Miracle On The Clyde (Glasgow Crime)

by A D Evans

  His head was spinning trying to imagine some other way out of his pressing situation. If he did not deliver Paul then his neck would be on the chopping block. These people did not mess about. You could not offer them to pay your debt back at a pound a week. They would take a pound of flesh, literally, and from the most painful of places.

  No! There was no other solution; he had to give them his old friend. Even if he went to him and explained the situation, it would be too late. The very fact that he had thought up a plan with another mob could be enough for his old friend to top him.

  He had contemplated doing a runner to Sunny Spain with what cash he could muster; however, this was not on. The reason he had travelled to the city by train was that the other mob had banned him from all airports in Britain. They had also confiscated his passport, and all his credit cards, but had left him with his driving licence. He was also aware that he had been followed since leaving Manchester that morning. He had spotted the person and the guy knew it, because he had deliberately shown himself. His tail was now standing six feet away from him in the station bar, nonchalantly sipping a pint of lager. A man appeared and stood beside his tail. There ensued a brief exchange of words. His English escort departed, and his Scottish tail mouthed a cheery 'cheers', in his direction.

  He had no chance of going anywhere except were he had been instructed.

  He had left the station and taken a hack to a hotel located in the south side of Glasgow. The hotel was a first class establishment, and extremely comfortable. There was only one-way in and one-way out and ‘Godzilla’ his six foot five inch tail sat reading a paper at the only exit door. You could tell it was a class joint; there were no seals on the mini-bar fridge. You could order just about anything from room service. Well he thought:

  ‘If you're going to commit treason you might as well do it in style’

  He then proceeded to get as drunk as possible.

  ‘At least I’ll cost the bastards plenty’ was his last thought before he keeled over and went into a restless sleep.

  As he slept, plans were being put into action that would bring his friend empire down forever. Frankie was the key to the ever-tightening noose around his oldest friend’s neck.

  He woke the next morning to a lovely hangover, and immediately got on to room service, ordering some Alka Seltzer with two painkillers. He headed into the bathroom and had a cold shower. His order arrived delivered by a nice looking young wench, and despite his hangover, went into ‘pull em' mode.

  ‘Hello hen how is you? Do you fancy a bit of lunch with me later on?’

  The girl wore a nametag, which identified her as Jacqueline.

  ‘No thank you Sir. I meet my husband Jack for lunch’

  ‘Could you not make a wee excuse to him? We could go down to a nice restaurant for a meal. Maybe even, hit one of the real class places that the beautiful people use. Then we could spend the rest of the afternoon at a nice hotel, drinking champagne and getting to know each other a bit better’

  The girls face went bright red, as she refused his offer.

  ‘If you will just sign this Sir, I'll be on my way thank you’ she held out the leather bound recording book.

  ‘Aye a suppose so’ grumbled Frankie, as he reluctantly signed for his order, and let the girl leave.

  ‘Women, you offer them a freebie and they throw it back in your face. They are not only a different gender; they are also a different species. Aye they are all weirdoes Frankie boy. Hump them and dump them from now on’

  The time was approaching one o'clock when he decided to contact Paul. Checking the number in his organiser, and then dialling. When there was no reply from his house, he tried the mobile number.

  It rang about five or six times before it was answered.

  ‘Hello pal, fancy coming out to play’ he shouted into the phone

  ‘Is that you Frankie?’ said Paul's voice.

  ‘It is indeed my good man and your uncle Frankie is going to give you the best Christmas present ever’

  ‘It’s good to hear your voice pal, but I’m not in the mood for celebrating right now. Did you hear about my granny and granddad?’

  ‘Naw’. ‘What about them?’

  ‘There both dead pal. Within a week of each other’

  ‘OH! Dear Christ no. Not the two off them?’

  ‘Aye pal. Both gone. I can’t t believe it myself’

  ‘Where are you just now?’

  ‘I’m heading for the house. I stayed out last night, you know me I never did like being on my ownio’

  ‘Right. I’ll meet you there in an hour. I’ve still to try to arrange access to visit the wee yin. O.K. pal?’

  ‘Aye that’s fine mate. I’m lookin' forward to seeing you’

  ‘Right pal see you soon,’ as he hung up the phone.

  He had never felt so bad in all his life.

  ‘How the fuck can I go through with this? What the fuck is happening to me that I can sell my best pal for a handful of silver? Well it’s not exactly silver. It’s brownish and comes in little neat packages handy for shooting into your arm, or any available vein.

  ‘Come on think Frankie you haven’t much time left, because once you start the ball rolling there is no going back. Why the fuck is life so complicated?’

  He started to dial his ex. ‘wife’s number.

  ‘Hello hen, It's me’ he said when the phone was answered.

  ‘I don't fuckin' think so’ Replied a deep male voice.

  ‘Sorry mate I must have dialled the wrong number.’ He cut the connection, and re-dialled with care. The same voice answered.

  ‘Sorry mate it's me again, I’m trying to phone 255 0003’

  ‘Aye that's the right number, but I can assure you I’m not your wee hen’

  ‘I was lookin' for Fiona’

  ‘This is her number, but who the fuck are you?’ said the deep voice

  He shouted at the phone.

  ‘I’m her man. So who the fuck are you yah bam?’

  A female came on the phone,

  ‘Who is this?’ She demanded.

  ‘It's Frankie. Who's that guy?’

  ‘It's my new boyfriend you plonker. What do you want?’

  ‘I want to see my wee girl at Christmas,’ he replied.

  ‘No fuckin Chance, yah dick. Were going away on holiday, and the plane leaves in a few hours so you've had it. Merry Christmas, Frankie darling. Now fuck off’

  The phone was cut off; when he tried to re-dial, it was just ringing out. He imagined his ex-wife, her long red hair, beautiful features screwed up in a snarl. He thought of her long legs that seemed to go on forever, and her athletic body. With a serious twinge of regret, he realised how much he missed her. He suddenly stood up, and headed for the door.

  ‘Aye well, no happy families this year then. I might as well just go and sell my best mate to the Barbarians. Merry Christmas. ‘BAH! HUMBUG!’

  THIRTY

  He had hired a car at the hotel, and arrived at Paul’s house bang on time. They greeted each other warmly.

  ‘Well come on Adonis, tell me what you've been up to,’ said Paul.

  ‘Never mind what I’ve been up to. What happened to the old yins?’

  Paul related all the happenings of the last few weeks.

  ‘Fuck sake mate it’s enough to drive you to drink. How did wee Ann-Marie cope with it?’

  His grieving friend told him about how she and Davie took over, and how they had sorted everything out.

  ‘That’s good to hear. I’m glad she and Davie are doing well, and its turned out he's no such a bad wee guy after all. What do you think Paul?’

  ‘Naw, he's alright the wee man. The way he worked over the last wee while has put him top of my Christmas card list. I'm going to help them out with a few bob to have a good holiday. They deserve one’

  ‘Aye that would be nice of you mate,’

  ‘So come on. How are things in darkest Manchester?’

  ‘Things are tremendo
us in Manchester, and I’m making a fuckin fortune down there. The only problem we have is that we can’t get enough gear to sell to the junkie bastards. We’ve cut the shit with everything you can think of, but there still isn’t enough of it. As a matter of fact mate that's my main reason for being up here’

  ‘We cant t help you Frankie. The ways things are just now were struggling too, because those polis bastards are getting as wide as Argyle Street. We work out new ways to bring the gear in, and within days, the bastards have cottoned on to it. I sometimes think there are more undercover polis than fuckin' dope sellers. It's really getting hard going to keep the supply lines open and uncompromised’

  ‘Well if that’s the case I might just have some good news for you. There is an operation being set up just now. It’s the best, and it's a first time run through this channel. No chance of being stopped; its foolproof and guaranteed to be successful. Would sir like to hear more?’

  ‘Aye of course I would you daft bam,’ Laughed Paul.

  Just as Frankie was about to go into his sales pitch the business phone rang. It was big Willie.

  ‘Listen Paul we have a big problems. You had better head down here quickly, but I don't want to go into it over the phone’

  ‘Can you not sort it big man? Frankie’s just arrived from down south’

  ‘No. I’m sorry Paul I can’t deal with this one, it needs your attention’

  ‘Okay big yin. I’ll be there as soon as’

  ‘Have you any wheels mate?’

  ‘Aye, ah rented a Merc’

  ‘Right we'll take your car then, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Aye, no bother my man’

  The black Mercedes car was parked at Paul’s door.

  ‘Look at the registration. It suits you Frankie’

  Frankie had a quick look, the last three letters read,

  ‘MUG’

  ‘You are so fuckin’ funny Mr. Lynch. Maybe you should give up dealing in drugs and go on to being a stand-up comedian’

  ‘Nope, I’ll leave the comedy stuff to you mate. Seeing as when you were born everybody thought you were a joke’

  ‘Do you know who you’re talking to pal?’ Kidded Frankie

  ‘Why, have you forgotten your name again son?’

  The good-hearted banter continued as they got into the hired car, and as he started the engine noticed they had company.

  Frankie drew up level with the waiting unmarked police car, and said.

  ‘Follow us gents if you want any cheap gear’

  The two old friends headed over the Buttney towards Maryhill, and began reminiscing about old times.

  ‘Do you remember when Ralph Douglas cut his head?’

  They both went into fits of laughter at what had happened.

  Ralph stayed in Ruchill Street. One night he and his girlfriend had been wakened by a noise, and they both thought someone was trying to break in to their flat through the back window. Ralph, who was naked, picked up a baseball bat and crept through to the back bedroom. He couldn't see anything so he slithered up to the window. When he peeked out. He bent over low to get a better view. His dog, which had followed him, decided that this was too good an opportunity to miss, and licked his bare arse. He jumped so sharply that his head went through the glass window. A trip to the hospital and fourteen stitches later he came home and threw the poor dog out of the same window.

  ‘I heard he threw the dog out because it wouldn't do it again,’ Laughed Frankie.

  Paul’s sides were sore from all the merriment.

  ‘Aye Frankie, it’s good to have you home. I haven’t laughed much for a long time. Everything has been so serious recently so it's good to have wee bit of the banter’

  The car pulled into the industrial unit that Paul used as a base.

  The C.C.T.V. camera followed them as they approached the door of the unit.

  He said something quietly into the intercom. There was a buzz, and they were granted access.

  ‘Right Willie what’s the score?’ Demanded Paul.

  ‘You are going to flip your fuckin' lid when you see this’

  Willie handed him a box, which contained a large amount of cash.

  ‘Give me a starter for ten big man. What am I lookin' for?’

  ‘Check the fuckin' serial numbers’

  Hel did as his under-boss suggested. A terrible look appeared in his eye.

  ‘Who fuckin' took this?’ He yelled

  ‘Me boss’ Answered Colly McGuire

  ‘I just didn't get the chance to check it out before I got here. Boss I’m sorry, but I didn’t think any cunt would be daft enough to pass counterfeit notes to us’

  ‘Well you were fuckin' wrong weren't you’ said big Willie.

  ‘Aw come on big yin. Would you have checked it? Would you?’ Replied Colly.

  ‘Hang on, let’s no fall out about this, I’m sorry for shouting. Your right Colly, none of us would have checked it. I think we're getting a bit complacent. We are starting to believe we can’t be done. Who was the dough from Colly?’

  ‘It was from Jamie Young. That skinny bastard in the east end’

  ‘That bastard, Connolly’s behind this I’ll bet. How much are we hit for?’ Asked Paul.

  ‘Ninety four thousand pound. We would have to deal out a lot of stitches to pay that debt.’

  ‘Stitches fuck all. I will shoot the bastards dyed blonde head off, Willie, call a meeting for the troops. Tell them to be here at six tonight, and no fuckin’ excuses.’

  Six o'clock on the dot the meeting started. All the gang members and Frankie were there. Paul addressed the gathering of his troops.

  ‘For anyone who doesn’t know, this is my mate Frankie Sutherland. He is a trusted friend of mine since the pope was an altar boy so you can talk freely around him. Right introductions over. Well you all know why we’re here; we've been ripped off to the tune of ninety-four grand

  ‘What we are going to do about it? I’ll tell you. We are going to get our gear back, plus a wee bonus. Willie have you got the gen on that prick Connolly's operations?’

  His polite tone was a warning to all and sundry.

  “Watch out, the polite mans about”

  ‘Aye boss it's all here.’

  THIRTYONE

  While the gang were making their plans Frankie’s daughter, ex- wife and her boyfriend, were all sitting quietly looking at the four badly papered walls of a dingy flat in Haghill Street. They had been sitting there for a couple of hours tied hand and foot. His ex-wife Fiona had a gag in her mouth, because earlier she could not keep quiet. In fact, she had screamed so loud the people who abducted her were forced to slap her hard as a final warning. She was told clearly that as it was really only the child they were interested in, they would shoot her if necessary. Her boyfriend had put up no opposition at all, and just sat with his head bowed, and looked as if he were sleeping. The couple had been told that as long as they co-operated they would be released unharmed in a few days. The taxi had arrived to transport them to the airport, and the driver was very polite, helping them with their luggage. The trio sat back for their journey, when the driver said he had a problem with the brakes on the vehicle and asked if the would mind swapping to another car. They replied that as long as they were not late for their flight then they didn’t have a problem with changing vehicles. The taxi pulled into a lane just off Clouston Street. The adults and child were suddenly aware of several men around the vehicle, and they were ordered at gunpoint out of the taxi and into a van. Fiona at once started screaming, but the gun of an assailant was pushed forcibly between her teeth and she was told to shut up or else. She had been long enough associated with Frankie and his kind to heed the gunman s threat. The back of the van was very uncomfortable as there were no seats, and the people were sliding over the floor as the van wound its merry way to Haghill. The trio were forced to leave the van and walk to a nearby house situated three up in a tenement type flat.

  Fiona stared at the damp stains
that covered most of the walls. ‘This must be to do with that prick Frankie,’ she thought. ‘Surely, he wouldn't go to these games just to see the wee yin. Then again, maybe he would. He is daft enough, but why the fuck, did I ever get involved with him?’ Everyone warned me that he was no good, but that seemed to add to the attraction. All he ever said was that he was the up and coming man, and that we would be rich like the royal family. She had a wee laugh to herself as the thought came to her; maybe it was the sit- com Royale Family he was referring to? He had always been unpredictable. You just never knew what was coming next, and he was always plotting crazy schemes. Funnily enough sometimes they paid off. She remembered one day they had been walking down the street in her home town of Airdrie. The local police sergeant had passed her and Frankie, and whispered to him

  ‘Sutherland you couldn't screw the fuckin sweety shop. So why don't you fuck off back to your shitty city. Pollute the air there, instead of the good clean air of our wee quiet town’

  Frankie didn't answer him back; he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. That night he did break into the local sweet shop and came out with a fortune in cash, and a few thousand cigarettes. The wee shop was situated at the side of a small stream, and earlier in the evening he had thrown a half brick through the back window. In the wee small hours he had returned and entered the shop via the broken window. The business was an old-fashioned sweet shop, and stocked all sorts of delicacies in glass jars. Dark brown wooden panels surrounded the shop with poster adverts for all kinds of sweets were everywhere. The thin pencil light of the intruder’s torch would not be seen from outside the premises

  The shop was carrying its monthly order of cigarettes, so he began running a shuttle service from the open window. He removed things from the shop, stacked them neatly in the dark shadow provided by a nearby road bridge. From his hiding place it was only a couple of yards to his van. He had parked it unobtrusively along with several others in a small car park.