by Todd, Ian
“Right, Helen, Ah hiv tae be up front wae ye fae the start, so don’t get yer knickers in a twist. Ah cannae vote fur ye, even though Ah know ye’re a good person and aw that,” he’d confessed.
“So, why no then? Am Ah no wan ae yer best customers?”
“Ah’m sorry, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit Ah’m a true blue-nosed Tory, that’s why.”
“Christ, ye’ll be telling me ye want an ae yer boys tae play fur Glesga Rangers next.”
“Ah dae.”
“Sherbet, tell me how many Tories hiv walked intae yer shoap since ye moved up tae Springburn and put any money across yer coonter, eh?” Helen hid demanded.
“Ach Helen, don...”
“None, that’s how many.”
“Look, it’s nothing tae dae wae yersel. It’s bigger than a wee poxy local election. This is aboot the Tories daeing whit’s right fur the country, so it is.”
“Sherbet, this by-election his naff-aw tae dae wae running the country. This his tae dae wae Springburn and the people who live and work in it, including you, Abdul and Maisa, so it his.”
“See, that’s ye started awready. Look, don’t take offence when ye don’t see me and Maisa storming the barriers wae yersel and the rest ae the lassies in the coming weeks. It’s nothing personal. And Ah won’t be able tae put up any ae yer posters in the shoap windae either,” Sherbet hid mumbled, looking embarrassed.
“Why?”
“Because Ah’m the secretary ae the local Conservative and Unionist party, that’s why.”
“Whit? Up here? In Springburn?” Helen hid scoffed, slapping her knee and laughing.
“Aye, up here in the socialist republic ae Springburn. Don’t sound so surprised. There might only be five ae us, bit we’re game as lions, so we ur. We’ve goat the support ae maist ae the shoapkeepers in the area.”
“Ach, Ah know it isnae personal, Sherbet. Don’t worry oan that score...jist so long as Ah don’t see that baldy basturt, JP Donnelly’s ugly mug, smiling oot at me fae between yer Mother’s Pride and Bilsland loaves ae breid in yer front windae.”
“It’s a deal,” he’d said, smiling, taking a fly puff ae her fag.
Helen hid sussed oot that something wis up as soon as Susan Flaw, the minister’s wife hid opened the front door ae the manse and motioned her in oot ae the cauld, the day before.
“Helen, I don‘t know how to say this, but I’ve got an unexpected visitor in the kitchen,” she’d whispered, stepping fae wan fit tae the other.
“Oh, right. Dae ye want me tae come back later?”
“No, not really, but I can’t seem to get rid of him. He’s been here for over an hour and I still don’t know what he’s after. It might be something to do with you or Donald though.”
“Me? It’s no the polis or a Provi-cheque man, is it?”
“No, no. I think he said his name was Mr Mann, or Charlie. Do you know him?”
Did Helen know Charlie Mann? Too right, Helen knew Charlie. The Three Comrades hid been in Spain wae her aunt Jeannie back in the thirties. He’d driven an ambulance. Poor Charlie and her Aunt Jeannie hid been tae hell and back…only, in her case, she hidnae come back. No long efter her and Jimmy hid moved up tae Springburn, he’d turned up at her door wan morning. Efter letting him in, he’d stayed fur aboot six hours. O’er the years, when she’d brought Aunt Jeannie up in conversation wae her maw, Aunt Jeannie’s twin sister, her maw hid nipped the conversation in the bud and refused to speak aboot her. It hid been the first direct connection between her and her aunt Jeannie, ootside ae the family, since the nineteen thirties. Charlie hid asked her if she remembered him fae back in the thirties when she’d helped Aunt Jeannie in her failed election campaign. Charlie hid been Jeannie’s campaign manager. Fur some reason, JPs name hidnae come up as her opponent. Other than Jeannie hersel, she could only remember blurred images ae people’s faces. She’d only been aboot ten years auld when Aunt Jeannie hid left. He’d hid her in tears and laughter in equal measure aboot the Toonheid ae her childhood back in the day and whit the pair ae them hid goat up tae across in Spain. When she’d asked him if he’d been in Barcelona when Aunt Jeannie hid been killed, he’d murmured that he didnae think that’s where she died. Despite pressing him, he’d jist clammed up efter that, which she’d found strange. Wance he goat up oan that soap box ae his, ye couldnae get him tae shut up. It wis aw proletariat this and Karl that, wae a few wee Engelberts thrown in fur good measure. And that wis jist when he wis sober. Helen hid smiled, thinking aboot Charlie Mann oan the loose, pished as an auld fart.
“Oh, Ah know Charlie, Susan. Dae ye want me tae deal wae him fur ye?” Helen hid whispered back.
“I’m not sure. He wouldn’t be violent towards us, would he? He's not been sent by JP, has he?”
“Charlie? Sent here by JP Donnelly? Somehow, Ah don’t think so. Look, why don’t ye leave auld Charlie tae me, eh?” Helen hid replied, laughing quietly.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry, Susan, Ah’m sure Ah’m sure,” Helen hid whispered, walking past her towards the kitchen, putting oan her best stern expression.
“Helen, ma wee prairie flower, baby doll. If it’s no yersel, so it is. Ah wis jist saying tae the good reverend’s wife here, whit a lovely day it is when somewan like yersel shows that beautiful mug aboot the place. Is that no right, Mrs Flaw?” Charlie hid said, wae a twinkle in his eye.
“Charlie, yer patter’s like water and it runs, so it dis. Whit ur ye up tae, ya auld blether, eh?” Helen hid asked him, grabbing him by the ears and gieing him a kiss oan that bald napper ae his.
“Me? Nothing...at least nothing that’s gonnae get me intae trouble, that is. Ah jist came roond tae ask the minister’s wife here whit she wis intending tae dae tae get ye elected intae Dick Mulholland’s vacant seat. There’s nae herm in that, is there?”
“Noo, whit makes ye think that Ah’ve decided tae staun, eh? Ah’ve never showed you or anywan else that Ah wis inclined tae even consider daeing something as stupid as that, so Ah hivnae.”
“Because it’s in yer blood, that’s why...that and the fact that if ye don’t, there’s nowan else who kin stoap that wily auld fox, JP, fae sauntering back doon tae George’s Square, tae steal the last ae the family silver that he didnae manage tae blag before he wis forced tae leave in a hurry, the last time.”
“How did ye know Ah wis coming here this morning?” she’d asked him, eyes narrowing.
“Me? Ah never knew ye wur coming roond here.”
“Look, if ye’re gonnae be involved in ma campaign, Ah need total honesty fae you and they auld sojer pals ae yers, Charlie,” Helen hid scowled, smiling, as big grins appeared oan Charlie and Susan’s faces.
“Oh, Helen, that’s wonderful,” Susan hid cried, gieing her a cuddle.
“Jist ye sit where ye ur...ye’ve awready hid aw ye’re getting, ya auld pervert, ye,” Helen hid warned, as Charlie sank back doon oan his chair.
“This calls for a celebration,” Susan hid said, taking a bottle ae whisky doon oot ae a cupboard.
“Aha! Ah knew ye hid a sneaky wee bottle ae that tucked away in here somewhere,” Charlie hid beamed.
“Right, Charlie, spit it oot. Ah’m serious. Who telt ye Ah wis coming roond here this morning, eh?”
“Squinty Alex.”
“Squinty Alex?”
“Aye, that’s right. Alex and Nan wur in the club last night, so they wur. They wur jist saying how chummy ye’d become wae The Reverend and his wife. Nan said that she’d asked ye roond this morning fur a cup ae tea, bit that ye’d said ye wurnae too sure whit time ye’d be able tae manage roond, as ye wur coming up tae see Mrs Flaw.”
“See this place? They wid get ye hung, so they wid,” Helen hid said tae Susan, eyes rolling.
“Anyway, whit’s the big deal, hen? Ye’re staunin and that’s aw that matters, isn’t that right, Mrs Flaw?”
“If I call you Charlie, will you call me Susan, Mr Mann?”
“Ah think that wid b
e acceptable tae me, hen.”
“Then, Charlie it is,” Susan hid beamed.
“Right, it wisnae how Ah envisaged it happening, bit Ah wis wondering if the offer ae helping me tae beat JP Donnelly in Dick Mulholland’s seat wis still open, Susan?”
“Why, Helen, of course it is. I would be delighted to help in any way I can.”
“Well, in that case, Ah’d jist like tae officially announce ma candidacy...whitever that means.”
“It means ye jist hiv tae fill in this form and Ah’ll dae the rest, hen. The closing date fur nominations is this Friday,” Charlie hid beamed, lifting his jaicket aff the empty seat beside him and whipping oot a folded election nomination form.
“Dae Ah no need some sort ae election agent or something?” Helen hid asked them.
“Charlie can do that.” Susan hid said.
“Look, while Ah’d love tae take oan that responsibility, ye’re gonnae need somewan wae a broader appeal than me, hen. Let Susan dae that. Ah’ll probably end up being mair ae a liability than anything else. And anyway, Ah’m mair yer dirty tricks department, if ye know whit Ah mean?” he’d replied, a wee smile appearing at the corner ae his mooth.
“Naw, Ah don’t know whit ye mean, Charlie. Susan?”
“I would be honoured, Helen,” Susan hid replied withoot hesitation.
And that hid been that. Efter the three ae them hid sat and filled oot the election form, Susan hid asked if she could hiv a few days tae map oot an election strategy oan whit needed tae be done.
“Take as long as ye want, Susan. Ah’ve goat a warrant sale tae sort oot fur the beginning ae next week.”
“Ah think ye need tae let people know whit the score is jist noo, Helen. We don’t want tae mess aboot noo. Time is ae the essence, so it is,” Charlie hid warned her.
“Ach, Ah’m sure noo that you know, then everywan and his blind cat will get tae hear aboot it before the day is oot, Charlie,” Helen hid replied, winking across at Susan.
“Well, it’s funny ye should say that, bit Ah know exactly the place tae announce it, so Ah dae,” Charlie hid said wae a mischievous smile.
He’d knocked back the rest ae his dram, before staunin up and putting oan his bunnet, scarf and jaicket.
“And another thing, we’ll need a campaign fund. Here’s twenty two quid tae start wae,” he’d said, taking oot a wad ae notes and putting them doon oan the table.
“Bit...bit, Ah cannae take this aff ae ye, you being an auld age pensioner,” Helen hid protested, pushing the notes away fae her.
“Oh, it’s no coming oot ae ma pockets, hen. Bob Henderson, John McGuigan and masel called a local International Brigade meeting jist before the New year where it wis agreed tae donate fifty percent ae oor funds tae yer campaign. It wis a unanimous decision, so it wis.”
“Unanimous?” Susan asked.
“Well, there’s only three ae us Springburn Comrades left, bit we goat the okay fae the Brigadier, Big Tommy Cochrane, fae Blantyre, who wis oor Political Commissar. Tommy and Jeannie wur great pals before and during their time in Spain. When Ah telt him it wis tae fund Jeannie Smullen’s niece tae take up the fight against JP, he never batted an eyelid and telt me jist tae go fur it,” he explained, smiling.
Efter Charlie hid disappeared oan his mission, Helen hid asked Susan whit she thought.
“When is the warrant sale, Helen?”
“Ten o’clock oan Monday morning.”
“Why don’t we officially announce it at two o’clock that afternoon? That would give us time to put out the word, inviting supporters to turn up and offer their services. What do you think?”
“Good, because Ah’ve no goat a clue whit Ah’m supposed tae be daeing, bit it wid gie me time tae think ae the issues that Ah think ur important and that Ah’d want tae highlight during the campaign. Whit dae ye think yersel?”
“That’s just what I was going to suggest, Helen. You’re ahead of the game...that’s good. We can’t use the Kirk hall here, but I’ll see if Donald can get us a room in the small hall beside the Springburn Public Halls in Millarbank Street.”
“Great. Somehow, Ah don’t think it wid be wise tae take up Charlie’s offer ae booking a room in The Journeyman’s Club tae launch the campaign,” Helen hid said, as the pair ae them burst intae nervous, hysterical giggles.
Chapter Thirty Five
It hid been a crap week aw roond, The Stalker thought tae himsel, as Bumper slowly crawled through the traffic oan Castle Street.
“Hoi! Aye, you, ya bloody numpty, ye. Call yersel a bus driver?” Bumper shouted oot ae the squad car windae at the bus driver who’d pushed back the wing mirror ae the squad car oan the way past.
“Sorry, sir, Ah didnae mean it, so Ah didnae.”
“Any mair ae that nonsense and Ah’ll be efter yer license, so Ah will, ya eejit, ye,” Bumper hollered, clearly enjoying his day release oot ae Springburn.
The only bit ae good news he’d heard in the last week wis that he’d been promoted fae sergeant tae inspector in spectacular fashion. Oan the doon side, the papers hid been gaun absolutely doo-lally. Everywan hid known it wis gonnae be bad, bit this must be whit it felt like when a hurricane struck withoot warning and nowan hid anywhere tae hide due tae the shelters hivving been blown away by the typhoon that hid preceded it earlier. Aw The Stalker hid been able tae see aw week hid been the black haze ae madness descending aw aboot him and the rest ae the boys in the station.
“Haw you! Aye you, ya diddy, ye. If that bloody rust bucket touches this car, ye’re booked, so ye ur,” Bumper shouted at the Barr’s ginger lorry driver who wis attempting tae cut across them intae Alexandra Parade. “Right, that’s it!”
He couldnae be arsed shouting at Bumper tae get back intae the car and tae get him doon tae St Andrews Square before they wur late fur the briefing session wae Daddy Jackson. He looked at his watch. It hid been exactly wan week ago that his life hid changed furever. Some basturt, or basturts, hid blown away wan ae Glesga’s tap gangsters in a perfectly planned murder. Tam Simpson, a notorious gangster fae across in Possil, hid jist been aboot tae enter his wee secret love nest tae empty they sacks ae his, when somewan hid goat in there first and shot their bolt before Tam goat a chance tae unzip his fly. Seemingly, it hid been a weekly Friday morning ritual that hid been gaun oan fur quite some time. Noo, normally, something like that happening wid’ve been welcomed wae ootstretched erms and shouts ae ‘Hallelujah’ within the bizzy fraternity in Glesga, bit things wur never as straightforward as that in the second dirtiest city ae the empire. In true Glesga style, where crooks seemed tae hiv some sort ae disposition fur dipping their wicks intae ink wells that wid normally be oot ae their price range, Tam Simpson, the deceased gangster, hid been nae exception tae the rule. His posh shag-piece hid been none other than wan ae the local senior social workers in Possilpark, where Tam and his brother, Toby Simpson, hid been terrorising the local community and hauf the north ae the city fur the past twenty-odd years. Noo, in sensationalist terms, a story like that wid be liable tae spend a few days oan the front pages before dying a slow death as it travelled through the paper, until it met its end jist before the fitba section at the back ae the paper, only tae be resurrected every noo and again when an accused came tae court or the cheated husband strangled his wife in revenge, before topping himsel. No in this case though. As the day ae Tam Simpson’s demise hid worn oan, things hid gone fae bad tae fucking-super-astonishingly bad. The love cheat social worker hid turned oot tae be married tae none other than a Scottish prison governor. Everywan up in the cop shoap hid agreed wae the newspaper columnists that week that ye couldnae hiv made something like this up, even if ye’d tried. Anywan wae any bit ae compassion in them wid, at a push, hiv felt at least a wee bit sorry fur the poor unfortunate souls who hid tae investigate a murky situation such as this, bit the best, or the worse part ae the day hid still tae come tae fruition. Wance the shite hid hit the fan at a hunner miles an hour oan the Friday morning wae the news that a big gangster h
id copped his whack, the big-wigs doon in St Andrews Square hid tried tae keep a lid oan the unfolding Keystone Kops parody. The Glesga Echo, however, hid hid other ideas and the story, in aw its gory glory, hid popped up oan the lunchtime news. Anywan watching the news that Friday lunchtime couldnae help bit notice that the newsreader, John Turney, hid been aboot tae come in they pants ae his wae excitement. The wee smarmy prick hid announced that The Glesga Echo, and it’s leading investigative journalist, Mr Sammy Elliot, commonly known oan the city streets as The Rat, hid been aboot tae publish their four-month-long investigation intae the love triangle involving ‘The Gangster, The Social Worker and the Cuckolded HM Prison Governor,’ starting in the very next day’s edition. The Stalker hid since heard that even the big-wigs doon in St Andrews Square hidnae known at that stage whit Tam and the floozy social worker hid been up tae. The heidline story hid been news tae them, alang wae the rest ae the population. Everywan hid jist assumed that she’d been hit in the crossfire while visiting a client in the same block ae hooses. While hauf the polis forces throughoot Scotland hid been pishing themsels at the slap-stick carry-oan in Glesga, the piece de resistance ae fuck-ups in the annals ae polis fuck-ups hid taken place at exactly 2.10pm that very same efternoon. By that time, anywan in a position ae authority, wae any sense, hid awready ducked and run fur cover efter the news bulletin at wan o’clock. The murder weapon...some kind ae strange trap gun, that hid been used tae blow the brains ae Tam aw across his next door neighbour’s face and doorframe, while narrowly missing any ae his posh shag-bag’s vital organs, hid mysteriously gone AWOL. There hidnae been a morning, noon or night since, when some newsreader oan the telly, wae some useless wanker ae an expert, hidnae been pontificating or regurgitating shite aboot whit hid been and still apparently wis, wrang and rotten wae The City ae Glesga Polis Force. Christ, the story hid even made Nationwide, The Stalker sighed tae himsel. In the canteen earlier, before everywan hid started their shift, Biscuit Smith, wan ae the local pavement pounders, hid quoted oot loud fae the front page ae the Glesga Echo.
