by Ian Todd
“Try and make sure that it hits the windae wae its edge, and no the flat side, Johnboy,” Tony roared above the din, as the lorries hissed, roared and screeched through the traffic lights towards them. “Wait until the cab ae the second wan his jist gone past us. Ye don’t want the drivers tae clock whit we’re up tae.”
Johnboy’s heart wis pounding and his mooth wis as dry as his ma’s best burnt toast. His stomach began tae churn. The stank became heavier and he thought he widnae hiv the strength tae lift the thing up and fling it through the windae. He suddenly started tae feel sick. His back wis facing the road. He could see Paul and Joe running towards him bit couldnae see Tony anywhere. He couldnae hear himsel think wae the racket and the ground shaking under his feet. Hid he missed Tony telling him tae pan in the windae? Where the fuck wis Tony? He couldnae cope wae the noise. It sounded as if the building wis coming doon. Sweat wis running between the cracks ae his arse. Where the fuck hid Tony gone?
“Noo, Johnboy! Throw the basturt, noo!” Tony’s voice screamed intae his right lug. He turned his heid sideways slightly, watching the lorries thunder past. He wis surprised at how easily he could suddenly lift the stank cover up behind his heid. He threw it wae aw his might and watched it disappear through the middle ae the glass. He felt the weight disappear oot ae his hauns, bit never heard the sound ae the windae being broken, or it smashing intae a thousand pieces, as the whole sheet ae glass oan the front ae the shoap drapped doon oan tae the pavement like a sheet ae ice aff ae the roof ae a tenement building.
“Fucking nice wan, Johnboy. Let’s go!” Tony screamed, as his heid and shoulders disappeared oot ae sight.
Before Johnboy could make his move, Joe arrived and wis scrambling o’er tae his left, while Paul jumped up intae the space tae his right and snatched up the case ae petrol lighters.
“Catch, Johnboy!” Paul shouted, as he threw Johnboy his box ae fancy pencils.
“Let’s go!” Tony shouted, as Johnboy followed him across St James Road intae McAslin Street, clutching his box ae good pencils.
Johnboy felt like he wis floating oan air. It felt like he’d jist won first prize at school fur daeing something pure dead brilliant, which wis something that hid never happened tae him in aw the time he’d been there. He could hear the pounding ae Paul and Joe’s feet jist behind him as wan ae them let oot a big ‘Yeehaah’, followed by a cackling laugh.
Breaking intae shoaps doon at the junction ae St James Road, Parly Road and Dobbies Loan might at first glance hiv seemed ideal. There wis the traffic lights, tons ae lorries coming and gaun and ye could hiv yer pick ae whit took yer fancy fae tobacconists, fruit and vegetable shoaps, butchers, bakers, fish and chips shoaps through tae cafes and plenty mair. You name it, and it wis sitting there, waiting tae be tanned. The only problem wae using McAslin Street as their getaway wis that they wur goosed fur escape routes, apart fae the few closes oan the right haun side, at the start ae McAslin Street, where the wummin painter used tae live and who’d let them play wae her crayons when they wur weans, and a couple ae closes oan the left haun side, jist before ye came tae Murray Street, where Johnboy’s granda and granny lived. They wur smack in the middle ae the road, between Johnboy’s granny’s building oan wan corner and Rattray’s bike factory oan the other, when they heard the screeching ae tyres coming fae the Parly Road end ae Murray Street.
“Bizzies!” Joe screamed as they aw looked left withoot missing a step.
Johnboy’s exhilaration disappeared and wis replaced wae terror as he ran past Rattray’s factory and Melrose’s tea depot oan his left, opposite the big tyre yard wall. There wisnae any closes tae escape through until ye reached Taylor Street, further up. Aw he could hear wis the sound ae the fag lighter and Swiss Army pen knife cases, skiting across the street behind him.
“Fuck’s sake…drap it, Johnboy!” he heard Tony shouting.
His box wae his good pencils joined the rest ae the slithering swag. They aw swivelled their heids roond thegither at the sound ae screeching tyres, as a squad car came shooting oot ae Murray Street, trying tae turn left in the direction they wur running in. The car careened sideways across the shiny cement covered surface ae the street, heiding fur the tyre yard wall, only tae be saved by the side wheels bouncing aff ae the edge ae the pavement. Johnboy started tae feel better. They’d jist aboot reached Taylor Street and the safety ae the closemooths when they wur ambushed. At first, Johnboy didnae realise whit wis happening. He wis busy looking behind him at the polis car reappearing oot ae a massive cloud ae white smoke, its tyres still screeching in fury, trying tae get a grip ae the road surface. Luckily, he jist managed tae duck his heid as two big black erms, wae thick leather gloves attached tae the end ae them, grabbed fresh air above his heid.
“Stoap, ya wee basturt!”
Shite, Ah don’t want tae go tae jail, he heard a voice in his brain howling, as, jist o’er tae his left, he saw Joe being rugby tackled by a big sergeant, who’d shot oot ae the church hall doorway oan the corner. Johnboy quickened his pace and bolted efter Tony’s arse as he whizzed straight past Taylor Street towards the closes beside The McAslin Bar. He noticed Tony nipping intae the second closemooth before the pub. Fur a split second, he thought aboot following him, bit then decided that he wid stick tae the route that he knew best. The close where he’d booted Fat Boy Milne’s baws intae the tap ae his heid wis rushing forward tae meet him. He heard somewan shout ‘Gaun yersel, son!’ before he shot intae the closemooth. He hidnae heard the galloping sound ae feet behind him when he wis oot in the street, bit running through the close, it sounded like a pack ae horses wur jist aboot tae run him o’er. The sound changed back intae pounding feet as he managed tae make it intae the back court. Although it wis dark, he could jist make oot Tony’s shadow jumping fae the tap ae the midden, up oan tae the wall, and disappearing o’er the other side. Even in the dark, he could tell that nothing hid changed since his date wae Tarzan and they baws ae his. The midgie bins wur still ootside the midden, turned o’er oan their sides, wae aw the rubbish scattered aboot. Wae wan final effort, he managed tae leap forward and use wan ae the bins as a springboard tae scramble o’er the tap ae the midden. As he wis heaving himsel up o’er the wall, he heard a massive howl.
“Mammydaddymammydaddy!”
This wis quickly followed by a shout ae triumph.
“Goat ye, ya wee basturt, ye!”
There wis a wee hauf demolished midden oan the other side ae the wall that allowed Johnboy tae break his fall. He leapt doon oan tae it and then oan tae the ground. As he wis disappearing through the far corner close, aw he could hear wis Paul’s voice screaming.
“It wisnae me…honest, sir!”
When he caught up wae Tony at the air raid shelter, Tony wis bent o’er wae his hauns flat against it. Johnboy joined him in puking and retching between gulping in lungfuls ae air.
“Did ye see whit happened tae Joe and Paul?” Tony finally managed tae asked him, staunin up.
“Ah saw Joe being nabbed, jist as we came tae Taylor Street, at the Parly Road end,” Johnboy wheezed.
“Aye, there wis a Black Maria sitting roond the corner, jist oot ae sight. Ah jist aboot shat masel when Ah clocked it.”
“And Paul goat grabbed in the middens, jist behind The McAslin Bar,” Johnboy panted tae the whites ae the eyes opposite him in the dark.
“Right, wur gonnae hiv tae disappear…pronto. Ye better get hame quick because they’ll be aw o’er the place, looking fur us.”
“Dae ye think it’ll be safe fur me tae heid hame alang Stirling Road?” Johnboy gasped, drinking in the air.
“Naw, heid doon tae Stirling Road, bit then cross o’er and up intae the Rottenrow. Ah cannae see them looking fur ye o’er there. Ye better hurry though.”
“Aye, okay. Ah’ll see ye at school the morra.”
Tony disappeared intae his closemooth and Johnboy nipped oot intae Parson Street, heiding doon towards Stirling Road.
Chapter Four
The Sar
ge and Crisscross hid been sitting in the squad car, parked up in Kennedy Street, eating their fish and chips, when they’d been alerted tae whit wis gaun oan doon oan St James Road.
“That fish is bloody stoating, so it is,” Crisscross hid declared, smacking his lips and reaching fur the bottle ae Irn Bru that wis resting comfortably between his feet.
“Aye, ye cannae beat Tony’s fish, although the chips ur reheats,” The Sarge hid acknowledged.
“Dae ye think so? Ah thought they wur okay.”
“Naw, they’d mair wrinkles oan them than ma auld granny’s left tit,” the connoisseur ae fish and chip shoap cuisine hid replied.
“We could always go back and ask fur oor money back,” Crisscross hid suggested, as they baith laughed.
It didnae matter where they went in the Toonheid, they wur always assured ae a warm welcome fae the local shoapkeepers. It wis aw part ae the perks ae the job. A wee hauf pint here, followed by a wee nip ae whisky there, kept the cauld wind aff ae them when they wur trudging aboot the streets efter the pubs shut. It wis like a wee bit ae extra insurance, that made the shoapkeepers sleep easier in their flea-pits at night, The Sarge always said.
“Remember last Christmas?” Crisscross hid asked him, taking a gulp ae Scotland’s finest fae the neck ae the bottle.
“Aye.”
“Me and the boys wur wondering how come we didnae get any ae the good single malt.”
“That’s because ye’re at the bottom ae the shite pile. Aw the good stuff goes up the stairs and the higher up ye ur, the better the quality.”
“Aye, Ah’m okay wae that, bit dae we need tae get aw the dross?”
“Whit dae ye mean?”
“Well, when Big Jim turned up wae the Black Maria, filled tae the gunnels wae aw the best ae gear, how come Ah ended up wae six bottles ae that Red Hackle paint stripper that’s being passed aff as whisky and two cases ae Usher’s pish lager?”
“Fur Christ’s sake, Crisscross, whit ur ye complaining aboot? Yer turn will come someday, so it will,” The Sarge hid said tae him.
“Don’t get me wrang, Sarge, bit me and the boys wur no too happy tae see the sergeants walking away wae the good quality Bells and Tennents lager and leaving us wae aw the pish. Ah’ve still goat hauf ma whisky left and Ah cannae gie that Usher’s away,” Crisscross hid continued.
The Sarge hid jist been aboot tae reply, when a wee fat boy wae a black eye hid approached the car.
“Please, sirs?”
“Aye, son, whit is it?” Crisscross hid asked him.
“If Ah reported a crime, wid Ah get intae bother?”
“It depends oan whether ye’re the wan that’s committed it or no.”
“Aye, bit, if Ah’ve no committed it, wid Ah hiv tae appear up in court?”
“Naw, we could always say we goat an anonymous tip-aff.”
“Did somebody gie ye a black eye, son? That’s a helluva keeker ye’ve goat there,” The Sarge hid said tae him.
“Naw, Ah ran intae a door.”
“That’s whit they aw say, son,” Crisscross hid chuckled.
“Listen, wee man…whitever ye tell us will be between us…unless ye’ve murdered yer maw, that is…so go aheid and tell us and it’ll be oor wee secret. Awright?” The Sarge hid cooed encouragingly.
“Bit, Ah’ll no get intae trouble if it’s a false alarm, will Ah?”
“Prevention is better than efter the fact,” Crisscross hid chipped in.
“Eh?” Black-eyed Bob hid said, looking confused.
“Never mind him wae aw his big fancy talk. You jist go aheid, and tell us in yer ain words whit ye want tae say, son,” The Sarge hid said, before taking a big slug ae his Irn Bru, and letting rip wae a big gassy burp, as he wiped the tears away fae his stinging eyes wae his free haun. “Fuck, that stuff’s no hauf strong, so it’s no.”
“Well, Ah’ve jist come fae the Boys Brigade session at ma school and Ah noticed a group ae boys doon oan St James Road, hinging aboot. Ah didnae want them tae see me, so Ah took a short cut through the backs oan tae Parly Road.”
“Aye, ye look really smart in yer BB hat and white belt, son,” Crisscross hid said.
“They didnae see me coming oot ae the close at the traffic lights oan Parly Road as Ah managed tae nip across the road behind a bus and heided up Dobbies Loan oan tae Kennedy Street.”
“And whit wur they up tae, son?” The Sarge hid asked, his eyes still smarting, as he swithered whether tae go fur another skoof ae the Irn Bru and wanting tae tell Fatty tae hurry the fuck up and spit it oot.
“Fae whit Ah could see, Johnboy Taylor and Tony Gucci wur staunin looking intae a wee tobacco shoap windae.”
“Aye?” baith The Sarge and Crisscross hid said thegither, while sitting up straight and looking at Black-eyed Bob.
“And Ah saw another two boys. Wan wis staunin at the corner ae McAslin Street and the other wan wis staunin at the traffic lights oan the corner ae St James Road and Parly Road. It looked as if they wur lookoots.”
“How long ago wis this?” The Sarge hid demanded.
“Jist aboot five minutes ago, sirs.”
Crisscross hid awready changed intae second gear, and wis heiding alang Kennedy Street when The Sarge hid shouted intae the radio.
“Tango five, this is Tango two. Come in. O’er.”
“Hellorerr Tango two. Whit kin Ah dae ye fur? O’er,” came the voice ae Big Jim Stewart, the other Toonheid sergeant.
“Jim, we’re heiding fur the wee tobacconist’s oan St James Road. There’s a break-in, in progress. Where ur ye? O’er.”
“We’re jist heiding intae Parly Road fae the Castle Street end. O’er.”
“Right, listen up…heid doon tae Taylor Street and sit there, oot ae sight. We know who the wee basturts ur and they’ll probably be heiding that way. There’s four ae them, so ye’ll hiv tae get oot ae the van and wait fur them tae come tae you. O’er.”
“Nae bother, Liam. We’ll be there waiting. Tango five, o’er and oot,” Big Jim hid replied.
Crisscross hid turned left intae Drummond Street and right oan tae Parly Road. Jist as he wis coming up tae go past Murray Street, The Sarge hid shouted oot an order.
“Turn left here, Crisscross!”
Crisscross hid slammed oan the breaks and careened left intae Murray Street, oan two wheels, wae the brakes screaming blue murder. The Sarge hid let oot a yelp as first his foreheid bounced aff ae the windscreen and then the side ae his heid battered aff ae the passenger’s side windae.
“Fur fuck’s sake, Crisscross, kin ye no apply the brakes and gears mair smoothly?”
“There they ur!” Crisscross hid shouted, excitedly.
“Efter the basturts, Crisscross!” The Sarge hid howled as he spotted the four toe-rags running past Murray Street fae right tae left.
“They’re oan their way tae you, Jim. O’er,” The Sarge hid screamed intae the radio, as Crisscross ripped fuck oot ae the gears and skidded sideways across McAslin Street, stalling efter bouncing aff the kerb.
“Fur Christ’s sake, Crisscross, ma life is passing in front ae ma bloody eyes,” The Sarge hid wailed.
“Don’t ye worry, Sarge, we’re oan tae the wee basturts,” Crisscross hid screamed, as they shot oot ae the burning brake-pad cloud.
“C’moan Crisscross, we’re missing aw the action,” The Sarge hid shouted, noticing Big Jim rugby tackling wan ae them doon oan tae the ground.
The wee basturt hidnae known whit hid hit him.
“Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Ah cannae believe whit Ah’m seeing. He must’ve seen that coming a mile aff,” The Sarge hid screamed in frustration, as the wee red-heided wan ducked under the oot-stretched erms ae Jinty Jobson.
Crisscross hidnae hid time tae reply as he screeched tae a halt in the middle ae the junction between Taylor Street and McAslin Street. He’d disappeared oot ae the driver’s side and started tae chase efter two ae them. He’d jist managed tae body swerve Jinty, who’d come running across his path, chasing w
an ae them up a close tae his right. The two that Crisscross hid been chasing hid disappeared intae the same closemooth beside The McAslin Bar.
“Fuck aff and get oot ae ma way, ya auld prick, ye!” Crisscross hid snarled at Horsey John, manager ae The Stanhope Stables who wis well pished and wis finding it hard tae staun oan his ain two feet, despite the aid ae a pair ae crutches.
“Gaun yersel, son!” Horsey John hid shouted efter the toe-rags.
Crisscross hid jist aboot been up the arse ae the wee shitehoose in front ae him when he’d burst oot intae the darkness ae the back court. There hid jist been enough lights fae the windaes ae the hooses tae make oot the shapes in front ae him. He’d seen that wan ae them hid managed tae get up oan tae the midden. He’d withdrawn his baton fae his trooser pocket while still at a gallop. Suddenly a heid hid appeared in front ae him. He’d lifted his erm and swung the baton sideways, jist like wan ae they chinkies oot ae ‘The Seventh Samurai’ picture that Sally, his wife, hid made him sit through when she’d been thinking ae gaun tae dae missionary work somewhere in Africa. They giant butcher’s knives and big sticks that they wur always attacking people wae, and the fact that nowan spoke any English in the film, hid soon put paid tae that idea. He’d felt the shudder run up his erm as the wooden baton whacked a solid skull. The shape in front ae him hid drapped like a sack ae totties. He’d tried tae stoap himself fae being projected forward bit hid tripped o’er another body which wis lying curled up in front ae the midden. He’d flailed his erms oot in front ae himself tae try and steady his flight, bit hid instinctively known exactly where he wis heiding, due tae the fact that the smell ae cats pish, shite fae nappies and fireplace ash hid caught in his throat like the grip ae the Grim Reaper. As he’d landed heid-first intae the midden, he’d jist managed tae grab somebody’s heid between his two legs and haud oan tight.
