by Ian Todd
“So, ye wur wanting tae speak tae me, Bob?”
Silence.
“Aye,” Wan-bob eventually replied, his angry breathing slowing ever so slightly.
“Right,” Tony said, making it sound as if he wis asking fur a wee hint.
“Obviously, me and Charlie ur gonnae be sitting here oan they arses ae oors until the beginning ae February, so we ur. The basturts hiv goat a hunner and twelve days tae convict us. The clock’s coonting doon, so it is. Noo, during that time, Ah need you and that wee band ae arse bandits ae yours tae behave yersels…naw, shut the fuck up and don’t try and interrupt,” Wan-bob growled, as Tony started tae reassure him that that possibility hid never entered his or anywan else’s heids.
“Bob, whether ye want tae believe this or no, we’re up tae oor eyeballs in aw kinds ae shite jist noo. So, whitever else’s happening in the toon, it’s goat absolutely fuck aw tae dae wae us,” Tony retorted, as Wan-bob’s face started tae scrunch intae a scowl again. “Bit, of course, we aw wish you and Charlie aw the best.”
Wan-bob looked at the smartly dressed Tally sitting across fae him. He could see why Pat Molloy, The Big Man, himsel and Charlie always put themsels oot fur him and his ragamuffin band ae desperados everywan called The Mankys. Although there wis o’er thirty years ae a difference in ages between them, Tony Gucci wid’ve been mair than welcome tae sit in amongst them hivving a meal and a wee chin-wag, any night ae the week. In fact, they’d always made a point ae gaun oot ae their way tae get the smooth handsome greasy basturt tae sit doon and break breid wae them. Wan-bob remembered back in the 60s when young Tony and wan ae his wee manky-arsed pals used tae turn up at aw hours ae the day or night wae a blagged doo or some other shite that Pat hid goat them tae go and steal fur him. There hid been bets between Big Pat and the rest ae the crew that hid turned quite competitive as the years rolled by. The bet wis always whether they could entice Gucci tae accept a drink or tae grab a seat fur mair than two minutes at any wan time in their company. Even as a snapper, he’d turn up, refuse any offers ae a wee refreshment before fucking aff at the maist opportune moment, hivving worked oot in that heid ae his when his exit widnae cause too much offence tae anywan, particularly tae Shaun, Mick or Danny Murphy, which wis usually aboot five seconds efter any business hid been concluded. That’s no tae say he wis a shrinking violet. Young Tony walked pretty close tae the wire, leaving people wondering efter he’d shot the craw, if he’d jist insulted them or no fae behind that mop ae black hair and dark hazel eyes ae his. While he always came across as civil and accommodating, everywan knew fine well, even as a wee snapper, that he wis clever as fuck, slippery, treacherous and wid’ve wasted any ae them withoot blinking an eye, day or night, if he thought he could get away wae it. He wis whit wan ae the evening newspapers recently described as ‘The Modern-Day Gangster,’ when they wur daeing a fabricated piece ae shite aboot the wee tickets coming up through the ranks in the toon. Of course, they hidnae identified and named him ootright, other than tae point oot tae their readers, that the thug in question hid somewan, the spitting image ae Odd-Job, tae chauffeur him aboot, while him and his exotic girlfriend, who hung seductively aff ae that erm ae his, ate in aw the newly-established upmarket swanky restaurants that wur springing up in the toon. It hid been a good piece and him and Charlie hid been looking forward tae reading the much-heralded follow-up article that hidnae materialised due tae Ben McCallum and Snappy Johnston breaking the journalists’ two wrists and leaving him wae a permanent limp. Young Tony Gucci wis an extremely dangerous wee basturt who knew how tae handle people who crossed him.
“Right then, explain tae me the backgroond tae that wee heist that you and that wee team ae yours carried oot in Paisley, a wee while back,” Wan-bob asked innocently.
“There isnae much tae add other than whit Ah awready telt ye when Ah came and asked you and Charlie if ye felt there wid be any conflict ae interest,” Tony replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
Too nonchalantly fur Wan-bob. Aye, there’s nae flies oan this treacherous fucker, Wan-bob thought tae himsel, trying no tae smile. The clever basturt wis getting in there first, reminding him that The Mankys hid sought oot and hid been gied the nod fae him before they’d gone and done the business.
“Well, remind me again. That’s whit the ageing process dis tae auld codgers like me…makes ye furget.”
“We’d ran oot ae gear while trying tae keep up wae the increased demand o’er the summer. The school bus runs, taking the schoolies across tae Europe is seasonal, so it is. We’d picked up that The McGregors hid a wee, oot-ae-the-way distribution centre, operating oot ae a double lock-up in Ferguslie Park and decided tae go and take a wee cut tae tide us through until oor supply chain wis back oan steam. Seeing as it wis well oot ae the toon boundaries, we didnae think they’d connect it wae us across here in the north. Kin ye no remember me telling ye?”
There he goes again. Another wee reminder, Wan-bob noted again, trying no tae smile.
“Remind me how much the wee cut wis again?”
“A hauf a ton ae Afghani-black and jist under a third ae a ton ae Moroccan Gold…aw cut and ready tae pass oan wholesale tae oor distribution street people. It wis good quality as well. Ben said that his first spliff ae the Afghani jist aboot blew the tap ae that heid ae his aff, so it did,” Tony said, as the baith ae them smiled. “Ye’ll recall that Big Pat goat his thirty percent via Charlie, well before we’d goat any return in oor investment back up fae the street. Why? Is there a problem, like?”
“Did you no mention that there hid been a slight altercation between youse and some ae their boys?”
“Ach, a few wee words wur uttered in the initial confusion, bit it soon resolved itsel and settled doon,” Tony replied, shrugging they shoulders ae his, thinking back tae that day.
“Right, youse fuckwits, this is a stick-up!” Snappy hid shouted, as Simon, Ben and him hid leapt oot ae the big Austin Princess tank, armed wae baseball bats and masks covering their faces, efter Ben hid driven it through wan ae the double doors at the front, daeing forty-five miles an hour in third gear.
“Whit the fuck…” wan ae the bigger ae the three guys hid screamed in blind panic, snatching up a big machete that hid been sitting oan the cutting and weighing table in front ae him, as Simon scudded him oan the side ae his heid tae put him oot ae action, while Ben and Snappy preceded tae dae the same tae the other two guys who’d initially tried tae put up a bit ae resistance, before trying tae charge past them oot ae the other intact door.
“So, nowan wis hurt then. Is that whit ye’re saying?” Wan-bob asked him.
“Whit Ah’m saying is that there wis a wee bit ae resistance oan their part tae start aff wae, bit we dealt wae it proportionally.”
“Wur ye aware that Victor Ruth is married tae wan ae the McGregors’ sisters…the same Victor Ruth whose hash it wis that youse stupid basturts blagged?”
Silence.
“So, who put youse oan tae it then?”
“Oan tae whit?”
“The lock-up, fur fuck’s sake. Whit hiv Ah jist warned ye aboot treating me as if Ah’m fucking stupid or something?”
Silence.
“Okay, Ah’ll try a different tack then, will Ah? How aboot this wan? Why is that fat fucker, Baby Huey, oot and aboot in the toon trying tae find oot if The McGregors hiv been turning up in the pubs and clubs aw ae a sudden?”
“Jist a precaution.”
“A precaution? Since when hiv any ae youse ragged-arsed bandits hid any say oan whit goes oan in the toon centre?”
“We don’t, bit given whit the score is jist noo, we thought we’d keep oor ears tae the ground.”
“Whit score?”
“You know.”
“Naw, Ah don’t Tony. Tell me.”
“Wae you and Charlie in here, we…”
“Whit?” Wan-bob demanded, jumping in.
“Whit is it they say…when the whit is away?”
“Don’t try and be clever wae me, Tony. Ah k
in read you and wee amateurs like ye like a fucking book, so Ah kin. Get that fat cunt oot ae the toon before ye hiv tae go and find yersel a new driver. And that goes fur the rest ae youse as well. Ah cannae fucking turn ma back, bit Ah’ve goat tae keep ma bloody eyes oan youse lot as well,” Wan-bob grumbled. “Ah’m telling ye, if Ah pick up that any ae youse manky arsed toe-rags ur up tae nae good behind oor backs, then youse ur finished…and you’ll be the first tae cop yer whack, so ye will.”
“Ma hauns ur clean, as is everywan else’s, so they ur,” Tony replied, exposing the palms ae they hauns ae his.
“So, back tae the unanswered question. Who passed oan whit wis gaun oan in that lock-up oot in Paisley?”
Silence.
“Okay, fine, hiv it yer ain way. Jist don’t you come bleating tae me if everything goes aw pear-shaped.”
Silence.
“If it wis that glaikit basturt, Gringo Smith, yer wee ugly, weird pal, who runs the money-losing comic shoap doon in Jamaica Street, then youse ur in trouble, so youse ur. Ye better hope tae fuck that it wisnae them that goat their hauns oan him before he ended up wae that thick skull ae his smashed in,” Wan-bob eventually came oot wae, a wee flicker ae a smile appearing at the side ae that mooth ae his, as Tony failed miserably tae cover up his shocked expression. “Aye, the stupid basturt wis fished oot ae the Clyde in the early hours ae this morning, so he wis.”
In his shock, Tony wis jist aboot tae ask Wan-bob how he knew Gringo wis deid before he did, bit then remembered who he wis sitting opposite. Between him and Charlie Hastie, there wisnae much went oan in the toon that they didnae get tae know aboot, whether they wur sitting in a jail cell or no.
“So, ye’re saying it wis The McGregors then?”
“How the hell wid Ah know?” Wan-Bob scowled in mock surprise, spreading his hauns oot in front ae them. “Fuck, it’s me that’s sitting in the jail. You tell me?”
“Right, ladies and gentlemen, that’s the visiting time o’er wae,” an ugly wee SO, wearing a cap three sizes too big fur him announced, as the wailing fae the weans in the scattered cubicles started up when they realised they’d hiv tae go, leaving their das behind.
“So…” Tony said, staunin up.
“Tony, you remember whit Ah’ve jist telt ye. You mind and keep they boys ae yours oot ae that toon centre…and that goes fur you as well.”
“Bit, Ah’ve goat a few wee bits ae business tae attend tae.”
“Ah’m talking aboot a night curfew.”
Chapter Sixteen
The room wis already clouded in a blue haze ae tobacco smoke by the time Chief Superintendent Bob Mackerel, responsible fur the city’s two murder squads, looked up and nodded at the latecomer.
“Sorry, Ah goat held up,” Mackerel’s opposite number fae Serious Crime and Intelligence, Sam Bison, muttered, grabbing the only vacant chair at the table, lifting his fags and lighter oot ae his jaicket pocket and laying them oan the table in front ae him as he sat doon.
“Don’t worry, Sam. So, will we jist get started?” the acting chief constable fur Strathclyde Polis, John Sinclair said, looking at his wristwatch, oan behauf ae the other four sitting there, watching and waiting.
Getting nae response, he continued, “Ah’ve brought in Peggy McAvoy, who maist ae ye aw know, who’s jist newly returned tae us fae assisting Glenda Metcalfe wae her paperwork, oan the investigation concerning that young thug that the appeal court in Edinburgh recently released. Peggy will be taking the notes the day and fur any subsequent meetings ae this group as well.”
“Hello, Peggy. So glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you…nice things, of course,” Murdina Munro purred, in that strange accent ae hers, smiling and extracting a slim Panatela fae her case and lighting up, as Peggy acknowledged the compliment and smiled back, pen and pad poised between they red, nail-varnished fingers ae hers.
“Right, then, jist tae recap. Ah’ve been instructed by the chief constable himsel, at the behest ae the politicos in Edinburgh, tae chair this Special Task Force group, focussing specifically oan the organised criminal gang violence that appears tae be spiralling oot ae control in the city. We’ve aw been here before, so we know who the main players ur. The remit ae the group is quite specific in that we’re tasked wae the overall co-ordination ae ensuring that nae stone is left unturned in oor pursuit ae those responsible fur a number ae high profile murders, specifically in the north and west ae the city, o’er the past wee while.”
“Well, they boys ae mine in The Flying Squad ur oot there fae morning, noon and night, targeting the hold-up merchants, which ur averaging two post offices and wan bank job a week, jist noo,” the latecomer managed tae get in, lighting up a fag.
“As everywan roond the table is aware, the media and the local cooncillors doon in The Kremlin oan George Square, led by oor favourite rabid rabble-rouser hersel, Cooncillor Barbara Allan, hiv created the perfect storm, by tripping o’er themsels tae demolish oor credibility as a crime busting force at every opportunity. Whit they don’t know, they make up as they go alang, causing aw sorts ae untold distress tae the families ae the victims and tae Duggie Dougan’s poor wife. Despite aw this undermining, oor task is tae ensure that the guilty ur apprehended in the shortest time possible and that oor limited resources ur in place where they’re maist needed. As stated, Ah’ve been tasked wae chairing this group and wae being the main conduit between Edinburgh as well as oor enemies in the media. Oor political masters in Edinburgh ur beavering away as Ah speak, daeing aw they kin tae dampen doon their respective elected party members here in the toon, although we shouldnae haud oor breath that that’ll hiv any noticeable effect soon. Youse aw hiv the backgrounds ae the main players that we’re here tae discuss sitting in front ae ye, bit jist so we’re aw singing aff the same hymn sheet, Superintendent Munro, Murdina here, will kick aff and recap how we ended up where we ur.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cleopatra acknowledged, sending a well-aimed stream ae thick grey smoke towards the face ae the latecomer who’d kept her sitting there twiddling her thumbs and away fae her busy schedule. “If it’s alright with everyone present, I’ll start off with the time-lines as an introduction to our discussion. Please feel free to stop me if anyone wishes to come in. Just before one o’clock in the early hours of Sunday the 24th of March last year, Inspector Paddy McPhee talked his way into an intensive care room up in Stobhill Hospital, with the intention of interviewing a dying gangster, Sandy ‘Halfwit’ Murray. Unfortunately, Mr Murray subsequently died a few hours later. It has been well documented that Mr Murray disclosed disturbing and incriminating information about what may have become of some of the city’s most notorious criminals, who had suddenly disappeared off the radar not long after Thomas Simpson was murdered on Hogmanay back in 1971. The gangsters in question were Bootsy Bell, Blaster Mackay and Thomas Simpson’s younger brother, Toby. At the time, it was assumed that the missing men had fled abroad to avoid questioning on a series of serious crimes, including the murder of an eighteen-year-old mentally retarded youth in Springburn. Halfwit Murray, in his dying moments, also disclosed the name of the person he believed was responsible for the murder of Thomas Simpson and seriously injuring a local senior social worker he was having an extramarital affair with. As you will be aware from the accumulated background files, that named person was an eighteen-year-old Springburn street thug called Anthony Gucci. Another name mentioned that night was an associate of Gucci’s, Johnboy Taylor. Taylor’s name came up in relation to another missing gangster, Shaun Murphy, a lieutenant of Pat Molloy, The Big Man, who disappeared approximately eighteen months after Thomas Simpson was murdered and the other three disappeared. Sandy ‘Halfwit’ Murray also claimed that Taylor was responsible fur shooting Shaun Murphy dead. As we are all aware, Taylor was unexpectedly released on the instruction of The Court of Appeal in Edinburgh and is currently a patient in Glasgow Royal Infirmary after intervening and saving the life of a young social worker during a siege in Dumfries Young Offenders Institution.
In the same breath as this surprising disclosure regarding the disappearance of Shaun Murphy, the talkative Mr Murray also claimed that Taylor was innocent of being involved in the shooting of two unarmed police officers in a bank robbery in Maryhill in November 1972. It was the ramifications of what Inspector McPhee did or didn’t do next, following these disclosures, that’s brought the whole ceiling down upon our heads. The murder of Thomas Simpson and the sudden disappearance of several high-profile gangsters in the city has been the subject of numerous investigative reviews over the years. As you are aware, some of the reviews are still active, so I’ll keep away from them for the time being. Given the time of Inspector McPhee’s nocturnal visit, the only other members of staff on duty in the intensive care room that night were nineteen-year-old Nurse Elizabeth Mathieson and a Doctor Bernard Walsh, who we believe was the person that allowed Inspector McPhee illegal access to the dying patient, whilst the intensive care ward matron was on her tea break at approximately one o’clock in the morning. Now, it’s at this point that the events that have led us to where we are now start to unfold. Elizabeth Mathieson, or Lizzie, wasn’t supposed to be on duty, after finishing a twelve hour back-shift that evening. The nurse that was supposed to be on duty, Rose Bain, had earlier phoned in sick. The duty matron persuaded Lizzie Mathieson to work on after her shift finished. No-one in the emergency ward that night believed Mr Murray would survive until the morning, due to his horrendous injuries, sustained as a result of being stabbed and thrown from a moving vehicle. The perpetrators of the murder of Mr Murray have never been found. At approximately 11 PM on Thursday the 6th of June, Rose Bain, the nurse that was supposed to have been on night shift that evening back in March, was run over and killed in what was believed, at the time, to be a hit-and-run tragedy. Coincidently, it’s also worth noting at this point, that Doctor Walsh also died on Thursday the 30th of May, a week prior to Rose Bain. The conclusion, though not conclusively proven, was that Dr Walsh had committed suicide after being blackmailed by criminal elements for regularly frequenting one of the city’s high-class brothels. The blackmail link originated from a keen young detective constable at the time, who had been temporarily drafted into the south’s murder squad, due to staff sickness absences…”
