Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

  “That’s us definitely fucked noo. There’s nae way we’ll get it noo that it’s in the boot,” Paul cursed miserably.

  “We kin get intae the boot through the back seat. That’s how Ah goat they manky hauns ae mine oan that box ae Trophy Cups and Winners’ Shields fae the car parked at the Sally Army funding awards at The George Hotel when we decided tae upset Fat Sally Sally a couple ae months efter Skull died. Kin ye no remember, Tony?” Johnboy said through chattering teeth.

  “Oh, aye,” Tony said, trying tae remember.

  “Right, who’s goat the centre punch?”

  “Ah hiv,” Joe replied.

  “Right, haun it o’er,” Johnboy said, as he held oan tae Silent’s shoulder while slipping aff his shoes tae take aff his socks tae use as gloves.

  “This is gonnae be risky as hell, so it is,” Joe reminded everywan.

  “Tell me,” Johnboy retorted.

  Johnboy couldnae believe whit he wis daeing, as he hauf ran and hauf crouched alang the lane, tae the passenger side ae the car, trying no tae slip oan the cobbles. He hid tae look doon at his sock-covered haun efter he thought he’d drapped the centre punch. He couldnae feel it due tae his hauns being numb wae the cauld. When he goat tae the back passenger side door, he pressed the centre punch against the glass. It sounded like ice crackling across a frozen pond. The clear glass windae suddenly turned intae whit looked like frosted glass. Johnboy could hear laughter coming fae across the road. He drapped doon oan tae the ground and looked between the two front wheels. He could see Crisscross’s feet still staunin facing the van. They hidnae heard him. Johnboy knelt beside the windae and slowly pushed his haun through the cracked glass. He fumbled fur the door haundle and pulled it up. He heard a click. Efter withdrawing his haun, he grasped the door haundle and opened it, slipping intae the back seat in wan smooth motion. How he never shat his pants, he’d never know. The whole ae the inside ae the car hid lit up. He’d furgotten that the inside light wid come oan when the door opened. Due tae the snow covering the back windae, they’d never noticed the inside light coming oan when Crisscross hid goat oot. Johnboy quickly pulled the door shut gently, hearing the click, as the light took ages tae fade oot. He wanted tae throw up. He peered o’er the driver seat. He heard the laughter wafting across the street through the broken windae, fae where he wis crouching, bit felt himsel relax. Crisscross wis still staunin, heid hauf in the driver’s windae, chewing the cud. Wae being so close, he could see aw the gorillas sitting in the back seats. A few ae them hid the backs ae their heids resting up against the side windaes, talking tae the gorilla opposite them. Every wan ae them hid a fag sticking oot ae their faces. He could see the tips ae their fags glowing whenever wan ae them took a puff. Johnboy wis aware ae his heart hammering aff ae his collar bone as he grappled tae find a way ae getting the bloody back seat tae come away. It looked like he wis goosed, when at last, he felt the back seat he wis kneeling oan shift slightly. Like a Chinese contortionist, he managed tae slip the seat forward, towards the front passenger seat wae his knees and hauns, leaving a gap intae the boot. He couldnae believe his luck. The bottom hauf ae the briefcase wis lying there before his eyes. He put his erm in and swivelled it roond, managing tae get his fingers oan the haundle before pulling it towards him. The hairs oan the back ae his neck wur staunin oan end, waiting fur the car door tae be yanked open. He thought the haundle oan the case wis gonnae come aff in his haun, bit eventually, efter sliding his hauns alang the side ae it, tae the corners, the case slipped through the gap oan tae his knees. Fae being freezing two minutes earlier, the sweat wis noo pissing aff ae him. He turned roond and wis relieved tae still see Crisscross wae his heid still stuck through the driver’s windae. Thompson, the big sergeant, wis also twisted roond, joining in wae the hilarity that wis gaun oan in the back ae the van. Wae his arse gieing him gyp and his heart in his mooth, screaming at him that he needed tae throw up, Johnboy eased open the door and slipped oot, quietly clicking it shut behind him. The waft ae boozy pish coming aff the snowy, narrow pavement that ran up the side ae the lane, jist aboot made him vomit. The briefcase felt heavier than he thought it wid be. He took a deep breath and scurried back up towards the heids that wur peering oot ae the back exit doorways, where he’d left them, whit seemed tae Johnboy like hours earlier.

  “Nice wan, Johnboy,” Paul said, as Tony took the briefcase aff ae Johnboy.

  “Right, let’s go. Wan at a time, crouching doon,” Tony commanded, and they aw hauf ran behind him, up the lane towards West Nile Street.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  By the time they’d goat back tae the den, the fire wis oot and nowan hid shown any interest in breaking open the lock oan the briefcase tae hiv a look at the blue folder. They’d jist aw heided straight under the piles ae coats that wur lying oan the mattresses oan the flair and shared a packet ae Jacob’s Cream Crackers between them.

  “Ah wonder who the fly-man wis that managed tae convince people that these ur tasty?” Paul hid asked, reaching fur a bottle ae Irn Bru before slinging the packet o’er tae Joe, who missed catching it, bit managed tae hit it wae his haun, scudding it aff ae Tony’s napper.

  “A guy called Jacobs,” Tony hid replied, chomping intae two ae them, before passing the packet tae Silent.

  When Johnboy opened his eyes in the morning, the hammering that hid woken him up stoapped, as Silent and Paul came intae view.

  “Let’s see how they basturts get oan trying tae get through the door noo,” Paul announced tae everywan.

  “Dae ye need a haun there?” Paul asked Tony, who wis sitting, trying tae open the briefcase withoot breaking the lock.

  “Here ye go, bit try no tae break the lock.”

  “Oops!”

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Paul, ya eejit, ye. If Ah wanted tae open it like that, Ah wid’ve fucking done that masel, ya prick, ye.”

  “Aw, shut yer arse. Ye’d awready damaged the thing.”

  “Whit’s in it?” Johnboy asked, watching Joe, Silent and Paul peer o’er Tony’s shoulder intae the briefcase.

  “Whit the fuck ur they then?” Paul asked, as Johnboy nipped oot fae under the coats when his nose goat the better ae him.

  “Tony?” Joe asked, as Tony slung the blue folder tae wan side.

  “These, boys, ur gambling chips fae The Chevalier Casino,” Tony said, taking a haunful oot ae the briefcase.

  “Wid they burn? We’re running oot ae briquettes,” Joe said, clearly no impressed, as he turned a couple o’er in his hauns.

  “Burn? Did ye say burn, ya bampot, ye? This is jist as good as money,” Tony said, looking at Joe as if he wis saft in the heid.

  “Aye, stoap being a mince-heid, Joe, ya piss plonker, ye,” Paul chipped in, making oot he awready knew that.

  “Right, make room. We need tae coont these tae see how much we’ve goat,” Tony said, lining the piles ae chips alang the fireside seat bench efter he’d dumped the cushions aff ae it oan tae the flair.

  Johnboy picked up a few ae them tae hiv a wee gander. Oan wan side, they hid ‘Rio Stakis Casinos’ imprinted oan them and oan the other side, the amount they wur worth wis highlighted in different coloured writing, depending oan the value. Johnboy looked doon and tossed the wans he’d lifted oan tae Tony’s pile and watched him counting them. Efter aboot twenty minutes and three recounts, Tony looked at the others.

  “Fuck, we’ve jist nabbed oorsels five hunner quid in gambling chips.”

  “So?” Joe asked oan behauf ae the others.

  “Whit this means is that we kin punt them tae gamblers who go tae The Chevalier. They’re untraceable, so they ur.”

  “So, who dae ye know that goes tae The Chevalier then?”

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Joe, whit’s wae aw the questions?”

  “Ah know somewan who goes there,” Paul volunteered.

  “Who?”

  “Aleck The Humph.”

  “No that Aleck The Humph…the wan whose back is as bent as a banana and who disnae talk tae us any
mair because somewan punted him a coffin that wis too wee fur his wife tae fit intae…that Aleck?” Joe asked, straight-faced, tae laughter fae everywan.

  “The very man! Aleck wid gamble that water wisnae wet, so he wid.”

  “Or that the Pope’s favourite pudding wisnae an altar boy, if the odds wur high enough,” Joe came back wae.

  “Ah’ll tell ye who else likes a wee flutter…Erchie The Basturt. Him and Mad Philip ur never away fae the bookies. We kin maybe get a deal oan the gun,” Tony chipped in.

  “Dae ye think so?” Johnboy asked.

  “Well, there’s only wan way tae find oot. We’ll nip doon and see him later oan, efter we haun in that blue folder that Silent’s reading,” Tony said, snatching the folder aff ae Silent.

  “Whit kin we get fur them?” Johnboy asked.

  “Ah reckon we could get a couple ae quid fur a fiver’s worth ae chips,” Tony replied.

  “Seriously?”

  “Listen, Ah telt ye…these ur jist as good as real money, so they ur,” Tony declared, opening the blue folder.

  “Anything interesting, Tony?”

  “It’s jist rows ae figures against the names ae cooncillors like JP Donnelly and people who work fur The Corporation. Look, it’s goat the departments they work in beside their names.”

  “And the amount ae dosh they’ve been getting under-the-coonter, by the looks ae it…the corrupt basturts,” Joe said, peering o’er Tony’s shoulder.

  “Christ, ye kin see why The Big Man wid want his hauns oan this,” Paul said, taking it aff ae Tony, before passing it across tae Johnboy.

  “Well, whitever it is, it’s isnae any ae oor business. We’ll take it doon later and collect the rest ae the dosh we’re owed.”

  “Whit aboot the casino chips then?” Johnboy asked Tony.

  “Whit aboot them? Aw The Big Man wants is the folder. Ye heard him say it yersel. Whit’s in the briefcase, apart fae the folder, belongs tae us.”

  “Hellorerr, Pat,” Tony said tae The Big Man, as Johnboy and him entered the club.

  “Tony? Johnboy? Jist the very wans Ah wis hoping tae see this morning. Is that no right, boys? Wis Ah no jist saying that Ah wondered if the boys managed tae dae that wee message fur me last night?” The Big Man sang, although Johnboy detected a nervousness aboot him that hidnae been there when they’d last seen him.

  “Here ye go, Pat,” Tony said, lifting up his jumper and pulling oot the folder fae beneath his trooser waistband and throwing it oan tae the table in front ae The Big Man.

  As well as The Big Man, The Twins, Shaun, Peter The Plant, The Goat and Wan-bob Broon, couldnae keep their eyes aff the folder.

  “Where’s the briefcase then?” Mick slurred.

  “We dumped it.”

  “Dumped it?”

  “Burned it. We wrecked it getting it opened tae make sure the folder wis in it. We didnae think ye’d be able tae re-use it efter we’d finished wae it.”

  “Is that aw that wis in it then?” the drunken prick hid the cheek tae asked them.

  “If it’s awright wae yersel, Pat, we’ll be aff wance ye gie us the tenner ye owe us,” Tony said, ignoring Mick.

  “Mick, haun o’er a tenner tae the boys,” The Big man commanded.

  “Another wan? Ah thought wan wid’ve been enough fur whit they’ve done. It’s no as if we asked them tae rob a bank, is it?” the drunken basturt chipped in, as Tony ignored the child-killer and looked at The Big Man.

  “The deal between us wis twenty quid, Pat. Ah don’t remember agreeing anything wae Mick.”

  “Mick, haun o’er a tenner tae the boys,” The Big Man said again, only this time, there wis an irritated edge tae his voice.

  Johnboy watched the drunken snake take his wallet oot ae his jaicket, which wis folded o’er the back ae a chair. The wad ae notes in the wallet wid’ve fed seven hunner hungry weans in a multi-storey flat, as the song claimed. The basturt took oot a tenner, then scrunched the note up in his haun and slung it across the table towards Tony and Johnboy in disgust. It landed oan the flair between where Johnboy wis staunin and the table where The Big Man wis sitting. Tony’s face turned white. Johnboy wanted tae jump across and kick that ugly drunken coupon ae his intae the back ae his heid, bit suicide wisnae oan the menu.

  “Pick it up, Mick,” The Big Man said quietly.

  Johnboy thought he wis hearing things and by the looks ae the faces ae the heavies lounging aboot, they wur in the same boat.

  “Whit?” Mick gasped, clearly shocked, as the other two Murphy brothers glared across at Tony as if it wis his fault.

  “Ye heard me.”

  “Bit…”

  “The tenner, Mick. Pick it up and haun it across tae young Tony here,” The Big Man said, leaving nowan in any doubt ae the threat behind the command, as Mick made a big song and dance aboot hivving tae bend o’er and haun Tony his well-earned dosh.

  “Thanks, Pat,” Tony said wae a big grin oan his coupon, staring intae Skull’s murderer’s coupon.

  “Nae problem, Tony…ye’ve earned it.”

  “Let’s go, Johnboy,” Tony said, as Johnboy followed him towards the door, glad tae be escaping wae their baws intact.

  “Tony?”

  “Aye, Pat?” Tony asked, turning as Johnboy held the door open.

  “You or they manky-arsed mates ae yers hivnae came across Tiny oan yer travels, hiv ye?”

  “Naw, Pat.”

  “Let me get this straight then. Ye want me tae haun o’er that wee snub-nose and ye’ll pay me wae a hunner and fifty quid’s worth ae Chevalier chips?” Erchie asked Tony, staunin in the basement, wae his erms folded, reeking ae glue.

  “Aye, something like that.”

  “And they’re definitely fae The Chevalier?”

  “That’s whit it says oan them.”

  “Whit aboot ammo?”

  “We won’t need much. It’s only a wan-aff job.”

  “And disposal?”

  “We’ll gie ye seventy five in chips and we won’t need a cleaning kit.”

  “Ah’ll gie ye twenty five bullets, which includes yer practice oan the range. Dae ye want tae try it oot jist noo?”

  “If it’s okay wae yersel, Erchie, we’ll leave it a few days and we’ll get back in touch. We’re no sure which wan ae us is gonnae be using it,” Tony said, disappointing Johnboy, who wis dying tae get his haun oan the gun.

  “That’s fair enough. There’s nae point in letting too many sticky fingers get their mitts oan it.”

  “Ah’ll be back in a couple ae days and we’ll bring ye the two hunner and twenty five quid’s worth ae chips then. Is that okay?”

  “Sounds fine tae me, Tony Boy.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  “We’ve goat a problem…a big problem,” Superintendent Sean Smith announced tae the still hung-over Irish Brigade, wance everywan wis settled in their chairs roond the table. They wur aw there…Pat Curry, Daddy Jackson, Billy Liar, Mickey Sherlock, Ralph Toner and Colin McGregor. The meeting hid been planned two weeks earlier and wis meant tae hiv been tae discuss any issues that might’ve come up at the Loch Lomond soiree oan the Friday night. Sean felt a bead ae sweat trickle doon the middle ae his back, past his trooser belt at his waist and between the cheeks ae his arse, as he looked at them aw staring back at him. Nowan said a word.

  “Last night, oan the way back hame fae the hotel, at aboot hauf past ten, Ah hid tae nip intae The Chevalier, tae haun o’er a wee package. Ah left ma briefcase in the car. Ah wis only away fur aboot an hour, when Ah wis alerted that the car hid been tanned and the briefcase blagged.”

  “Surely tae fuck ye’re no gonnae tell us that the papers ae the meeting wur in the briefcase, ur ye, Sean?” Chief Inspector Daddy Jackson asked, fear and shock evident in his voice.

  The Super hesitated before nodding. He couldnae bring himsel tae speak, in case everywan in the room detected the panic and outrage that wis exploding in that heid ae his. Nowan spoke. Everywan jist sat, silently staring across at e
ach other, seemingly lost in their ain thoughts. The implications fur everywan sitting there wur crystal clear.

  “Who reported it?” Daddy choked.

  “Ma driver, Crisscross. He wis meant tae be sitting in the car while Ah wis gone.”

  At the mention ae the name, everywan burst intae howls ae rage and frustration.

  “Wae aw due respect, sir, Ah widnae leave a fucking deid dug fur Crisscross tae look efter, never mind the list ae aw oor hard work o’er the past year,” Daddy retorted, shaking his heid in disbelief.

  “How the fuck did it get nicked if he wis supposed tae be sitting in the car?”

  “He wis telt no tae leave the car unattended. A wee while efter Ah went intae the casino, the guys in the street gang squad turned up across the road. While he wis talking tae them, the back passenger side windae goat tanned.”

  “Liam Thompson? That prick? Any fucking time that Crisscross and him get thegither, a fucking disaster occurs. Whit the hell wur they daeing doon in the toon centre at that time ae the night? They’re supposed tae be oot and aboot in the hoosing schemes, keeping the bloody peace, so they ur,” Mickey Sherlock howled.