Elvis The Sani Man

by Ian Todd

  “Ye hivnae listened tae whit Ah’ve jist said, hiv ye? When we go in tae the High Category Section, we cannae take in any bags wae us or take a file oot withoot it being approved and signed fur beforehaun. Also, aw the different file sections hiv specific officers names attached tae them. So, if your name’s no oan the list fur allowing access tae say, informers, then ye cannae get at them.”

  “Bit, Ah thought ye worked in the underground wummin’s section?”

  “Ah dae.”

  “So?”

  “There’s a three point access system in The Cove. The first level is access tae retrieve intel tae cross reference points in a case that ye might be working oan. Basically, ye put in a request and someone goes and extracts the information ye requested which his tae be read in front ae them before it’s put back. Level two, ye kin access a file fae the shelves and read it through in the reading section at a table in full view ae The Fluffys.”

  “The Fluffys?”

  “That’s whit they call the lassies manning the desks oot front.”

  “There’s a surprise,” Collette drawled. ”And the third?”

  “The third level ae access involves getting a signed docket fae the chief superintendent, Sam Bison, tae take a file oot ae The Cove and reading room aw thegither. There’s no way in a month ae Sundays he wid sign anything withoot knowing exactly why ye needed tae take it oot ae the building.”

  “Christ, there must be a way?”

  “No that Ah kin think ae. That file wid be a good few inches thick, at least. It contains aw the original investigation case notes, as well as the updated reviewed wans.”

  Silence.

  “So, we’re goosed then? That’s whit ye’re telling me?”

  “Whit Ah’m telling ye is, Ah widnae be the wan that could take that file oot ae the building.”

  “Ye’re sure, Lesley?” Collette pressed her, biting her bottom lip.

  “Where dis that leave me and that man ae mine?” Lesley asked, ignoring the question, nervously lighting up another fag wae a shaky haun.

  “Ah don’t know. Ah’ll hiv tae go away and think aboot it.”

  “Ah need that letter, Collette. Ye cannae dae this tae me, so ye cannae,” Lesley sobbed.

  “Lesley, unless you kin think up a way tae get me access tae that file, then Ah don’t think Priscilla Presley will spare ye. No efter whit she’s been through.”

  “Then Ah’m fucked…we aw ur,” Lesley whispered, sounding bewildered, looking across towards the glass door, as a big Barr’s Irn-Bru lorry thundered past and the waiter, Nice Arse, turned up the sound oan the radio at the start ae Patsy Cline’s ‘Ah Fall tae Pieces.’

  “Whit if…”

  “Collette? Why don’t ye jist shut the fuck up,” Lesley sobbed, covering her eyes wae the fingers ae her left haun as the clock up oan the wall struck twelve and Patsy Cline asked Collette how Lesley could be jist her friend.

  Chapter Sixty One

  It wis the shadow blocking oot the glaring strip light oan the flaked plastered ceiling that alerted him tae the fact that somewan wis staunin there in front ae him. Tae say he wis surprised wid’ve been putting it mildly. Elvis wondered how long he’d been sitting staring intae space. It must’ve been a while. The dried-oot swollen shark, lying at an awkward angle at the bottom ae his mug, looked tae hiv been lying there a while. The tables oan either side ae him wur empty, and seeing as she wis staunin so close tae his wan, he wisnae quite sure if she’d been sent as part ae a delegation. He caught sight ae Spasmodic Jeffries stumbling aboot in they high heels ae hers in the background behind her, wae a look ae concern splashed across that face ae hers. He wondered who she wis concerned aboot this time? He shifted his focus back tae the present. Miss Robertson wis staunin there, hivving appeared like some illusion, oan her lonesome, clasping baith hauns tae that flat chest ae hers. He’d often wondered whit her voice sounded like, hivving never needed the advice and enquiry services she offered oot at her desk beside the entrance tae the building oan George Street. In fact, as far as he could remember, this hid been the closest he’d ever been tae her in The Tear Drap Café in the six months he’d been based in the building, other than sauntering past that table ae hers oan route fur a mug ae tea across at the hot water geezer.

  “Oh, er, Mr Presley,” she stuttered, wringing they fingers ae hers thegither against her white blouse, swaying slightly and hypnotically, like some nervous Black Mamba, as her weight shifted fae wan fit tae the other.

  “Aye?”

  “Oh, er…we…er, wur wondering if, er, everything wis okay?”

  “We?”

  “Er, wae yersel, that is?”

  He wis gonnae reply ‘It’s funny ye should say that,’ bit hid stupidly decided tae go doon the mair complicated route insteid.

  “Oh, so ye’re no asking me oot fur a date then?” he made the mistake ae asking, trying tae lighten her load, as she jist aboot fainted, her face turning crimson. “It’s a joke, Miss Robertson…jist a wee joke,” he said, jumping in, trying tae extract himsel fae the hole that hid suddenly appeared under the legs ae that chair ae his.

  “Oh, er, aye, a joke. Very funny,” she smirked, sounding like a wummin awready condemned.

  “Ah’m sorry. Ye wur saying?” he asked her gently, quickly putting oan his best miserable face.

  “Oh, well, er, we, Miss Karoline and I thought that er, something must be, er, wrang…” she replied, her voice trailing aff, as they fingers ae hers went back tae trying tae unknot themsels.

  “Aye?”

  “Er, well, Miss Karoline suggested that Ah should come across and, er, ask if everything wis, er, okay…”

  So, Karen Karoline, The Fastest Typist in The West wis back in The Tear Drap, he cursed under his breath, as he leaned tae the side a wee bit and looked past Miss Robertson’s missing hip. And there she wis, hauf her haun and wrist bandaged up, hovering aboot, exaggerating a nonchalant pose, clearly in denial mode that she’d been stirring up the natives again, playing wae people’s karma. She didnae look like an agitator, he surmised, bit then again, who did? Maybe she wis wan ae these Showgirl wummin that aw the young lassies in the building whispered aboot excitedly tae each other, huddled aboot in corners, trying tae figure oot how they could join up. He hidnae thought aboot that. He’d her doon as wan ae they people that clearly couldnae help themsels and hid tae get involved in upsetting people because she couldnae staun tae see people happily miserable…well, contented in where they wur at any given moment. His big sister Jackie wis like that. Couldnae staun tae see anywan enjoying themsels.

  “And whit makes her think that?” he asked nicely.

  “Oh, er, well, it’s er, ye’ve been sitting here, day-in day-oot, looking intae yer, er, Elvis mug, fur the past two weeks. We, er…”

  “Naw, Ah’m fine, so Ah am. Honestly,” he interrupted her lightly, sounding as if he didnae hiv a care in the world, lying, smiling sweetly, shoogling they shoulders ae his tae let Miss Robertson see that he wis up fur anything.

  “Wis it the car?” Contrary Mary, another refugee fae the Housing Department queried fae behind Miss Robertson’s back, sending dark, turbulent waves shooting through they memory glands ae his.

  Whit the hell hid being gaun oan? Hid something happened that he hidnae picked up oan when he’d been sitting staring intae space the past few weeks, trying tae comprehend the meaning ae that life ae his? Karen Karoline must’ve been busy. How long hid she been back? He wished Miss Robertson wid shift oot ae his line ae vision, bit she wisnae gaun anywhere and he certainly wisnae gonnae ask her tae move tae the side a wee bit, efter that last overreaction tae his joke.

  “Car?” he asked aw innocent like, attempting tae focus oan where he thought Miss Robertson’s belly button wid be.

  “Aye, the wan that broke doon oan the way hame efter ye won it at that singing competition?” Karen Karoline, the leader ae the revolution chipped in, sounding happy.

  The car? Whit car? Oh, that car? He remembered. The pink
Vauxhall 1957 Cresta PA that he’d driven aff wae efter winning the ‘Elvis Is The Main Man Event’ across at The Plaza Ballroom a few weeks earlier. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d ripped the blindfold aff ae that face ae his efter being left in the van, before heiding straight hame. Priscilla and Lisa Marie hidnae been there, so he’d driven like a maniac across tae the venue. He’d burst oot sobbing when he found them sitting at a table looking oan tae the ballroom flair. They’d left Kildonan Drive early tae guarantee themsels a ringside seat.

  “Whit’s the matter, Elvis?” Priscilla hid screamed, alarmed at the state he wis in.

  “Ah broke doon,” he’d gasped, cuddling the baith ae them. “Ah never thought Ah wis gonnae make it,” he’d yodelled.

  “Well, ye’ve made it noo, so here’s yer spare costumes,” Priscilla hid sang, shooing him away towards the stage door. “Go!”

  As he’d nipped through tae the dressing rooms, he’d heard the shouting fae the judge’s room. Frankie MacDonald, fae the Top Star Entertainment Agency and the third judge who’s name he couldnae remember noo, hid scampered oot ae the room in panic, leaving the door open. He’d clocked big Teddy Bare scudding Chip Munk, the MC and judge oan the eye wae that big fist ae his. Chip hid gone doon like a sack ae shite. Efter that, everything hid jist become wan almighty blur. He could remember throwing up at the side ae the stage before he went oan…no because ae the fact that his set-list wis different fae everywan else’s, which it wis, bit because he couldnae get the sound ae that chainsaw being tugged intae life oot ae his heid. Wance he’d went oan stage and kicked aff, his stomach hid settled doon a wee bit, bit he’d hid tae run like the clappers tae the lavvies wae the worst diarrhoea he’d ever suffered in his life, as soon as he’d finished. The following morning, the shits hid returned and he’d announced o’er his cornflakes that he wisnae gaun tae the final. Priscilla hid telt him in nae uncertain terms that he wis gaun even if she hid tae throw him oot ae the windae. Then, hauf an hour later, he’d refused tae leave the hoose efter Lisa Marie hid telt him that her ma hid thought she’d been kidnapped the day before.

  “Look, it’s natural tae feel nervous, Elvis. It’s the final. It’s whit ye’ve been waiting fur aw yer life, so it is,” Priscilla hid said tae him soothingly, forcibly ejecting his arse oot the door tae the stairheid landing, bringing back painful memories ae his school days when he wis being bullied by Peter Paxton, the only albino in the school, who’d been in the class above him.

  It hid been standing room only at The Plaza. As long as he could see where Priscilla and Lisa Marie wur and avoided the scowls fae Teddy Bare, he coped. At wan point he couldnae see Lisa Marie. He’d been aboot tae jump doon oan tae the dance flair when he’d spotted her, making her way through the heaving mass, wae two candy flosses held up above her pony-tailed heid as she manoeuvred hersel across tae where Priscilla wis sitting. Despite plastering that ugly mug ae his wae make-up, Chip Munk’s eye wis swollen shut and dribbling. Wan ae the other Elvises hid suggested that he wear a patch so as no tae scare the young wans and the wummin folk, bit his advice hid gone doon like a lead balloon. Nowan hinging aboot backstage, waiting tae take their turn, hid been in the least bit surprised that The Joker hid then scored three points oot ae a possible eighteen. That’s whit happens if yer cheek’s no appreciated in a place like Glesga. The fact that Mr Funny hailed fae Barrheid, hid been nae excuse. It hid been that tense. The last two Elvises staunin hid been him and Teddy Bare. The evil basturt hid tried tae get him disqualified because his song list didnae conform tae International Elvis Competition Rules. There hid been heated arguments gaun oan aw morning before the final goat underway. Chip Munk and Frankie MacDonald hid carried the day and he’d been allowed up oan tae the stage. It hid been horrible knowing that there wis a fix oan the go, particularly seeing the reaction ae the crowd getting up there oan tae the dance flair as soon as he’d started. It hid been obvious tae him that a good selection ae the fans, despite being Elvis fanatics, hid been getting a bit tired ae the same auld song lists being churned oot three days oan a trot. When he’d kicked aff intae ‘Lawdy, Miss Clawdy,’ the place hid erupted. He wis convinced that he could’ve beaten the fat polisman in a straight heid-tae-heid. It hid, however, been some consolation tae Elvis, knowing that if it hid been an honest competition oan his part, then Teddy Bare wid’ve driven away wae the car and the title efter greasing Chip Munk’s greasy palms. He wondered if Frankie MacDonald hid goat the same backhaunder as the MC? Despite his unease, being waved away fae the front door ae The Plaza by everywan…well, nearly everywan…wae Priscilla and Lisa Marie sitting between them oan the bench seat wae the hood oan the car doon, heiding towards the Clyde, hid been wan ae the best moments ae his entire life, apart fae his wedding tae Priscilla and adopting Lisa Marie as his ain, that is. There hidnae been any ae the press present tae take photos ae the winner and runner-up. That hid soon changed efter he heard a bang fae under the bonnet as he wis cruising alang Eglinton Street intae Bridge Street. Wae the Glesga Bridge in sight and oil pishing oot ae the sump, the brakes hid then seized. He’d wrenched oan the haunbrake and how he hidnae rolled o’er the tap ae whit he assumed tae be an auld jakey lying at the side ae the road in whit he thought wis a pished slumber, he’d never know. At the time, he hidnae been that sure as tae whether Priscilla and Lisa Marie wur screaming in horror because he wis haudin up the haunbrake in mid-air or because the front wheel hid stoapped jist an inch fae the auld boy’s toes. It hidnae taken The Glesga Echo and The Evening Citizen hounds long tae arrive oan the scene wae a couple ae photographers in tow. Teddy Bare and that horrible wife ae his hid obviously instructed the taxi they wur in tae slow doon tae a crawl as they passed them by.

  “That’ll teach ye, ya corrupt wee basturt, ye,” Teddy hid shouted oot the windae as Lisa Marie gied them a two-fingered salute wae baith hauns, staunin up oan the back seat ae the Cresta. As it transpired, the auld boy lying at the side ae the road wae his hauns clasped thegither oan his chest, looking a bit peely-wally, bit quite content, hid been left there by his seventy-eight year auld wife and that brother-in-law ae his the day before. They hidnae been able tae afford his burial, even efter they’d added The Corporation’s grant towards his funeral tae whit they wur able tae contribute. It hid been a bit ae a bummer tae see himsel oan the front page ae The Glesga Echo, in his full Elvis get-up, peering doon at the poor auld war hero, while Priscilla sat, clearly distressed up-front and Lisa Marie staunin behind her oan the back seat, gesticulating her feelings towards Teddy Bare wae they fingers ae hers. Oan the car front, the mechanic at Honest George’s hid telt him that the engine wis goosed and needed tae be scrapped. When he’d gone doon tae the scrapyard oan The Broomielaw tae try and sort something oot wae the dealer who’d supplied the car tae the competition organisers, the owner, who everywan in the yard kept referring tae as Greasy Jake, hid threatened tae set his big Alsatian dugs oan tae him. The big hairy beasts, slobbering aw o’er the place oan the end ae their chains that wur hitched tae a post in the middle ae the yard, hid started letting rip as soon as they’d clocked him trying tae speak tae the big greasy bloke in charge.

  “Elvis his jist left the yard…intact,” he’d heard wan ae the gangster-looking types that hid been lounging aboot in the office quipping, as he scurried oot oan tae The Broomielaw, cackling laughter following him in his tracks.

  “Naw, it’s nothing tae dae wae the car that broke doon across in the Gorbals efter Ah won the competition,” he replied tae Miss Robertson.

  “Oh,” wis aw she said, clearly no sure whit tae say noo.

  He’d wanted tae chide her fur listening tae somewan like Karen Karoline, a well-known mixer in the building, who took every opportunity tae flaunt her star status tae aw the mere mortals in the typing pool. Even though she never received a penny mair than her colleagues fur her humungous output, it never stoapped her letting everywan know how indispensible she wis. It wis jist a pity that it wis warrant sales letters that she processed wae they fast finger
s ae hers, insteid ae good news, like informing tenants in crappy hooses that they wur getting a rebate oan the extortionate rates they wur being charged fur living in third world hoosing conditions. He’d heard Mags Hamilton, that tall Houdini-artist-come-typist ae his, tell Jack Hawke that Karen Karoline hid been engaged aboot twenty years earlier tae some card shark, Eddie Slip, who’d disappeared soon efter getting caught cheating at cards across in The Capstan Club in Hanover Lane, jist behind George Square. Seemingly she’d put an advert intae Ace Magnet, the card gamblers’ magazine, pleading wae him tae get back in touch wae her. Mags hid never mentioned if he ever hid, bit there wis an excuse, if ever there wis wan, tae reap revenge oan an unsuspecting world.

  “Ask him if that long suffering wife ae his, his booted him oot,” he heard a whispering voice in the background, noticing Miss Robertson’s lips hidnae moved as her face turned crimson, suddenly realising that she’d been set-up by a professional shitehoose.

  “Oh, er, well, if there’s anything…er,” she said, practically bowing, as she stepped backwards, before fleeing back tae her angst and the Spare Rib magazine sitting there wae the pages open oan her table.

  Contrary Mary and Spasmodic Jeffreys hid awready gone back tae sitting staring intae space contently, contemplating some crisis in their lives, as they took wee sips fae their China cups and the café started tae fill up. Karen Karoline, suddenly realising that she wis staunin there, exposed, oot in the open, snatched up her cup wae her good haun and heided fur the geezer tae get in there first before the queue built up, bit no before gieing him a wee triumphant glare.

  It wis Collette he wis worried aboot…or rather, whit she’d think ae him, when he informed her he’d hid enough ae polis undercover work. It hid taken him a while, bit he now knew that he wisnae cut-oot tae be a polisman. She’d probably try tae convince him tae carry oan, she wis that dedicated. He couldnae risk that. The recurring nightmares ae that chainsaw spluttering, before coughing intae life in that dark, damp, dungeon hid convinced him that his polis career wis o’er before it hid even started.