Miracle On The Clyde (Glasgow Crime)

by A D Evans

  The manager agrees to this and the gent tells him he will pick up and pay for his cigars when he returns.

  Five minutes later the tramp re-enters the shop.

  The manager at once approaches him, and ever fearful that the city gent will reappear to spoil his wee earner immediately offers the tramp £100 take it or leave it for his violin.

  The tramp refuses and starts to leave the shop.

  The manager sees his cash-making venture disappearing, and asks the tramp how much he would take for the violin. £300 and not a penny less said the tramp. After a quick calculation the manager realises he is still going to make £200 for doing virtually nothing.

  The manager hands him the cash and the tramp takes his leave.

  The well-dressed city gent fails to return, so the manager, due to his own greed, has paid out £300 for a violin purchased at a second hand shop in Byres Road for £12.

  How they laughed as they headed back on the bus to Maryhill.

  Three hundred quid up, less the cost of the violin and their bus fares.

  ‘There's one born every minute’ philosophises big Willie with a huge grin on his unshaven face.

  His pal who is sitting on the bus dressed to kill says he totally agrees with him.

  ‘Thank god for mugs,’ they say in unison

  Another one off their cons was to get a couple of empty beer barrels, and using a tool they had stolen from the brewery, they would open the empty barrels then fill them with water from a handy hosepipe at Willies grandfather’s garden plot. The barrels were then resealed and a recently dated sticker was stuck back on using super glue.

  The barrels were then loaded into his cousins van and the dynamic duo went looking for a mug.

  The timing of these operations was vital, at five past eleven on a Monday morning they would enter a strange pub. They would order two pints and stand quietly at the bar. Most pubs in the city were nearly empty at this time on a Monday morning and the manager would generally be there checking on his stock and ordering more after a busy weekend.

  Willie would wait a few minutes then go to the toilet; while he was away, Paul would engage the manager in conversation. He would subtly drop a hint to him that they had a few barrels of beer or lager for sale, and would say that the price would be about sixty pounds each, but if he took both then he could try to persuade his friend to let them go for fifty quid apiece.

  Willie would then return to his pint and an argument would develop between the two men. His voice would be just loud enough for the manager to overhear him saying.

  ‘No way Andy I’m not letting them go for fifty quid after the bother it took me to get them’

  Every time they worked the con the manager approached them and offered £55 for each barrel. After a short discussion, he would reluctantly give in and agree to the manager’s offer. The manager would then become the proud owner of two barrels of Loch Katrines finest. The dynamic duo would head home with their £150 profit, and laughing at how easily people were duped.

  Sometimes if he could not get money by conning people then other ways to make a coin would come into play, including robbery or break-ins at factories. One such robbery went something like this.

  He stood watching the man as he went from close to close collecting the money from his customers. This was the third Friday in a row that he had mounted his surveillance. Just as they had taught him in the scouts when he was a young boy, ‘Be prepared’ that was always how he operated. He would wait another two or three calls then rob his mark. He had calculated that as this was the week of the Glasgow fair holidays, people would be paying this week’s money plus two in advance. The time for the robbery arrived, and cool as you like he came up behind the man in a badly lit entrance, put his knife to his throat and demanded the cash. The man was a small person and he expected no resistance, but to his surprise the wee man had a go at him and began shouting

  ‘Your getting fuck all, you lazy good for nothing bastard. Go and get a fuckin job you useless big bastard.’

  He was stunned for a second, and then the rage came on him, and he slashed the wee man across the throat with the knife, and then stabbed him in the stomach. The man went down with no more sound coming from him. He then went for the satchel that the man carried and made good his escape.

  He sat in his room at his grandparent’s house and counted the cash £1,400 in notes and £126 in change. Not a bad days work he thought, ‘But fuck the small time stuff’ At that point he decided to move up to a higher league.

  He had never had a job and did not want one; ‘Jobs are for mugs,’ he would be forever telling his pals.

  TEN

  Over the next few years, he became a well-respected figure within the criminal fraternity in north Glasgow. He was known to be extremely cool in tense or dangerous situations, and was a man to be trusted, when situations were at their worst you could always depend on his support.

  One tale that had done the rounds a year or so earlier was about a bank heist, which had gone wrong.

  He had made the usual meticulous preparations before the job and it was to be run like a military operation. He had given the security aspect of the job to Andy Kylie who was a new member of his gang. It was his responsibility to find out when there was most cash available in the bank. The day and time were picked and his job was to open the front door of the bank to let the other members of the team in and out. That morning they had picked up the hardware required from a house in Drumchapel, but as the team approached the bank door they could see Andy starring at they notice prominently displayed on the dark brown door. It read:

  BRANCH CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT PLEASE USE OUR BRANCH IN GREAT WESTERN ROAD.

  The team looked at each other and did not seem to know what to do. Paul took control of the situation and ordered them back to the waiting un-needed getaway car. The team were able to laugh about it later that day when they had adjourned to their local hostelry

  Andy was full of apologies and Paul appeared to shrug it off as just one of those things

  The following week a body found floating in the canal basin at Buttney was identified as that of Andy Kylie.

  The police said there were no suspicious circumstances and that it appeared that after consuming too much alcohol he had fallen into the canal while trying to take a short cut home. There were many who wondered how much truth there was in the police verdict. Did someone extract a terrible revenge for making a certain Mr Lynch the subject of the local joke factory? Nobody knew for sure but it certainly did no harm to his reputation as a man not to be trifled with.

  As time passed, his reputation grew to gigantic proportions. Other people in Glasgow's underworld were going to him to plan jobs and he was receiving a very nice income without getting his hands dirty. However, he missed the adrenaline rush of doing jobs on his own and would sometimes pull off a job just to keep his hand in. He had obviously come to the attention of the police on several occasions, but nothing could ever be tied to him because of his careful planning strategy.

  The gang from Maryhill were going from strength to strength, and so decided that they would concentrate on finding a legitimate business to channel their cash. This was where his accountant proved to be invaluable. Alistair Orr had become his accountant about two years previously when the Inland Revenue was investigating him about his business dealings concerning the buying and selling of property. Orr had been recommended by a friend as the type of person who did not care too much, how someone earned their cash as long as there was a ten percent commission for Alistair Orr Esquire.

  The accountant had invested money of his own in Paul’s legitimate business deals and what he expected was his own money back with large bonuses included.

  He opened a taxicab company and soon had the lion’s share of the market on the north side of the city, and anyone who became a rival suffered all kinds of disasters. Cars would blow up for no apparent reason, offices would burn brightly after an electrical fault or drivers would leav
e without completing a full shift. Next day would be seen driving one of his vehicles. Ice cream vans, Security companies, courier services, Pubs, Snooker halls, nightclubs all became the gang’s domain. These business interests were guarded with violent repercussions on anyone who stepped out of line.

  Paul had no dealings in the drug trade, and believed it to be dodgy; however, after a night out with another well-known Glasgow criminal family, he changed his mind. A deal was set up for him, and he went personally to meet the seller. They agreed a sum of money, and in addition, the pick-up and dispatch areas. He told the seller that it was the last time he would be available on a personal level. Willie his right hand man would handle that side of the business in future transactions.

  The drug scene made more money in the first year than all the money he had earned in the past five from his other sources.

  He knew that he had encroached on other people’s territories but was not overly worried about it. If any threat or action were taken against him or his gang, he would retaliate ruthlessly.

  ELEVEN

  Antonio Canttani was part off a large family and had three brothers all older than him. He also had two younger sisters, and there was an abundance of uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews. When the family came together for any reason, there would be in excess of thirty people.

  On this wet Monday morning, he was sitting in the lounge of a pub that his uncle owned. The surroundings were pleasant with soft seats and subdued lighting. The rich leather of the Chesterfield sofa felt wonderfully warm and inviting, there was nobody else in the premises at this early time off the day. It was a large room used mainly for wedding receptions. Its other function was for funeral parties. The high ornate walls perfectly enhanced the beautiful ceiling. If it was not for the troublesome thoughts going through his mind, he could have enjoyed sitting in this wonderful room. He sipped at a large glass of red wine as he talked quietly to his oldest uncle in subdued tones.

  They both smoked large cigars, and were halfway through a bottle of fine wine.

  ‘I can’t believe that Paul Lynch is old Lasardi's grandson. If the information had come from any other source bar you, I would have dismissed it out off hand. This is an amazing coincidence, because until now the small bits of hassle from Lynch were bearable in fact I had decided just to ignore it. Now that is impossible because the family honour is at stake. The feud must be continued, as you know my own father went to an interment camp during the war. He then found out that Lasardi did not even spend one day in custody because he had changed his name. I think we will try to cause Paul Lasardi as much damage as we can. Do you agree Fred? ‘

  ‘Yes I’m with you all the way. We must do this in memory of my brother, your father. We will put together a plan to deal with this Lynch’

  The Canttani family were all business people generally of the criminal variety, and had good contacts in many areas of Glasgow.

  ‘We will have him watched for a short time, see how he operates, and find out any obvious strengths or weaknesses. See who his main men are. Try to find out who are his biggest customers, and then implement a strategy to draw him out of his lair. Once he is in our hands, we will see who wins the final battle in the feud. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed let's see what he is made off ‘

  The two men raised their glasses of wine to each other and drank a toast to the success of their venture.

  Paul being unaware that there was anyone interested in continuing an ancient feud went about his business in his usual meticulous manner.

  TWELVE

  Paul used the legitimate businesses to launder most of the dirty money. There was so much of it rolling in that he would have to come up with another way to dispose of the huge volume of cash. It amazed him just how much went across his desk on a daily basis; of course, it did not cross his desk in a physical sense. When he looked at the figures Willie presented to him, he almost had to pinch himself.

  ‘Not bad for a couple of wee shites from the auld Maryhill,’ He would laughingly tell big Willie

  He took advice from Alistair Orr, who came up with various suggestions. The buying of land was a good investment, as the accountant had sources privy to confidential information concerning the local Councils plans for purchasing sites suitable for future housing.

  It would be Paul Lynch's name on the purchase documentation, but Orr would have a large slice of the predicted profits.

  He sponsored a local football team who proudly wore the Lynch logo on their shirts. He in fact owned the ground on which the park and clubhouse stood. He also had the bar out to franchise and his wholesale alcohol and Soft Drinks Company supplied this. The firm had been acquired recently when the owner decided that to sell the company would be beneficial to his well-being.

  He was in the lounge area when a person about his own age entered. The stranger ordered a pint of lager, paid for it then sat down almost facing where he and a girl were standing. Paul felt the hairs on the back of his head raise and knew deep inside that this was trouble coming for a visit. Having a natural ability to sense danger he recognised the signs and, unconsciously reached to touch the knife and his old automatic friend that nestled snugly at his back.

  He never took his eyes from the stranger all the time he was in the lounge. As he closely but covertly watched the man, he took in his appearance. Five foot eight or nine in height, stocky built, dark hair cut stylishly. He also had darkish skin with powerful looking broad shoulders. It was the person’s eyes that he found of most interest, dark, as dark as the deepest black and cold as a northern wind in winter. When the stranger rose to leave, he felt relieved but very anxious.

  He immediately sent one of his scouts out to follow the man and report anything of interest. The man who was scout that day was Ronnie Deacon; he had played this role many times and knew exactly what to do. Tail the mark, but not too close and find out where he stayed and if possible his name. If he came up with a good result, he would be on a good drink tonight at the expense of his boss.

  He followed the man all the way to the east end of Glasgow. At Dennistoun near Alexandra parade, the man pulled into a side street just off the main road. He continued to follow then realised the man was stopping. He found himself in a dead end with a lock-up corrugated tin garage about fifty yards in front of him. There were no other buildings in the desolate deserted street. He pulled into a space between two cars and awaited events, and he did not have long to wait. A red car pulled into the deserted street closely followed by a white transit van. The scout was still not aware of anything untoward until the red car passed him and then reversed up to his offside wheel-arch. The van pulled in tight behind him. Ronnie was well trapped. Panic. What to do? He did not even have as much as a penknife on him. Four men exited the car and made their way to the driver’s door .One of them was a huge brute of a man about six foot six and must have weighed about twenty stone.

  ‘Out, yah fuckin bam’ said the giant.

  His immediate reaction was to lock the car doors but he knew it would do no good against this mob. He got out of the car and one of the other men appeared at his side with a pistol.

  ‘Move your arse son’ said the man.

  The terrified scout reluctantly moved down the length of the quiet cul de sac to the garage at the very bottom. Inside the garage was the man he had been following. Ronnie’s hands were tied behind his back, and he was then attached to a chain- pulley that hung from the ceiling. The garage was a much bigger place than it looked from outside. Down one side were three pits for fixing cars, the other wall was an office building, and everywhere was covered in thick black grease. There were also workbenches along the top wall, and what looked like engine parts scattered on the concrete floor.

  The man who he had followed introduced himself.

  He said he was Peter Canttani, but before he could say anymore a door at the far end of the office opened.

  ‘Ah, at last. The main man has arrived’ Peter said.

  With a bow,
he introduced Antonio Canttani and asked if he was acquainted with the name.

  He replied in the negative and stated that he was only here to look for a repair shop for his car.

  The man Antonio laughed but the laugh did not reach his cold dark eyes.

  ‘Ronnie boy we know who you are, and who you work for’ he continued.

  ‘If what I say is wrong then how do I know your name? I know your address and your wife’s name. She is called Elise and your son is Harry. Well to be exact Harold James Deacon. Would you like to hear his date of birth? I could tell you that as well?’

  He was shocked. He was no big man in Paul’s operation and yet this cold-eyed bastard seemed to know all about him.

  ‘Ronnie boy don't look so worried we know you are just a soldier in Lynch's army. We have nothing against you personally. All you have to do is give a message to your boss’

  The cold-eyed Canttani suddenly shouted

  ‘Pull!’ and the man on the Chain- dragged it taut.

  He was raised several inches off the ground and the pain in his arms and chest were sudden and excruciating. He screamed but the length of tape, which had been rapidly slapped over his mouth, dulled the noise of it.

  ‘Now Ronnie boy I will give you this message only once so listen carefully. Tell your boss I'm coming to get him. Tell him that unless he agrees to a merger with us we will take him and his entire mob out of the picture. Remember Ronnie, I have a lot of information about you and your family. So be very careful. I also have plenty information about the rest of your second rate crew ‘

  When Canttani finished talking he pulled a battery-operated drill from a box and to his horror told him that he was about to do a little job on his left kneecap?