by Todd, Ian
The Stalker turned roond in his seat and jist managed tae catch the back ae Helen Taylor’s heid disappearing through the gate ae the manse belonging tae Reverend Flaw.
“Hmm, Ah wonder whit the hell she’s up tae then?” he murmured.
“Eh?” Bumper asked, looking up fae admiring the dark green stripy bogey, the size ae a rotten whelk, that he’d jist excavated fae his left nostril and which wis noo hinging precariously fae the finger nail ae his pinkie finger.
“Nothing...let’s go...oor man isnae gonnae show noo,” The Stalker said, glancing across at the empty entrance tae the train station.
Chapter Thirty Three
JP sat impassively, clocking who wis coming through the hall door and taking their seats. Every noo and again, he wid make a special acknowledgement ae the presence ae a particular influential key supporter wae a wee nod ae his balding heid. It wisnae who he could see coming through the door that mattered tae him, bit who hidnae turned up. He allowed himsel tae relax efter Weasel Smith, chairman ae The Journeyman’s Club, pulled o’er the door at the far end ae the hall and gied him a wee nod, then sat himsel doon. He looked doon at the list ae names oan the sheet ae paper sitting oan the table in front ae Peter Dawson, chairman ae the social committee. There wur five names fae the list that hid been drawn up o’er the Christmas period that hidnae been ticked aff as being present and correct, including Peggy Roy, who he knew wis up in Stobhill getting her bunions done and Joe the Snake, his right haun man and election manager, who’d been carted aff that very morning by ambulance wae a suspected heart attack. Oan paper it looked a lot worse than it actually wis. JP only wanted a campaign manager because it meant that whoever wis in that position, wid dae aw his donkey work, leaving him tae hiv a strategic overview ae who wis daeing whit, when and where. JP hid been aboot long enough tae know that ye couldnae leave anything tae chance. Ye hid tae put thegither a well thought oot plan and stick wae it and no mess aboot, changing this and that. Ye either knew whit ye wur daeing or ye didnae. There wid be nae fannying aboot either. His word wid be law. Whit he said went. Anywan no prepared tae accept that wid be oot oan their skint arses...pronto. JP began tae feel the foul tasting bile rise up fae the back ae his throat intae his gub. He’d done everything possible tae get everywan in the club oan side...even the well-known shitehooses. If anywan wis gonnae put a spoke in that wheel ae his, it wid be The Three Comrades, whose names didnae hiv a tick beside them. He’d been relieved that none ae them hid turned up. He’d tolerated John McGuigan, Bob Henderson and Charlie Mann o’er the years, against his better judgement. Baith Peggy and The Snake hid been pestering him recently tae get McGuigan, Henderson and Mann evicted fae the club. The Three Amigos consistently moaned like auld hens and contributed nothing bit sedition amongst the ranks. When he’d heard that Charlie Mann hid been overheard in the bar, pontificating as usual, libellous shite aboot how JP hid shamefully conned Dick Mulholland tae staun in The Corporation election the year before, despite knowing Mulholland hid terminal cancer, he’d at long last made a move tae get Mann and his two cronies banned. When he’d submitted his official complaint in writing, seconded by The Snake, it hid been too late. Rab Patrick, chair ae the disciplinary committee, hid gone and drapped deid, face first, intae his bowl ae scotch broth the night before. JP hid then been informed by Weasel, that any complaints couldnae be investigated until an election fur a new disciplinary chairman hid taken place. When JP hid tried tae get an interim chairman elected, in the form ae Haddock Broon, Bob Henderson, Charlie Mann’s right haun loser, hid objected by quoting verbatim fae the club’s constitution that there hid tae be a fully elected chairman in place before any disciplinary matters could be dealt wae. The other loser ae the threesome, John McGuigan, hid swiftly seconded Henderson’s objection and that hid been that. Mann hid been gied the go-aheid tae continue oan his slandering way.
“Ur ye right, JP? Will Ah jist start then?” Peter asked him.
“Aye, oan ye go, son. Let’s get the baw rolling,” JP said, nodding tae his staun-in election manager.
“Right, ladies and gentleman, we’re jist gonnae get started, so we ur. Ye aw know me and ye certainly don’t need any introductions tae the legend sitting up here beside me. So, jist in case some ae ye hiv been in darkest China fur the past thirty five years, let me gie ye a wee resume ae who’s in oor presence the day. JP Donnelly won his first election in the Toonheid in nineteen thirty five, when politics wur a lot dirtier than they ur nooadays. Although he freely admits tae hivving been a wee bit wet aroond the gunnels at that time, it wis this naïve, honest integrity that prevailed and allowed the good folk ae the Toonheid tae put him oan the road tae a successful and illustrious political career. As anywan here who knows him kin testify, JP his always stood up fur the wee man, spoken oan behauf ae the voiceless and his tirelessly fought injustice wae a passion second tae none. Since winning that first election by a whisker and walking away wae the democratic endorsement ae the whole community, JP his won a total ae nine Corporation ward elections, before finally retiring efter his ward in the Toonheid wis obliterated wae the demolition ae the tenement slums that he’d fought so hard o’er the years tae get rid ae. JP retired, knowing he’d left a legacy fur aw future politicians tae aspire tae, and that wis tae clear the slums tae gie the ordinary man whit they wur entitled tae wae a belief that we’re aw in this thegither. Noo, since oor poor comrade, Dick, unfortunately passed away efter only eighteen months as oor cooncillor, JP his reluctantly, and under great duress, agreed tae take up the reigns ae this fine place we aw call Springburn and tae dae fur the people ae the Keppochhill whit he did fur the people ae the Toonheid. Ladies and gentlemen, withoot further ado fae masel, it gies me great pleasure tae offer up oor great comrade and next cooncillor, JP Donnelly!” Peter Lawson shouted, tae claps and hoots fae the audience, as the door at the back ae the hall silently opened and the leader ae The Three Comrades, Charlie Mann slipped in and took up residence in the back row.
JP wis an auld pro who’d been through the mill. He knew aw aboot the rough and tumble ae politics in a place like Glesga. Christ, he’d probably invented mair moves than whit he’d ever picked up fae his opponents. Politics wis a dirty business...everywan knew that. Tae survive, ye hid tae be prepared tae scratch a back or two or bare yer arse when yer opponents wur covering themsels up. Connections made things possible. Withoot connections, ye wur goosed. Daeing a wee favour here and there never harmed anywan, especially if it wis tae the church, ae whitever persuasion, the polis or yer wee unsavoury backstreet criminal, who wis jist trying tae earn an honest buck or two. Everything and everywan hid a price. The trick wis tae find oot whit things cost and then make sure ye hid enough in the bank ae plenty tae cover yer ootlay...and tracks.
JP didnae think ae himsel as a particularly bitter man, despite hivving hid tae abandon his political career at a time when the party bosses wur encouraging him tae move up intae the big league by becoming a member ae parliament. Two things hid, unfortunately, conspired against him. Wan wis in the form ae a blue folder that hid been passed tae the owner ae The Glesga Echo, which hid contained aw the names, alang wae the amount ae dosh that wis being passed back and forward, under the coonter, between cooncillors, Corporation officials, the polis and the criminal fraternity. He’d been gied assurances by Pat Molloy, a Glesga gangster, also widely known in the city as The Big Man, that any documentation that hid his name oan it, hid been held back fae the batch that hid been passed oan. Although his name hid come up in the subsequent graft investigations, including statements submitted in court, there hid been nothing oan paper tae directly implicate him. It hid cost him his life savings ae thirteen thousand pounds tae buy his way oot ae Shite Street. The Big Man hid, at first, said it wid cost JP twenty grand tae save his arse, plus The Big Man’s expenses fur intervening. He’d finally accepted the reality ae how much JP could actually afford and hid agreed tae a cost ae five grand cash, up front, tae intervene oan JP’s behauf wae whoever it wis that hid the
rest ae the missing contents ae the blue graft folder. Efter paying that initial five grand up front tae The Big Man, JP hid spent a total ae six weeks extricating his life’s savings which he’d hid squirreled away in various locations, before the polis investigators managed tae catch up wae him. The Big Man hid been able tae guarantee that wance JP haunded o’er the dosh, the papers implicating him wid be destroyed. JP hid been dealing wae The Big Man fur years and hid nae reason tae doubt his guarantee. The Big Man might be a crook, bit he wis a man ae his word and widnae double-cross an auld friend. A few years before the graft came tae light, JP hid been sitting oan the bench as a Justice ae the Peace in the District Court doon in St Andrews square. The bane ae his life, Helen Taylor, hid been arrested, alang wae a gaggle ae other hairys fae the Toonheid, fur assaulting the polis ootside a closemooth where a warrant sale hid been in progress. Her and the rest ae the wummin hid aw been caught, bang tae rights, using the poles that they’d nailed their pathetic slogans oan tae, tae smash in the heids ae the polis who’d turned up tae arrest them fur breach ae the peace and blocking the Queen’s highway. It hid been a carefully planned operation, involving the boys in blue fae the Central Division and some ae the boys fae the newspapers who’d been tipped aff that there wis gonnae be big trouble. Efter the arrests, maist ae the wummin hid pleaded guilty, apart fae Taylor. He could still remember the ecstatic euphoria that he’d felt in they auld hee-haws ae his when she insisted that she wis innocent ae the charges and wis pleading not guilty. That hid been the excuse JP hid been looking fur. He’d promptly remanded the bitch in custody, thus thwarting an investigative journalist who worked fur The Glesga Echo, who went by the name ae Sammy Elliot, or The Rat, as everywan called him, fae investigating the supposed involvement ae the Central Division polis in the death ae a young boy in a pigeon dookit fire up in Parly Road. JP’s son-in- law, Crisscross, wis wan ae the polis who’d been under the rodent’s investigation. In the end, it hid become clear that the polis hidnae been involved in the wee toe-rag’s death efter aw, bit the Taylor bitch hidnae been willing tae let things lie. She’d somehow managed tae tempt a drunken bit brilliant lawyer oot ae retirement, who’d agreed tae defend her. The brief...a nasty wee shitehoose by the name ae Harry Portoy...who wis a well-known, dirty, underhaunded, shifty wee basturt, hid managed tae somehow get a few incriminating photos ae JP and a lady friend ae his and hid surreptitiously slipped them across tae JP in his ain courtroom. That hid been the day that his life hid changed furever. He’d jacked in the bench efter being forced tae find the bitch not guilty. Aw the income he’d been getting fae the defence councils fur letting their clients aff, hid dried up. Although the photos hidnae surfaced publicly, his life oan the bench, wis o’er. Between the photos and the graft scandal a few years later, he hidnae really recovered until recently. Enough time hid gone by and he felt he’d done his penance. It wis noo time tae get his life back oan track, where it belonged and tae try tae recover any lost assets he could before he ended up in the poor hoose. He stood up and looked at the upturned, expectant faces in front ae him. He lay doon the notes that contained his speech, which he’d carefully crafted well before he'd goat Dick Mulholland tae staun as his stooge in the 1970 Glesga Corporation ward election eighteen months previously. He’d known that it wid only be a matter ae time before Dick, a nice, bit ineffectual patsy, croaked it due tae his terminal bowel cancer. The arrival ae Charlie Mann, who’d slipped intae the hall, hid gone un-noticed by the majority ae the people who wur sitting wae their backs tae the door. JP smiled...he couldnae gie a monkey’s fuck whit Mann and his two loser pals goat up tae. If Charlie Mann wanted tae regurgitate the past, then so be it. It widnae be the first time that JP hid wiped Mann and his looney cronies’ arses aw o’er the flair. JP awready knew that he hid the commitment ae aw the key players in The Journeyman’s Club, whose names he noo hid in his back pocket, who’d aw promised tae back him tae the hilt during the four weeks ae the campaign. In some quarters, it hid cost him mair than whit he wid’ve liked tae hiv haunded oot, bit wance he wis ensconced doon in the city chambers, there wid still be plenty ae honey in the pot left o’er fur him.
“Thank ye fur the kind words, Peter, and the endorsement ae everywan who’ve turned up here this lunchtime tae support me. Before Ah start, Ah jist want tae welcome Charlie Mann, who ye probably didnae notice slipping in, up in the back row, while Peter wis flattering me wae aw they kind words. It wis a pleasant surprise fur me tae see so many ae ye here, ma friends and comrades, especially Charlie, who goes aw the way back tae the thirties wae me. Is that no right, Charlie?” JP said, wae a smug grin oan that coupon ae his, putting his nemesis oan the spot tae publicly declare his intentions, as everywan turned and stared at the auld yin sitting in the back row.
“Oh, Ah’m no here tae support and endorse ye, JP. Ah’m jist here tae weigh up the opposition,” Charlie Mann said calmly, taking oot his tobacco tin and rolling a fag.
“Oh, opposition is it? Whit, ye’re no backing another loser, ur ye, Charlie? Dae youse auld Tankies never tire ae being oan the receiving end ae second prizes?” JP taunted, grin getting bigger.
“Well, Ah think ye’ll find things will be a wee bit different this time roond, JP.”
“Oh, aye? And who’ve ye managed tae resurrect this time? Karl Marx by any chance?” JP mocked, getting titters fae the seated audience.
“Ach, Ah don’t think so. We’ve somewan much livelier than him. Helen Taylor his agreed fur her name tae be put forward as the only honest Independent candidate fur the Keppochhill ward,” Charlie said, lighting up, as the grin oan JP’s face froze and a buzz erupted fae the crowd sitting between JP and the cloud ae blue smoke at the back ae the hall.
Chapter Thirty Four
Helen looked at the clock oan the mantelpiece. She needed tae get a move oan or the shoaps widnae hiv anything left in them, she thought tae hersel, as she picked up the cups and heided through tae the kitchen sink. The word wis oot and the shock and disbelief could be seen oan folk's faces and heard in their awed voices. She smiled as she felt a thrill run through her body again.
“Aye, and no before time either,” Betty hid said repeatedly, efter turning up at her door wae Issie McManus at twenty tae eight that morning, jist five minutes efter Sherbet hid disappeared.
“Who wid’ve thought there wis a God and miracles did happen efter aw, eh?” Issie hid said, tears in her eyes, haudin Helen oot in front ae her and looking at her intently, before gieing her a big hearty cuddle.
“Christ, Helen, swear tae me that it’s true aboot the rumour that wan ae us is gonnae be staunin tae be a cooncillor?” Sharon Campbell hid demanded, aw excited, hivving arrived ten minutes efter Betty and Issie.
“Aye, ye’ve heard right, Sharon. It isnae a rumour, so it isnae,” Helen hid said, as Sharon screamed and flew at her, hugging her so tightly that she’d thought she wis gonnae burst.
“Aye, ye kept that wan a secret, so ye did, Taylor...and me living underneath ye as well,” Soiled Sally, fae doon the stairs, hid said oan her arrival.
“So, how did ye hear then?” Helen hid asked her.
“Sherbet telt me. Ah thought tae masel, he’s either been up there pumping the arse aff ae Helen, or he’s telling me the truth, hard though it is tae believe,” Sally hid said, tae laughter.
“Aye, wonders will never cease, eh? We’ll see a darkie playing fur Rangers yet, so we will,” Sherbet hid said tae Helen, when he turned up at her door wae twenty Embassy Regals and a pint ae milk in his haun.
“Aw, Sherbet, ye shouldnae hiv, son. Is that no nice ae ye or whit?”
“Listen, Helen, Ah’m a businessman, so Ah am. Ah jist wanted tae get in there first before aw the big boys fae they fancy shoaps up oan Springburn Road start kissing yer arse and treating ye like the Queen. And anyway, it wis clear that ye hidnae telt some ae yer pals as they looked at me as if Ah came fae some sub-continent country or something, when Ah mentioned aboot yer move intae politics.”
“Bit ye dae co
me fae some sub-continent country, so ye dae, Sherbet.”
“Ach, ye know whit Ah mean. Ye’ll probably be getting invaded, so Ah thought Ah’d nip roond wae a wee pint ae milk and a packet ae fags tae see ye through the morning.”
Helen dried her hauns oan her apron efter the last cup wis washed and put away before plapping her arse back doon oan tae the chair at the kitchen table. She looked aroond, satisfied that the place wis spick and span.
“Ach, tae hell wae it,” she said oot loud.
She switched oan her wee red two-bar electric fire and lit up wan ae Sherbet’s good fags. She’d been trying tae collect her thoughts ae the past twenty four hours, withoot much success. She’d known Sherbet and his brother, Abdul, since the early sixties, when they’d taken o’er the paper shoap that sold everything anywan could ever need, in McAslin Street in the Toonheid. Sherbet hid acted as a translator and go-between when a couple ae the Asian wummin who lived in Grafton Square, jist roond the corner fae where Helen and Betty stayed in Montrose Street, hid found themsels oan the wrang side ae a warrant sale. It wis quite unusual fur the Pakistani or Indian families tae find themsels in that situation, so, it hid been relatively rare fur Helen and the lassies tae hiv tae lend a haun o’er in that quarter. Although the crisis caused by the debt hid been the same as whit it wis fur everywan else in that situation, the language barrier between the wummin meant that they couldnae read or understaun the letters fae The Corporation, informing them that their hoosehold goods wur aboot tae be flogged fur peanuts. That’s where Sherbet hid come in handy. Wan day, he’d accosted Helen in his shoap and asked her if she could help oot wan ae the wummin, whose man wis stuck in Pakistan fur some reason that she’d noo furgoat aboot, bit whose wife and snappers wur noo oan the verge ae eviction. Efter that, if any ae the local Asian wummin came tae her, needing a haun wae something like dealing wae The Corporation, she’d get Sherbet or his wife, Maisa, tae translate fur her roond in his shoap or up at the wummin’s hoose.
