Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  “Fucking shite!”

  “Is that right?”

  “Aye, it wis really hairy fur a wee minute or two, bit Ah sorted it oot. Ah hate they driving instructor pricks.”

  “See, ye should listen tae yer Uncle Pat.”

  “Aye, ye wur right.”

  “Ah’ll tell Wan-bob tae get oan tae that driving licence straight away. Ye’ll hiv it in aboot two weeks. Gie him aw yer details before he disappears hame the night and mind and add three years oan tae the day ye wur born.”

  “Aw, Pat, thanks very much.”

  “Nae problem, son. Calum, if there’s wan thing Ah’ve learned in life, it’s that blood’s thicker than water and money cannae buy loyalty. That’s why you and me need tae stick thegither.”

  10.06 P.M.

  The Sarge hid jist fallen intae a wee efter-supper slumber. Crisscross wis happily engrossed, knuckle deep in that nose ae his, trying tae figure oot why aw the driving school cars seemed tae be stoaping jist oot ae his view at the bottom ae the street. Sure enough, another wee Morris eleven hunner hid jist arrived fae the left oan St James Road and signalled tae pull across tae the right, opposite the janitor’s hoose ae the City Public before disappearing oot ae sight.

  “That’s the eighth driving school car tae dae that,” he said tae The Sarge, who wis oblivious tae his surroundings and who’d started tae whistle through that nose ae his.

  It wis jist then that the jemmy came hurtling through the windscreen like a rocket and exploded oan tap ae the dashboard. The Sarge and Crisscross didnae know whit the fuck hid hit them. Aw they knew wis that they wur under attack and they hid tae get oot ae the vehicle. The Sarge stood, hyperventilating, wae his back against the tenement wall and his right haun pressed against his heart, while Crisscross wis across oan the pavement oan the other side ae the street, gaun fae wan fit tae the other, trying tae peer intae the car tae see whit type ae bomb it wis that hid come through the windscreen.

  “Sarge, ur ye aw right?” he panted fae across the street.

  “Am Ah fuck! Ah think Ah’ve jist shat ma pants. Thank fuck they wurnae a clean pair.”

  “Aye, well, join the club.”

  “Ah think it wis a bit ae the building that came aff and landed oan tap ae us,” The Sarge wheezed.

  “Ah thought it looked like a big bit ae metal in the shape ae a jemmy.”

  “Well, go and hiv a bloody look, insteid ae staunin there staring at the fucking thing, Crisscross. Ah cannae move and Ah think Ah’m aboot tae hiv an arrest!”

  Crisscross gingerly moved across tae the car and peered in. The whole ae the tap ae the dash board hid totally fractured and collapsed. A solid steel jemmy, aboot two feet long, wis embedded in the dashboard.

  “Ah wis right…it is a jemmy,” Crisscross shouted, looking up at the roof, walking backwards tae where he’d jist come fae.

  “That effing thing nearly killed us, so it did,” The Sarge panted, still haudin his heart.

  “Dae ye think it wis intentional? It seems too good a tool fur some eejit tae jist throw away.”

  “Christ knows.”

  “See whit we hiv tae put up wae aboot here?” a wee wummin said, tutting, fae the second flair windae where she wis looking oot, her elbows resting oan a striped pillow.

  “Aye, it’s okay, hen…we’re awright. We wurnae hurt, so don’t feel the need tae phone fur an ambulance,” The Sarge grumbled sarcastically, looking across at Crisscross.

  “Aye, well, it wid’ve been a different story if ye hid been. If ye think it’s bad at the front, ye should see it oot the back. Ah cannae let any ae ma weans oot tae play wae the amount ae shite coming aff ae that roof.”

  “Whit, is there building gaun oan?” Crisscross asked, peering up at the roof.

  “Trooping up and doon they stairs wae bits ae wood and boards at aw hours ae the day and night, no tae speak aboot the drilling and sawing. That’s been two weeks noo.”

  “Whit his?”

  “They Murphy wans. A law untae themsels, so they ur. If ye say anything, that Mick wan jist gies ye the dug’s abuse.”

  “Aye, okay…we get the message, so we dae,” The Sarge girned, wondering if he should maybe get Criscross tae take him up tae The Royal fur a wee check-up.

  “Well, it’s awright fur youse. Youse don’t hiv tae live here. We dae.”

  “Right, c’moan Crisscross, let’s see whit they’ve goat tae say. Thanks fur ye’re co-operation, hen.”

  “Don’t thank me. Aw Ah’m daeing is minding ma ain business and looking oot ae ma windae.”

  “Aye, right,” The Sarge mumbled, heiding intae the closemooth wae Crisscross at his back.

  “Dae ye think they’re in, Sarge?”

  “Whit? Of course they’re fucking in. They jist aboot killed us, didn’t they, ye daft twat, ye?”

  “Let me try,” Crisscross said, taking oot his baton and hammering oan the door wae it, while The Sarge peered through the letter box.

  10.07 P.M.

  “Christ awmighty, that bampot Skull jist drapped something aff the roof oan the bizzies’ side. It looked like a fucking jemmy. Right, Johnboy, Ah’ll nip doon the hatch oan tae the landing and you haun doon the last box,” Joe yelped, scampering fur the hatch.

  Johnboy wis jist putting the box through the hatch tae Joe when Tony and Skull arrived. Tony slid shut the wooden hatch leading oan tae the roof behind him, plunging the loft intae darkness apart fae a beam ae light coming up fae the landing.

  “You go next, Johnboy,” Tony said calmly.

  Johnboy rolled oan tae his stomach and slid doon feet first. He felt Joe’s hauns grabbing his ankles as he slid doon Joe’s body. Skull went next, followed by Tony, who lifted the stairwell hatch intae place, before drapping doon tae Joe. Tony and Joe took wan end ae the box each and they aw heided doon the stairs. Johnboy wis hoping tae hiv a wee swatch ae the three big Horsemen, bit never goat the chance. When they arrived at the bottom ae the close, a learner driver car wis sitting wae its engine running. Johnboy never hid a chance tae look at the driver either as Joe, Skull and himsel turned right when they came oot ae the closemooth and heided towards Rodger The Dodger’s scrap shoap aboot fifty yards further alang. Skull and Joe turned right intae McAslin Street while Johnboy scurried across St James Road in the direction ae Sherbet’s. Before Johnboy disappeared roond the corner, he turned and saw Tony put the egg box intae the back seat ae the car.

  10.10 P.M.

  “Is that the Horsemen, son?”

  “Aye.”

  “Kin Ah hiv a quick wee peek?”

  “Aye.”

  “Dae ye know whit these ur worth?”

  “Aye, three years in an approved school if Ah’m caught by the bizzies who’re jist roond the corner…or me being bundled intae a weighed doon GPO sack and slung intae the Nolly up by the Stinky Ocean, if the Murphys or The Big Man find oot we’re involved in this.”

  “Ye’ll probably never understaun whit this means tae me and aw the other doo men in Scotland, son…thanks.”

  “Ye’re welcome.”

  “Right, here’s yer dosh. There’s twenty five quid in ten bob and wan pound notes. The rest is in pennies, thrupennies, bob, two bob and hauf croon pieces. Tell that big skinny boy Ah’m sorry aboot the confusion up at The Atholl.”

  “Nae problem. See ye.”

  10.20 P.M.

  “Noo, listen up everywan. Ah want ye tae gie Sarah May and The Cowpokes a big haun fur an amazing evening ae music doon here in The McAslin Bar in sunny Toonheid,” Kirsty shouted intae the microphone, through the thick blue fag smoke and above the noise ae cheering drunks. “And gie a further big haun tae Pat Molloy fur making it aw happen. Hiv a safe journey hame. Good night.”

  “Aw, Pat, gie’s a big kiss, son,” Fat Sally Sally drooled, grabbing The Big Man by wan ae his lapels as she clung oan tae her good tranny wae her other haun. “That wis wan ae the best nights Ah’ve hid in ma whole life, so it wis.”

  “Aw, ye’re welcome, Sally. You tae
, Sister…Ah hope ye enjoyed it as well.”

  “Sure, she had a voice of an angel, that girl did. Wonderful, just wonderful,” Sister Flog slurred.

  “G’night, Pat,” people kept saying in the passing, heiding through the swing doors.

  “Aye, see ye, John.”

  “Tell me, Pat, where did that big handsome man get the nickname ‘The Goat’ from?” asked Sister Flog.

  Jist then, somewan staggered through the swing doors, revealing The Goat punching a bald guy in the mooth, who went doon like a sack ae totties.

  “Goat ye!” said The Goat.

  The Big Man looked at the Christians wae a wee apologetic smile.

  10.45 P.M.

  “Right, Pat, that’s me offskie,” Kirsty said, putting oan her coat.

  “Kirsty, the band wur first class. Honest, Ah couldnae hiv asked fur better. If they brothers ae yers wid only change their names, they could go far in the music business.”

  “Aye, the record company guys liked them as well.”

  “Tell that Sarah Todd…the pie flinger…that if she ever wants a stint doon in The Capstan Club, she’s only tae ask, bit there will be nae pies oan the menu that night. And oan that happy note, Ah’ll see ye oan Monday then.”

  “Pat, don’t mess aboot. Haun it o’er.”

  “Whit?”

  “Ye know whit.”

  “Oh, aye, the ransom. Here ye go, hen,” he said, taking oot the envelope fae his inside pocket and haunin it o’er.

  “Dae Ah need tae embarrass ye by coonting it in front ae ye?”

  “Naw, and ye’ll find a wee bonus in there fur aw yer hard work.”

  “Aw, thanks, Pat. Listen, Ah wis gonnae leave it until Monday, bit Ah may as well tell ye the noo.”

  ”Whit?”

  “Bad Tidings offered us a wan LP record deal.”

  “Us?”

  “The group that Ah put thegither and noo manage.”

  “Ah widnae trust they vultures. If ye knew whit Ah knew aboot them, ye’d stay well clear.”

  “Aye, Ah telt them Ah wisnae interested.”

  “See, ye’ve goat a brain, efter aw.”

  “Aye, bit Going Fur A Song came up wae a better offer.”

  “They thieving basturts? Another two-bit bunch ae charmers, so they ur. They’re run by a big prick called Dandy Thompson. Wid steal the eyes oot ae yer granny’s heid, that wan. The last time Ah dealt wae him, Ah ended up punching his lights oot fur his cheek, the bampot.”

  “Aye, well, don’t worry oan that score. Efter thinking aboot it fur a couple ae minutes, Ah telt them Ah wisnae interested in their offer either,” Kirsty said, laughing.

  “Kirsty, ye did the right thing, hen. Aw these record company hyenas don’t gie a shit. Ye stick wae me…at least ye’ll be guaranteed a wage packet at the end ae the week, wae job prospects.”

  “Aye, it wis Transatlantic that came up wae the goods.”

  “Eh? How dae ye mean?”

  “They offered us a three LP deal, re-negotiable efter each record is produced and released...”

  “Aye, that’s their ‘get oot quick’ clause, the fly basturts.”

  “...and fifteen hunner up front tae sign oan the dotted line.”

  Silence.

  “Ah hivnae heard ae them. Ah hope ye didnae accept it, did ye?” The Big Man finally said, looking at her.

  “Well, Ah put the group thegither. They’ve knocked their pans in tae put that set thegither that ye heard the night. They’re the first wans that Ah kin remember who’ve ever put their trust in me, hid faith when Ah telt them that everything wid be awright oan the night. This wis an opportunity fur me tae apply ma skills tae dae something that wis appreciated. Ye saw the reaction ae the crowd. It felt good, making people happy, supporting people who hid confidence in me…people who put their trust in me.”

  “Kirsty, Kirsty, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, hen. Ye’ve a right tae feel good fur aw the hard work ye’ve put intae making the night the success that it wis, bit the morra is a brand new day and we’ve goat a good future aheid ae us…you and me.”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “Ah wis gonnae leave it till Monday before Ah said, bit seeing as we’re hivving this conversation the noo, Ah want ye tae take o’er as hostess ae The Capstan Club, starting next Friday night.”

  “Oh shite!”

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Sunday 8.30 A.M.

  “Ah don’t think he’s goat long noo, Mr Murphy,” the wee nurse, wae the nice paps peeping oot ae her uniform, whispered.

  Shaun looked at The Big Man oan the bed. He hid wires coming oot fae aw o’er him. The pinging sound ae the pulse fae the heart monitor machine wis getting slower and weaker. The Big Man wis struggling, bit still managed tae open wan ae they bloodshot eyes ae his. It wis quite obvious tae Shaun that he wis weak wae exhaustion and wis fading fast. He managed tae motion Shaun tae come closer. Shaun might no hiv noticed the erm movement, as he wis trying tae get the wee nurse tae come oot wae him oan a date that night, bit The Big Man managed tae lift his erm up aff the bed wae his middle finger ramrod straight and gasped, “Ye’re The Big Man noo, Shaun.”

  The bleep fae the machine wis suddenly replaced by a shrill alarm bell that wid’ve wakened the deid.

  “Whit the fu...” Shaun spluttered, jist managing tae open they eyelids ae his withoot his eyelashes being ripped aff as he forced his dry, dehydrated eyes open.

  He wisnae too sure where the fuck he wis, as his heid and heart wur pounding oot ae step wae wan another.

  “Aw, God,” he groaned, fumbling fur the alarm clock beside the bed and managing tae find it first time, fur a change.

  He forced his eyes tae focus oan the dial. It wis bang oan hauf eight. Mickey Moose wis staunin oan the second haun wae a grin oan his mug, tick-tocking roond the numbers. He shook it, and looked again. The ringing wisnae coming fae Mickey.

  “Danny! Mick!”

  “Whit?” wan ae them groggily answered fae wan ae the other rooms.

  “Shut that fucking alarm clock aff. Ma heid’s pounding.”

  “It’s no me,” wan ae them mumbled.

  “Aw, fur God’s sake!” Shaun snarled, swinging his legs oot ae bed.

  He tried tae staun up and jist managed tae grab the heidboard tae steady himsel before he fainted, or worse, shat himsel. He staggered through tae Mick’s room. Mick wis lying, face doon, oan tap ae the bed in his suit and tie, snoring.

  “Mick, ur ye lying oan tap ae yer alarm, ya daft prick, ye?”

  “Naw,” Mick groaned. “Ah don’t hiv an alarm.”

  Shaun staggered through tae Danny’s room. Danny wis awready awake.

  “It isnae coming fae here,” Danny mumbled, swinging his feet oot ae bed.

  “It’s goat tae be that Mick wan,” Shaun growled, heiding back tae Mick’s room.

  “Mick! Mick!”

  “Whit?” Mick groaned.

  “Get fucking up. Ye’re lying oan an alarm clock.”

  “Aw, fur Christ sake,” Mick moaned, heaving himsel up and sliding his legs aff the bed.

  Wae Shaun’s help, Mick managed tae staun up.

  “Danny, ur ye sure ye’ve no goat an alarm clock?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, where the fuck’s it coming fae?”

  The three ae them stumbled through tae the lobby and stood listening between the living room and the kitchen doors, blinking and looking at each other. Nowan said a word as they tried tae detect where the sound wis coming fae. Suddenly, their three sets ae eyes aw moved at wance towards the ceiling hatch leading up tae the dookit.

  “Ah think it’s coming fae up there,” Mick whispered.

  “Ah think ye’re right. Let’s go, bit keep it quiet.”

  Danny stumbled intae the kitchen and returned wae a bendy breid knife in his haun. The three ae them crept up the creaky stairs.

  “Sshhh!” Shaun hissed, as wan ae the steps groaned loudly at the same time as Danny let rip wae a watery fart.


  “Sorry!”

  The ringing goat louder.

  “Dae ye think we’ve goat an uninvited visitor, Shaun?” Danny whispered.

  “Looks like it,” Shaun replied, waving his haun in front ae his nose. “Right, here’s whit we dae. Seeing as ye’ve goat the chib oan ye, squeeze by me tae the front. Efter three, we’ll aw charge up through the hatch and let the basturts hiv it. Okay?”

  “Aye.”

  “Right, everybody get their hauns oan the hatch. Wan, two, three!”

  The hatch flew open, up aff the flair ae the loft and crashed flat backwards. The three musketeers charged up the steps intae the room, screaming.

  “C’moan ya bampots, ye!”

  “We’ve goat ye noo!”

  “Youse ur aw deid meat, so youse ur!”

  Tae the sound ae the clattering bell, they stood there, stock still, disbelief oan their coupons, as a scabby hawker doo took flight between the damaged opening ae the landing board boxes.

  8.35 A.M.

  Johnboy arrived at the cabin by cutting across the waste ground behind the buildings oan Parly Road at the Glebe Street end. He noticed Tony and Joe jumping o’er the wee fence in front ae the billboards. Skull wis awready there as the ladder wis up and the door wis open.

  “Any sign ae The Brothers Grimm?”

  “No a cheep,” Skull said, twiddling wae the knob oan the tranny.

  “Ah wonder if they wur roond last night?” Johnboy asked.

  “Aye, whit a fucking shock they’d hiv goat. That wid’ve sobered the pricks up, eh?” Joe said, laughing.

  “Well, they wurnae roond here. At least, Ah never heard them. The only visitor Ah hid wis Elvis who hung aboot fur aboot an hour, getting his lugs scratched. He high-tailed it doon the ladder wance he’d scoffed wan ae the lefto’er mince pies,” Skull said, smiling as he turned up the volume tae the sound ae The Who’s ‘Ma Generation.’

  “Whit? Skull, Ah thought Ah said we wurnae tae be here last night.”

  “It’s aw right fur youse. Ah’ve telt ye…sometimes Ah cannae get in at night. Ah’m usually okay up tae nine o’clock…at a push. Efter that, Ah’m goosed. And anyway, it’s quite cosy in here. Ah found a box ae candles under the cot and the tranny kept me company.”