Just Duffy

by Robin Jenkins

  ‘I’m not sure Johnny would like that …’

  When she was gone McLeod sought out Detective Constable Black. He could not bear to tell him about Crosbie’s tumour. Such things depressed Harry, who did not have the consolation and spiritual strength given by religious faith. Harry indeed was living in sin with Fiona Campbell, a physiotherapist at the local hospital. It amazed McLeod that a man so pernickety about dress and personal cleanliness – Harry liked a fresh shirt on every day – and so antagonistic towards law-breakers, should be so lax in his own morals, for he also smoked and drank.

  Together they set off to pay a visit they did not look forward to. Mick Dykes, Crosbie’s pal, was the most likely person in Lightburn to know where he might be. Unfortunately Mick’s mother was a lady best avoided. Formidable at any time, she was said to be in a furious frame of mind because she had found out that her son Mick was the lover of Mrs Burnet, alias Fat Annie, a married woman with three children. Rumour had it that she had threatened to chop off his trespassing dick with a hatchet. At no time however would she welcome representatives of the law.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ she asked.

  A cigarette hung from her mouth. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms as massive as a wrestler’s. She was wearing a lumpy purple jumper with holes in it. Her hair was shaggy, her eyes fierce.

  McLeod tried very hard to keep calm. If he got excited or angry his pronounciation of English suffered. It would be humiliating to hear this termagant speaking the language better than himself.

  ‘We would be obliged, Mrs Dykes, if we could ask your son Michael some questions about his friend Johnny Crosbie, whose mother has reported him missing.’

  ‘She should be saying good riddance. He’s broken her heart a hundred times. I don’t see how Mick will be able to help you because he’s not been over the door since Sunday. But you can come in. Make sure you wipe your feet on the mat.’

  Whatever her sleeves had been rolled up for it couldn’t have been to tidy or clean her house. It was a mess and stank of tobacco, alcohol, sweat, anal odours, rancid fat, and other dubious substances. McLeod felt sorry for Harry, whose nose was more fastidious than his own.

  The two older sons were seen sneaking into a bedroom. There was no sign of Mick or Mr Dykes, senior.

  ‘Dykes is down at the public library,’ said Mrs Dykes, ‘getting a free read at the newspapers. Either it’s to find out what’s going on in the world or it’s to keep out of my way or maybe it’s both. Mick’s in the shunkey, where he spends half his life, tossing himself off, I shouldn’t wonder. Well, didn’t you do it yourself, sergeant, when you were his age? There’s no law against it, so far anyway, though there’s bound to be some interfering bastard somewhere thinking one up. Why the hell are you bothering about Johnny Crosbie? If he was found with his throat cut nobody would grieve, except his mother, poor sod. Have you asked Archie Cooper? He was going to tear off Johnny’s balls for what he did to his sister Sally, though according to Mick she asked for what she got.’

  ‘Mr Cooper has been questioned. We are satisfied that he knows nothing about Johnny’s disappearance.’

  ‘You’re telling me. Him and his mate have never been sober during their leave. Everybody wanted to stand the heroes a drink. Heroes my arse. The Brits have no fucking right in Ireland. You ask Dykes: he knows the history. I’ll tell Big Dick you’re here.’

  They heard her banging on the bathroom door and bawling that Teuchter and Flash Harry had come to ask him about Johnny Crosbie.

  ‘If she was my mother,’ said Black, ‘I’d drown myself.’

  She came back laughing. ‘Do you think I could get him into the police force? He’s big and stupid enough.’

  McLeod and Black did not join in her laughter.

  ‘He’d do anything he was ordered to do, so long as the money was good. That’s how you fellows look at it, isn’t it? Dykes says you’ve got no opinions or principles of your own. You’re just the bosses’ bully-boys.’

  McLeod could hardly point out that she was referring to the uniformed branch. It would have looked as if he was agreeing with her.

  They heard the cistern being flushed. Soon young Dykes appeared, sheepish and anxious.

  ‘What about Johnny?’ he muttered. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  Before he could prevent her his mother pulled from under his pullover a pornographic magazine. She opened it. There were coloured pictures of hard-faced women with huge breasts.

  Black looked with a grin, but McLeod turned his eyes away. He would have liked to ask where the boy had got this filthy thing but his rule was, keep to the matter in hand, which was Crosbie’s whereabouts.

  ‘He can’t get enough of it,’ Mrs Dykes was saying. ‘If he was a Derby winner we’d make a fortune hiring him out.’

  ‘Michael,’ said McLeod, ‘have you any idea where Johnny might be? His mother has reported him missing. He left the house on Sunday morning about ten o’clock, without saying where he was going. He was seen two hours later in Ballochmyle Avenue, near St Stephen’s church. Since then he seems to have disappeared. We thought that since you’re his best friend you may have some idea where he may be.’

  ‘How do I know where he is?’ mumbled Mick. ‘I’ve not been out of the house since Sunday.’

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ said his mother.

  ‘Mrs Crosbie mentioned a possibility that he might have gone to London,’ said McLeod.

  ‘It’s Cooley that’s gone to London.’

  ‘You mean Helen Cooley?’

  ‘She’s one whose spirit you bastards will never break,’ said Mrs Dykes.

  ‘She wouldn’t go with Johnny. She doesn’t like him.’

  ‘Who does, you big sumph?’

  ‘I like him. He gets bad headaches. Nobody’s fair to him.’

  McLeod did not want to hear any more about those headaches. They were not his business. Finding the boy who suffered from them was.

  ‘Have you any definite reason to believe Helen Cooley has gone to London?’ he asked.

  ‘She asked me to ask my uncle Fred if he could get her a lift. He’s a lorry-driver. He gave her a note to give to a mate of his in a depot in Glasgow. I don’t know if she went.’

  ‘This is the first I’ve heard of this,’ said Mrs Dykes, ‘though his uncle Fred happens to be my brother. It’s not a crime, is it, to help somebody get a lift?’

  ‘Is it a crime to help an absconder to avoid arrest, though it is possible your brother was not aware that that was what he was doing. It may be necessary for us to question him.’

  ‘He’ll tell you bugger-all. Fred’s not fond of your kind. If Dykes was here he’d tell you you were a shower of Fascists, well-paid to protect your masters, them with the money and property. He’d tell you that the biggest thieves in the country are the financiers and speculators. I’d be obliged if you’d get the hell out of my house.’

  She did not merely show them to the door, she shoved them towards it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The detectives had hardly left before Mick was pleading with his mother to let him go out. He was sure he knew where Johnny was hiding. He wanted to warn him that the cops were looking for him.

  She was pleased with him for having the gumption to withhold the information from McLeod, and she was also feeling a bit sorry for having leathered him in the presence of his brothers and married sisters, not to mention his six-year-old nephew, though luckily wee Malcolm had been asleep. She had had too much to drink and had lost her temper. Besides she had since learned that the wean Fat Annie was expecting couldn’t be Mick’s. Also he was her youngest. Though he was six feet tall and endowed like a bull she could remember wheeling him about in a pram. He had been a good baby: stick a dummy in his mouth and he’d be quiet for hours. It was in his favour too that he was loyal to his pal, even though that pal, headaches or not, wouldn’t hesitate to shop him.

  ‘All right, son. Will it take you long?’

&nb
sp; ‘Just half an hour.’

  ‘Where do you think he is?’

  ‘He’s got a den in Crimea Street, in the house where he was born.’

  ‘They’re knocking it down,’ said Tam, his oldest brother.

  ‘They’ve not started on Johnny’s yet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Yesterday they were knocking down everything in sight. It was like a war down there. We’d to pack it in because of the stour and noise.’

  Tam attended a pitch-and-toss school in that part of town.

  Mick was alarmed. What if they demolished Johnny’s building with him in it? They would think there was nobody there. He might have one of his headaches and not know what was going on.

  ‘I’d better hurry,’ said Mick, making for the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ cried his mother. ‘You might as well bring me a few things while you’re out. Half a stone of tatties. A pint of milk. Half a pound of marge. A large plain loaf.’

  ‘Fags,’ said his other brother Jim.

  ‘If you want fags you’d better give him the money.’

  Grumbling, Jim went to his bedroom to search through his pockets.

  ‘Hurry,’ shouted Mick.

  ‘You’re making me suspicious,’ said Tam, with a wink at his mother. ‘You’re making me think you want to get back to that fat cow. You’re like a bull pawing the ground. Isn’t he, ma?’

  His mother raised her fist. ‘Tam’s not right, is he?’ she cried.

  ‘No, he isn’t.’

  ‘Just as well for you.’

  ‘I just want to warn Johnny, that’s all.’

  ‘You think more of that obnoxious little bastard than you do of your whole family.’

  ‘No, I don’t. He’s my pal, that’s all.’

  Jim came back with some money. It wasn’t enough. He had to cadge the rest from his mother. She was reluctant. It took time. Mick was getting desperate.

  At last he was allowed to go. He had the string-bag for the groceries stuffed into his pocket. He hated to be seen going errands.

  He ran all the way. Before he was near Crimea Street he saw that Tam was right. After weeks of idleness the demolishers were back at work and were going at it as if they were on piece-work. There were great clatters and clouds of dust. If Johnny was found crushed to death it would be Duffy’s fault. It had been his idea breaking into the church. Mick had known it would bring bad luck. Look what had happened to him. Johnny too was missing. Cooley would get caught in London and sent back. The worst punishment ought to be Duffy’s, for he had been the leader.

  When Mick arrived, panting, amongst the great heaps of bricks, masonry, and wall-papered plaster, the huge iron ball was being swung against the building next to Johnny’s. Johnny’s, thank Christ, was still standing, though, as Mick stared at it in terror, it seemed to shoogle.

  A middle-aged workman wearing a yellow hard hat stopped him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he shouted. ‘This is a danger area. Do you want to get killed?’

  Mick had to shout too. ‘My pal Johnny Crosbie’s in that building.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? There’s nobody there. Everybody was cleared out months ago.’

  ‘I know but Johnny’s got a den he sometimes sleeps in, in the house where he was born. Up that close. I’ve come to warn him.’

  ‘He must be stone deaf.’

  ‘He takes headaches. He wouldn’t hear anything.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘No. He could be in that building. I swear it.’

  ‘That close?’

  ‘That’s right. First storey. Middle door.’

  ‘The foundations have been loosened. The whole place could collapse.’

  ‘I’ll run up and see. It’ll not take a minute.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Maybe I ought to tell the gaffer. All right. You wait here. First storey. Middle door.’

  Mick ran after him. ‘Let me come. He knows me.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mick Dykes.’

  The man grinned. ‘Malky Dykes’ boy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re the one they say has the biggest dick in town.’

  Three days ago Mick would have beamed at that jocular tribute. Today he scowled.

  In the close the workman took off his helmet and put it on Mick. It was much too small. It perched ludicrously on the sandy curls.

  ‘You’re big in every department,’ said the workman.

  Mick raced up the stairs ahead of him.

  The door was open. He ran in. ‘Johnny!’ he shouted.

  ‘Not so fucking loud,’ muttered the workman behind him. ‘Do you want to bring the place down about us?’

  They heard the great thump of the iron ball.

  The ludo board was spread out on a box. On it were red and blue men, and the ivory dice that Johnny was so proud of.

  ‘You see, he’s been here,’ said Mick. ‘He was playing ludo.’

  ‘That’s a kid’s game. How old is he?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘And he still plays ludo. He must be a head case. But let’s get out of here quick.’

  Mick slipped the dice into his pocket. He left the ludo board and the men.

  As he went down the stairs he remembered how Johnny liked to play ludo with Mick’s nephew and niece, aged six and four respectively. He never cheated them.

  ‘Beat it,’ said the workman. ‘I hope the gaffer hasn’t noticed.’

  The potatoes were needed for dinner which had to be ready for one o’clock, but instead of making straight for the shop where his mother got groceries on credit Mick headed for Kenilworth Court. He was sure now that Johnny was at Duffy’s. Probably he had spent the night there, helping Duffy to screw Molly. Thinking of the three of them in the big soft bed Mick, even as he ran, felt the old strong stirring in his loins and was greatly relieved. After all he had to suffer during the past three days, the pain and the shame, he had been afraid that his virility was weakened forever. Looking at those pictures of the tarts fingering their twats had not had the usual effect. In fact for some reason he could not understand it had depressed, not stimulated him. He had for the first time noticed their faces, how hard and cynical these were.

  He was nervous as he rang Duffy’s bell. Cooley had told him about the inquisitive neighbour.

  When Duffy’s door opened he walked in without waiting to be asked. He wasn’t usually rude like this, it showed how keyed-up he was. At first he noticed nothing odd about Duffy.

  In the living-room he sat down, again without being asked. He heard no noises. Perhaps Molly and Johnny were still in bed. He should have asked about Johnny first but somehow he put it off.

  ‘Is she still here?’ he asked. ‘Molly.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. When did she leave?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘So she was here all night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was then that Mick noticed how pale Duffy was, how large and dark his eyes were, and how every now and then he shivered, though the room was warm. He couldn’t have got much sleep. A night with Molly must have taken a lot out of him.

  Mick felt he should give him some advice. ‘Don’t let her become your regular girl-friend, Duffy. Behind your back she’d give it to anybody for a packet of chewing gum.’

  Duffy said nothing.

  ‘Where’s Johnny, Duffy? Did he spent the night here too? Is he still here?’

  Duffy shook his head.

  ‘Hasn’t he been here at all?’

  Again Duffy shook his head.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Duffy nodded. He seemed too exhausted to speak.

  ‘Then where the hell can he be? I was sure he would be here because he wasn’t in his den that I told you about. I went there. I’ve just been. I took his dice. It’s real ivory.’ He brought it out of his pocket and showed it to Duffy.

  ‘You see, Duffy, Teuchter and Flash Harry came
to my house this morning to ask me if I knew where Johnny was. His mother’s reported him missing. He’s not been home since Sunday. He was last seen in Ballochmyle, near the church. I don’t know what he was doing there. You told him not to. I thought he would be here, with you and Molly. They’re knocking his building down.’

  ‘Are the workmen there now?’

  ‘Sure. You should see the place. You’d think a bomb had hit it. The cops think that Johnny’s gone to London with Cooley, but do you know what I think? I think maybe he’s hiding in the church. He likes creepy places. We shouldn’t have done it, Duffy. Look what’s happened to us since. Cooley’s gone to London, I’ve been in trouble because of Annie, and Johnny’s disappeared. It could be your turn next, Duffy.’

  ‘Are you sure all the buildings are being knocked down?’

  The question surprised Mick, but he put it down to Duffy’s brain being still shaken after his night with Molly. ‘Johnny’s was the only one standing but they’ll have started on it now.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll have to go now.’ He almost said that he’d to buy potatoes for the dinner. Duffy himself of course didn’t mind going messages, and look how tidy the house was. He was a bit of a jessie. No wonder Molly had been too much for him.

  ‘If Johnny comes, Duffy, tell him the cops are looking for him. We don’t want Teuchter asking him questions about what happened in the church.’

  Duffy saw him to the door.

  Before he went out he whispered: ‘If Molly’s coming back tonight, Duffy, do you mind if I come too? Just for an hour or so.’

  ‘I’m going to a funeral this afternoon.’

  ‘Who’s dead?’

  ‘Mr Ralston, who lived upstairs.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a dead person. They wanted me to look at my grandfather in his coffin but I wouldn’t. I was just eight at the time. What about tomorrow night, Duffy? Could I come then?’

  Duffy hesitated and then nodded.

  Running down the stairs Mick found himself whistling cheerfully. He would get a row for being late with the potatoes, his arse was still sore, Johnny was missing, he would never again drink beer at Annie’s fireside, maybe God still had it in for him, but he was young and alive and, let them laugh if they liked, he had the grandest dick in Lightburn.