Elvis The Sani Man

by Ian Todd

  “Thank ye, God,” he’d inadvertently yelped fae behind the hood, at the same time as letting rip wae a loud, watery fart, when the van hid turned left.

  He’d been travelling in the company ae Possilpark’s biggest pair ae shitehooses, Sergeants Dave McGovern and Shane Priestly, The Gruesome Twosome. It hid been they basturts that hid nabbed him in Sauchie Lane, opposite The Chevalier Casino at the tap ae Buchannan Street. That didnae mean tae say that he wis oot ae the fire…far fae it. The fact that he wisnae in the hauns ae The Mankys wis enough tae let him breathe a bit easier fur the time being. There wis still hope, he’d telt himsel.

  “Whit did he jist say?” Dave McGovern hid asked, replacing the sole ae that boot ae his wae the other wan.

  “Something aboot God,” Shane Priestly hid scoffed, as the driver shifted up a gear and the van heided under the new flyover towards Possil Road.

  “Pat, ma good friend, how ur ye daeing?” Inspector Duggie Dougan hid sung oot pleasantly, as wan ae the Gruesome Twosome snatched the hood aff ae his napper, leaving him sitting there, shivering, in the bare buff, his hauns hauncuffed tae the chair behind his back, blinking under the bare light bulb above his heid.

  “D…Duggie…whit the fu…”

  “Shurrupp, ya manky basturt, ye,” Dave McGovern hid growled, stepping forward and slapping him across the side ae the heid, causing colourful explosions ae wee skiting floaters tae zigzag across his line ae vision.

  When his blurred sight hid returned, he’d sat watching the inspector slowly take oot a twenty-packet ae Benson & Hedges and light wan up, before placing the packet wae his Swan Vestas sitting oan tap ae them oan the wooden orange crate tae his left. He’d managed a wee furtive squint aboot the damp, cauld cellar. It hid looked like wan ae his bare brick, back street butcher preparation sheds, wae the chain hinging doon fae a rusty steel cross-bar in the middle ae the ceiling wae a big steel hook oan either side ae it. The only difference being that his prep sheds didnae hiv a car battery and two jump-lead clips sitting underneath the chains.

  “Noo, whit hiv Ah ever done tae deserve aw this cheek and disrespect, Pat?” The Inspector hid wanted tae know, exaggerating the hurtful expression that hid suddenly galloped across that craggy face ae his as he quickly held up the palm ae his haun, blowing a stream ae blue smoke in Pat’s direction. “Noo, no only did Ah request yer presence the first time, bit Ah hid tae send oot another wee request a second time, and me a busy man as well. Ah mean, whit kind ae message dis that send oot tae aw they wee local tickets, eh? That Ah’m jist some fucking diddy that kin be ignored, at ma age, in ma district, by a fucking pox-ridden black pie man like you?

  “Duggie…Ah kin…”

  “This better be good,” Shaun Priestly hid warned.

  “Ah kin explain.”

  “Well, bloody-well hurry up then. Ah’m aw ears!” The Inspector hid shouted, before appearing tae look aw embarrassed wae his ootburst. “Noo, see whit ye’ve made me go and dae?”

  “Ah’ve been ill…no well.”

  “So, send me a sick line or a wee note or something. Don’t bloody-well ignore me…no at ma age. Ye’ll hiv me thinking Ah’m past ma best and here’s me believing Ah’ve only jist goat in tae ma stride, so Ah hiv.” The Inspector hid harrumphed indignantly.

  “Ah’m s…sorry, Duggie,” he’d mumbled.

  “Aye, well, saying sorry jist isnae good enough these days, Pat. Ah’m bloody well sick ae basturts like you taking the cunt, so Ah am. Things ur gonnae hiv tae start changing aboot here, so they ur. The holiday is o’er, so it is.”

  “Whi…whit dae ye want fae me, Duggie? Jist say…anything.”

  “Whit dae Ah want? Ah jist want tae inform you that as ae this Friday and until further notice, Ah require a hunner quid a week in used five and ten pound notes oan tap ae whit Ah awready get.”

  At first, Black Pat hid thought he must’ve been hearing things due tae the ringing in his ears still burring away efter the slap he’d received earlier when the hood hid been roughly whipped aff ae that heid ae his.

  “W…whit?” he’d replied, shocked.

  “Ye heard me. They overheids ae mine hiv skyrocketed recently and there’s nae way Ah kin afford tae meet aw the demands. So, in the meantime, fur at least the next six months, ye’ll cough up or face the consequences.”

  “Bit, bit…Ah don’t hiv that type ae money sloshing aboot, Duggie,” he’d stammered, as Shane Priestly violently swung the chair he wis anchored oan, roond tae face the battery and Dave McGovern quickly bent o’er and lifted up the two electro-leads in each haun, a big grin splashed across that coupon ae his.

  “Bring the basturt closer, Shane,” McGovern hid commanded.

  “Duggie!” he’d screamed, trying tae push back oan the seat, as Shane priestly clamped his haun between his legs and dragged the chair forwards towards the hinging chain, wae him screaming the place doon.

  Efter that, he couldnae remember much, other than knowing fine well that he’d shat himsel. His wife, Elsie, hid found him lying semi-conscious oan the front door step oan the landing ae the flat oan Saracen Street, still in the bare buff, his baws blackened and frizzled.

  “Whit’s that smell?” his wee frightened wife hid howled, panicking, as she drove her wee Datsun Sunny like a bat oot ae hell alang Birdston Road towards their three hunner acre farm jist before Milton ae Campsie.

  “Chloroform. It’s used in fridges…and tae knock people oot that ye don’t like.” he’d eventually murmured, his shaky legs buckling fae under him, as she helped him oot ae the car and aff tae that bed ae his as soon as they’d arrived.

  The sweet smelling reek ae chloroform wis still everywhere, efter she’d gently cleaned they baws and that arse ae his wae an auld, damp Corporation-stamped dishtowel, dipped in disinfectant, that she’d found underneath the sink in the kitchen in the flat, before helping him in tae the back ae her car wrapped up in an auld itchy blanket.

  “Ah want that basturt Dougan shot, so Ah dae!” he howled, no being able tae contain himsel, pleading tae the two nightmares still staunin in front ae him.

  “Naw, ye don’t,” Charlie Hastie shot back dismissively.

  “Ah’ll bloody well dae it masel, if youse won’t, so Ah will, Charlie!”

  “Naw, ye won’t, ya stupid eejit, ye.”

  “Right, where’s the good whisky kept, Pat?” Peter The Plant asked.

  “In the tap drawer ae the desk,” he mumbled, still in the throes ae feeling sorry fur himsel, traipsing efter Charlie Hastie across the threadbare carpet before plapping that arse ae his doon oan tae the sofa opposite him. “And Ah still hivnae goat ma good set ae wheels back either.”

  “Right, fae the beginning, Pat,” Charlie asked encouragingly, nodding, crossing his legs, as The Plant handed him and Charlie a glass each wae a fair amount ae single malt sloshing aboot in them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sharon could barely hear hersel coont because ae the sound ae the band, Charlie Muff and The Divers, belting oot ‘Ah Saw Her Staunin There,’ the auld Beatles’ song fae back in sixty-four in the hall next door and the bloody racket the lassies wur making o’er at the sink, aw singing alang, oot ae tune wae each other. She scratched the side ae her heid, frowning, disappointed. The sums added up awright and the amounts in front ae her wurnae lying either. Oan wan side, there wis fifty-three pounds and seventy-two pence in assorted coins and four notes…the four wan pound single green notes being a tip fae the faithers ae the bride and groom. Oan the other side, the ingredient receipts fae the various shoaps and butcher, including the Springburn Halls kitchen hire and leccy bill, sat in a neat wee pile that toted up tae forty six pounds and thirty two pence. By her calculations, that meant that they’d made a grand total ae seven pounds and forty pence, sub divided between her, Soiled Sally, Ann, Betty and Issie, which came tae…tae…exactly wan pound forty pence each. Surely that couldnae be right, she muttered, scratching her heid again as the cats’ choir o’er at the sink aw started howling aboot how mu
ch they wanted tae be ‘Cathy’s Clown,’ alang wae the other two hunner drunken wummin through the wall.

  “Wan pound forty each?” Sharon cursed under her breath.

  That wid be enough tae get them three packets ae tipped fags each…each single fag probably being worth aboot forty five minutes ae their time spent in the food preparation and running aboot like blue-arsed flies. She shook her heid, folding they erms ae hers oan the table as she looked across at the lassies. They couldnae go oan like this…at least, she couldnae. She’d awready raised her concerns wae them a few weeks earlier, bit they aw seemed oblivious.

  “Look, don’t forget, Sharon, we’re only daeing this fur the fag money and tae show they evil basturts that ye cannae keep a good Toonheid wummin doon. And anyway, it keeps us oot ae trouble, so it dis,” Issie hid said tae nods fae the others.

  “Aye, that’s right, Issie, hen. It means we’re no depending oan they cretinous men ae oors either. That’s stuffed the basturts where it hurt,” Soiled Sally hid come oot wae gleefully, ignoring the frown fae Sharon as a lungful ae dirty laughter erupted fae the others.

  “Bit, this is Springburn,” she’d reminded them.

  “Is there a problem like?” Ann hid asked,

  “Aye, there is. We’re slaving oor guts oot fur a couple ae packets ae fags each. It somehow disnae seem right.”

  “And don’t furget, hivving a laugh while we’re at it,” Soiled Sally hid reminded her and everywan else.

  “Aye, Ah know, Sally, hen, bit why no leave the exploitation tae others and try and see if we kin maybe make a wee bit fur oorsels that could go in tae helping oot at hame? Ah mean, when wis the last time any ae us bought oorsels anything other than a packet ae fags?”

  “Bit, we’re spending money aw the time…like…like oan food, leccy, the Provi Cheque Man, no furgetting a wee cheeky packet ae broken biscuits fae The Co-op and maybe a wee bottle ae Tree Tops Orange juice fur the film oan a Saturday night, if there’s anything left o’er,” Betty hid said tae nods fae the others, clearly no getting where she wis coming fae.

  “Oh Betty, Ah’m no talking aboot essentials…Ah’m talking aboot being able tae swan intae the Co-op up oan Springburn Road and buy yersel a big bag ae Chocolate Limes or a bottle ae PLJ oot ae McNee The Chemist’s, if ye decided tae go oan a diet…”

  “That’s your fat arse she’s referring tae, Sally, hen,” Issie hid quipped, getting in there first.

  “Aye, Ah think Ah kin see where ye’re coming fae, Sharon,” Soiled Sally hid eventually agreed, nodding. “This time last year Ah wis making ma ain drawers oot ae auld tea-towels that Ah found in a bag that ma Bert brought hame. We wur that skint, the door wis coming in tae meet me.”

  Silence.

  “Whit did she jist come oot wae?” Sharon asked Betty, looking aboot, pausing in mid-flight.

  “Too much information there, Sally, hen,” Betty hid suggested drily, crossing they erms ae hers o’er that massive chest, as the rest ae them fought tae keep their faces straight.

  “Er, ye widnae hiv a wee pattern that Ah could borrow, wid ye, Sally?” Ann hid asked, as everywan burst oot laughing.

  “Listen, youse may laugh, bit even that Bert ae mine wis fair impressed wae whit Ah came up wae, so he wis. He reckoned that they’d sell jist as fast as a pair ae sweaty second haun socks doon The Briggait, so they wid’ve…especially his favourites, the Santa and Reindeer print patterned wans,” Soiled Sally hid continued in that dry drawl ae hers, as everywan cracked up, jist aboot pishing themsels. “Mind you, they might’ve been as itchy as an auld badger’s arse in the summer, bit there wis nothing better tae hiv wrapped roond yer arse when striding across the Cowlairs fitba pitches oan a blustery snowy morning, oan route tae the pawn shoap oan Saracen Street, so there wisnae.”

  “Ach, ye’re at it, Sally, so ye ur.”

  “Its awright fur people like you, Betty. That Stan ae yers his a trade tae his name, so he dis. Ma Bert’s hid mair shitey jobs in the past two months than he’s hid hot dinners.”

  “Aye, that meter ae mine’s like a hungry whippet, so it is,” Betty hid agreed.

  “Anyway,” Sharon hid reminded them.

  “Sharon, ur ye talking aboot some sort ae wage, maybe being able tae pay oorsels a wee haundful ae moolah, like?” Ann hid asked doubtfully, getting everywan’s attention.

  “Moolah?”

  “Sheckles,” Issie hid confirmed.

  “Why no? Surely there must be some worth…financial worth, in whit we’re daeing?” she’d challenged them.

  “Oh, Ah don’t know…”

  “Whit don’t ye know, Issie?” Sharon remembered snipping, turning oan the resident doubter.

  “Who’d pay the likes ae us the kind ae money that you’re talking aboot, Sharon?” Ann hid come back wae, looking at the circle ae faces roond the table tae see if it wis jist her.

  “Whit kind ae money? Look at how many hours we put in tae these weddings and funerals? Even if we gied oorsels twenty five or even thirty pence an hour, it wid still be cheap at that price, so it wid.”

  “Aye, bit wid we no be taking advantage…Ah mean, whit wid Helen say?”

  “Advantage ae who?”

  “People like them next door,” Soiled Sally hid replied, nodding towards the wall, as aw the wummin howled in unison aboot how much they wanted tae be ‘Bobby’s Girl’ alang wae Cathy Martin who’d been marrying her fifth man, Big Bobby Baxter, The Coalman, owner ae three wagons.

  “Sally, Cathy Martin could buy and sell the lot ae us put thegither wae the amount ae wills she’s been investing in o’er the past thirteen years, so she could.”

  “Baxter,” Ann hid reminded her.

  “Johnston, Harris, Armstrong, Martin, Baxter, whitever her name is this week. The point Ah’m making is, Ah’m no prepared tae go oan like this. There needs tae be some return fur aw oor hard toil, other than a couple ae single tipped fags at the end ae the night, so there dis,” she’d scowled at them in exasperation

  “Right, that’s us, Sharon, hen. Ur ye coming through tae join the party?” Issie beamed at her excitedly, bringing her back tae the predicament in haun, as they aw heided in the direction ae the kitchen door.

  “Naw youse don’t. We’ve goat business tae discuss.”

  “Aw, naw.”

  “No the night, Sharon!”

  “Aw, Ah love this wan, so Ah dae,” Betty howled in frustration, as The Monkeys’ ‘Daydream Believer’ kicked in next door.

  “Look, the quicker ye aw sit doon, then the quicker ye’ll get tae go through tae smoke away aw yer earnings,” she replied, pushing across the wee individual bundles ae wan pound forty’s worth ae coins fur each ae them.

  “Right, well, bloody hurry up then. We don’t want tae be sitting here aw night. That Stan ae mine is through there glugging aw the wages fur this week doon that gullet ae his, the thirsty basturt,” Betty growled, plapping her arse doon, quickly followed by the others.

  “Right, this won’t take too long if youse aw keep yer traps shut and agree wae everything Ah say,” Sharon telt them, as everywan laughed, lighting up their fags.

  “So, nae change there, eh?” Betty harrumphed tae mair laughter.

  “Ah’ve spent a good bit ae time thinking aboot this since oor wee confab at Cathy Martin’s wedding tae Big Bobby The Coalman, the other week there. And believe you me, it wis actually quite easy tae come up wae something better than the current arrangement we hiv jist noo, wance Ah put that mind ae mine tae it,” she said, no being put aff by the cynical expressions being displayed oan the faces roond the table. ”So, here’s whit we’re gonnae offer the blushing brides and the generous grooms fae noo oan in,” she informed them wae a confidence she didnae feel, spreading oot the three sheets ae lined school jotter pages oan the table in front ae everywan, as Charlie Muff’s voice goat everywan up oan tae their feet fur a wee smoochie number wae ‘Can’t Help Following In Love.’