by Ian Todd
“Yes, ya wee darling, ye!” wan ae them shouted, as they aw raced back tae the line, picking up mair stanes oan route.
Toothless let fly and missed by a mile. Two mair shots came and went. Meanwhile, Fatty hid walked o’er tae wan ae the middens and came back wae an unbroken red brick. He threw it the way the sojers throw grenades in the war films. It landed narrow end doon, right smack oan tap ae the doos heid. The doo widnae hiv known whit hid hit it. It lay with baith its wings grotesquely twisted flat, while its feet wriggled fur a few seconds and then went still.
“That’s cheating Alex, ya prick, ye,” whined Toothless.
“How come?”
“Ye could hardly miss wae the size ae that brick.”
“Haw youse! Ya evil wee basturts. Leave that poor bird alane,” a wee wummin shouted fae her kitchen windae.
“Fuck aff and mind yer ain business,” Fatty shouted back. “We’re only putting it oot ae its misery.”
“Ah’m gonnae hiv tae go,” wan ae them said.
“Aye, so am Ah,” Toothless added.
“Okay, Ah’ll see youse aw the night then,” Fatty grunted, walking towards the back close where The Sarge and Crisscross wur waiting.
“Charming wee fucker, eh?” The Sarge murmered.
“Aye, dae ye think he’s polis material?”
“Him? Naw, too sadistic, that wan. He’s mair suited tae being a screw up in the Bar-L.”
The two ae them held their breath. They could hear Fatty, the grassing doo-killer, stomping through the back close, whistling like Tweety Bird. He hesitated at the first step fur a second, paused, and then started tae thud up the stairs. He jist aboot shat himsel when he wis confronted by two big bizzies, wan wae skelly eyes that Ben Turpin wid’ve been proud ae, and the other wae sergeant’s stripes oan each erm.
“It wisnae me, sir…honest,” he whined in automatic mode.
“Whit wisnae you, Alex?” asked Crisscross.
“That hurt that doo. Ah tried tae stoap them, bit they widnae listen…honest, sir.”
“Ah don’t know aboot you, Crisscross, bit Ah’d let him aff if Ah wis the judge, wae that excuse.”
At the mention ae a judge, Fat Boy, the grassing doo killer, burst intae tears.
“Ah swear oan ma maw’s life, cross ma heart and hope tae die, Ah didnae dae it, sir. It wis them. Ah kin tell ye aw their names,” he whined, crossing himsel oan the wrang side ae his chest, like a typical Proddy.
“Listen, Alex, furget the doo…it wis only a scabby hawker. We’re no interested in that. We jist need a wee chat wae ye,” The Sarge cooed gently.
“A…a chat?”
“Aye, jist a wee chat, son.”
“Er, whit aboot?”
“Y’know…this and that.”
“This and whit?”
“That wee thieving manky mob that tanned the shoap in St James Road. Ye remember them, don’t ye?” Crisscross said.
“They bast...Ah mean, they boys that goat aff wae it? They wans?”
He’s a sly wee fucker, this wan, The Sarge thought tae himsel. It hidnae taken him long tae recover.
“Aye, well, hopefully no fur long wae your help, eh, Alex?” The Sarge purred gently tae him.
“Ma help?”
“Aye, we need tae know whit they’re up tae.”
“Where they go at night.”
“Who’s gaun wae who.”
“Who’s daeing whit.”
“And where they keep their stash.”
It wis the mention ae the stash that goat the first response.
“Stash? Whit stash wid that be, sir?” the wee fat sleekit baw-bag asked them.
“Alex, don’t play games wae us noo. We’ve jist clocked ye tormenting a helpless wee doo and telling that auld nosey basturt tae fuck aff. There’s at least two charges in there, so there is,” said The Sarge, starting tae enjoy himsel, looking o’er at Crisscross who’d jist taken aff his hat and wis sitting doon oan the white-wash covered stairs.
“No tae mention resisting arrest and assaulting the polis,” added Crisscross fur good measure, clearing the wax oot ae his ear using the match that he’d spotted lying oan the landing.
“Bit, bit...”
“No, bit nothing, Alex. We know ye’d rather be in the polis station as a junior constable when ye grow up, rather than locked up in the same cells as that bunch ae wee manky-arsed toe-rags.”
At the mention ae sharing a cell wae the manky mob, Fat Boy’s face turned white.
“Bit Ah’ve no done anything,” he wailed, panic taking a grip ae him.
“Exactly…that’s the point, Alex. Noo it’s your turn tae get wan o’er oan they wee fucks, isn’t it?” Crisscross said, soothingly, trying tae wipe the wax aff his matchstick oan tae the glossy painted wall.
“Whit is it ye want?”
“We want ye tae follow them, keep yer eyes oan them, stalk them…the way Tonto dis in The Lone Ranger, or jist like in Sherlock Homes. Ur ye wae me?” asked The Sarge.
“Er, aye, Ah think so.”
“We’re no interested in yersel or yer mates…we jist want them. We need tae know where they keep that stash ae theirs.”
“If they catch me, they’ll kill me, especially that Tony Gucci…the Atalian wan.”
“Aye, bit ye’ve goat us. Who the fuck hiv they goat, eh? Answer me that wan.”
“The Big Man,” Fatty muttered.
At the mention ae The Big Man, Crisscross threw his match, heavy laden wae a big dollop ae wax oan wan end, oan tae the stair, while The Sarge almost choked, bit somehow managed tae keep his voice calm.
“Whit aboot The Big Man?”
“Ah’ve heard they’ve been daein some jobs fur him,” Fat Boy whimpered, shrinking back, wishing he hidnae mentioned The Big Man’s name.
“Whit kind ae jobs?” asked Crisscross, skelly eyes narrowing.
“Stealing doos oot ae dookits and breaking intae shoaps fur fancy wee radios.”
“How dae ye know this, Alex?” The Sarge asked, back in gentle mode, heart beating faster noo.
“Cause Ah heard Horsey John and Tiny speak aboot it.”
“When?”
“Jist yesterday. They said that Tony Gucci and his pals hid goat a good collection ae fancy radios and hid passed them oan tae The Big Man. He goat them aw at knock doon, dirt cheap prices. Ah heard Tiny tell Horsey John that The Big Man wis really happy wae them and that he wis gonnae gie them mair work.”
“So, where dis the doos come intae it then?” Crisscross asked.
“Tiny said tae Horsey John that when he went roond tae drap aff a bag ae meat, Shaun telt him that he wis aff tae meet up wae Tony Gucci and his pals.”
“Bit he never actually said he wis gonnae get them tae steal some eejit’s doos, did he?” Crisscross pressed.
“Naw, bit Ah know fur sure that Tony Gucci and that gang ae his tanned dookits before and fucked aff wae doos fur Shaun and his brothers. Why else wid he invite them roond tae his cabin, eh?” Fat Arse asked.
“Right, whit time dae ye normally finish yer paper roond?” asked The Sarge.
“Aboot hauf five.”
“Right, every second night, wan ae us or Big Jim and Jobby will be waiting here tae talk tae ye. Is that okay?” The Sarge stated, rather than asked him.
“Er, aye.”
“It’s a big responsibility we’re gieing ye, so don’t let us doon noo, will ye?”
“Naw, Ah won’t.”
“Right, aff ye go. We’ll see ye two nights fae noo, Alex.”
The Sarge and Crisscross started tae heid doon the stairs when Fat Arse couldnae resist calling efter them.
“Er, ye don’t think there’s any chance Ah could get an undercover badge, dae ye, Sir?”
The Sarge wis jist aboot tae tell him tae fuck aff, when Crisscross goat in there first.
“Don’t ye worry aboot that, Alex. We’ll get ye wan ae oor special ‘behind enemy lines’ badges…won’t we, Sarge?”
“Er, aye, don’t y
e worry aboot that…Special Constable Milne,” The Sarge said, trying no tae pish himsel laughing.
“Brilliant!” Fatty whooped, a big smile plastered across his coupon as he aboot-turned and stomped up the stairs, feeling aw chuffed wae himsel.
When The Sarge and Crisscross hit the street, it hid started pishing doon.
“Aye, the gardeners will be happy noo,” sighed Crisscross, sniffing the air.
“Whit gardeners?”
“Whit?”
“Ah said whit gardeners?”
“Y’know, garden gardeners.”
“Whit? In the Toonheid?”
“Naw, don’t be stupid. Ah didnae mean aroond aboot here, ya stupid bampot, ye.”
“Aye, Ah wis wondering whit the fuck ye wur oan aboot.”
“Here, did that wee fat grass wae the forked tongue mention he saw Tiny deliver a big bag ae meat roond tae The McAslin Bar?”
“Aye, he’d get ye hung that wee fat basturt, so he wid.”
“Ye don’t think that wis Buttercup, dae ye?”
“Buttercup?”
“Aye, Buttercup that went missing the day before the weans ‘Doon oan the Farm’ party at the school.”
“Fur fuck’s sake, Crisscross. Sometimes Ah jist cannae believe ye.”
“Whit did Ah say?”
“Of course it wis Buttercup, ya stupid eejit, ye.”
“Ye mean, aw they winos, pimps, pervos and that bunnet brigade ur aw tucking intae poor auld Buttercup pies?”
“Aye, and aw the rest ae it. There wid’ve been a fair auld bit ae beef came aff ae her arse, Ah’ll tell ye. Ye kin bet everywan and their grannies hiv been tucking intae the best ae brisket aboot here o’er the past few weeks.”
“That’s pure bang oot ae order, so it is,” Crisscross said, shaking his heid, as they sauntered doon towards McAslin Street, remembering tae scan the pavement and avoid aw the dugshit.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The gates swung open, bang oan seven in the morning. Johnboy didnae know why, bit it looked strange seeing a wee midget wae a big limp heave the big wooden gates open oan his lonesome. Johnboy made the mistake ae offering tae gie him a haun, bit Tiny telt him tae fuck aff as he’d been daeing it fur eleven years, four months and thirteen days, withoot anywan gieing him a haun.
“Aye, he’s a touchy wee shitehoose, that wan,” mumbled Tony, oot ae earshot.
When the second gate swung open, aw the carts appeared intae view. They wur aw lined up in a row wae their shafts pointing forward, like guards, bowing in their honour as the pair ae them stood in the middle ae the entrance. When they trooped in, Horsey John wis scattering straw aboot the cobbled yard.
“Hellorerr John,” Tony said pleasantly.
“Whit the fuck dae youse two want?”
“Ah wis thinking ae a horse and cart…if ye’ve goat any, that is.”
“Ah’m busy, so fuck aff and come back later.”
“Listen, we’re here oan business. We’ve paid up front, so whit stall dae Ah go in tae get masel a horse then?”
“Tiny! Gie this pair Jessie,” the grumpy auld basturt shouted.
A couple ae minutes later, Tiny appeared wae the maist beautiful horse Johnboy hid ever clapped eyes oan in his entire life. He couldnae believe that they wur being allowed tae take her oot fur the day oan their ain. Tony hid telt him that ye needed tae be fourteen tae take oot a horse and cart, bit Tony’d never been asked his age before.
“Aw, fur Christ’s sake, John…no that auld hag? It’s a load ae briquettes she’s gonnae hiv tae pull aboot the day,” Tony whined.
“There’s fuck aw wrang wae her, ya cheeky wee tink, ye. Look at her…she wid’ve beat Brasher in the Grand National o’er in Bogside, wae three length tae spare, she’s that fit.”
Johnboy hid tae admit, he never thought he’d ever agree wae grumpy Horsey John, bit she looked like a right thoroughbred tae him. Jessie jist stood there looking at Tony and Horsey John arguing o’er her as if she didnae hiv a care in the world. She’d a straw-hat oan her heid, wae a couple ae plastic flowers sticking oot ae it. Her ears stuck oot through two holes on each side ae the boater and she wis chewing away wae a ‘It’s yer money ye’re wasting, pals’ look oan her kisser.
“Take her or leave her, bit ye’re no getting yer money back,” Horsey John shouted.
Wae that, he stomped aff intae the stable block.
“Ah think she’s gorgeous, so Ah dae,” Johnboy said, stepping closer tae her.
It wis then that she let oot a sneeze that hit him wae baith barrels. Luckily, only wan dollop landed oan that foreheid ae his while the rest splattered oan tae his chest. Christ knows whit she’d been eating bit he learned whit it wis like tae be shot wae a Blunderbuss. His face wis stinging like buggery. Unconcerned at his pain, she then let oot a big shaking heid whinney that ricocheted aff the stable walls and started up every other nag in the place.
“Sharrruuuppp!” Horsey howled tae them fae somewhere in the stable block.
Jessie seemed tae settle doon a bit wance she started tae hiv a pish which came oot in a big arc behind that arse ae hers. It lasted fur aboot five minutes and wis finally finished aff wae wan ae the loudest farts Johnboy hid ever heard in his life. It even made his granny’s wans sound ladylike.
“Probably her first wan ae the day,” Tony said, excusing her bad manners.
“Thank God fur that,” Johnboy said, waving his haun in front ae his nose.
“Aye, she’s aint no lady, oor Jessie. Imagine sitting oan the cart behind her, doon wind, eh? Right, hiv ye done this before?” Tony asked, carrying o’er the harness.
“Naw, bit Ah think Ah remember seeing it done oan Gunsmoke.”
“Right, Ah’ll explain it as Ah’m daeing it. That way ye’ll get tae learn oan the job.”
“Nae bother,” Johnboy said, as Jessie decided tae hose the yard doon in front ae them again, withoot any shame tae her name.
“Right, this is the collar. Ye push it o’er her heid, remembering tae put it oan wae the tap bit at the bottom. Wance it’s oan, ye turn it roond so the tap bit ends up at the tap…see?”
“Aw, right.”
“Right, Jessie, ma wee sweet flea-bag,” Tony purred, stroking her under her neck soothingly, while backing her in between the shafts ae the cart. “Right, Johnboy, you haud the shafts in that position and Ah’ll get the chain looped and connected at the back and the front.”
Johnboy couldnae see everything that Tony wis daeing, bit it wis obvious that he’d done it before.
“Ye need tae get this right as she’ll need tae be able tae sit back in the breeches. This will stoap the cart moving back and forward. Wance she’s shut in, ye take these chains and leathers and fasten them oan tae wan side ae her collar and then dae it oan the other side.”
“Ah’ll never remember aw this.”
“Ye will…it jist takes practice,” Tony said, coming o’er tae Johnboy and staunin looking at his handiwork.
“Right, Ah’ll go and get her feed.”
Johnboy hid never really noticed it before Jessie wis hooked up tae the cart, bit she wis like a patchwork quilt. Where the collar and leathers touched her, her skin wis smooth and shiny while the rest ae her wis like tight steel wool.
Tony came back carrying a sack ae feed and slung it oan the cart. In his other haun, he’d two empty feed sacks which he slung oan tae the front right haun side and made up a cushion, before planting his arse doon and looking o’er at Johnboy.
“Well, ur ye coming?”
“Aye,” Johnboy said, aw excited, jumping oan, while Tony flicked the reins oan tae Jessie’s arse gently and she heided oot the gates and turned right doon towards McAslin Street.
“Where’s Mr Magoo then?” Tony asked Joe oan arrival at the canal at the tap ae North Wallace Street.
“Who knows…Ah’ve been here since hauf seven and there’s been nae sign ae him.”
“Ye don’t think ending up in the water his put him aff, dae ye?” Johnboy asked
.
“Ah widnae hiv thought so,” Tony replied. “Although, it’s a well-known fact that water and Skull ur no the best ae pals.”
“Whit dae we dae noo?” Johnboy asked.
“Whit dae ye mean?” asked Joe.
“Will we go and hiv a wee look fur him?”
“Fuck that...he’ll turn up. Whit we’ve tae dae is get the cart loaded up, pronto,” Tony said, walking o’er tae the Nolly.
“Aye, Ah widnae worry aboot baldy, Johnboy.”
“Right, let’s get the bridge set up and hope oor briquettes ur still sitting where we left them,” Tony said, as the three ae them looked across the canal tae the other side, no seeing anything fur the long grass swaying in the breeze.
It didnae take them long, despite Skull’s absence. When they goat across, aw the briquettes wur lined up where they’d left them. The eight fish boxes wur still sitting wae a dozen briquettes in each ae them tae weigh them doon tae stoap them blowing away.
“Right, here’s whit we’ll dae. We’ll start wae wan box each tae see how the planks take oor weight. We’ll no fuck aboot. Wance we’re across the bridge, heid straight tae Jessie wae them and up oan tae the back ae the cart,” Tony instructed them.
“Aw, nice wan…they gied ye Jessie. Skull will be chuffed, if the lazy basturt ever shows up,” Joe said, looking o’er tae Jessie who’d her heid stretched doon intae her feed bag.
The three ae them stood, no saying anything fur a minute or two. They wur staunin silently, measuring the distance fae their side ae the canal, across the bendy planks and o’er tae where Jessie wis staunin. They could jist see a bit ae the back end ae the cart sticking oot at the corner ae the wire works wall.
“Well, it’s nae use staunin here looking…let’s go!” Tony said, lifting up wan ae the boxes and heiding aff towards the bridge.
Joe and Johnboy stood where they wur and watched him go. He didnae break his stride and practically ran across the planks, big watery splashes covering his feet as he bobbed up and doon like a trapeze artist, straight up oan tae the other side and o’er tae the cart. They heard the thud ae a dozen briquettes crashing doon oan tae the wooden boards before he re-appeared, walking towards them wae a big grin oan his coupon.
