by A D Evans
TWENTYTHREE
The meeting at Bothwell was finally over, and at the end of the meeting, Paul had laid six sets of airline tickets on the table. He told the men they were open tickets to any destination in the world, and went on to say that three families could go at a time. It was up to them to decide who went at what time, but he emphasised to them that they would meet back at this hotel six weeks to the day. He wanted the holidays taken and everybody fresh, as a parting gesture he threw six envelopes on the table. ‘Travelling expenses boys, enjoy yourselves’
As the other members of the gang dispersed to their various homes it was then Willie drew Paul aside and told him his doubts about Ronnie. The initial reaction of the gangland boss had been to have the errant gang member executed immediately, and it would also have to be publicly known the exact reason why he was topped. People were dealt with in this way for a reason, and the reason was to deter anyone with similar notions to turn against the gang. Willie however came up with a plan to ferret out why he was being paid large cash amounts from Kenny Connelly. K.C. as he liked to be called was at the head of the drug scene in the south side of Glasgow. Big Willie said they could also use him to pass false information to their rivals but he doubted that this option would ever be used, and he knew another and more secure way to deal with traitors.
In the first Instance, he decided to visit Ronnie at home on the pretext of getting him to do a driving job. This served two purposes; firstly, it would let him see how the family were living, and secondly it would keep his family off their back for a few days. The gang members had all just recently reached home when they were all phoned and told to report immediately to the boss’s house for an emergency security meeting .No reasons were given and in fact none were asked for. Within seventy minutes they were all sitting around the massive dinner table in their boss’s dining room. He began the meeting by insuring everyone that the room had been swept for bugs, and they were free to talk openly. He continued talking, explaining to everyone what would happen to any gang member who was a double agent, a spy, or a grass. He threw a loaded automatic pistol on the table, stating that anyone who betrayed him would be gut shot and left to die a long slow terrible death. They would be found tied up in the old railway tunnels, which were swarming with hoards of hungry rats. He then went on to explain the cause of the meeting, and some of the men were quite shocked to hear of their former friend’s treason. However, they were equally determined that it should not go without punishment.
Willie put before them the plan either to use Ronnie as a means of passing duff information, or to eliminate the problem finally. He told them that he would decide his fate on the day of the visit to his home. This was not quite true, as Willie had already planned the ex-gangsters demise.
He chose two of the gang and took them aside for a secret briefing where they were the told of the part they would be expected to play in the plan. When they rejoined the rest of the group the meeting was closed, and a short time later they all went back home to their wives and families.
Another day in the life of the Maryhill mob was over, and Paul sighed as he sipped a fine brandy, while listening to Atlantic Crossing by Rod the mod. He sat in the sumptuous lounge that had been decorated by the latest talent to emerge from the sparkling world of interior design. Everything blended so nicely in the bright airy room. The curtains were a perfect match for the carpet, which was so thick you could mow it. The perfect leather suites and the subtle lighting.
‘Why? I wish I knew why I want to spend all this money on decor, and property’ he mused. He knew it made him feel good to spend large amounts of money; he had spent fortunes on other people, and assumed they would regard him as a great guy. He sometimes even gave to people that he disliked. ‘Why?’ The question always returned.
‘Aye well I’m not going to dwell on it anymore tonight’ he decided. He settled himself for the night but felt quite lonely and sad. When the gang were away to their own little lives with their families, he always felt it most.
‘I wish Marion would come home soon’ he sighed. Marion was the woman Paul intended to marry when the time was right.
Big Willie went to the house the next day. It was Saturday morning, and as Ronnie had a kid he assumed that someone would be in. His wife answered the door, and greeted him with a cheery.
‘Good morning Willie, that drunken' bums not up yet, I'll just give him a shout’
She had some voice, and screamed upstairs.
‘Ronnie there's somebody to see you, so move your fat, drunkin’, lazy arse’
‘Just go into the livin' room Willie, I’ll fuckin' move him now’
He went into the room as requested, and sat down on the only seat not cluttered with clothes or kids toys.
He again heard her dulcet tones screaming
‘Fuckin move you drunken slob, up off your lazy fat arse’
This woman has a way with words thought the big man. Imagine coming home to her with a short wage packet. Imagine coming home to her at all, he laughed to himself. She makes ma wife look like Samantha Fox, in comparison.
Ronnie eventually pushed his unshaven face through the door.
‘All right big man? How’s it going? What brings you to the wilds of Summerston on a cold fuckin morning like this?
‘You should know better than to ask questions like that. Don't get in a flap; it's a driving job that needs done. You know the boss, he wants it done yesterday’
‘Okay. I’ll be five minutes big man’
His son Harry was sitting at their computer terminal, he was clicking away at the keyboard.
He was mystified at the speed the young boy could type.
‘You're good at that wee man,’ he commented.
‘Aye I’ve been doing it at the school for year’s noo Willie,’ replied the boy.
‘For years. He must be only about ten or eleven.
‘You’re getting auld, big man,’ he muttered to himself.
Just then, Harry shouted
‘Dad there's a message from Uncle Kenny on the msn’
His dad didn't hear him shouting due to the water running in the wash hand basin in the upstairs bathroom.
Alarm bells were ringing in Willie's head. It was his business to know all the gang members relations including their wives. He had never heard of an Uncle Kenny, and then the name on the bank transfer slip came back to him at once. It must be Kenny Connolly. In a way, he had hoped he would be wrong about Ronnie. He always had got on well with him, but at this moment in time, his own son was sealing his father’s death warrant.
He called on his in-built sixth sense that seemed to come into operation when danger or adversity reared its ugly head. He knew by the way he was feeling that he had been right all along about the treachery to Paul.
‘Uncle Kenny? I didn't know you had an Uncle Kenny’. He said to wee Harry.
‘I don’t Willie. That’s the name my dad’s pal uses for their msn chats’
‘What's this ms thing you’re talking about?’ he enquired.
‘It’s a communication chat service. It’s great fun big yin. You should get a computer’
‘Ach aye, ah get you noo wee man’ So what’s your uncle saying the day then?’
‘He's just telling my dad to carry on with the good work, and that he'll see him later on today. That's quite funny considering my dad hasn’t worked since as long as I can remember’
‘It sounds to me as if he's trying to wind your auld dad up. Maybe you would be better not telling your dad wee man. What do you think yourself?’
‘Aye maybe you’re right. I’ll tell him later when his hangover has improved. Aye that's what I’ll do.
‘Good man son, no point upsetting your wee dad’
As the two men were leaving the house, his wife inquired when he would be back.
‘It might be a while hen, because we've a lot of things to sort out for the boss,’ replied Willie
When the two men got to the car Ronnie, asked
him if the car was automatic. He confirmed that it was indeed an automatic.
‘Can I drive then?’
‘Aye alright. It’s just that I thought you wouldn’t be able for it’
‘It's alright as long as it doesn’t have a clutch. Where to mate?’
‘Head out the Blackhill Road then on out to the Campsie’s. We're going to a wee farm that I know high up in the hills. Do you like the Campsie's hills?’
‘Aye mate, I love being up there’
‘Aye, you could spend an eternity up there just lying about’
It wasn't long after they reached the Campsie farm that he was confessing all too big Willie.
He was lying naked on a wooden table; his hands were pinned to it by six-inch nails hammered through the palms. As soon as the big guy had poured acid on to his genitals he had started screaming.
‘My goodness, all that noise for such a small thing’ chided Willie
‘Well Ronald boy you are in deep shit’ said the big man. ‘Tell us all you can about your lovely old uncle Kenny and we'll make your death quick, and we'll also see that your family get a few bob. So spill the beans or the next dose of acid goes up your fat arse’
The captive ex-gang member was whimpering, and praying to a god that he hadn't considered since he was a choirboy.
‘Well?’ Inquired Willie. ‘Would you like a suppository that is guaranteed to give you the best clean out you have ever had? Are you going to stop greetin' and tell us everything?’
He started talking, and told them how Kenny Connolly had approached him when he was at a weak moment; offered him money and a place in his organisation once Paul had been done away with. He went on to say that the computer did the job for all the information he passed on. He related how Connolly had purchased a brand new system and installed it in his house. He himself could not work it but his son Harry could. At the mention of his son, he started crying again.
‘Honest the wee man didn't know what he was sending. There were no names used, just code words’
He wrote down the code words and the msn contact address
‘Well Ronnie pal is that everything?’ he said.
‘Aye I swear it is,’ snuffled the doomed man through a veil of tears.
‘Well we better get the unpleasantness over with then. If that’s okay with you Ronnie boy?’
The man started begging for his life.
‘Please big man let me go. Please, I’ll disappear nobody will ever know. Please big man show some compassion for my wife and my wee boy’
‘That's exactly what I’m doing Ronnie boy. I’m getting rid of a bad influence in their lives. Oh and by the way, I am terrible for telling lies. You’re going to suffer before you go, you two faced wee snivelling bastard. ‘
‘Hold his head,’ he ordered the other two gang members.
He slowly and delicately poured the acid into the man’s staring eyes one at a time. The screaming was horrendous.
‘Eye, eye, I don't think he's enjoying this as much as I am,’ said the big man. The condemned man passed into blissful unconsciousness, but was ruthlessly brought back to reality by a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over his naked body.
‘Okay. Now we'll deal with the part of your body that caused all the problems’ smiled Willie
He forced his captive’s mouth open. Grabbed his tongue in a pair of pliers and using all his brute strength tore the offending organ from the blood-splattered mouth. As the man squirmed on the table, he leaned down to his ear, and whispered so that the others could not hear him
‘By the way, your wee son is going for a nice run to the Campsie hills with his Uncle Willie, tomorrow morning’
Deep sobs were emanating from the broken bloodied body as they threw it into the trench still alive.
‘Bye, Ronnie. See you in purgatory’ shouted Willie. The J.C.B. filled in the trench with the quick lime laced earth.
When the other two gang members left the farm big Willie vomited his guts up, and was also crying sorely.
‘Fuck this job’ he said aloud, and was surprised at the sound of his own voice in the tranquil stillness of the isolated hill farm. He had to set an example. It was a certainty that the other gang members would hear of today's events. Anyone in their right mind would think twice before betraying his beloved Paul. Of course the last threat he had made to the dying man would not happen; he would never hurt a child. The other two men did not know what he had whispered, but the sobs of the dying man would not have been wasted on them. They would know that he had threatened something diabolically evil, and their own imaginations would be in overdrive. The things he had to do to keep Paul safe.
‘Straight to hell for you Willie boy’ he laughed to himself.
‘Thank god I'm an atheist’
TWENTYFOUR
Paul Looked out of the window. It was snowing slightly, and November was only half way through.
‘Well’ he thought ‘I better get moving, if I've to be in town by twelve o'clock.’
He was going to meet another gang member for a fun day out. A little gambling, some snooker, a couple of drinks, and a few willing women. Marion his girlfriend was still away working and he was a normal male with all the feelings that brought, so he justified his wee peccadilloes to himself. Aye, a boy's day out to be savoured. There was something particularly enjoyable about going out on a Saturday with a mate.
He decided to leave his car, and to take a black hack. For security reasons he never phoned a taxi, but walked over to the nearby rank at Anniesland cross. He wrapped up well and ventured out into the snow immediately he spotted an unmarked police car sitting about twenty yards from his front door. He could have lost them by using his back door technique, but could not be bothered; He gave them a wave and walked at a brisk pace to the main road. There were plenty of taxis available, and within fifteen minutes he was in central Glasgow. He exited the taxi at Buchanan Street; headed for the escalator, but half way down he looked back to see if his friend from Strathclyde’s finest were following. No sign of them. ‘Good’ He sighed.
He doubled back and headed for his rendezvous a bar near the Pavilion theatre. He spotted Steff Hamilton standing with a drink. He was his usual immaculate self, and at just over five feet eight he was not the typical stereotype gangland enforcer. He was wearing a dark blue business suit, a blue shirt, with a light blue silk tie. His black shoes gleamed with well-burnished polish. His hair was cut short, and his rather long sharp featured face appeared even more accented because of it. He was very thin and seemed to offer little in the muscular department. The two men greeted each other, and ordered drinks. They drifted away from the bar, and by habit sat facing outwards where they could see everything that moved.
‘How are you doing Paul?’
‘Good, things are going really well. What about yourself?’
‘I'm getting there slowly, but surely’.
‘‘Right then let’s plan what mischief we can get up to today’ he said.
The men decided they would go to a card school, which they knew was operating over at Cathcart road. Steff was known as a card mechanic, and could shuffle cards any way you liked, but also still deal himself a winning hand every time.
This was not his only occupation, he was the coldest hearted person that he had ever met. Before he had come to work with him Steff had been a free-lance collector for many of the various criminals in Glasgow. He owed allegiance to no one gang, but because he was so good at his job all the gangsters respected him. The Maryhill boss had heard so many stories about him that he was keen to meet him in the flesh. The two had first met about three years previously through Stevie Hamilton an old friend of his from his school days, and fortunately Steff was Stevie's cousin.
He was surprised when they were introduced, he expected someone that would look like his own Big Willie. How wrong he was because on that day Steff was dressed like a London insurance broker, and he realised just how deceptive appearances can be. The men seemed to get along w
ith each other right from the very start. They ended up going for something to eat and then a drink.
Later that evening it was shown to him in stark detail just how deadly his newfound friend could be. They were in a nightclub in central Glasgow, bothering nobody and sitting talking quietly. Suddenly a man appeared at their table, his opening words were,
‘You two bastards better stop eyeing up my woman, or I’ll fuckin chib yees’
Paul was about to react to the accuser, until Steff put a hand on his arm and said quietly,
‘Let me deal with this’
He sat back and waited to see what would happen.
Their accuser stood glaring at them from across the table.
Steff asked him who his woman was.
‘That's her over there’ the staring man replied, pointing to a wee red head sitting at the adjacent bar.
‘Do you mean the small red headed girl?’ he asked the irate man.
‘Aye yah fuckin' poof, that’s her’
‘If I went into a whorehouse, and all they could produce was an ugly wee scruffy lice ridden red head like that. I would ask for my money back friend,’ he said with a serious look on his face.
It took a few seconds to register with the jealous man just what he had said.
‘Yah cheeky wee bastard’ shouted the aggrieved man as he launched himself into an attack.
To this day Paul has never seen anyone move so quickly from a sitting position, to an attack mode. He hit his attacker under the chin with the heel of his hand. The guy's face burst apart as he performed an unplanned back somersault then landing in a heap at the corner of the bar. The bouncers appeared within seconds, and escorted the screaming red head and her he- man boyfriend down the stair and out into Sauchiehall Street and the cold night air.
He congratulated Steff on his performance, but he said it was disappointing as far as he was concerned. He went on to say that to him violence was just a tool to be used when there was no other way out or alternatively if someone is paying me to be violent.
