Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  “Hmm, Ah don’t know.”

  “She says they’ll only be in fur a couple ae days and she’ll pick them up again oan Saturday morning, wance ma dae gets his wages oan Friday.”

  “Aye, bit ye’ll be back here next week, demanding three bob again.”

  “Aye, bit by then ye’ll hiv agreed a price wae her.”

  “Hmm, Ah, don’t know aboot that,” Fat Fingered murmured, rubbing the whiskers oan his chin wae they fat fingers ae his, hauding the shoes up, studying the soles and heels oan them fur the umpteenth time.

  “Well, neither dae Ah.”

  “Whit?”

  “Ah’m jist thinking ae whit her reaction will be if Ah go hame withoot three bob.”

  “Two bob.”

  “Oh, Ah don’t know aboot that,” Johnboy said, doubtfully, scratching under his right oxter wae his left haun, feeling nervous.

  “Whit?”

  “She’s likely tae come charging doon here like a wummin possessed, so she is.”

  “Ah jist cannae make up ma mind,” Fat Fingered mumbled again.

  “Two and a tanner then?” Johnboy pleaded.

  “Hmm, Ah don’t know aboot that.”

  “When will ye know?”

  “Ah’m thinking, Ah’m thinking.”

  “Look at the shine oan they toes. Ye kin see the moles oan yer face in the reflection.”

  “It’s awright fur ye tae say that, bit Ah jist cannae make up ma mind, Johnboy,” he mumbled, scratching his jowls again. “Ah hiv tae think how Ah’m gonnae pay aff aw ma overheids.”

  “She says Ah hivnae tae come back wae less than three bob or there’ll be big trouble aboot here.”

  “Ah’ll tell ye whit, Johnboy, Ah’ll compromise wae her. Two and a tanner.”

  “Smashing. Kin ye hurry up because Ah’ve goat tae meet up wae ma pals.”

  When he came oot ae the pawn, he heided roond the corner tae the stables. He couldnae see or hear Tony, Joe or Skull up oan the roof fae the street. Horsey John and Tiny wur staunin speaking tae Manky Malcolm who owned the rag store next-door tae the stables. They stoapped talking as Johnboy approached, following him wae their gaze. Their staring, un-blinking beady eyes reminded Johnboy ae the Jesus pictures, wae the glowing heart, which aw the Catholics hid tae hiv, stuck up oan their walls at hame, tae make sure they goat intae Heaven…the wans wae the eyes that followed ye wherever ye sat in the room. Efter tagging oan behind Elvis, who like himsel, wis gieing the creepy, beady-eyed saints a wide body-swerve by stepping aff the pavement oan tae the road tae pass them, he nipped intae the first close beside the rag store. He’d heard his ma talking tae Betty fae next door earlier. Betty hid said that when she wis doon hinging up her washing in the back court, the sun wis splitting the trees, even though the only trees he’d ever clocked in the Toonheid wis the wans up oan Grafton Square. Oan the way up tae the pawn shoap, efter checking oot the trees oan Grafton Square oan the way past, he’d wondered how the sun managed tae split them withoot setting fire tae them. None ae the trees oan the square looked split or as if they’d been oan fire recently, apart fae the wan at the John Street end ae the square that Johnboy and his pals hid tried tae burn doon during the Easter holidays. He’d need tae remember tae ask Tony if he knew whit the score wis. When he goat through tae the back ae the closemooth, he wis reminded that it hid been pishing doon wae rain through the night. He could vaguely remember it battering oan his bedroom windae and wakening him up. Whit he saw in front ae his eyes no only confirmed that the rain hid been and gone bit a hurricane hid come back and wis jist aboot tae hit him where he didnae think his ma hid ever kissed his da.

  Tony, Joe and Skull wur spread oot aboot ten feet apart, running towards him, wae Crisscross, and that big basturt ae a sergeant ae his, jist behind them, heiding Johnboy’s way, wae their mooths wide open, gulping fur air. Aw Johnboy could see wis their bodies fae the waist up. Their legs hid disappeared somewhere in amongst big splashes ae water as their feet pounded through aw the puddles scattered aboot the back court.

  “Run, Johnboy, run!” Tony screamed.

  Johnboy jist managed tae dae a quick aboot-turn before being run o’er by ten soaking feet. They aw burst oot intae Stanhope Street, disturbing Elvis, who wis bent o’er double, wae his tongue hinging oot, daeing a shite in the middle ae the street, bit who’d the good sense tae snib it and get tae fuck oot ae their way pronto, narrowly escaping being run o’er, as they hit the closemooth oan the other side ae the road.

  Wance they charged through the closemooth and made it intae the back court behind the pawn shoap, it wis a race between them getting up oan tae the midden and o’er the wall where Paul goat nabbed efter the St James Road break-in, and being nabbed by the pair ae bizzies behind them. It wis difficult fur Johnboy tae see mair than two inches in front ae him, as the dirty water fae the puddles wis being splattered across his face by the pounding ae his ain feet. It wis like a muddy broon waterfall running away fae him. The faster he ran, the mair he wis being blinded. The four ae them managed tae land aw thegither up oan tap ae the midden. Before Johnboy disappeared o’er the dyke, he quickly glanced back at the sound ae Crisscross’s splash ae the day.

  “Aw, naw, ya fucking wee reprobates, ye!” he shouted, staunin up wae his erms held oot in front ae him, water dripping aff ae his fingertips, wae whit looked like a rotten scabby doo stuck tae the front ae his uniform jaicket.

  The Sergeant hid awready stoapped and wis bent o’er between Crisscross and the midden, wae wan haun oan his side and the other wan clasping his knee, wheezing like a leaking hot water tank.

  Four sets ae feet landed oan the deck oan the other side ae the dyke wae a loud thud. Nowan spoke before they came oot intae McAslin Street, heiding fur Parly Road. At the junction ae Taylor Street, jist before they nipped across Parly Road towards Lister Street, Tony shouted that they should aw heid fur the cabin. Withoot breaking step, Johnboy shouted that he’d tae heid hame bit that he wid catch up wae them later. As he veered aff tae his left, heiding doon towards The Grafton picture hoose and St James Road, he heard Skull shouting o’er the sounds ae screeching brakes and tooting car horns.

  “Last wan there’s an arse-bandit’s bum-boy!”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  “Kirsty, will ye get that, hen?” The Big Man said, withoot looking up fae his Racing News.

  “Whit ur ye wanting?” Kirsty demanded, haun oan hip, efter opening the door fur the fourth time in twenty minutes.

  “Is he in yet?” asked Horsey John.

  “Aye.”

  “Then, that’s whit Ah want,” he said, brushing past her. “Hellorerr Pat.”

  “Horsey, how’s yersel?”

  “Shite.”

  “Aye, so nothing’s changed then. Ye’re still in yer usual good mood, ur ye?”

  “Ah’ve jist saw they cheeky wee manky pals ae yours daeing a runner, wae the bizzies hauf way up their arseholes.”

  “Whit wans?”

  “The Tally and his pals.”

  “Who wis chasing them?”

  “They daft eejits, Crisscross and Thompson.”

  “So, they’ll hiv goat clean away then?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “So, whit kin Ah dae ye fur?”

  “Ah haunded o’er the keys tae Shaun’s cabin tae them, jist before they took aff and Ah’ve goat some money tae haun in fur him tae pick up later.”

  “Jist gie it tae me and Ah’ll see that he gets it.”

  “Fine,” Horsey John said, pulling oot five socks full ae coins and throwing them oan tae the table wae a thud.

  “Whit the fuck’s this?”

  “The cheeky wee basturts haunded the money o’er tae me like this.”

  “Whit’s wae the two knots in each sock?”

  “The Tally wan said that aw the socks hid holes in the toes so they hid tae tie a knot oan baith ends tae stoap the money fae spilling oot.”

  “Hiv ye counted it?”

  “Hiv Ah hell. They said ther
e wis a score in there somewhere.”

  “Aye, they’re something else, so they ur,” The Big Man said, laughing. “They’re jist like masel when Ah wis their age…cheeky as fuck wae a good sense ae humour tae boot. No a bad wee crew that. Ah kin see them gaun far.”

  “Dae ye think they meant tae haun o’er the dosh in coins?”

  “Of course they did. They wee shitehooses hiv probably spent the last two days gaun up and doon the shoaps oan Parly Road, changing it fae notes intae ha’pennies and pennies, jist tae noise Shaun and his brothers up. Ah definitely like their style.”

  “Ah cannae staun the cheeky wee fuckers masel. And the lip ye get fae them? If Ah wis forty years younger, their baws wid’ve been well kicked before noo.”

  “Aye, well, Ah widnae put money oan that. They’re gonnae be trouble in a couple ae years fae noo, bit we’ll deal wae that when the time comes. In the meantime, jist dae whit Ah’m daeing and enjoy the show. Crisscross and Liam Thompson, ye say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Fucking eejits! That wee manky mob will run rings roond them aw day long.”

  “Ah’m glad somewan appreciates them.”

  “If ye see Shaun, don’t let oan that they’ve paid in ha’pennies and pennies. Ah cannae wait tae see the face oan him when he his tae sit there aw night, coonting it.”

  “Right, Pat, see ye later.”

  “So, Kirsty, hen, how’s ma group getting oan wae their rehearsals?”

  “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Which dae ye want first?”

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Ah hate aw that choices shite…jist tell me.”

  “Dae ye want the good news or the bad news first?”

  “Furget it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Listen, Ah’m no gonnae let ye wind me up the day. No news is good news as far as Ah’m concerned.”

  “Great.”

  “Okay, gie’s the good news first.”

  “The band ur getting oan like a hoose oan fire and they’re churning oot songs, twenty tae the dozen. There’s no been a cross word between them and they reckon they kin go oot oan the road. Bad Tidings ur hoping tae catch them oan tour or at wan ae their gigs. Ah’ve heard the stuff they’re daeing. There’s a fair chance that they might jist get a recording deal.”

  “Aye, well, noo, that is good news. Ah’ll need tae make sure that Ah get ma cut, seeing as Ah’ve put them thegither.”

  “Will ye hell. They’ve asked me tae be their manager.”

  “So, that’s the bad news, is it?”

  “Naw, that’s still part ae the good news, ya cheeky sod, ye.”

  “Okay, nae need tae get they knickers ae yours in a twist. So tell me the bad news then, bit be careful…ye know how sensitive Ah kin be.”

  “They’ve goat an offer ae another gig, wae better money…oan Saturday.”

  “Hiv they fuck. They’re playing here next Saturday or they’re no playing anywhere.”

  “Ah telt ye last week that Ah wis representing them. First of aw, ye telt me ye wid pay anything tae get a decent group and then ye informed me, withoot negotiating or nothing, whit ye wur willing tae pay them. Yer offer wis considered and noo Ah’m informing ye that we’ve goat a better deal.”

  “Gonnae no dae this tae me, Kirsty? Ye’re making ma auld Nobby Stiles play up, so ye ur.”

  “Ye offered them, through me, three nicker fur the night…is that right?”

  “Ah offered three quid plus a bevy if they wur any good. Looking at the way the Pie Flinger and Marshall Dillon wur tearing intae at each other, Ah’m still surprised they’ve lasted this long.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Noo we’re getting somewhere. So, three quid and a bevy still stauns then?”

  “Naw, fair enough means thanks fur the offer bit if ye want pish, get in touch wae yer pal, doon the water in Dunoon. See if he kin gie ye a better deal.”

  “Kirsty, Ah cannae believe whit Ah’m hearing here. Ye know how important this is tae me and that wee maw and da ae mine. How kin ye dae this? Look at aw the things Ah’ve done fur ye.”

  “Aye, it’s nearly a year since ye offered me the hostess job doon at The Capstan Club and Ah’m still waiting.”

  “Ah telt ye, how wis Ah tae know Chantel’s cancer wisnae terminal at the time?”

  “Ur ye wanting tae renegotiate or no?”

  Silence.

  “Fine then,” she said, picking up her Jackie.

  “Er, aye, okay, spit it oot, bit Ah’m warning ye, Ah’m no in the mood tae be ripped aff…especially fae the likes ae you,” he eventually said wae a scowl.

  “Right, this is non-negotiable, so don’t even try. Three pounds each tae the musicians and three tae masel fur aw the hard work Ah’ve hid tae put in.”

  “Ye’re bloody jesting yer uncle Santa fucking Claus here. Ah could get that blind prick, Roy Orbison, fur hauf that if he wisnae awready oan tour.”

  “Ye obviously hivnae taken a telling, hiv ye? Ah said that it wis non-negotiable. Three single wans plus three fur masel. Take it or leave it, Colonel Parker. Whit’s it tae be?”

  “Ah don’t bloody believe this. Being screwed by a blonde dolly bird and Ah don’t even hiv a smile oan ma coupon.”

  “Hiv we a deal?”

  “So, Ah’ve tae haun o’er twelve smackeroos before ye’ll agree tae the group Ah’ve brought thegither tae play in ma pub tae ma wee poor maw and da?”

  “Naw.”

  “Naw whit?”

  “That’s fifteen big wans fae where Ah’m staunin.”

  “How the hell dae ye make that oot?”

  “There’s the lead singer...”

  “Florence Nightingale, the pie flinger, aye?”

  “Gareth and Blair...”

  “Commonly known in the toon as Sheila and Lola.”

  “Masel...”

  “Kirsty, the soon tae be unemployed barmaid…which makes, if ma calculations ur correct, four times three quid equals twelve. At least it wis when Ah wis in approved school.”

  “And then there’s Michael Massie.”

  “Who the fuck is Michelle Lassie? Another wan wae an even dodgier name than they brothers ae yours.”

  “Massie. Michael Massie.”

  “Who the fuck is he then?”

  “He wis the bass player wae Charlie Crevice and the Pyle’s until we stole him fur yer maw and da’s bash. Best bass player in the toon, so he is. So, that makes fifteen. At least it wis when Ah went tae The City Public.”

  “Kirsty, ye’re bloody skating oan thick ice, hen. They’d better be bloody brilliant.”

  “Ah think ye mean thin ice.”

  “That as well.”

  “And ye better gie me an agreement right noo or Ah’m oot ae that door tae phone Rio Stakis tae get a real job.”

  “Oh, fur Christ’s sake…hiv Ah no jist agreed?”

  “Hiv ye?”

  “Ah said Ah hid, didn’t Ah?”

  “Aw, Pat. Ah swear tae God, ye’re no the biggest wanker in the Toonheid that everywan says ye ur. Under that sagging beer belly is a heart ae stane.”

  “Ach, ye’re embarrassing me noo...stoap it. Ah only want tae dae whit’s right fur ma wee maw and da.”

  “So, the offer ae the hostess job at The Capstan Club still stauns?”

  “Aye, as soon as Chantel moves oan… if ye know whit Ah mean. The job’s yours, bit ye might hiv tae wait a wee while jist yet.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Johnboy stood looking at the cabin, soaking in the view. He couldnae believe it belonged tae them...well, nearly belonged tae them. He noticed there wis awready two doos oan the board, dancing aboot. The hood wis up so they wurnae gaun anywhere though. He could hear laughter coming fae the door and Skull’s voice.

  “Tony, fuck the Murphys. It’s aw oors noo.”

  Johnboy stepped oan tae the bottom rung ae the ladder and shouted that he wis coming up.

  “So ye’re here, ur ye? And no before time. We thought ye’d
goat nabbed by Stan and Ollie,” Skull said, popping his heid oot through the bead curtains as Johnboy climbed up.

  “Naw, Ah never clocked them wance Ah left youse,” Johnboy said, feeling his excitement building up as he stepped in through the door.

  The place wis the same as he’d remembered it fae their first visit. The only difference wis that aw the nesting boxes wur open and Tony and Skull wur scrubbing them oot using soapy water fae a bucket that wis sitting in the middle ae the flair.

  “Whit ur youse daeing?”

  “We’re cleaning oot the boxes. Ah don’t trust they Murphys, so we’re gieing them a good scrub, jist tae make sure they hivnae left us any fungi or bacteria as a farewell present, the pricks,” Skull said.

  “Kin Ah gie youse a haun?”

  “Naw, jist staun there and learn fae the experts,” Skull advised, as he dipped the scrubber intae the soapy water and began scrubbing furiously in a new box.

  “Being an expert oan soapy water disnae really go wae yer image, Skull,” Tony said, looking doon fae the wooden Barr’s box that he wis staunin oan tae reach the tap row ae boxes.

  “Ha, fucking ha, Tony. When wis the last time ye hid a bath yersel, ya Atalian greaser, ye?”

  “Jist efter Ah shagged yer granny. That’s whit killed her.”

  “There ye go, boys,” Joe announced, tying a wee bag tae a nail at the side ae the boxes and staunin back tae admire his work.

  “Whit’s that fur?”

  “That, Johnboy, is fur us tae use before we put oor greasy hauns oan any ae the doos. Ah’ve filled it up wae baby powder. So, before ye pick up a doo, ye hiv tae clap yer hauns oan tae each side ae the bag, jist like this,” he said, demonstrating, as a wee puff ae white powder engulfed his hauns. “The powder comes through the cloth and soaks up any greasy shite oan yer hauns and it’ll keep the doos clean when ye lift them oot and in fae the boxes oan the landing board.”

  “Aw, right, Ah see.”

  “Hiv ye seen oor cavie, Johnboy?” Skull asked, wiping his wet hauns oan the front ae his Jags jersey.

  “Naw.”

  “Ye don’t know whit the fuck Ah’m talking aboot, dae ye?”

  “Nope.”

  “Right, oot ae ma way.”