by Ian Todd
“Ah’ll see ye tomorrow, Johnboy. Get well, darling,” she whispered, following the other visitors through the double doors jist as matron arrived oan the scene tae make sure everywan wis oan their way.
Chapter Fourteen
Thank God there hidnae been any customers in the bank. Who knows whit might’ve happened. Harold McMillan, Manager ae The Clydeside Bank oan Springburn Road, hid delayed his usual ten o’clock grand appearance oot oan tae the bank flair by hauf an hour oan that fateful Friday morning, despite being a well-known stickler fur punctuality. It wisnae as if he’d been held up by an important phone call fae HQ doon in the toon centre or the demands fae cross-checking the ledgers fae the day before either. In fact, when he thought back tae that delayed hauf an hour the following week, while waiting tae get the five stitches oot ae the back ae that heid ae his, he couldnae account fur the delay. If only he’d stuck tae his routine, the ootcome could’ve been different, he’d convinced himsel. He’d jist won the North Glesga Calligraphy Shield at the inter-league final the night before, so that might’ve been the reason fur the distraction. He wisnae wan fur winning anything, so tae be honoured by the award hid been jist as good as winning Open The Box oan a Saturday night. So, as it wis, efter he’d gied the inside ae that mooth ae his a wee spray ae Gold Spot, jist in case he managed tae get close tae Miss Giddy, wan ae the aulder tellers he’d been working oan the past eighteen months, he’d put oan that well practiced affixed smile ae his and stepped through his frosted glass door tae show any customers present and staff behind the grills, that despite his historic lineage, he wis jist like wan ae them. At first, his brain hidnae registered whit wis happening in front ae they eyeballs ae his. It wis only when his sphincter twanged in reflex mode and he jist aboot shat himsel, as the three armed robbers spilled through the door, two fanning oot at forty-five degree angles tae each other, while the other wan, bolted the ootside doors behind him, that he’d realised that he wis in deep shit. Before he could aboot turn and dash back in tae his office tae push the secret alarm button at the side ae his desk, the wan who’d locked the doors hid quickly strode across the flair and dragged him oot intae the middle ae it by his tie.
“This is a stick-up! The first basturt tae make a move and he’ll be the first tae cop his whack, so he will,” the robber hid shouted, practically strangling Harold, while at the same time, blasting a hole in the middle ae the George Rome Victorian plasterwork ceiling, as everywan in the bank, disappeared in amongst a cloud ae white plaster dust.
Wance the initial muffled screams ae the lassies behind the coonter hid subsided, alang wae the dust, the robber staunin oan tap ae the coonter hid ordered everywan tae move back fae the cash drawers and face the wall behind them. The only person that appeared tae be staunin his ground at the time, hid been Roy Baird MacGregor, his new assistant manager, who’d only recently moved in tae the city fae somewhere oot in the Trossachs. Harold hid suspected that he wis a fake the minute he’d walked through the door that first morning, although he’d been struggling oan how tae expose the buck-toothed, ugly wee lying git. Since his unexpected arrival, the rumour mill hid been daeing the roonds. The latest wan hid him doon as hivving been perching oan two ae his colleagues’ wives behind their backs. If that wisnae bad enough, the fact that him and his two male underlings wur the only bank staff in a fifty-square mile radius ae the branch, telt everywan whit a right dirty wee shitehoose he really wis. Despite gieing him a warm welcome, Harold hid known fine well that his new assistant manager wis gonnae be trouble, efter he turned up at the bank two days efter his arrival wae some wee poxy parchment that ootlined his family bloodline, obviously trying tae impress the younger female members ae staff. The fact that Harold hid surreptitiously pointed oot mair than wance tae the lassies that MacGregor’s famous ancestor, if he wis related tae him, hid been a notorious cattle rustler, didnae seem tae hiv a negative impact oan the swoons behind the coonter, whenever the highlander made an appearance oot oan the flair. The way MacGregor embellished the stories ae his famous ancestors, it widnae hiv mattered if they’d aw been sheep shaggers. The lassies wid’ve still fought o’er each other take a file through tae the wee deaf basturt in that office ae his. Ye wid’ve thought that it hid been him that hid been jumping o’er mountain gullies, being pursued by the redcoats, the way he spoke through in the back kitchen. Tae make matters worse, he’d asked Harold, in front ae the lassies, where he kept his family parchment. Everywan, particularly the female staff, hid always been in awe ae Harold being the nephew ae Harold McMillan, the greatest prime minister Britain hid ever hid. It hid been so long that he’d been punting that wee porky, Harold hid even believed it tae be true himsel, like opening his Christmas presents under the tree in Downing Street as a wean, helping tae carry the Queen Mother tae her bed, pished as an auld flair-cloth up in Balmoral, being allowed tae take the Queen’s corgis fur a walk unescorted efter he’d saved wan ae them fae droonin itsel in a river. When challenged aboot the authenticity ae his bloodline by the hard-ae-hearing sheep-shagger in front ae the naïve and impressionable female staff behind the coonter, Harold hid tittered dismissively wae a wave ae his haun. It hid taken him a few weeks, trying tae pluck up the courage tae ask Harry Bertram, a local flamboyant hairdresser, if he could help him oot. Harry wis the wan in the business association who no only hid the right connections, bit wis guaranteed tae be discreet.
“Ye’re no confessing tae me that ye’re no the nephew ae the great man himsel, ur ye, Harold?” Harry hid lisped in surprise, at the end ae wan ae their association meetings.
“Er, no, Harry. It’s just that I discovered recently that whilst I’m still related, the link to being the nephew, has become somewhat blurred…over time.”
“Blurred?”
“Er, yes…I’m more like a distant cousin of a cousin’s father-in-law, er, if you see what I mean,” he’d mumbled, humiliated at hivving tae confess his sin in front ae a hairdresser who looked and acted like the Queen Mother’s twin sister.
“Ah, Ah see,” Harry hid purred understandingly. “And ye’d like ma assistance tae blow this young upstart oot ae the water?”
“Er, I’m not sure what that means, but yes, just so long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal,” Harold hid exclaimed, fighting tae stoap himsel fae bending doon and kissing the back ae the auld queen’s haun wae relief.
“Ah’ve a good friend ae a friend who deals in historical books and scrolls. Ah’m sure Ah could persuade him tae come up wae an impressive-looking aged document, that wid staun up tae scrutiny fae any ae they wee lassies that ye’ve been trying, bit obviously failing, tae get they clatty fingers ae yers intae their knickers aw these years, Harold. Don’t ye worry aboot a thing,” he’d assured him, patting him oan his knee, before adding. “Of course, it’ll cost ye…and it won’t be in pounds, shillings and pence either.”
“Eh?” he’d replied, feeling the wallet in his back pocket shrinking in horror.
“A wee bit ae inside info here and there…nothing tae get worried aboot.”
“Anything,” he’d panted back in his moment ae jealous madness.
Unfortunately, his impressive family parchment hid finally arrived in a fancy gold, glass frame, the day efter Roy Baird MacGregor hid resigned fae the bank and returned tae his family cow-pat in the outer Trossachs. As the main branch training co-ordinator fur the north, it wis Harold’s responsibility tae induct new staff oan whit tae dae in the event ae a robbery. The key thing wis tae try and keep calm, don’t gie any ae the robbers eye contact and lastly, do not under any circumstances, hiv a go verbally or otherwise. At first he’d been thrilled tae hiv been appointed tae this important role until he’d found oot that it wis only because, o’er his career, he’d been robbed mair times than anywan else in the branches in the toon and hid survived tae tell the tale.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” the robber up oan the coonter hid scowled at Rob Roy, who’d been staunin there, no moving in that fancy pair ae tartan trews ae his. �
��Bring that basturt o’er here.”
Harold hid been dragged across the flair, squealing wae fright, pishing aw doon the front ae his good Henry Herbert mohair pinstriped troosers, as he wis flung hard against the coonter violently.
“Right, let’s play a wee game ae chicken,” the robber hid said tae the forty-five-year-auld so-called direct descendent ae Rob Roy McGregor.
The lassies staunin facing the wall couldnae help themsels and hid aw turned tae gape at Rob Roy in horror, willing him tae get his arse in gear by joining them, while a customer started tae chap loudly oan the ootside door.
“Ah’m gonnae coont tae three,” the robber announced pleasantly tae Rob Roy, who wis still staunin there, rooted tae the spot, staring up at him. “Wan…”
“Oh ma God! Dae something, Rob,” wan ae the lassies whimpered in horror, as Rob Roy still stood his ground.
The robber hid been pointing his sawn–aff shotgun doon at Harold’s heid, as his criminal pal let go ae Harold’s tie, backing away, oot ae the line ae fire.
“Rob…sir,” Harold hid screamed, pishing himsel fur the second time in as many seconds.
“Two…” the robber hid chimed, staring the assistant manager in the eye fae behind his balaclava.
“Fur God’s sake, ya stupid, stupid man. Dae as ye’re bloody well telt and get yer arse o’er here!” Miss Giddy, wan ae Rob Roy’s original palpitating fans, hid screamed at the mad highlander, as the other lassies aw stood wae their hauns covering their faces, fingers parted, staring fearfully across the coonter at Harold.
“Three!” The robber hid shouted, swinging the shotgun roond and away fae Harold’s heid before blasting a hole in the wall, ten inches above where the highlander’s heid hid been a millisecond earlier.
They pishy tartan trews ae his hid taken aff like a deerstalking sheep-shagger up the side ae a heather clad mountainside, tae join the lassies lined up against the wall, as the bogus nephew ae Harold McMillan fainted, scudding the back ae that heid ae his aff the mahogany coonter oan the way doon oan tae the flair.
Efter that wee piece ae melodrama, the robbery hid proceeded as planned, jist like the other seven bank robberies that hid taken place across the city during that wintry month ae November 1975. Other than the sound ae terrified whimpering fae Rob Roy, shielding himsel in amongst the mini-clad legs ae the lassies, back tae being lined up facing the wall, nowan hid uttered a cheep. The third robber, who hidnae said anything throughoot the wee drama, hid casually emptied the drawers ae their bank notes intae a canvas bag before strolling in tae the big safe and lifting a chipped, metal green container, that hid been delivered an hour an a hauf earlier, containing the wage packets fur the staff ae the engineering college roond oan Flemington Street. Although the Clydeside Bank hid refused tae say how much hid been stolen, the college hid later admitted that the seventeen and a hauf thousand pounds ae staff wages hidnae been haunded o’er tae the workforce that Friday. Harold hid subsequently been let aff at his disciplinary hearing wae a warning, efter it hid been established that he’d failed in his duty as the North’s Robbery Training Officer tae ensure that Rob Baird MacGregor hid his hearing aid switched oan that fateful Friday morning.
“Hoi, Sundance. Whit hiv Ah fucking telt ye? Wid you bloody well jack that shite in, ya prick, ye!” Ben shouted at Snappy in the back ae the van they’d jist transferred intae efter dumping the getaway car up at the Balgrayhill flats.
“Whit?”
“Aw that ‘This is a stick-up’ shite.”
“Why whit’s wrang wae that?” Snappy came back at him, pulling aff his troosers and slinging them in tae the box that wis sitting in the middle ae the flair between them.
“They’ll fucking end up calling us the ‘Hole In The Wall’ gang, if we don’t watch oot.”
“So? Whit’s wrang wae being called the ‘Hole In The Wall’ gang then?” Peter asked, pulling the black crew-neck jumper o’er his heid before slinging it, alang wae his balaclava, oan tap ae Snappy’s troosers.
“Ah’m no even gonnae answer that, Peter. You’re as bad as Sundance sitting there, so ye ur,” Ben growled, kicking aff his shoes in tae the box withoot untying the laces.
“He wis Butch efter the last bank job we carried oot. And anyway, it’s fucking better than being called a bloody Manky any day ae the week, so it is,” Peter retorted, as Snappy grinned.
“Ah quite like the Manky label, so Ah dae,” Baby said fae the driver’s seat up front.
“Ach, you wid, ya fat-arsed manky Toonheid tosser, ye,” Ben shouted at him, as everywan laughed this time.
“It’s The Garngad. Get yer facts right.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tony slid the cuff ae his sleeve back and glanced at the dial. Twenty tae four. The sounds and body smells ae the place hidnae changed any. He looked aboot before catching a glimpse ae an auld pass-man, shuffling slowly backwards, gently kicking his galvanised bucket behind him wae the shackled heels ae his prison issue shoes oan route, taking his time, his parchment-like wrinkly hauns gripping tightly oan tae the pole, as the mop-heid swished fae side tae side, soaking the slate flair ae the corridor like the advancing tide oan some dark, mucky beach somewhere. Jist as his auld frame wis captured, silhouetted in the middle ae the open-door frame, the auld con suddenly lifted his heid up and glanced across at Tony, fleetingly, before disappearing oot ae sight again, being followed by the sounds ae his wheezy breathing and the scraping ae his auld tin bucket. They’d never come across each other, at least, no that Tony could remember, bit he’d picked up oan the instant recognition ae a fellow traveller, a jail bird, reflected at him fae the tired, defeated eyes in the sunken sockets that shouted oot tae anywan who wis even remotely interested that the loser in the red striped shirt kicking the bucket, wis well and truly fucked. It wis a sobering introduction. He couldnae imagine him or any ae the other Mankys ending up like the auld con, sweat droplets dripping aff the end ae his nose, mopping a flair in the visiting corridor ae The Bar-L wae dirty water, while waiting fur the end tae come… bit then again… the auld pass-man probably thought that it widnae hiv come tae somewan like him either. He’d read or hid been telt somewhere that the halls ae the jail hid been built in the 1880s. Apart fae a splash ae paint oan the bricks ae the cells every fifty years or so, the place probably hidnae changed much in aw that time due tae its clever construction. Sandstone buildings, noo covered black wae ingrained, tenement chimney soot, blue-black slated flairs in the cells and landings, held thegither by flaked painted metal gantries, tae allow access tae the stream ae flotsam that the courts fae across the west ae Scotland wanted shot ae, tae gie everywan else oot there a wee well-deserved break. Barlinnie wis a transit nick, servicing the long-term jails scattered aboot the Highlands, allowing cons tae come doon tae get their visits fae families who hidnae awready abandoned them. The only cons daeing any time in the place wur the wans serving anything fae a seven day sentence up tae nine months. Anywan else daeing longer, wis shipped oot efter an initial assessment. He’d been in two ae the five big halls…C-Hall, where Wan-bob and Charlie Hastie wur noo languishing, untried, waiting tae go up tae the High Court and E-Hall, the young offenders’ hall at the far end ae the jail beside the workshoaps. While him, Pat and Snappy hid been waiting tae get shifted doon tae Dumfries back in 1973, some stupid basturt hid decided tae burn doon E-Hall by setting his mattress alight wan Sunday night. If it hidnae been the smoke that hid snuffed oot the terrible screaming, then it must’ve been the fire. Wae a skeleton shift ae screws oan duty at the weekends, it hid taken them nearly an hour tae get the cell door open tae throw buckets a sand in through the door. The smell ae burning flesh hid hung in the air fur aboot two weeks efter that as the left o’er roast chicken in the dining hall filled the waste food bins tae overflowing doon beside the serving hatch.
“Peacock? That’s you,” the screw announced fae the door aff tae his left.
“Whit time dae ye call this, then?” Wan-bob scowled at him.
“Eh?”
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“It’s fucking quarter tae four, ya dandy prick, ye.”
“Ah wis busy.”
“Ye wur busy? Ur you trying tae take the cunt or whit?” Wan-bob cursed. “Nowan keeps the likes ae me waiting. Dae ye think because Ah’m in here, ye kin suddenly start fucking me aboot?”
Silence.
“They empty this place at four o’clock, so they dae. Bit, of course, you’re that busy, ye’re gieing me fifteen minutes ae yer precious fucking time.”
“There wis a lot ae traffic oan the roads,” Tony said in way ae an apology.
“Tony, son,” Wan-bob snarled, no fucking aboot. “The reason Ah goat ye up here is tae gie ye fair warning, so it is.”
“Warning?”
“Don’t sit there and try and fuck wae me, ya Atalian grease ball prick, ye. If Ah think fur wan minute you or any ae they wee amateurs ae yours ur fucking aboot behind ma back, then ye’ll aw hiv it coming.”
“Bob, Ah’m sorry, bit Ah’m no too sure where aw this grief is coming fae. Ah’m here…as instructed.”
“Aye, well, jist you remember that. Ah’m fucking sick ae hivving tae deal wae wee tickets like you, thinking youse ur something special. Ma patience is wearing thin, so it is.”
Silence.
“Ah hope that isnae a fucking smile Ah’m detecting there?” Wan-bob growled in disbelief. “Ur you fucking asking fur it? Am Ah some sort ae clown or something?”
“Ah’m sorry. Fur some strange reason, an image ae Santa Claus jist jumped in tae that heid ae mine there, when ye wur hivving that wee rant, so it did,” Tony replied, struggling hard no tae grin.
“Well, Ah’ve been accused ae looking like some bloody corkers in ma time, bit Santa Fucking Claus is a first, so it is,” Wan-bob replied, chuckling.
“How’s Charlie?”
“Never you mind how Charlie is. Ye’re up here tae see me, remember?”
