Miracle On The Clyde (Glasgow Crime)

by A D Evans

  ‘Did you eat all the soup yah greedy wee bastard?’

  ‘No screamed Johnny you ate it yourself; look at your shirt it's covered in it’

  ‘Aye, I must have eaten it right enough wee man. I’m sorry for shouting at you’

  Off course he could not keep his secret to himself, and told his pals in the pub.

  From that day on he was known by the name of Two Soups Sutherland.

  His brother found out about the trick that had been played on him, but instead of being annoyed he had seen the funny side of it and joined in the ribbing of his brother the now infamous ‘Johnny two soups’.

  He was on his third whisky when a stranger asked if he could play a game of dominoes.

  His offer was accepted and the game went on. Johnny won the next five or six games, and the stranger seemed to become a worse player with each hand.

  ‘Are you cheating yah auld bastard?’ The stranger angrily exploded, as he lost for the tenth game in a row.

  ‘No son I’m not cheating. You're just a Shitty player, that’s all,’ retorted two soups.

  His hand ventured towards his inside pocket. Wee Johnny froze.

  ‘Listen son it's only a game take your money back and we’ll call it a day okay?’

  Just at that point, a large guy who had been watching the game walked over and whispered into the stranger’s ear.

  The stranger went chalk white and his Adam's apple began moving up and down rapidly. Without another word he stood up and walked out the pub door.

  ‘Thanks big man, I don't know what you said to him, but whatever it was it gave the bastard diarrhoea,’ said wee Johnny.

  ‘Don't worry yourself auld yin. I told him I’m a pal of your son Frankie, and that me and him would be taking a wee stroll outside if he didn’t fuck off’

  ‘Are you a pal of our Frankie’s? What’s your name son?’

  ‘Danny Cooper’ replied the big guy,

  ‘I’ll have to go now anyway. He'll no come back that arsehole, so just enjoy your game’

  After he left Sammy brought the table over drinks.

  ‘This is from that big guy that just left and he bought me one too. Nice of the big cunt ‘

  About ten-thirty that evening Johnny two soups and wee Flo headed home. They hailed a taxi for the short journey to Carbridge Drive in the Wyndford housing estate.

  As they approached their front door, it suddenly opened and there stood their only son.

  ‘Frankie’ they shouted in unison, and rushed to put their arms round him.

  ‘Hello maw. Hello da. How are things with you two? Have you been down that boozers hustling all the take on's at dominoes?’

  ‘Aye, that’s exactly where we were. A pal of yours helped us out of a nasty situation with a fuckin' bad loser’

  ‘Come on in and you can tell me all about it over a cup of tea’

  He busied himself with the kettle as his parents related their exciting story.

  ‘What was his name dad?’

  ‘Danny Cooper’ they both said at the same time.

  Their son’s blood ran cold.

  ‘Oh aye big Danny. That was nice of him,’ said Frankie.

  ‘Aye it was, and he bought a round of drinks for the whole company,’ replied his mother,

  ‘A pure gentleman he is’ injected his father.

  ‘Aye that he is’ If mad fuckin dogs are gentlemen he thought.

  Danny Cooper was the main enforcer for Kenny Connolly. He would cut his own heart out if Connolly ordered it.

  ‘This mob are really tightening the screw’ he thought. A set up situation in a pub, just to ensure he knew the score. They were telling him, we can get to you any time we want so cross us at your peril. His head was spinning with it all, and at the forefront of his mind was the unerring thought; ‘This will not end well Frankie boy. It's a case of do or die’.

  He spent a few hours with his parents, and declining their offer of a bed headed back to the hotel for some sleep.

  He asked at reception for his keys, and was handed a package that had been delivered a few hours previously.

  He opened the package in his room, after pouring himself a large scotch.

  It was wrapped in a thick manila envelope that he split with his penknife before extracting the pictures from within. He was shocked when he saw the images. His daughter and his ex- wife were shown tied to kitchen chairs. Lying between them was a copy of that days Evening Times newspaper.

  Written across it in felt pen it read;

  WISH YOU WERE HERE

  HAD TO CHANGE OUR DESTINATION

  HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON

  LOVE

  YOUR DAUGHTER AND BITCH OF AN EX- WIFE

  .

  ‘The bastards!’ He shouted at the bare hotel room walls. ‘There's no way out of this, no way except to do exactly what Connolly wants. Sorry my dear friend Paul, but your dead meat. There's nothing left to do except present your head to them on a silver platter’

  He put the bottle of spirit to his mouth, and took a long swallow.

  ‘This will have to be my sleeping partner for tonight,’ as the distraught man sought oblivion from his deadly dilemma.

  THIRTYFOUR

  One of their Kidnappers wakened Fiona and her daughter on the morning of Christmas Eve. They were told to prepare themselves to move within the next five minutes.

  They had been provided with clean clothing from their holiday luggage on the previous afternoon. The mother and daughter had been taken to another room with a small bed and allowed to be untied. They were told that at the slightest hint of any noise or trouble their bonds and gags would be replaced. They had cuddled into each other until the early darkness of the winter evening eased them into a fitful dreamless sleep. They had wakened on several occasions to readjust the thin blankets that were their only protection against the chilling cold of a Scottish winter’s evening.

  The pair dressed hurriedly, and when their captor returned they were ready to move as requested. As they made their way downstairs the door of the flat in which they had been held was opened. Fiona’s boyfriend was coming through it accompanied by two large rough looking men. They were warned in no uncertain terms to be quiet, and led to a large Mercedes saloon car. The car left Haghill, and headed for the M8 motorway going west. The vehicle exited the motorway at Cowcaddens, and headed straight up Garscube road, down Queen Margaret Drive and took a right turn into Clouston Street. From there they went straight to Fiona’s home in Kelvinside.

  As the car pulled up outside their home she felt like crying with relief.

  One of the men in the front leaned over and speaking in a low voice warned her and her partner to forget the events of the past three days. They were told exactly what would happen to Alyson if their advice were not taken seriously.

  Her and her man expressed their truly remarkable loss of memory, and swore to the men that there would be no problem.

  The trio were deposited on the pavement with their cases, and wished a merry Christmas.

  The large black Merc glided away, and they were left standing there wondering what it had all been about.

  ‘Will I run round to the butchers and see if he's got a turkey left for tomorrow hen?’

  ‘A fuckin' turkey! You're the biggest turkey that I know. You were certainly clucking like one when we were picked up. Just fuck off away somewhere and give me and the wean peace’

  ‘It's Christmas, where the fuck can I go?’

  ‘Try the fuckin' Forth an’ Clyde canal’ was her reply as she slammed the heavy front door in his face.

  THIRTYFOUR

  Christmas Eve at six o’clock found the Maryhill gang sitting quietly in the unit.

  ‘Okay boys lets not waste any time’ said big Willie.

  Paul began talking to his troops.

  ‘Connolly's operation is being kept very low key because it's Christmas day. They don't want squads of troops running about in big motors drawing attention to themselves. Between what
I’ve picked up myself and what Frankie boy has told us, we know that the team is to consist of just one guy and one woman. They’re picking the drugs up at a supermarket car park in Baillieston, and we think it will be about ten in the morning. That’s right enough isn’t it Frankie?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right Paul. As far as I know they are driving up from the service station at Southwaite. I also was told they are leaving the station about eight o'clock. So if we give them two hours they should be at Baillieston round about ten o'clock, right enough’

  ‘Right, here’s how were going to do it’ said Willie.

  ‘Two cars are going to have a wee bump at the lights just down from the supermarket. The road will be quiet at that time on Christmas morning. The cars will just do enough to block the road. ‘Road rage’, which is a terrible thing, will lead to a wee scuffle between the two drivers. Now a couple of things might happen. Connolly’s driver might get out the car to see what the score is. On the other hand, He will maybe just put his window down. Whatever happens he will be brought into it .One of our drivers will ask him if he saw what happened. As soon as we're within range of him we go for it. Gun at the head; tell the driver to get out the car, then the passenger. Warn them to fuck off, and for fuck sake remember to take any mobile phones that the have on them’.

  Willie took a sip of coffee before continuing.

  Head for the big hotel up Stepps Road and then on to the M8.

  ‘Who’s going to drive their motor Willie?’ Asked Shuggie Willkie.

  ‘What about that guy Rab Smyth?’ Suggested Colly.

  ‘Aye, he's been doing alright recently with the deliveries’ said Paul.

  ‘Why not? We’ll give him a try’. Shrugged Willie. We'll send him and wee Andy Jarvis to take the gear up the line to the distributors’

  ‘Are you sure them two can handle it?’ Steff Hamilton asked.

  ‘Aye, no bother. I worked with them on a job, and they’re both cool and game as fuck’ said Colly.

  ‘Okay, Paul’s the boss,’ said Steff

  ‘Right home now boys and get a good nights sleep; and we'll have a nice wee bonus tomorrow,’ said Paul

  ‘Remember be here at no later than eight o'clock in the morning, and I hope Santa's good to you all’ shouted big Willie.

  THIRTYFIVE

  Frankie stayed at Paul’s flat along with big Willie. The three men talked long into the night as Frankie explained how the cartel of drug barons was going to bring the gear into Briton, and how the gang set up a company about three years ago importing ornaments from India.

  The order has steadily increased in volume and frankly, it has become a pain in the arse to Customs and Excise. Once a month they have to go through the shipment, and it takes them forever.

  Through people planted in Customs they have learned that when a certain supervisor is on duty, the shipment is just rubber-stamped.

  He paused for a second to take a mouthful of lager.

  The gear itself is in lead lined boxes that have been washed with chemicals after packing. The dogs do not pick anything up scent wise.

  This supervisor sends in the dogs, and if they don't detect anything he just stamps everything, and sends it through.

  They can ensure he is on duty when our cargo arrives. In my opinion it’s perfect and almost fool- proof. Well? What do you think about it boys?’

  ‘Aye it sounds great’, said Paul as he tucked into a chicken sandwich’

  ‘What about you Willie?’

  ‘I’m impressed, but how the fuck did you get in tow with this lot Frankie?’

  He distributed glasses of whisky and cans of lager then plonked himself down in one of the Kitchen chairs.

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  THIRTYSIX

  He related how he had encountered the big players in the Manchester drug scene. He told them of how at one of the dinner parties associated with the business he had met a girl. They had got on extremely well, so he had asked her for a date. The girl had agreed and he was now seeing her on a long-term basis. She was the mother of his three-month-old son.

  Paul and Willie showed their surprise at his confession.

  ‘Why did you not let us know Frankie?’ Asked Paul.

  ‘I was frightened to, in case Fiona got to hear about it. You know she would cut me off from wee Alyson altogether.

  ‘Fuck sake mate you know me and Willie wouldn't have told a soul?’

  ‘Aye, I know that but I thought that just maybe it would have slipped out. I couldn’t take the chance boys. You know how hard things are for me to see the wee yin. One whiff of another wean and it would have been gunfight at the O.K. corral. You know what Fiona is like boys? Don’t you?’

  ‘Aye, maybe you were right enough keeping it stumm,’ said Paul

  ‘The next bits the real interesting bit’ continued Frankie.

  ‘Emma’s father is the leader of the whole drug set up in southern fuckin England. He's the man that pulls all the strings down there.

  His name is Carl Cummings, and he is about the most ruthless bastard I have ever met. Present company excepted’ he smiled. ‘He is personally putting in a massive amount; he hinted to me that it would be round about the twenty million pound mark. Now this guy is no mug, if he says it's a sure thing for success then I’ll believe him’

  ‘Carl's also a doting granddad and he just adores wee Scott. The only thing that he's insisted on is that Emma, and I get married as soon as the drug deal is signed sealed and delivered’ he paused for any comments when none were forthcoming he carried on with his story.

  ‘Emma that’s my future wives name. So while I’m here I’ll also ask you to be my best man, if that’s all right with you Paul?’

  ‘I would love to be your best man again, I think I’m going to like your new father - in -law a lot’ he laughed

  ‘You'll be there too Willie of course, in case any of them daft English bams want to see what’s under my kilt’

  ‘They wouldn’t see much anyway if I remember right. Your mouth was aye the biggest part of your body’ laughed big Willie

  ‘Paul this guy is looking to take over the whole of the British drug markets, and he’ll be needing people in every area of the country to be his partners. He has promised me that come the day, yours truly will be responsible for the whole of southern England, from the Watford gap to the Channel’

  ‘It sounds a tremendous opportunity for everybody. The more I hear the better I like it,’ agreed Paul.

  ‘Have you any idea how much you could raise Paul?’

  ‘Not off the cuff, I would have to speak to Alistair Orr my accountant.’

  ‘How much are you putting in Frankie?’ asked Willie?

  ‘Just over two million big man’

  ‘That is serious money Frankie boy, you must be sure of these people’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure about them. I’m so sure of them I’ll stake my life on it’

  ‘Right boys, we'll talk more about it the tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep,’ Yawned Paul as he looked at his watch.

  ‘Aye your right’ the other two agreed.

  ‘You better sleep like Rip- Van - Winkle then, because it will take a long time to make you good lookin,’ laughed Willie

  ‘Rip - Van- Winkle. Is that not the new Rangers right back?’

  ‘Fuck off yah Fenian bastard’ was the good-natured reply from big Willie.

  The three men retired to bed, after waving to the unmarked police car sitting across the road.

  As Paul headed for his bedroom, his thoughts were drifting back to Marion.

  ‘Maybe this is my Chance to get out of this once and for all. A big score then retirement. The idea pleased him; he decided to sleep on it.

  Big Willie could not seem to get to sleep. His brain was ticking over, going through the events of the later part of the evening. The set up they were being offered seemed too good to be true. He had that feeling again that something in Frankie’s story was not quite kosher. He knew that
he should approached Paul with his fears, but what if Paul were to act on his feelings of doubt only to find out that the operation was indeed successful. His judgement would never be trusted in future events. The big man pushed it to the back of his mind. ‘Willie boy you're getting paranoid in your old age. Paul is a good judge of human beings, and he trusts Frankie. So why are there any doubts in your mind’? Willie asked himself. ‘Perhaps it's just a throw back to the Ronnie situation? Once you have been betrayed you can look for problems that don't exist. Yea that's probably the reason for these feelings’. Willie tried again to sleep but the feelings of danger could not be dissipated.

  THIRTYSEVEN

  Maryhill police station's C.I.D.room was a hive of activity.

  ‘So much for the festivities’ complained D. C. John McCone. ‘Working on Christmas Eve. Why me?’ The phone call had told him to report to the station as soon as possible. It had been a mate of his who had phoned, and he asked him to tell Ritchie that he was not at home.

  ‘Sorry Johnny I cant do that, there’s a real flap on. If I don't locate you, the boss will have my guts for garters’

  ‘What can possibly be so important to take a man away from his family at this time of year?’

  His wife was going ballistic.

  ‘Out again John? How very convenient for you, just as we are about to start getting everything ready for tomorrow. On the other hand, are you going back to where you spent Friday night?

  ‘I told you’, he replied ‘I fell asleep on Garry's couch’

  ‘Is that a fact? Well Garry's couch must have started using expensive perfume, because you were stinking of it when you came home’

  ‘I explained that to you, it was one of the boy's sprayed it on me for a joke while I was asleep’

  ‘Yes dear and policemen are all nice people who are just badly understood, and like George Washington they would never tell a lie. Would they dear?’ his wife replied with her well-rehearsed caustic sarcasm.

  John had left the house under a cloud.