by Ian Todd
“This is oor wan and only chance while Wan-bob and Charlie Hastie ur oot ae circulation fur the next hunner and twelve days,” Streaky John hid come oot wae two days earlier, in front ae that prick, John The Haun, who’d sat there nodding in agreement, like a fucking priest who’d been offered second helpings ae a fresh-faced altar boy, the cunt.
He hidnae mentioned tae Elsie that the plan wis fur them tae move abroad if they survived the farmyard. She’d ask too many stupid questions and wid want tae see the grandweans before they left. He’d tell her oan route tae the airport in the morning, efter he’d retrieved the holdall wae his dosh in it fae his planking hole, under the heavy freezer in the wash-room.
“It’s cauld and Ah’m hungry, so we won’t hing aboot noo. We kin empty the car in the morning,” he murmured, his heartbeat whirring noo, scanning the yard as he turned intae it, still using the clutch tae take them forward, managing tae park in the dark shadows tae the right ae the front door withoot being confronted.
He’d scanned the area oan the way in. Nothing. Maybe he wis being too cautious by allowing his paranoia too much space in that heid ae his. He clocked that the padlocks wur still hinging in place fae the bolts oan the doors ae the stable block. Wan ae the barn cats, the big ginger tom, wis slumped forward oan its haunches under the gable-end light, hivving allowed its eyes tae drap aff tae sleep again wance it wis satisfied aboot who it wis that hid jist arrived…another good omen.
He started tae relax. There wis nae sign ae anywan hivving been aboot. The only threat noo wis fae the single gaping door, the wan that the hinges hid disintegrated aff ae a few years earlier.
“Hiv ye goat the hoose keys noo, hen?” he reminded her quietly, keeping his eyes pinned oan the dark interior ae the ramshackle door, as she opened her side ae the car, while he tightened his grip oan the wee snub-nosed Berretta that he’d slipped fae underneath that crotch ae his, while cautiously getting oot ae his side ae the car.
“This is fur you, Pat,” a voice growled, as the tap hauf ae his wife’s heid exploded, instantly scattering bone, hair and brain matter up the back ae his leather jaicket, jist before a short length ae scaffolding pole smashed doon oan tae the back ae his skull as he wis stooped forward, exiting his side ae the car.
“Fuck, ye don’t think people like us wid fall fur that auld ‘swapping the passenger seat’ trick, dae ye Pat?” wis the last thing Black Pat McVeigh, Glesga’s maist notorious black butcher fur the past twenty years heard, as Joe Paste ran roond fae the passenger side ae the car and put a .38 bullet intae the front ae that thick foreheid ae his before he could scramble back up oan tae his feet.
Chapter Three
“Mammy! Mammy! Sadie’s greeting, so she is,” three and a hauf year auld Morag bawled fae the open bedroom door before disappearing, as the light fae the ceiling in the lobby jist aboot blinded her.
“Aye, Ah’m…Ah’m coming, hen. Jist you go back tae bed and leave it tae me,” Detective Sergeant Wilma Thain muttered in auto mode, swinging her legs aff the side ae the mattress before staggering blindly through tae the bedroom next door. “Whit’s wrang darling, eh?” she soothed, picking up the wan year auld baby and cuddling her tae her chest, patting her back gently, as the pitch ae the screaming drapped a few decibels.
“Ah think she might’ve shat her nappy,” Morag volunteered helpfully fae the bedroom door.
“Ah thought Ah telt ye tae stoap saying things like that? It’s bad,” Wilma chided her quietly.
“Whit is?” Morag asked, staunin aside tae let her yawning ma pass, heidin fur the living room, before following in her wake.
“That word…it’s no nice. Yer da widnae want tae hear ye using that…it’s bad language…especially coming fae a nice wee fairy like you,” Wilma replied, yawning again, haudin the wean aloft tae hiv a wee sniff ae her nappy, before she lay the greeting baby doon oan tae her back oan the coffee table. “Gaun gie me that terry towelling nappy and that wee tub ae Thovaline bum cream oot ae the basket, hen,” she asked her eldest, as she started unbuttoning the wean.
“When’s daddy coming hame?”
“Pass that wee babygro across tae me fae the tap ae the radiator under the windae, hen,” Wilma mumbled, feeling her eyes watering efter letting oot another big yawn, ignoring the question, trying no tae boak at the sight ae the smelly contents ae the unwrapped, leaking nappy confronting her at that time ae the night. “Right, Morag, hen, Ah need ye tae staun here wae yer hauns flat oan the coffee table oan either side ae Sadie’s chest between her erms, tae stoap her rolling aff the table…jist like the last time, while Ah go and get a wee wet cloth and a dry towel. Dae ye think ye kin dae that…jist like a big lassie?”
“Oh, aye.”
“Fine, doll.”
“Kin Ah come in wae you?” Morag asked, her wee voice sounding sleepy, efter Sadie wis back in her cot, fast asleep.
Wilma hesitated. She didnae want tae start that…at least no until she found oot whit the score wis wae that man ae hers, still no hivving decided if she’d be taking the basturt back or no.
“Naw. Ah think ye’d be better aff in yer ain bed, hen. Sadie’s sleeping. That’ll be her straight through tae the morning noo.”
“Please?”
“Ach, come oan then, bit jist remember, this isnae gonnae happen every night, so it’s no,” Wilma warned her, as she stood in the middle ae the flair waiting, while the wean shot aff tae her bedroom, before scurrying back wae her multi-coloured fairy tucked under her erm that her granny hid knitted fur her.
“So, when’s daddy coming back?” the wean asked again, as Wilma slipped in beside her daughter, switching the bedside lamp aff.
“Ssshhhh, go tae sleep, hen. Ye don’t want tae be sleepy when Ah drap ye aff at granny’s in the morning.”
She wis still bloody seething at Ronnie. It hid been two weeks since he’d walked oot oan them. She’d never been intae violence, given the job she did, bit she couldnae get rid ae the urge tae go roond and kill him…naw, kill the baith ae them, if she knew where they lived efter whit he’d done. Tae make matters worse, he knew fine well that she wanted tae keep that ma ae hers at a distance fae the weans.
“Wance a week…maybe twice max,” she’d telt him a couple ae days efter Morag wis born.
They’d hid tae evict her ma fae the hoose efter she turned up the same day that Ronnie hid picked her and Morag up fae The Rottenrow. Talk aboot ootstaying yer welcome?
“Aye, bit watch how ye go…ye might hiv tae depend oan her some day,” he’d warned her.
It hid been a repeat performance the day wee Sadie’d come hame. They’d still hid tae remind the auld goat when her time wis up, although it hid been minus the accusing, crocodile tears that time. The fact that she’d been allowed tae be left in charge ae Morag efter her waters hid broken and she’d gone intae labour, hid probably softened her upset.
She glanced at the clock beside the bed. Quarter tae three. She took comfort fae the lashing rain that sounded like scattering seed been slung against the bedroom windae, as she carefully lifted her daughter’s trunk and heid aff ae her chest tae Ronnie’s side ae the bed, before turning and snuggling in tae her wee warm pyjama-clad body. She lay, listening tae her daughter’s breathing, slowly relaxing in tae a comfortable rhythm. Her ma hidnae been convinced aboot her becoming a mother.
“Too selfish, self-centred and intolerant,” she’d hid the cheek tae come oot wae, efter Wilma hid excitedly announced the good news tae aw the family, sitting roond the table at Sunday dinner.
Ronnie’s face hid frozen up oan the spot. The fact that her ma hidnae seen anything wrang in coming oot wae that barb in the first place, summed up their relationship. She hidnae been bothered aboot the self-centred or even the selfish part ae whit she’d spat oot, bit the intolerance part? She wisnae intolerant…wis she?
“Ah’m no intolerant, am Ah?” she’d scowled at Ronnie oan the way hame in their first car, an auld two-seater, rusting yellow Ford Escort. “Er, don’t answer that wa
n,” she’d quickly come back wae, as the baith ae them hid laughed.
“Why kin ye no play wae me the way granny dis?” Morag hid asked her within five seconds ae arriving hame tae a freezing flat wae Sadie earlier in the week, throwing Wilma in tae a mega guilt trip fur no fulfilling her role as the perfect mother she’d always wanted tae be.
“Why kin Ah no get whit granny feeds me?” she’d hit her wae oan Wednesday night, efter she’d picked the weans up fae granny’s, well efter their bed time, as the wean sat opposite her wae her face screwed up, leaving her mince and totties untouched in her Peter Rabbit bowl.
“Because granny feeds ye crap oot ae a packet, that’s why…too much sugar,” she’d tried tae explain.
“Granny telt me that sugar’s okay if ye brush yer teeth before ye go tae sleep at night, so she did.”
“Oh, did she?” Wilma sighed, refusing tae bite, while cursing her ma under her breath.
“Granny said that wee fairies like me ur allowed tae eat as much sweeties as they want because we’re only wee fairies the wance.”
“Aye, well, jist look at granny noo. No a tooth in that auld witch’s mooth ae hers…and she wis wance a fairy, bit changed efter the black fairy caught her eating too much sweeties when she wis your age. Ye widnae want that tae happen tae you, noo wid ye, hen?” she’d come oot wae, before hivving tae nip roond the table tae comfort Morag efter she’d burst oot greeting at the thought ae turning intae her ugly auld granny when she grew up.
She couldnae believe the negativity that ma ae hers wis hivving oan her and the weans. Even worse, she kept bloody biting at the shite she wis deliberately coming oot wae tae noise her up. Nothing hid come close tae the latest corker fae the wean the night before though. That hid really taken the biscuit.
“Granny telt me that Da isnae coming back and that Ah should furget aw aboot him,” Morag hid come oot wae, tears welling up in her wee eyes.
That bloody auld witch!
“Ach, granny wis jist kidding ye oan, hen. She didnae mean it that way.”
“How dae ye know?”
“Because she telt me when Ah picked you and Wee Sadie up, that’s why,” she’d lied.
“Granny said that Ah shouldnae worry aboot you and Da falling oot as she’ll look efter me and Sadie and she won’t charge ye fur looking efter us either.”
How Wilma never slung the weans back intae the back seat ae the car tae go roond and strangle the auld warped-faced toad efter that wan, she’d never know.
“Bit it’s true,” her ma hid scowled defensively, efter she’d challenged her that morning, oot ae earshot ae Morag, efter drapping aff the weans.
“You don’t know that!”
“Whit? Ye’re no saying ye’re taking him back efter whit he did tae you and the weans, ur ye?”
“Look, that’s no the point. Whitever’s gaun oan between me and Ronnie is between us. Ah want the weans kept oot ae this, fur Christ’s sake!”
“Look, Morag might be a toddler, bit she’s no daft. She knows fine well whit’s gaun oan.”
“Ah swear tae God, Ma, if you don’t back aff and keep they weans oot ae whit’s gaun oan, ye’ll bloody well never see them again. Ah’ve enough shite gaun oan in ma life withoot you adding tae it.”
“Whit hiv Ah done?”
“And another thing, stoap feeding Morag aw that shite oot ae Sherbet’s doon oan the corner and stick tae ma written feeding instructions.”
“Ah dae!”
“Ye bloody well don’t!”
“Whit’s wrang wae a wee sweetie every noo and again?”
“Ah’m telling ye, as soon as Ah kin find a child-minder, they’re offskie, so they ur. Ah’m no hivving you ruining their lives the way ye did wae me and Sally.”
“Ah take umbrage tae that!” her ma hid spat back at her, applying the ready-made Joan Ae Arc mask that she used tae con aw the neighbours intae believing she wisnae a nasty auld, forked tongued witch. “Me and that poor da ae yers gied youse everything, so we did. The baith ae youse lacked fur nothing.”
“Ah’m warning ye. Don’t undermine ma authority wae ma weans. If ye’re no prepared tae accept the rules, then they’ll go elsewhere, so they will.”
“Whit, wae the shifts you work and no a man at hame? Aye, right,” the cheeky auld bat hid taunted her. “If it wisnae fur me, ye’d be stuck up Shit Creek Avenue withoot a paddle.”
Fae being hauf deid twenty minutes earlier, she wis noo wide awake. She could murder a fag. The day that she’d found oot that she wis pregnant wae Morag, she’d gied up. That wisnae tae say that she didnae crave wan every noo and again, bit somehow, miraculously, she’d manage tae fight the urge tae accept wan when offered, which wis practically every day at her work. Work? The past twenty hours hid started aff relatively slowly, much like any other day in the south ae the city’s murder squad, before building itsel up tae being as ferocious as the hurricane that wis noo howling ootside that bedroom windae ae hers. She lifted her heid aff the pillow and turned tae look across at the windae. It sounded as if some shoapkeeper’s bin hid taken flight, scattering whit sounded like empty cans and bottles aw across the road. Her and her partner, Detective Constable Jean Moffat hid jist started their first cuppa ae the day, when a heid hid popped its face roond the canteen door.
“Ye’re wanted, Wilma,” Alan Forrest, wan ae the desk sergeants, based in Craigie Street Polis Station, hid shouted across tae her.
“Dae ye want me tae come wae ye?” her sidekick hid asked, hinting fur a reprieve, as she supped the warm mug ae milky tea clutched in baith hauns.
“Naw, sit where ye ur. Ah’ll go and see whit’s happening. Don’t get too comfy though.”
Whit hid been happening wis that two ae the local Govanhill pavement pounders, who’d heided oot ae the station fifteen minutes earlier, hid doubled back oan themsels and grabbed a squad car efter receiving a frantic radio call tae heid up tae thirty five Annette Street. A domestic, despite the time ae the morning, hid been in full flow. Ten minutes efter that, PC Alan Bigger, who’d newly arrived at the bottom front door jist as the ambulance arrived, hid radioed back tae the station tae say that he wis escorting the female occupant ae the hoose, aff in the ambulance tae The Victoria Infirmary. He’d said that the victim’s heid and face hid been smashed in by her man. Literally two minutes later, before anywan fae the station could get across tae The Victoria, PC Biggar hid radioed tae the station tae inform the desk sergeant that the female victim hid died oan route, despite desperate attempts by the ambulance crew tae keep her alive. That’s aw the information they’d hid at first, as her and Jean hid heided roond tae the flat tae question the male occupant, who’d been in a bit ae a state.
“Tell them no tae touch or disturb anything and that we’re oan oor way,” she’d shouted at the desk sergeant as she grabbed her and Jean’s jaicket before gieing her partner a shout oan route alang the corridor tae the car at the back ae the station.
“Ah’ll alert the forensic boys,” the desk sergeant hid replied at her back.
Normally the police surgeon wid’ve been alerted, bit wae the body awready in the hospital morgue, there wid be nae point. It hid been hard tae disguise their surprise and shock tae discover that the wife beater…murderer, wis none other than Teddy Bare, a chief inspector in personnel, based doon in Pitt Street in the toon centre.
It hid been obvious that the pavement pounders who’d arrived at the flat first hidnae recognised who they wur dealing wae. She’d instructed wan ae them tae staun oan guard doon at the main entrance tae the building and no tae let anywan in, other than the forensic boys. The other wan hid been telt tae start door-tae-door enquiries tae see if anywan knew or hid heard whit hid been gaun oan. The forensic boys, based jist doon the road in the Gorbals, hid been stretched the previous twelve hours, due tae the discovery ae a decomposing male body in an oil drum, wae its wrists tied behind its back, doon beside wan ae the piers in Plantation…McGregor Territory. Oan tap ae that, three rapes in different areas ae the c
ity and two fatal teenage stabbings, again at different locations, hid taken place aw within a couple ae hours ae each other. Forensics hidnae been expected tae arrive fur at least couple ae hours, although the ‘Scene ae Crime’ photographer, Barney Bellheid, hid seemingly been oan his way. She’d then slipped in tae whit looked like a wee boy’s bedroom and radioed Alan Forrest back at the station tae explain who they hid under arrest.
“Christ!” he’d cursed, sounding unusually nervous.
She’d been at pains tae make sure that Alan understood the importance ae ensuring that the pavement pounder, PC Biggar, who’d escorted the victim in the ambulance and who’d jist arrived at the station earlier in the week, straight fae Tulliallan, kept his trap shut oan the condition and identity ae Lesley Bare fur the time being. The Braids doon in Central and Pitt Street wid want tae be in charge ae releasing a controlled statement, given who the victim and accused wur. It widnae be the first time that somewan hid lost their stripes before being suspended fur jumping the gun. Efter sealing the flat and wae nae sign ae Barney and they cameras ae his showing up, they’d escorted Teddy Bare doon tae the station. A shaken PC Biggar hid been ordered tae sit ootside the chief inspector’s cell oan duty and no tae divulge anything tae anywan. Teddy Bare hid been in some state, babbling away tae them up at the flat and oan route tae the station, bleating that the injuries he’d inflicted oan his wife hid been an accident.
