Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “Ye could always staun oot ae punching distance.”

  “She might look like an angel, bit she kin pack a punch. Ah think Ah’ll gie it a miss,” Johnboy said, as his ma said cheerio tae Maisa and heided towards Grafton Street wae her Glesga Echo tucked under her erm.

  “That’s another two families moving oot. A couple ae years ago, we wid’ve been roond raking the middens fur luckies,” Tony murmured, nodding towards the Pickford’s vans, parked doon oan the street.

  “Tony, the Toonheid is dying, so it is. Look at aw the empty hooses. We’ve been here fur o’er a month noo and hauf the street his moved oot since we moved in and the street wis hauf empty then. Check they chimney pots across there.”

  “Whit aboot them?”

  “Ye kin actually see them. A couple ae years ago, the smoke wid’ve been belching oot ae every wan ae them. Ye wur lucky tae see ten feet in front ae ye. Look at them noo? There’s only aboot two chimneys oan that whole side ae the road that hiv goat a fire in them.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Whit?”

  “Paul, did you or Joe say that the last ae the families moved oot ae oor close yesterday?”

  “Aye. We’ve goat the place tae oorsels, at last.”

  “So, if the bizzies come fur us, the only way in and oot is through the front door oan tae the landing?”

  “Aye, Ah wisnae gonnae make the same mistake as we did in Ronald Street wae they bizzies drapping doon oan tae us fae the loft.”

  “So, how ur we supposed tae escape then?”

  “Probably doon the drain pipe ootside the kitchen windae.”

  “The five ae us? How much time ur we gonnae hiv when Bumper and The Stalker and aw their pals come charging through the door then?”

  Silence.

  “And if they wur tae be staunin doon at Sherbet’s, looking up and doon the street, wondering where the fuck we ur, how long dae ye think it wid be before they sussed oot where we wur hiding?” Tony asked, as Paul slung another briquette oan tae the glowing embers.

  “Okay, ye’ve goat me, Ah gie in.”

  “Well, seeing as there’s nowan else living up oor close noo and there’s a nice wee fire in wan ae the hooses, wae smoke billowing oot ae the chimney, dae ye no think that that wid alert The Stalker or Bumper that there’s an unwelcome guest living here?”

  “Shit! Ah see whit ye mean.”

  “So, dis that mean we’re gonnae hiv tae move then?” Joe asked.

  “Ah don’t think we’ve goat any choice, seeing as we’re the only wans up this closemooth noo. We’ve awready clocked Bumper and The Stalker hinging aboot in the street, looking up at aw the hooses. It won’t take that pair ae diddies long tae suss oot where we ur.”

  “Or…we kin make oorsels another escape route,” Johnboy said, catching everywan’s interest.

  “Whit, by slinging a rope oot ae the front windae tae the street as well?” Joe asked sarcastically.

  “Well c’mone, Johnboy, spit it oot and don’t keep us is suspense aw day,” Paul challenged, clearly no convinced that Johnboy wis gonnae solve their wee predicament.

  “Right, we’re oan the second flair ae number wan four seven, right? The next close up is wan four nine. We’ve goat a bedroom next door. Why don’t we knock a hole in that wall, that’ll take us intae wan ae the hooses in wan four nine? The bizzies won’t be expecting that,” Johnboy said, as big grins appeared oan their coupons.

  “Fucking brilliant, Johnboy,” Paul said, as they trooped efter him intae the spare room next door tae hiv a gander at the wall.

  “Oot ae ma way, bum-boys,” Joe said, hacking away at the plaster wae a jemmy that Paul hid picked up oan his travels and exposing red brick within a couple ae minutes. “This is gonnae be a doddle, so it is.”

  “Right, here’s an even better idea. When we get through, we’ll nip oot oan tae the landing and heid up the stairs tae wan ae the hooses oan the tap flair and dae the same up there. That’ll take us through tae wan five wan. When the bizzies see this hole, they’ll probably nip through and oot oan tae the landing, thinking we’ve probably heided doon oan tae the street. They won’t think ae heiding up the stairs. Wance we get intae wan five wan, we kin then move doon tae wan ae the first flair hooses and put a hole through a wall there. That’ll take us through tae Frankie Wilson’s auld close, the first wan as ye go up Grafton Street. Fae there, they won’t hiv a clue where we’ve gone unless they start tae search aw the hooses in each close. It means we’ll come oot oan tae Grafton Street insteid ae McAslin Street, withoot being clocked. Christ, we could be in Dunoon oan oor holidays by the time they daft eejits twig whit’s gaun oan.”

  “Ah’d love tae be here tae see the faces oan them when they come in through the door,” Joe laughed.

  “Johnboy, ye’re a fucking genius, so ye ur. Ye should be a criminal, y’know,” Paul said tae mair laughter, shoving Joe oot ae the way before taking o’er hacking fuck oot ae the bricks wae the jemmy.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Superintendent Sean Smith sat in the back seat and closed they eyes ae his. The thrum ae the Volvo’s engine felt soothing and he wis looking forward tae a wee bit ae R and R. He wis feeling good…really good. The meeting and celebration hid gone as expected, and everywan seemed tae be as happy as Larry. He’d watched their happy, greedy faces closely, as he rattled aff how much the cooncillors and Corporation officials that wur in receipt ae a monthly stipend hid been gied in their annual Christmas bonus.

  “Aye, Sean, ye’re a credit tae the uniform that ye represent, so ye ur. Hiv ye ever thought ae gaun intae accountancy?” JP Donnelly hid said, tae nods ae agreement fae everywan, as that manky auld haun ae his slipped up the back ae the dress ae wan ae Big Bella McPhail’s youngest working girls, who’d been shipped oot fae Glesga fur the weekend.

  “It’s funny ye should say that, JP, bit…” Sean hid quipped tae mair guffaws fae The Irish Brigade and officials.

  When Tootsie McArthur, their civvy accountant, who’d travelled through fae Dunkeld tae Balloch, oan the bonnie banks ae Loch Lomond, tae read oot the year’s income and expenditure and tae announce the amount that wis left tae be shared equally, aw tax free, hid stood up and gied his report, they’d aw rattled their knuckles oan the boardroom table in appreciation.

  “Who says crime disnae pay, eh?” Tootsie hid said tae howls ae drunken laughter, efter he’d delivered his report.

  Sean hid invited them aw tae join him back in the toon fur a wee game ae blackjack or a wee spin oan the roulette table, bit they’d aw declined. Some ae them hid decided tae heid aff right away, while some hid taken advantage ae the pre-booked luxury suites and the dozen ae Big Bella’s best lassies, who wur waiting oan them fur a night ae hanky-panky.

  “So, how wis the run oot, Crisscross?” he asked his driver.

  “Nae problem, sir, apart fae a few near misses wae two deer and some eejit walking alang the road in the dark. He’ll need tae change they pants ae his when he get’s hame the night, that’s fur sure.”

  The poor pedestrian probably didnae realise how lucky he wis tae be alive, Sean chuckled tae himsel. He’d hid the misfortune ae hivving Crisscross as his driver fur jist o’er two years noo. Apart fae hivving the biggest squint since the building ae the Leaning Tower ae Pisa, he wis also no the sharpest pencil in the box when it came tae driving. This wis the third car that The Super hid needed in the past two years since Crisscross hid taken o’er the job. Crisscross hid written wan car aff efter driving through a road works sign that hid been put there tae warn drivers tae move oot tae the right tae avoid ending up in a hole. The stupid basturt hid landed oan tap ae the workmen who wur digging away in the bottom ae it. How nowan hid been killed, including himsel, God only knew.

  “Sorry, sir, Ah never noticed the sign,” Crisscross hid replied nonchalantly, as if it wis an everyday occurrence, efter The Super climbed oot ae the seven foot deep hole in Union Street, dripping wae water, following their plunge through the bollards intae the brand new water
pipe that hid jist been replaced by The Corporation workmen.

  The second car hid been replaced jist three weeks earlier, even though the engine hid still been sound enough. It wis sitting in the maintenance division’s garage, full ae scratches and dents fae the front ae the grill, aw the wae back tae the door haundle oan the boot. It hid gone through two new full sets ae bumpers and wings, as well as numerous wing mirror replacements in the past year. Crisscross hid even managed tae get a couple ae big dents and deep gouges up oan the roof. John Soap, the mechanic fae the car maintenance division, said the car looked as if it hid been used at the stock car track, the state it wis in. The Super wid’ve goat shot ae him a long time ago, bit it hid been Crisscross’s faither-in-law, JP Donnelly, that hid approached him tae take him oan as a driver efter his last wan goat promoted. Whit a bloody mistake that hid turned oot tae be. Crisscross and a side-kick ae his, Jinty Jobson, hid hid tae be pulled oot ae the Toonheid efter aw the local wummin believed the polis wur involved in a fire that hid killed some wee toe-rag up in Parly Road a few years earlier. He shuddered thinking aboot it. Everywhere the local pavement pounders hid gone, aw the local wummin, led by The Patron Saint ae Warrant Sales hersel, Helen Taylor, hid screamed abuse at them. He’d managed tae get Jinty transferred, nae problem, bit none ae the other divisions at the time hid wanted Crisscross, so it hid been left tae him tae pick up the pieces.

  He looked at his watch and then oot ae the windae. Although there wis still a few miles till they reached the toon centre, they’d jist entered Great Western Road proper. He breathed easy. Although it could be hair-raising at times, he felt better aff being a passenger in a built-up area where there wur street lights. If he wis tae die prematurely, he preferred tae see it coming, rather than be led by Clarence, sitting up front, behind the wheel.

  The toon centre wis hoaching wae people. The pubs hid been slinging people oot fur the past hauf an hour and crowds wur milling aboot, either fighting wae their wives or girlfriends or jist falling o’er, pished as farts. The Mankys hid been hinging aboot in the back doors in the lane opposite The Chevalier Casino fur the past twenty minutes. The Volvo hidnae arrived yet. It hid been while they wur staunin, hinging aboot that the third event happened. Johnboy remembered that it wis his birthday. He’d furgotten aw aboot it…much the same as they’d furgotten aw aboot Christmas until it hid passed. Joe said that it wis probably Sherbet being open fur business, as usual, that hid fooled them, efter they’d spent the day hivving a marathon Bella competition. The New Year hid been different though. They’d hid the shutters bolted shut in the front room, bit when Paul hid come back fae daeing a slash in the sink, he’d said he could hear people oot the back ae the tenements, staggering alang St James Road singing ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ At the same time, he could hear bottles being smashed and screaming gaun oan.

  “It must be the New Year,” he’d said, picking up his cards as he plapped his arse doon in front ae the fire.

  “How dae ye know that?” Johnboy hid asked.

  “Because there’s aboot five different fights involving wummin taking place doon oan St James Road, aw at the same time, plus people ur shouting ‘It’ll aw be fine cause its nineteen sixty nine.’”

  “Duh!” Joe hid snorted across at him, as he picked up Johnboy’s Ten ae Spades wae an ace.

  “How dae ye know it’s yer birthday then?” Tony asked, breaking intae his thoughts.

  “Ah’ve jist seen the date oan an Evening Times lying at the bottom ae the lane.”

  “Aye, well, happy fourteenth birthday, Johnboy…ye’ll be growing pubes next,” Joe chipped in.

  Johnboy wis jist aboot tae answer him when two heid-lamps appeared at the West Nile Street end ae the lane.

  “Right, Johnboy, get o’er here tae the doorway and put yer erms roond me as if we’re winching,” Tony said.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Joe, ya smelly minker, ye. Yer breath’s fucking rancid,” Paul growled fae wan ae the other doorways.

  “Well, stoap trying tae get yer tongue doon the back ae ma throat then. We’re only kidding oan we’re winching, ya dick, ye. It’s no fur real, ya harry, ye.”

  “Whit aboot me? Whit aboot me? Whit will Ah dae?” Silent piped up, a wee bit ae panic in that voice ae his, hivving suddenly found his tongue.

  “Jist staun facing the corner wae yer erms wrapped roond yer neck and shoulders, Silent. They’ll think it’s yer girlfriend’s hauns aroond yer neck,” Tony managed tae say, as the car slowly approached and passed them by, lighting up the lane in red as the car applied the brakes at the street end.

  “Am Ah fucking blind or jist fucking stupid?” Tony hissed o’er tae Paul and Joe.

  “That isnae that fucking squinty-eyed basturt, Crisscross, that’s driving the car, is it?” Paul asked.

  “If it isnae, then it must be Ben Turpin, and here’s me thinking he died in Hollywood in nineteen canteen,” Johnboy said, peeking roond the edge ae the back exit doorway at the car, which wis noo sitting idling opposite The Chevalier.

  “Did anywan see who else is in the car wae him?”

  “Naw,” a chorus ae whispered voices replied.

  “Right, Crisscross. Ah’ll be back oot here aboot hauf twelve. Under nae circumstances ur ye tae leave this car unattended. Hiv ye goat that? Ma briefcase his goat sensitive documents in it and if it fell intae the wrang hauns, it wid cause terrible pain tae the polis service.”

  “Kin ye no take it wae ye, sir?”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Crisscross, Ah cannae take sensitive papers wae me intae a bloody casino. Ah’m hivving an important meeting. This is business, no pleasure. Whit wid Ah need tae dae a thing like that fur, when Ah’ve goat you guarding it in person, eh?”

  “Naw, naw, don’t get me wrang, sir. Ah’m yer man. It’s jist that Ah thought ye might feel better taking it wae ye. Of course there’s nae chance ae anything happening tae it while Ah’m here. You jist ye go away and enj…er…complete yer business and Ah’ll anchor here until ye get back. Ye kin depend oan me, sir.”

  “Right…any problems, gie’s a shout. The briefcase is in the back, oan the flair, behind yer seat.”

  The Superintendent turned roond and gied Crisscross a hard look before he disappeared through the doors ae the casino.

  “They dirty fucking basturts hiv bloody-well shafted us again!” Joe raged.

  “When they said it wis a parked car, Ah never expected a fucking cross-eyed bizzy tae be sitting in it,” Tony agreed grimly.

  “So, whit’s the plans then?” Johnboy asked, as they aw huddled in a doorway hauf way up the lane.

  “We’re well and truly fucked,” Paul said, echoing whit everywan wis thinking.

  “Kin we no try and distract him? It widnae take us a minute tae tan wan ae the side windaes and grab the briefcase, wid it?” Johnboy asked, still waiting fur Tony tae answer his first question.

  “Let’s jist hing oan and see whit happens. He’ll maybe go fur a pish or a bag ae chips and we’ll get oor chance,” Tony finally said.

  “It’s bloody Baltic staunin here. Ma feet ur like lead. Ah say we furget it. If The Big Man knew the car wis gonnae be here, then there’s a good chance it’ll be here at the same time next Friday,” Joe said.

  “Aye, bit that blue folder might no be sitting in a briefcase in the car next Friday,” Johnboy said tae Tony.

  Silence.

  Efter staunin huddled up the lane in the back doorways fur another hour, wae the whistling wind aboot cutting them in hauf, things went fae desperate tae fucking desperate. Johnboy could hear Silent’s teeth chattering. The five ae them wur running oan the spot tae try and keep the circulation gaun in their toes. Tae make matters worse, it hid started snowing quite heavily, which meant they couldnae see the ootline ae Crisscross’s bawheid sitting in the car, as the snow hid covered the back windae, obscuring him. Before the snow began tae drap, they’d watched Crisscross tackling they nostrils ae his, wan at a time, wae gusto. Because they wur in the shadows and he hid the streetlights
in front ae him, it hid been like watching a shadow cartoon. Tae gie them something tae occupy themsels wae, Joe hid started tae time him while at the same time, gieing a running commentary.

  “And he’s aff…” Joe hid started, as they aw cackled.

  Crisscross hid spent three minutes, forty five seconds oan wan nostril and two minutes, fifty three oan the other wan. Each time he’d scooped something oot, they’d seen him lifting his finger up against the street light tae inspect the morsel before popping it in his gub. They’d aw aboot puked up where they wur staunin when they’d clocked the filthy basturt start tae lick his fingers efter he’d finished his snottery feast.

  “Ah’m starving,” Silent said, as they stood there shivering.

  “At least Crisscross didnae hiv tae bother aboot washing a plate,” Paul observed drily, causing the others tae burst intae uncontrollable shaking giggles.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Tony, this is hopeless. We need tae dae something or we’re gonnae die ae the cauld,” Joe whinged.

  The words hid hardly been oot ae Joe’s mooth when Lady Luck arrived oan the scene. Oan the opposite side ae the road fae the lane, a familiar wee blue Commer van, wae steamed up windaes alang the side ae it, drew up. The driver wound his windae doon and looked across at the car sitting in the lane. The Mankys jist aboot shat themsels there and then. It wis The Untouchables or ‘The UTs’ as everywan in the toon called them. They wur the special squad ae heavies who’d been tasked wae roaming aboot the streets, aw o’er Glesga, fur the previous couple ae years, breaking up the gang fights. They wur aw big, six feet plus in their stocking soles, ugly basturts. There wisnae any messing aboot wae them either. Wance they arrived oan the scene, the back and side doors wid swiftly fly open and they’d aw charge oot, screaming like madmen, rattling they big baseball bats that they tooled themsels up wae aff ae anything that moved. They must’ve been responsible fur cracking open mair heids than Humpty Dumpty and aw the king’s men put thegither in their time. When Johnboy saw who wis sitting behind the wheel, he felt his auld arse gieing it he-drum-ho-drum. It wis Liam Thompson, the ex-Toonheid sergeant, who’d been responsible fur Johnboy’s maw being slung in jail fur gieing him a black eye during a warrant sale up in John Street a couple ae years previously. The Mankys covered their mooths, no wanting tae gie their position away as they peeked oot ae the side ae the doorways. They held their breath as the driver’s door ae the car opened and Crisscross stepped oot, putting oan his chequered hat as he locked the door. He wis jist aboot hauf way across Buchanan Street when he paused, turned roond and heided back tae the car. He unlocked the driver’s door, leaned intae the back seat and lifted whit looked like a briefcase oot. He then went tae the back ae the car and unlocked the boot and drapped the briefcase in, oot ae sight, before slamming the boot shut, causing the snow tae drap aff the back ae the windae. Wance he re-locked the boot, he went and locked the driver’s door, paused jist aff the pavement tae let a car pass him and then skipped across the wet snowy street tae the gorilla mobile.