by Ian Todd
“How far did the planks go under the water wae ma weight oan it?” he asked.
“A couple ae inches,” Joe shouted.
“Well, whit the fuck ur youse two waiting fur then?”
They picked up a box each and Johnboy let Joe go first. Joe went across in aboot six or seven bouncy steps tae each plank, followed by Johnboy. Efter aboot twenty minutes and a few wee near misses, they goat intae a rhythm. They soon worked oot that if they semi-ran at the plank, the weight ae their body wae the box full ae briquettes sank the plank doon far enough tae make it spring back up pretty fast. The trick wis tae get their second step oan tae the plank jist when it sprung back up tae its highest level. This meant they ran and bounced their way across, bit they always hid at least wan fit oan the plank at any wan time. Tae start wae, it wis a bit hit-or-miss and then it wis like riding a bike. During aw this experimenting, they wur arguing whit wis the best way tae get across withoot losing a dozen briquettes tae the canal below them. Efter taking a breather, so Tony and Joe could hiv a fag, they agreed that wance they goat their breath back, they’d gie it a go wae two boxes at a time. Tony wis trying tae convince either Joe or Johnboy that it wis up tae wan ae them tae take the lead wae the double dunt, seeing as he’d gone first earlier.
“Ah’ll tell ye whit, Johnboy. You go first, and Ah’ll tell ye whit it feels like tae get yer Nat King Cole,” Joe offered him.
“Don’t believe him, Johnboy. He’s never hid his hole in his life.”
“Tony, shut yer arse. This is between me and the virgin here.”
“There’s no way Ah’m gaun first. Ye’re aulder than me. Ah’m only ten, ye’re eleven, so ye should go first.”
“Okay, whit if Ah gie ye two bob oot ae ma cut when we flog the briquettes?”
“Aw the money is gaun intae the kitty fur the cabin.”
“Tony, ya Atalian knob-end, stoap bloody butting in.”
“Ah’m jist saying.”
“Well, don’t. He nearly went fur that.”
“Naw, Ah didnae. You go first.”
“Awright, Ah’ll play ye fur it.”
“Whit’s the game?”
“We’ll hiv a pishing competition.”
“Whit’s the rules?”
“We’ll staun oan the edge ae the Nolly here, and the first tae hit the water, beyond aw the shite floating aboot, wins.”
The three ae them goat up and stood oan the edge ae the canal wall and looked at the distance. Johnboy reckoned it wis aboot ten feet tae the open water, while Tony thought it wis mair like seven or eight.
“Tony, you kin be the judge, in case virgin boy here tries tae pull a flanker.”
“Will Ah fuck. Ah’m in.”
“Did ye hear that, Johnboy? That means we need tae join up. Scotland versus the greasy Atalian bams who’ve never played an honest game in their lives. That means, whitever wan ae us wins, we’ll make him go o’er first. Is it a deal?”
“Is it fuck, Joe. Ah don’t trust ye. Maybe me and Tony should dae a deal, eh?”
“Or maybe we jist aw play oan oor ain and the best pisher wins,” Tony chipped in, measuring the distance ae the water between himsel and the canal wae they dark eyes ae his.
“Right, ya pair ae baw-bags, seeing as it wis ma idea, Ah’ll go first then.”
Joe pulled his fly doon, grabbed his tadger, stood fur aboot twenty seconds concentrating and then let fly wae a jet ae pish. It wis a stoater. It must’ve travelled aboot five feet.
“That’s jist fur starters,” he bragged, grinning, stauning back and tucking in his fire extinguisher wae a satisfied, smug look oan that coupon ae his.
“Call that a slash?” Tony said, stepping forward, unbuttoning his five-o-wans, waiting aboot ten seconds then letting fly wae another gush that beat Joe’s by aboot six inches.
“Right, oot ae ma way. Ah might be the only virgin here...”
“Or no,” Tony quipped.
“...bit Ah dae know how tae fly-pish jist as good as auld Jessie o’er there.”
And wae that, Johnboy stepped forward, took his willy oot, applied a bit ae pressure behind his knob-end wae his thumb and finger, squeezed, while concentrating at the same time. He reckoned his tadger swelled up tae aboot twenty times its normal size and looked like wan ae they frogs that he’d seen oan a nature programme oan the telly…its neck swelling up like a balloon while it wis croaking tae wan ae its mates in the jungle. When he eased aff oan the pressure gauge, his pish sizzled through the air, whizzing past Tony’s by aboot eight inches.
“Take that, ya pair ae pishpots, ye,” he hooted, swaggering back fae the edge like a gunslinger.
“Mine’s wis jist a starter, so it wis. Watch this wan,” Joe said, stepping forward.
Sure enough, it flew by Johnboy’s by aboot four inches. Tony’s next wan wis even better. His wis a good ten inches oot in front, making a drumming sound as his pish rattled aff the side ae an auld rusty pram.
“Make way fur Gus the Gusher,” Johnboy announced, focussing as he stepped forward wae his tackle ready.
Johnboy beat Joe’s effort, bit wis jist short ae Tony’s.
“Aha! We’ve goat ye oan the run noo, ya wee damp squib, ye. Ah knew it wis only a matter ae time,” Joe said, roughly pushing Johnboy aside, as he lined up.
Sure enough, Joe’s sailed past Tony’s. A couple ae mair inches and he wid’ve reached the water. Tony made a big deal oot ae taking his next shot. He shook his heid, shoulders and hauns while at the same time, stretched his neck this way and that way before taking a slow deep breath, as he stepped forward like an Olympic athlete. It wis a disaster. He’d hung oan fur aboot twenty seconds and let fly. It landed aboot four feet in front ae him.
“Basturt! Ma tank’s run empty.”
“Aye, that’s whit they aw say. Right, Gus, ya virgin, beat mine if ye kin.”
Johnboy hid tae cancel his first attempt because Jessie put him aff. Jist before he let fly, he caught sight ae her staunin oan the other side looking at him, clearly wondering whit the fuck they wur up tae.
“Don’t blame Jessie, ya eejit ye,” Joe smirked.
Johnboy stood there concentrating, ignoring Joe, his eyes clamped shut, squeezing like a madman fur aboot hauf a minute. He could hardly keep a grip oan his bulging frog’s neck, it wis that swollen. When he opened his eyes and looked doon, he could practically see through it. He never knew a tadger hid so many wee spidery veins running through it. When he eased aff oan the brakes, it squirted like a silvery rocket, two feet beyond the edge ae a hauf sunken tyre and straight intae the Nolly. Efter a stunned silence, the three ae them burst oot hooting and laughing.
Joe hid another go, bit only managed a dribble that travelled aboot four inches in front ae him before trailling aff intae a sprinkle, jist missing his new knocked-aff sandshoes.
“Fuck that!” Joe said, confirming Johnboy as the undisputed Glesga canal pishing champ ae the world fur nineteen sixty five.
“Aye, that wis definetly a championship winner, that wan, so it wis. So, who’s first oan the double dunt then, Johnboy?” Tony asked.
Johnboy looked at the pair ae them. Joe and Tony looked o’er at him in expectation, each hoping that it wisnae him.
“Who dae ye think?” Johnboy asked, smiling, as he looked o’er at Joe.
“Johnboy, ya wee disloyal fud-pad, ye. How could ye side wae an Atalian basturt who’s da came o’er here efter we fucked them in the war and shagged aw oor maws and done oor das oot ae aw the good jobs, eh?”
They wur sitting oan the edge ae the Nolly wall, hivving a right good laugh, slagging aff and taking the pish oot ae Joe, when a weird sound attacked their ears and a bald heid appeared, staunin in the middle ae the bascule bridge. It wis Skull blowing through a fancy silver bugle, bit aw that wis coming oot wis a sound like a large watery echoing fart. When he reached them, he held up a white box.
“Anywan ae you fannies fur a pie?” he shouted across.
“Brilliant, Ah’m Hank Marvin. Where�
�d ye get them fae then?” Joe shouted across before bouncing o’er the bridge.
“Ah lifted them aff ae a City Bakeries van oan the way up here,” Skull said, letting aff another bugle fart.
“So, where did the bugle come fae?” Tony asked, snatching it oot ae Skull’s haun.
Tony tried tae get a better sound oot ae it than Skull hid been managing tae get.
“Oot ae the gospel hall oan Stirling Road.”
“Whit the hell wur ye daeing in the gospel hall?”
“That da ae mine wis pished oot ae his heid again last night and the stupid auld eejit widnae let me in, even though Ah wis kicking fuck oot ae the door fur hauf an hour. He kept shouting that he disnae flee the doos any mair.”
“Whit’s that goat tae dae wae the gospel hall?” Johnboy asked.
“Ah hid tae find somewhere tae kip, so Ah broke in last night, roond aboot midnight. Ah ripped aff wan ae they fancy red velvet curtains fae the windae and wrapped masel up in it and slept oan a bench. It wis as cosy as anything, so it wis.”
“So, where did the bugle come fae then?” asked Joe, grabbing it aff Tony, blowing through it and getting a good noise oot ae it.
“When Ah went through the windae at the back, Ah ended up in a wee room full ae black boxes. This wis in the first box Ah opened. Ah thought it wid come in handy if we wur selling briquettes the day.”
“Right, ye’ve jist arrived at the right time. We’ve hauf loaded the cart. We’re noo gonnae start carrying o’er two boxes at a time. You kin go first,” Joe said, smiling.
“Naw, Ah’ll watch youse first tae see how it’s done. Whit horse did ye get, by the way?” Skull asked.
“Jessie.”
“Aw, brilliant. She’s a darling, so she is.”
“Ah didnae think Tony wis too pleased tae get her,” Johnboy said, looking across at Tony fur confirmation.
“Is that right? Ah think he’s hivving ye oan, ya bampot, ye. Tony and Jessie go way back. Is that no right, Tony?”
“Aye, Ah always make a scene wae Horsey John. If he thought Ah liked her, we’d get something else. Every time Ah’m in wae the briquette guys, he always gies her tae the wan Ah’m wae, thinking it will noise me up, the stupid auld prick.”
“Where is she?”
“Roond the corner.”
“Right, Ah’ll watch how youse ur daeing it, bit first Ah’m aff tae share this pie wae her,” Skull said, walking o’er tae the corner, in the direction ae Jessie.
“Right, let’s get started. You first, Joe,” Tony said, as Joe shot Johnboy a dirty look.
Chapter Twenty Eight
“Ah’d watch whit ye say if Ah wis you. He’s in a bit ae a mood,” Tiny advised, as Calum breezed past him jist ootside the pub door, managing tae squeeze in before Kirsty bolted it shut fae the inside.
The Big Man wis still feeling annoyed, even though it hid been hauf an hour since Liam Thompson and Crisscross hid left.
“Awright, Pat?” The Sarge hid asked him.
“Hiv ye ever tried knocking first?”
“Aye, we wur gonnae, bit this wee angel kindly allowed us in at the same time as Tiny, didn’t ye, hen?” he’d said, nodding in the direction ae Kirsty, who wis sitting oan her bar stool, trying tae work oot how tae pronounce a big word.
“Noo, whit kin an honest business man like masel dae fur two ae Glega’s finest then, eh?” The Big Man hid asked sarcastically.
“Jist a wee friendly chat and some advice aboot how tae protect yer business and yersel fae the wee thieving basturts who’re running aboot the streets jist noo,” The Sarge hid said, pulling up a chair.
“Kirsty, get the boys a cup ae tea, will ye?”
“So, how’s business, Pat?”
“Cannae complain.”
“Ah hear ye’ve goat a wee party coming up soon.”
“Aye, it’s the auld wans’ anniversary. It’s a pity aw the invites hiv been sent oot and it’s a full hoose. Ye wid’ve liked the group Ah’ve goat booked. Top notch country and western, they ur. Jist released their new record only last week.”
“Whit’s their name? Sally’s maybe goat wan ae their records,” Crisscross hid asked him, leaning oan the bar, eyeing up the joint.
“Up The Duff. The singer is a right crooner, so he is. Seemingly, aw the wummin, young and auld, fat and thin, fling their knickers at him every time he hits a high note. Ah’ve printed oan the invites that aw the lassies that ur coming should sew their names intae their knickers, as management cannae be held responsible fur any loss ae property.”
“Sally will be sick that she’s gonnae miss that. Ah don’t suppose ye could squeeze her and wan ae her pals in, could ye, Pat?”
“The amount ae times Ah’ve been asked that very question o’er these past few weeks, ye jist widnae believe. Ah keep telling people it’s a private function bit they won’t take a telling. Ah’ll tell ye whit, Crisscross, Ah’ll put Sally and her pal oan ma spare ticket waiting list. That’s the best Ah kin dae.”
“Ach, Ah don’t care whit they say, Pat. Ye’re no the right cunt that everywan says ye ur,” Crisscross hid said, looking o’er tae The Sarge fur confirmation.
“Eh?” The Big Man hid uttered, a puzzled frown oan that kisser ae his, looking across at The Sarge tae see if Crisscross wis taking the piss.
“Er, let’s jist change the subject fur a minute, Pat,” The Sarge hid said, jumping in and gieing Crisscross a dirty look.
“Aye, whit is it ye’re efter?”
“A wee slippery tongue his informed me that ye’ve goat that wee manky mob daeing some jobs fur ye. Wid that be right?”
“Whit wee manky mob?”
“Ye know who Ah’m talking aboot, Pat.”
“Liam, Ah don’t know who the fuck ye’re oan aboot. And anyway, ye should know better than tae listen tae people wae forked tongues. They kind ae bams kin get people intae aw sorts ae trouble. Ah widnae hiv grasses drinking in ma bar…the staff aw know that. They kind ae people ur barred fae this place.”
“Aye, bit that’s ma point. If somebody his telt me that, who else hiv they telt?”
“So, who ur we talking aboot?”
“Ah’m no in a position tae divulge the source ae ma infomation.”
“Then how kin Ah gie ye a straight fucking answer, if ye don’t tell me who the fuck the manky mob ur that ye’re speaking aboot?”
“Aw, right, Ah see whit ye’re getting at. It’s that wee Atalian mongrel and his manky pals.”
“Whit aboot them?”
“Ah’ve been telt that they’ve been supplying ye wae trannys.”
“Liam, Liam, that’s bloody slander and ye know it, so it is.”
“Aye, that’s as well as maybe, bit ye’re the wan who’s being talked aboot doon at Central.”
“By who?”
“The chief inspector, Sean Smith, fur wan, as well as the rest ae that Irish Paddy pack fae across the city.”
“Aboot a couple ae trannys?” The Big Man hid scoffed, laughing.
“Naw, aboot them using a gun tae pan in the windaes ae the shoaps tae get them.”
The Big Man hid stoapped laughing and his face hid turned red.
“Ah think ye’ve been watching too many cowboy films, Liam,” he’d scowled.
“Naw, Pat. This his came fae the tap. They wee slippery vermin that ye’ve taken a shine tae ur running aboot wae a haungun, taking pot shots at electrical shoaps aw o’er the toon. They’re bringing oan heat tae places that wid prefer tae be cauld at this time ae the year.”
“Ye’ve goat tae be shitting me?”
“Naw, bit the shite’s flying yer way, and it’s no only you that it’s gonnae hit, if ye get ma drift.”
“Fur a start, the only tranny Ah’ve hid ma hauns oan recently wis when Ah hid ma hauns doon the knickers ae a big strapping sexy blond who turned oot tae be Larry fae Lennoxtoon. Noo, don’t get me wrang, Ah’ve nae personal opinions regarding whether somewan prefers the dark hole ae Calcutta tae a nice wee bit ae fanny-pie
, bit Ah managed tae persuade him...or her, that at this time ae ma life, she wisnae the wan fur me.”
“So, whit did ye dae tae convince him...her?” Crisscross hid asked wae interest.
“Ah imagine she wis left in nae doubt and wae a fairly big bald patch efter Ah ripped a hairy clump aff ae her, wae this right haun here…” he’d replied, wae a wry smile, lifting up the haun in question so everywan could admire it. “At least, that wis the impression Ah goat at the time, as Ah wis telt later that the scream could be heard in Argyle Street and Ah wis in a fancy big hoose o’er in Partick.”
“Pat, Ah’m being serious here,” The Sarge hid said, wance him and Crisscross hid stoapped pishing themsels laughing.
“So am Ah. It wisnae funny at the time,” The Big Man hid said as Kirsty arrived, plapping three cups ae tea doon oan tae the table and spilling the hot liquid aw o’er the surface.
“If the big boys end up doon here, it could be messy fur a lot ae people, Pat.”
“Aye, ye’ll be losing sleep at night aboot that, Ah wid imagine, Liam.”
“Look, we’ll aw be losing some sleep unless ye reel these wee sticky-fingered fuckers in a bit.”
“Ah still don’t know whit the hell ye’re oan aboot, bit Ah’ll make a few wee discreet enquiries. How dis that sound?”
“And the gun?”
“Whit aboot the gun?”
“When dae Ah get the gun tae show the big yins at the tap table that we’re oan tap ae this?”
“When ye gie me the name ae yer wee chatterbox.”
“Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Pat. Don’t be bloody stupid, will ye?”
“Well, whit? You get the gun and Ah get the slanderer…problem solved.”
“Ah cannae.”
“Ye cannae or ye wullnae?”
“It’s wan ae the local young wans and there’s no way Ah’m gieing ye his name.”
“Then there’s no way Ah’m putting masel oot fur yer gun then. Ah’ve goat a reputation tae maintain here, despite whit ye might think or the wee grassing basturt who’s using youse tae get tae me thinks.”
“Pat, Pat, we’ve goat tae work thegither here.”
“Naw, youse two hiv goat tae work thegither. Ah’m jist an honest civvy businessman, gaun aboot ma lawful business.”
