by Ian Todd
“I’m still sorry, sir?” Mr Sing asked, looking across at the three chefs, a puzzled frown crinkled across his foreheid.
“These,” The Sani man replied, pointing tae the two toilet seats, wae lid covers still attached tae them, in amongst the trays and pans.
“Yes?” Mr Sing enquired.
“Hiv they come fae the lavvies?” Elvis asked, pointing o’er towards the batwing doors.
“Everyday, we swop around. Make sure everything is very clean for our precious customers.”
“Well, Ah’ll gie ye wan thing, Mr Sing, this is a first, so it is.”
“Sorry?”
“Very good, bit no in wae the eating utensils and trays. It’s very bad. You,” he said, pointing tae the tray washer. “Nae mair ae this or Ah’ll be required tae shut up the restaurant. Okay?”
“No More?”
“That’s right. No here. No in the kitchen. Okay?”
“Okay, mister.”
“Look, Ah want tae work wae ye here, Mr Sing. Ye deserve a gold star fur this kitchen, bit nae mair toilet seats. Ootside wae a bucket and disinfectant, bit no in the kitchen. And always use rubber gloves. Okay?”
“Fine, sir. Sorry.”
“Aye, well, never mind. Wid oor table be ready yet?” he asked, as Mr Sing looked as if he wanted tae kiss him.
“Of course fine, sir…and lady.”
“Dae ye know whit? This is the first time since Ah qualified that Ah’ve actually ordered aff ae a menu in a proper restaurant, so it is,” he said, tearing aff a bit ae the naan and dipping it in his curry.
“Why?”
“Listen, believe you me, Collette, ye really don’t want tae know, hen.”
“There must be somewhere in the toon that ye feel okay wae…Ah mean, where dae aw youse sani men go fur yer Christmas meal like?”
“Aye, ye’re right, there is a place. Ah’d furgoat aw aboot it. It’s Sinclair’s, doon in The Briggait.”
“Ah’m sorry?” she asked, laughing, looking tae see if he wis taking the piss.
“Ye heard me.”
“Aye, Ah know, bit Ah find that hard tae believe…The Briggait?”
“The Briggait. The cleanest place in the toon, or rather it wis, until noo. This place is something else, so it is.”
“Even wae toilet seats in the sink?”
“That’s taking it too far, bit ye couldnae fault him fur trying.“
“So, why ur we oot the night, at this time then?”
“Well, as Ah’ve awready telt ye, Ah hiv the power tae determine if places like this or that chip shoap up in Springburn operate or no. Whit Ah cannae dae is make an arrest. That’s where you come in, so it is.”
“Me.”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, wiping his chin.
“Is that put oan?”
“Whit?”
“That ‘Uh-huh’ American expression,” she laughed. “Ye sound like Elvis, so ye dae.”
“That’s because Ah am Elvis.”
“Ye know whit Ah mean.”
“There’s a big carcass delivery coming in later oan the night tae be butchered, so there is.”
“Is there?” she asked, sounding disinterested, tearing a bit ae her naan breid aff at the narrow end.
“Aye, there is,” he snapped.
“Okay, big boy, keep yer quiff in place.”
“It’s in a auld air raid shelter oot the back ae the tenements in Closeburn Street at the Saracen Cross end ae the back court.”
“And?”
“You, WPC James, ur gonnae back me up by arresting a black butcher who goes by the name ae Streaky John...and before ye ask, it’s goat nothing tae dae wae his build, so it’s no. A right manky basturt, if ever there wis wan. That wan’s poisoned mair people than Graham Young, The Teacup Poisoner, so he his. It wis him that sent the wee boys up the closemooths oan Keppochhill Road recently, delivering foosty pies, that Black Pat McVeigh goat accused ae doon in The Sheriff Court, so it wis.”
“Aye, Ah know who ye’re talking aboot. Ah’ve seen him hinging aboot the cross.”
“And another thing, whit wis that aw aboot? Lifting somewan like Black Pat oan a foosty pie charge.”
“Ah don’t know…probably whit it said oan the tin…he wis suspected ae flogging rotten pies withoot a trader’s licence.”
“Aye, right,” Elvis murmured, lifting up his wee bowl ae rice.
“Whit’s that supposed tae mean?” she demanded.
“Whit?”
“Don’t gie me ‘whit,’ Roy.”
“Don’t you start. Look, his it never crossed yer mind why aw these people ur allowed tae go aboot their business…especially up in Possil, seemingly unmolested?”
“Ah’m no sure Black Pat McVeigh wid agree wae that.”
“Oh, come oan, Collette. There must’ve been a falling oot or something. It’s obvious that these people ur being protected.”
“Whit ur ye insinuating?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“Oh, fur Christ’s sake, Collette. Open yer eyes. Kin ye no see whit’s happening up there?”
“If ye’ve goat any proof ae polis corruption, then ye need tae present it tae Duggie Dougan,” she scowled, before being cut aff.
“Ah don’t believe you…how kin ye be so naïve, fur God’s sake?”
“Don’t bloody patronise me, Roy, Jerry…Cliff!”
“Aye, that’s right. They say the best form ae defence is attack.”
“So, while you’re sitting there slagging aff me, ma colleagues and inspector, Ah’ve jist tae sit here and keep ma trap shut? Is that it?”
“Ah’m no saying that,” he growled. “Okay, Sherlock. When wis the last time any ae they black butchers up there in Possil ever goat charged wae anything meat-related?”
“How the hell should Ah know?” she spat back. “Ah seem tae remember a squad ae them getting huckled a while back. Ah’ve no been up there that long.”
“The reason a few ae them…the actual butchers themsels, that is…goat lifted, wis because they wur caught red-handed by wan ae the special squads trying tae track doon where that Silver Arrow guy wis stashing his fancy sports car. Christ, hauf the toon wis getting turned o’er at the time.”
“Look, unless ye kin come up wae hard evidence, then Ah’m no prepared tae sit here and listen tae somewan…somewan like you, slag aff ma colleagues, so Ah’m no.”
Silence.
“Wan day…”
“Whit?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
Silence.
“Look, ma priority is tae confront Streaky John while he’s oan the job. Your task is tae read the bugger his rights and then arrest the basturt.”
“Don’t tell me how tae dae ma job,” she warned him, eyes narrowing again, before adding. “Or it’ll be you that’ll end up back in the cells.”
“Ah’ve never been hauncuffed before…at least no by a wummin,” he mused, as the baith ae them looked at each other and smiled.
“Aye, well, there’s always a first time, Cliffy-boy.”
Chapter Thirty
“Geraldine, Ah cannae believe whit ye’ve jist come oot wae, so Ah cannae,” Senga pouted, before smiling politely, as the lassie lay the teapot doon beside them oan the table.
“Whit?”
“Is there anything else, girls?” the waitress wanted tae know.
“Naw, that’ll be fine,” Geraldine replied oan their behauf.
“You, ae aw people, coming oot wae that wan.”
“The Purple Dove hersel specifically asked me tae speak tae ye, so she did.”
“Geraldine, Barbara Allan, God bless her purple tights, isnae a nurse.”
“Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”
“Ach, don’t you start. There’s no way Ah’m taking advantage ae a vulnerable patient, so there’s no.”
“Senga, nowan’s asking ye tae dae anything like that. Aw ye’re being asked tae dae is see how the relationship develops and take it fae there.”
“If we kin get an inroad in tae the polis, that’ll eventually lead us tae access the recent review ae the evidence ae Rose’ Bain’s hit-and-run, it could prove wance and fur aw that they’ve been tampering wae the evidence. Even you cannae deny that the report wid be crucial fur Rose’s fight fur justice.”
“Geraldine,” Senga whispered, leaning forward. “Barbara Allan heids up The Showgirls. You’re the wan that’s in charge ae the Rose Bain campaign. Ah don’t see the connection between the two.”
“We’re aw wummin, remember? Wan thing kin lead tae another. You’re in a good position here, so ye ur. Who knows whit this…this…”
“Collette…”
“Poliswummin could get us access tae. Dae ye no think they’d dae the same thing oan their side if gied hauf a chance? Christ, this Collette wan is probably hatching a plot wae her superiors as we speak, so she is. Ye need tae wise up.”
“Naw, Geraldine. Ah’m no prepared tae contemplate taking advantage ae the situation. Furget it. You ae aw people know fine well whit the score is wae Johnboy’s campaign. Ah’m in too deep as it is.”
“Ye’ve awready crossed the line. Ye’ve met up wae her. That’s against official policy, so less ae the Joan ae Arc amateur dramatics, eh?” Geraldine hit her wae, using baith hauns tae point her cup across towards the iron fence and the looming gothic building ae The Royal behind it, through the front windae ae where they wur sitting in The City Café.
“Ah only contacted her tae see how she wis daeing,” Senga snapped back, taking a sip ae her tea.
“And?”
“She’s coping…bit clearly still vulnerable. The poor bugger still disnae know if she’s coming or gaun. Ah swear tae God, Geraldine,” Senga sniffed. “You ae aw people should know better.”
“Ah telt The Purple Dove ye widnae go fur it.”
“Did ye noo?”
“Aye.”
“Bit, ye still went aheid and asked me?”
“She quoted Emily Pankhurst hersel.”
“And?”
“When ye hiv warfare, things happen, people suffer, the non-combatants suffer as well as the combatants. And so it happens in civil war. End ae quote.”
“Crap.”
“Aye, well, Ah’m only repeating whit she said.”
“Look, Geraldine, Ah’d dae anything tae get ma hauns oan that review file, bit Ah’m no prepared tae dae it at the expense ae another wummin, polis or no. Christ, whit hiv we become if we’re gonnae walk up the back ae oor ain kind?”
“Naw, Senga. Don’t get confused here. She might look and sound like wan ae us, this WPC Shiny Buttons, bit she gied up aw ownership ae her gender wance she donned that uniform.”
“Ah cannae believe that Ah’m sitting here oan ma lunch break, getting a lecture fae another nurse, somewan Ah respect, telling me that because somewan maybe made a bad career choice, that they’re condemned as being worthless fur ever and a day.”
“Ach, ye know Ah’m no saying that. None ae us ur perfect.”
“Look, Ah’m sorry. Tell The Purple Dove that ma conscience won’t allow me tae take advantage ae somewan that’s been trampled oan and abused by men, fur her tae unwittingly become another casualty in furthering the cause ae wumminhood.”
“She won’t like it.”
“Ach, well, Ah’m sure somewan like her will soon get o’er it and move oan tae some other poor soul that’s mair deserving ae her ire than me.”
Chapter Thirty One
“Whit happens if somewan comes oot ae their hoose tae go tae the lavvy?” Elvis whispered, looking doon at her fae where he wis balancing oan the pan, wan fit planted oan either side ae the wooden seat in the stairheid landing toilet.
“Whit if they don’t?” she whispered back, shrugging, trying tae get comfortable in the cramped space.
“Naw, bit dae ye know whit Ah mean? Whit will we say?”
“Ah’ll deal wae that. There’s no a lot a people living in these wans. This row ae tenements ur due tae be demolished. You jist keep yer eye oan whit’s happening doon in the shed…and mind, there’s a ‘nae farting’ order operating, seeing as where ma face is, in relation tae that arse ae yours,” she warned him, as they baith chuckled in the darkness.
“There’s definitely movement, bit Ah cannae make oot whit’s happening fae up here. Maybe we should go doon a flight ae stairs tae the next cludgie?”
“Ah’ve telt ye, if ye go doon there, ye’ll blow oor cover. Let’s jist wait until we know they’re aw in the shelter,” she whispered, looking at the wee luminous dial oan her da’s wristwatch.
Ten past twelve. She wondered noo if she should’ve informed her sergeant, Skanky Smith, whit she wis up tae. Efter being telt that she wis tae assist and liaise wae Glesga’s answer tae Elvis The Pelvis, they’d aw seemed tae ignore her and left her tae get oan wae it. Despite whit the Elvis impersonator believed, she hidnae been sitting aboot waiting fur his call. She’d gone in search ae the files in the station aboot the black butchers in the area. Okay, so that hid taken her aw ae five minutes tae track doon and read o’er whit intel the station hid. According tae Elvis, Possil wis the tap ae the rotten meat league in the city, yet there hidnae been much polis activity targeting the illicit trade in the past two years that she could find. He’d been right aboot the impact The Silver Arrow wis hivving. Black Butcher arrests in the toon hid risen by o’er four thousand percent since the two special teams, put thegither tae track doon the whereaboots ae the sports car or driver, hid been formed. The Glesga Echo hid claimed that black butchers in the toon hid put up a reward ae a thousand quid fur anywan that could get shot ae The Silver Arrow permanently. Although there hid been a lot ae scepticism aboot the amount offered, it hidnae stoapped The Evening Citizen, Evening Times, Glesga Echo and The Sunday Echo fae speculating that somewan hid awready done the deed and collected the blood money, especially since Great Western Road hid gone quiet, late oan Friday and Saturday nights, since the previous October. Mr Rock’n’Roll hid also telt her that seven people, maistly elderly, hid died in the past year, efter consuming contaminated meat, while another two and a hauf thousand hid been affected tae some degree. He said that at least four ae the deaths could be attributed tae meat coming oot ae the black butchers’ sheds in Possil, like the wan they wur aboot tae raid. Although the statistics sounded horrendous, she couldnae explain tae Jerry Lee Lewis why she wisnae getting too excited aboot being oan the trail ae a bunch ae black butchers. She’d been oan the phone tae Lesley Bare doon in the Serious Crime and Intelligence squad. Lesley hid jist goat back tae her earlier in the evening before she’d met up wae The Sani Man. It wis disappointing, as she’d jist come up wae names Collette awready knew, like Black Pat McVeigh, Ronald ‘Four-Fingers’ Ralston, sometimes black butcher and Black Pat’s main enforcer, Streaky John McGinnis, who wis at this precise moment in time wan ae the dark moving shadows, supervising the movements doon in the back court below them and a few others wae equally colourful names. Tae the left ae the auld air raid shelter that Elvis wis continually peering doon at, wis a scrapyard surrounded by a fence ae corrugated sheets. Every noo and again, they could hear the whining ae whit sounded like a big guard dug. The tenement they wur in hid an opening through the ground flair fae Saracen Street that allowed access tae the scrap yard. According tae Elvis, a truck wid be arriving tae drap aff meat carcasses. She’d jist aboot fainted efter she’d gone in tae the records room tae find oot whit wis there in relation tae the local black butchers. She’d been reading o’er an auld Evening Times clipping that wis describing how a man hid been arrested efter his wagon hid broken doon in the toon centre. When polis arrived tae assist wae the traffic management, the rancid smell fae the lorry hid alerted the traffic cops in attendance. At first, they’d thought that it hid been a waste food truck, bit when they’d opene
d it, three rows ae whit hid been prime horses hid been swaying oan their hooks, skinned. The driver ae the truck hid been Streaky John McGinnis. She’d been that engrossed in reading the article, that she hidnae heard somewan slipping in tae the room.
“Anything interesting?” a voice asked fae behind her, causing her tae drap the newspaper clipping, as she let oot a wee yelp in fright.
It hid been Dave McGovern. She’d deliberately avoided The Gruesome Twosome as much as wis possible, efter hivving sat lurking aboot in the shadows ae The Transport Museum fur two hours. Efter composing hersel as best she could, she’d bent o’er tae pick up the newspaper clipping. The filthy basturt hid blatantly gripped each ae her hips wae they hauns ae his and started tae rub his crotch across the cheeks ae her bum. The basturt’d hid a semi-hard-on. He’d managed tae grab her wrist as she struggled tae get away fae his grip efter attempting tae slap him across that face ae his.
“Whit’s wrang, no senior enough?” he’d snorted, using his free left haun tae grab her right breast.
“Fuck you,” she’d screamed, as he forced her back against the filing cabinets wae the weight ae his body, gripping baith her wrists and planted his mooth o’er hers.
She wisnae sure ae the timeframe as she struggled against his weight, bit it couldnae hiv been mair than a few seconds before she managed tae bring her knee up in tae that crotch ae his. It must’ve been a sore wan, as he’d instantly buckled-up, clasping his hauns between his legs, as she hurried fae the room and alang tae the toilet at the front desk, tae try and compose hersel. When she’d come oot ae the lavvy, he’d been naewhere tae be seen. She’d soon furgoatten aw aboot the incident as pandemonium wis in full flow and Skanky Smith hid shouted at her tae lend a haun. An hour or so later, The Gruesome Twosome hid sauntered past. Dave McGovern hidnae said a word, bit the scowls she’d goat fae the baith ae them hid spoken louder than words. It hid been when she’d been in the lavvy, trying tae compose hersel, tae stoap shaking like a jelly, that her mind hid drifted back tae the night she’d been oot fur a drink wae Senga Jackson in the French wine bar in West Nile Street.
