by A D Evans
MIRACLE ON THE CLYDE
ONE
He experienced the sensation of falling, quickly followed by a sharp explosion of pain to the back of his head. The ice-cold water of the Clyde closed over him. An involuntary gasp forced the brackish water into his gapping mouth. He could taste the oily scum from the surface of the river; he wanted to vomit, going under, drowning. He tried to swim but his limbs were out of control. The man began to panic; started to thrash about, but his efforts only seemed to force him further under the numbingly cold water. Suddenly calmness came over him, he let his body relax and be taken at the whim of the fast flowing river. Thoughts were like a whirlwind in his mind.
‘Is this how it ends?’ he wondered.
Memories from the past came flooding back as he slipped once more under the dark blanket of the chilling Clyde.
His life was slipping quickly and quietly away.
TWO
The room was quiet except for the buzzing of a bluebottle. The man slowly opened his eyes. He lay on the bed naked as the day he was born. The man on the bed was 6ft 4 inches in height, dark curly hair swarthy complexion and handsome. He was Italian looking with the classic look of his Mediterranean heritage. The dark brown eyes fluttered a few times. He felt a bit disorientated, and not sure if the buzzing was coming from inside his head. His vision began to clear, and the room took on a semblance of normality. It was a large room expensively decorated but in a dated kind of style. The walls were covered with heavy embossed wallpaper and painted light fawn. The furniture was heavy teak and the dresser had a huge ornate mirror. He looked about himself trying to work out in his befuddled mind just where he could be.
He remembered leaving the pub in George Square and heading out to the south side of Glasgow. Paul could remember nothing about the taxi journey, or who was with him on the trip. He leaned over and had a sniff at the other pillow on the right-hand side of the bed. The pillow smelled very musky with the lingering aroma of expensive perfume. The man looked for his clothes, and to his surprise found, them neatly folded over a huge over stuffed armchair. He heard a noise out-side the door and froze, trying to listen intently for the sound of impending danger. He lived life on the edge and expected the un-expected on a daily basis. He heard the clink of crockery and the door slowly opened.
‘Good morning Paul dear. Did you sleep well?’
He stared at the person framed in the doorway. She was in her 50s and had probably been a real beauty in her time, but now! He felt sick.
‘Hi’ he said to the woman.
‘Here you go have some toast and marmalade, and you will soon feel better dear’
He looked at the woman. The early morning sun showed up all the wrinkles on her neck and chest. She wore a flowery dressing gown and little else. The words to the Rod Stewart song Maggie May began pouring through his hung-over brain. In spite of himself, he smiled.
‘Yes that’s much better dear; I can see you will be fine in a wee while. I’ll just nip in for a shower while you finish of your breakfast ’
He heard the shower start to run, and so did he. Throwing on his clothes in record time, he headed for the front door. Thanking god that the keys were in the lock. He made good his escape.
He turned right as he left the building and hurried to the end of the road. He came to the intersection and realised where he was. Minard Road stretched out in front of him. His fortune fairy must have been with him because as he looked to his left he saw the yellow light of a ‘For Hire’ Glasgow hackney carriage. Eagerly jumping into the taxi, he gave the driver instructions to take him to his unit in Maryhill. He sat back and tried to relax, watching the Sunday morning traffic along the M8 Motorway.
‘Why do I get myself into these situations? I am never going to get drunk again,’ He promised himself.
THREE
Nearly a week later and he was having a wee day out with his pals, Toni and Bob. They had all met at the snooker hall in sunny Kirky and after a few games headed into Glasgow. Toni and wee Bob were pals from way back. They had gone to school together both primary and secondary. Toni was built like an athlete and trained every day; he was six foot two, blonde hair cut short, everyone said he was good-looking big person. He also had a way with the women. He had the dress sense of a fashion guru and was always immaculately attired, and was a fighter of immense fame, feared all over Glasgow. He was also known for carrying lethal weaponry. Wee Bob his sidekick was also dressed to kill. He was about five feet five and was powerfully built. His dark straight hair was cut in a fringe. His face had a small scar on the right hand cheek. He was a dapper looking dangerous wee person. He wore one of his Armani suits. To complement its classic look, a twelve-inch steak knife was his fashion accessory. He might be small but was a very aggressive man and after a few drinks could be very unpredictable in his behaviour.
The day had begun well. The patter was flowing like wine and the trio were enjoying themselves. The men floated from pub to pub having a laugh and meeting other pals.
They had dropped into the Horseshoe for a beer and decided to go upstairs and listen to the karaoke. The singing was good and the atmosphere electric. The low ceiling and cramped seating gave the room a magical feel. The spotlights on the stage made it stand out from the rest of the lounge bar. It was a finals night and the place was awash with contestants and their supporters. A £2,000 first prize to the person voted the best singer was on offer and that was enough to get the whole room excited. The heats of the competition had been going on in various pups in Glasgow for several weeks.
The next finalist name was called, and when Paul heard the name, he was shocked.
The compare said
‘Best of order and lets give a big welcome to the north of Glasgow finalist, the lovely Lucy Duncan’
The crowd all clapped appreciatively, but he could only look on in utter astonishment.
‘It couldn’t be her surely?’ but as he gazed towards the stage she stood there smiling at the crowd.
Lucy Duncan was looking beautiful in her long black flowing gown, with matching shiny high heels. She was the only woman in this world who had broken the heart of Paul Joseph Lynch.
It all seemed so long ago now that fateful night in Possilpark.
Lucy Duncan, he had known her since their school days in St Francis primary in Maryhill. She was a natural blonde haired, blue-eyed darling. His woman and he had always fancied her. They had lost touch after secondary school, and had only met again in 1990.
‘OH fuck it, torturing myself won’t help’ but he could not stop his head from going over that last violent night with her and her family.
It was the 17th of March, and as many Catholics or Irish in the world will tell you, it is St Patrick's Day. This is a day of celebration for Ireland’s patron saint. A day to be savoured and enjoyed with the consumption of much 'bevy' also loads of Irish songs. There is also an occasional fight with the 'proddy Huns' but that was part of the fun to be had on this glorious day.
The night had begun at a pub in Keppochhill road, and although Paul was very wary of drinking in a place outside his own territory, he felt quite safe. Lucy’s parents and her three older brothers were present.
Her family had moved to the Possil area of Glasgow, which was just round the corner from Keppochhill road, when she was about sixteen. Within a short space of time, their neighbours had accepted them. The family made many friends in the notoriously violent area.
The night was in full swing, and much to his surprise was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was a long time since he had allowed himself to relax, and put his business worries on the back burner. The Soldiers Song, Fields of Athenry, You'll never walk alone and numerous
other Irish and Celtic songs were being belted out at the top of the celebrating crowds voice.
The atmosphere was electric and as the night drew to a close, he felt more, and more relaxed .Then just as the bar was announcing last orders three men appeared at the top of the stairs. He always had an eye for trouble spotted them at once, and inwardly groaned. Heading in his direction was Billy Peel a well-known hard man from Possil and with him were his equally mental pals Jack Watson, and Bambi Fisher. Peels gruff voice could be heard shouting above the din of the crowd
‘Look boys it’s that Fenian bastard Lynch. Who allowed him anywhere near Possil?’
The crowd went quiet and the atmosphere became tinged with fear, because these three mad men were a real problem. Almost every person in the place feared them, and knew what this trio were capable of doing to a fellow human being.
Peel was the most dangerous of the trio. He was an Orangeman, and red-hot Glasgow Rangers fan, he and his pals were only at the event to cause as much trouble as possible.
He did not respond to Peels shouting, but a cold fist of fear grabbed and crushed his heart. He had to decide what action, if any that he could or indeed would take if necessary. Because of his lifestyle always carried with him a twelve-inch blade, concealed in a specially tailored pocket of his front pocket. In addition to the blade, he had a 22. Calibre pistol in a small leather pouch strapped to the centre of his back. He would not use the gun unless things were serious, preferring to fight his way through it if possible.
Billy Peel started the charge and the three attackers drew knives from under their jackets as they ran towards him. One of Lucy’s brothers tried to intervene, and made a grab for Peel. He was stabbed where he stood, and then his two brothers met the same fate when they went to his defence.
Paul pulled himself up to his full height of six feet four, and attacked the on-rushing men with his knife. Fisher got it first a stab wound to his stomach, which was at least five inches deep. He swivelled to turn and caught Watson with a blow was entered his left cheek and exited just below his right eye.
Two down one to go he thought when unexpectedly he tripped over someone’s legs and went down in a twisted heap.
‘Of fuck no, that bastard will murder me now’ were his thoughts as he scrambled on the slippery surface of the dance floor. He felt a tug at his back as Peel charged towards him, then heard the rapport of a small pistol. To his astonishment, he saw his advesary stop in his tracks clutching his belly and going down like a tonne of bricks. As he rose from the floor he saw standing right behind him his right hand man big Willie Marshall. He was holding a gun.
‘All right big man?’ Said Willie as he calmly handed Paul’s pistol back to him.
‘How the fuck did you get here Willie? Don’t answer that in case I kiss you,’ he laughed
Big Willie explained that, as he had known he was going to be in this pub and as he was passing this way, he had decided to stop and offer a lift home. He went on to describe how as he pulled up to the venue he had seen Peel and his gang pushing the bouncers aside before entering the premises. He knew this spelt trouble for his boss and had decided he would even up the odds a little.
At this point in the conversation Lucy’s, father appeared ranting and raving at Paul and calling him a useless bastard. He was blaming him for everything that had taken place. He warned him not to come near his daughter again and if he did he would stab him the first chance he got.
To this day Paul can’t understand what happened next. It was perhaps down to the adrenaline, drink, or to his recent narrow escape. He felt the knife in his hand, a rush of blood to his head, and the next thing Lucy’s father was lying on the floor with blood streaming from a six-inch slash to his left cheek. Lucy was screaming at him as he made his exit from the pub, heading off with his pal for a drink elsewhere.
As the two men left the bar, they could hear police sirens coming from the direction of Saracen Street .They crossed to Willie's car and hurriedly executed a U-turn at the junction of Pinkston road. They had only moved a few hundred yards when three police vehicles passed them on there way to the pub incident. The men laughed as they thought of the sight awaiting the police officers from Possilpark station.
Willie turned to his boss with a smile on his face ‘Did you see the look on that big bastard orange Peels face when I let him have it with the pistol? It was a fuckin picture’
‘Now I know you won’t believe this mate, but I missed it. I was a wee bit busy trying to dodge the big bastards chib at that moment’ he laughed jokingly.
The car continued heading towards St. Georges Cross then turning right to Maryhill and safety.
As they turned right into Maryhill road, the two men began to relax, but just for a second Paul’s heart gave a jump. A couple were crossing the road ahead of them and he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that he had just seen his late mother and father walking arm in arm, without a care in the world ‘Must be the drink’ he thought to himself. He said to Willie ‘Did you recognise them two that were were crossing the road in front of us big yin?’ Whit two are you on about Paul, ah didn’t notice anyone crossing the road, ah think you’r drunk mate’
The two friends laughed it of and continued their journey.
'‘Home at last’ Paul thought. ‘Go straight up to wee Larry's pub big yin’
He headed the car for the chosen pub. Wee Larry's was a pub that he held a majority share in, and as such was open to him at any hour he desired.
When they reached their destination, they parked the car and headed for the rear entrance. He used his own key to gain entry, and walked straight to the office, which was on a level above the bar.
They poured a couple of stiff whiskies and settled down on the couches to plan their alibi and to decide what to do next. He used the phone and after a few minutes of talking turned to Willie and winked
‘All fixed my man we were out in a pub in Kirky all night, so no sweat big man, and were safe as houses now’
The men swallowed a considerable amount of whisky. They were quietly talking when Larry arrived.
Larry was about forty, and as bent as a nine bob note. He was well quoted by all the hard men in the area because he took shit from nobody. Homosexual he may be but he was no shrinking violet when it came to trouble. He was queen of his bar.
He was a great bar manager and was well liked by his customers and staff. He stood next to big Willie and at his full height of five foot six was only up to his shoulders. Willie to coin a phrase was built like a brick shithouse. With his long ape like arms, thickset legs, huge shoulders and chest and his bald bulbous head, he was not exactly god’s gift to womankind. He worshipped his boss as if he were a god. Willie was forever pointing out the scar on his face, which Paul had administered to him when they were just boys.
He was not the brightest of individuals. He would never be anyone’s ‘Phone a Friend’. Above all, he was loyal to the organisation and especially to his mentor and boss.
Larry in comparison was small and slender, but had a quality about him, which told people ‘Don't mess with me ‘. He was a natural blonde and good looking, and many women in the pub would say what a waste that he was gay. He would usually reply, ‘Women are all right but there's nothing like the real thing’
The small man jokingly pushed Willie aside and said.
‘Make way for a real man sonny boy’
He then became serious and told them that he had just had a phone call relating what had taken place at the night out.
‘Good news travels fast boys’
He went on to say that, the pub was doing well, but that it would be nice to see more of Paul in the place.
‘People can get a wee bit complacent if they think that you are not bothering about what goes on in here’
‘Okay he said I'll put in an appearance a bit more often, but you know you only have to phone and we'll be here right away?’
‘I know that but you also know that I hate any needle
ss violence’
‘Your really just a wee pussy cat at heart aren't you sweetheart?’ joked Willie.
‘I’ll claw your eyes out you big ugly brute,’ he laughed
With that, the two men made their departure from the pub. Big Willie dropped Paul off in a taxi at his own pad in Cleavden Road then headed home to his wife and seven kids up in the ‘Drum’
He entered his house and had a quick look back to see if his surveillance team were working tonight. With no sign of them, he opened a bottle of ‘Glenmorange’ malt whisky and proceeded to get as drunk as possible before the fears had a Chance to take a grip of his raw nerves and give him a sleepless night. His last drunken thought was
‘Fuck Lucy Duncan’ as he tried to sleep.
Suddenly he was back to the present and in the room at the horseshoe. Yes, it all seemed so long ago now but the feelings for this woman had never totally left him. He nudged his two mates and told them he was leaving the pub. They both protested and said they were enjoying the show. He explained to them what was happening and the trio left the crowded pub. As they vacated their seats, there was a stampede to claim them. As they headed for the door him and Lucy,’s eyes met for a brief second, then they both looked away. The three merry men headed for a nightclub and proceeded to get as drunk as possible.
He awoke the next morning with a fuzzy head and a mouth, which tasted like a sumo wrestlers jock strap. His eyes felt as if they were glued together. He headed for the shower, and fifteen minutes later he was dressed and brewing a strong pot of coffee. As he drank the thick black liquid, he made a decision to stay off the booze for a wee while. He was not a habitual drinker, and did not like the feeling that came with the consumption of to much alcohol.
