”

  “There’s a surprise, eh?” Big Jim muttered under his breath.

  “Whit else?”

  “They’re the wans that stripped the lead aff ae St Mungo’s chapel.”

  “And?”

  “There’s two ae them daeing the roonds ae the pubs at night, selling the early editions ae The Evening Times and The Glesga Echo.”

  “Which wans?”

  “Joe McManus…the wan that strangled me, and that wee wan.”

  “Taylor?”

  “Naw, Ah heard them calling him Silent.”

  “Where ur they getting the papers fae?”

  “They’re blagging The Evening Times fae Dundas Street Bus Station bef
ore the bus drivers pick them up tae take them oot ae the toon. Ah’m no sure where they’re blagging The Echo fae.”

  “Carry oan, son, ye’re daeing fine, so ye ur,” The Sarge reassured him.

  “It wis them that stole the cash box oot ae the Saw Mill office up in Baird Street oan Monday morning.”

  “Ah bloody-well telt youse! Ah knew it wis they filthy thieving wee basturts,” Crisscross yelped triumphantly, looking aboot fur a commendation, bit being ignored.

  “Aye, and?”

  “They robbed two ae the Murphy brothers.”

  “The Murphys? Ur ye sure?”

  “Oh aye, they goat aff wae cases ae booze.”

  “Fae where?”

  “Oot ae their wee red van up in Ronald Street.”

  “Aye, they’re fucking game wee basturts, Ah’ll gie them that,” Big Jim acknowledged tae nods fae the others.

  “Whit happened tae the booze, Alex?”

  “They flogged it tae Big Toby in The Gay Gordon.”

  “Bit Ah thought ye jist said that they wur the wans that tanned The Gay Gordon?”

  “Ah did. They sold Toby’s stuff tae The Big Man,” Fat Boy replied miserably.

  “There’s a surprise, eh?” Big Jim said, smiling.

  “Anything else?”

  “They nicked Big Frankie Crown’s good Davy Crockett hat when he laid it doon while he wis daeing a shite up behind Horsey John’s stable block. They buried it up at the canal and even made up a wee cross and stuck it oan tap ae the grave.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, aye, bit Ah soon fucking wrecked it.”

  “They wee manky basturts jist love dicing wae death, so they dae,” Jobby said, shaking his heid, in amazement.

  “Anything else, Alex?”

  “Ah’m no sure, Ah might’ve furgoat something.”

  “Never you mind, son, ye’ve done fine. Ye’re a credit tae aw the decent young people fae the Toonheid,” The Sarge commended, getting affirmative nods fae the others.

  “Aye, ye’re a star, Alex. Ye’ll make a good polis constable someday, so ye will,” Big Jim acknowledged, tae the beaming, fat rope-burnt face.

  “Ah wid say there’s maybe even a sergeant in there trying tae come oot. And believe you me, some day it will,” Crisscross goat in.

  “Right, Ah think we’ve goat enough tae be getting oan wae. We’re gonnae hiv tae try and nab the lot ae them in wan fell swoop, rather than pick them aff wan or two at a time, if whit Alex here is saying is true aboot them splitting up and coming back in wans and twos tae their hidey hole,” Big Jim declared.

  “Oan ye go, Alex. Stay well clear ae the tap ae Ronald Street fur the next few days, okay? We widnae want they shitehooses tae think ye gra…er…informed us ae their whereaboots,” Jobby said, as the Fat Arse goat up and wobbled oot ae the back door ae the van.

  “So, who took doon whit wee Alex his jist reported tae us then?” The Sarge asked, looking aboot.

  Silence.

  Chapter Forty Six

  Helen couldnae settle doon. She wis pacing up and doon the cell like a caged cat. She wisnae too sure if she’d messed up by opening hersel up tae Harry Portoy, the brief that The Rat hid goat her, or if she’d saved hersel fae further humiliation. She knew the lassies wid want tae know aw the details. She looked o’er at Gina lying oan her back in the bottom bunk, humming the Dusty Springfield tune tunelessly. Even though she couldnae see Gina’s face because the tap bunk wis blocking her view, it wis obvious that Gina wis jist aboot pishing hersel in anticipation ae being telt whit hid happened at Helen’s meeting. Helen hid telt the lassies that she wis getting wan ae Glesga’s tap lawyers who’d agreed tae come oot ae semi-retirement, jist tae defend her. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she swore tae hersel. She must be dreaming, she cursed. Surely tae God this couldnae be happening in real life.

  The screws hid come and took her doon tae the same room where she’d met The Rat. She remembered hoping that he’d be a smoker. She’d nearly fainted in anticipation when she heard the clickity clack ae Hairy Face’s shoes oan the concrete flair. The door ae the interview room hid been left open slightly, so, if she leaned a wee bit o’er tae her left, she could see straight doon the corridor, tae the iron-grilled gate at the far end. She remembered the feeling ae frustration when Hairy Cheeks stepped through first, blocking her view ae him.

  “It’s jist doon tae the room at the end,” a man’s voice hid boomed oot ae they side-burn coated jowls ae hers, seconds before she stepped aside tae let him enter the room.

  Helen couldnae help it. It hid been a reflex action. She’d clasped baith her hauns up oan tae her face, covering her mooth and nose. She hidnae been too sure whether tae pish hersel laughing or tae burst intae floods ae tears. It hid probably been the initial shock that hid confused her brain intae paralysing her and rooting her tae the chair. She wisnae sure how long she’d held her hauns up tae her face, although she vaguely remembered taking wan ae her hauns away tae shake the shaky, trembling haun that wis held oot tae her.

  “Mrs Taylor? Ah’m Mr Portoy, Ah’m a lawyer,” Coco The Clown hid said, introducing himsel.

  His hair hid looked as though it hidnae been combed fur aboot a month. He’d a widow’s peak the size ae the front end ae an ironing board and a greying frizzy mop ae hair sticking oot at the sides. He’d a large strawberry red nose, red puffy cheeks and a seven-day dark growth oan his face. He wis wearing a chocolate broon pinstriped suit that wis four sizes too wee fur him and the bottoms ae his troosers wur hauf way up his shins. Tae tap everything aff, he’d hid oan a yellow checked shirt wae the collar sticking up at wan side and whit looked like a Partick Thistle Club tie wrapped roond his scrawny neck. Helen tried tae remember whit his shoes wur like, bit fur the life ae her, her mind hid gone blank. Probably fur the best, she thought, as she quickened her pace back and forward alang the length ae the cell.

  “Ah hope ye don’t mind, bit Ah’ll hiv tae take the weight aff ma feet. These shoes ur killing me,” he’d said, plapping his arse doon across fae her.

  It hid been at that point, that that bloody hairy, ugly, ginger side-burned man-lady ae a whore ae a poisonous screw, hid pulled the door o’er shut behind her, sporting a big cheesy grin oan that ugly manly coupon ae hers as she left them tae it.

  “Ah’ll jist be ootside” she’d smirked, the bearded cow that she wis.

  Helen couldnae remember how long she’d jist sat there, allowing the worst bout ae depression that she’d ever experienced in her entire life tae totally engulf her body, mind and soul. It hid seemed as if she’d been rooted tae the same spot fur days, although she knew it hid only been fur a minute or so.

  “Ah kin see fae yer expression that Ah probably look a wee bit different fae whit ye wur maybe expecting.”

  “Ye widnae happen tae hiv a fag oan ye, preferably Capstan full strengths, by any chance, wid ye?” Helen hid somehow managed tae croak, lips trembling, feeling the tears building up behind her eyes in despair.

  “Ah don’t smoke masel…” he’d said, disappointing Helen, before pulling oot twenty Woodbines and a box ae Swan Vestas. “…bit Sammy asked me tae gie ye these.”

  Despite being in a daze, Helen hid managed tae stick a fag between they trembling lips ae hers and strike a match. She’d hardly been able tae light the fag as her haun wis shaking like a leaf.

  “Ah’d gie ye a haun, bit Ah don’t think Ah’d be much help,” he’d said kindly, wae an apologetic smile, haudin up a trembling haun that wis shaking worse than hers wur.

  Efter taking a deep drag ae nicotine doon intae her lungs, she’d jist sat and stared at him blankly. She’d then gone intae total meltdoon. She remembered seeing her life pass by in front ae her. Jimmy, the weans, the hoose, her life. She hidnae hid the strength tae stoap her shoulders fae slumping. She’d known that she wis well and truly goosed. She hidnae been able tae stoap her bottom lip fae trembling, despite trying tae remain calm. Somewan, somewhere wis surely taking the piss and it wisnae very funny fae where
she wis sitting.

  “If Ah tell ye ma story first, will ye tell me yours, Helen?” a voice, miles away in the distance hid asked.

  She couldnae remember, bit she thought she’d nodded. Whether she hid or no, Coco hid started aff by saying that he hidnae spoken tae anywan aboot himsel in a very long time. She wisnae too sure how long he’d spoken fur…maybe an hour or so…bit she’d only been hauf listening, although she’d found his voice soothing. A couple ae times, she’d focussed oan his face as she thought she’d detected bitterness in his voice, bit she could’ve been mistaken. He’d even managed a couple ae chuckles that hid goat a weak smile fae her in response. She hidnae known how long it hid been since he’d finished his story bit when she’d at last lifted her eyelids and looked at him, he’d been sitting looking back at her.

  “Ah don’t know where tae start,” she’d admitted.

  “Where ye like.”

  “It’s too complicated.”

  “Ah don’t hiv tae be anywhere in a hurry.”

  “Ah know why Ah’m here, bit the reason fur me being here isnae because ae whit happened in John Street last week,” she’d finally said, staunin up.

  “Tell me aboot it then. Start where ye feel the maist comfortable.”

  Helen smiled wae embarrassment, thinking back, as she quickened her pace in the cell, taking a deep drag fae her un-tipped Woodbine fag. She wis starting tae make hersel dizzy. Gina lay still oan her bottom bunk, no sure whether tae say something tae her or no. Helen avoided gieing Gina eye contact, jist like she’d done wae him.

  He must’ve thought he’d a real loony oan his hauns. She didnae know where it hid aw come fae. She’d jist let rip. She’d actually been able tae taste the bitterness in her mooth as she poured oot everything tae this wee soul ae a man who wis sitting there shaking, looking like a circus clown that she used tae take the weans tae see across in the Kelvin Hall at Christmas. She’d spoken aboot her aunt Jeannie and how she’d felt abandoned when Jeannie hid left tae go tae Spain, despite the fact that she wisnae her ain maw, aboot how she’d ended up pregnant no long efter meeting Jimmy, efter bouncing Pat Molloy’s engagement ring aff ae his foreheid fur cheating oan her, aboot the weans, the hoose, her pals, the polis coming tae the door efter Charlie, her eldest, hid knocked oot Batty Smith, the heidmaster at his primary school, aboot the warrant sales, the devastation ae seeing her neighbours staunin in the middle ae empty rooms, surrounded by screaming weans efter their furniture and beds hid been sold fae under them fur pennies, aboot her fear ae waiting fur her turn and desperately trying tae avoid it, aboot Betty next door telling her tae hing back and no get so involved and aboot the poor souls who couldnae read and write that she’d come across since she’d been in the jail. She’d raved and ranted non-stoap. She remembered breaking doon in tears and then coming back in a raging rant and then it hid been aw o’er. He’d no said a word during her ranting, apart fae a few wee soothing utterances every noo and again. When he hid spoken, it hid sounded like genuine concern.