Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (22 page)

  “Aye.”

  “And mind yer baws oan that barbed wire. Ah’ve either goat a bad drip or wan ae ma sacks his jist sprung a leak,” he said, scratching his crotch.

  Efter taking wan ae the long sides aff ae each ae the fish boxes, it wis a dawdle. They lifted the briquettes six at a time and drapped them intae the box. A dozen briquettes fitted perfectly.  It took them aboot hauf an hour tae build their steps under Tony’s directions. They wur quiet at first, bit it soon became obvious that nowan could hear or see them. The patter, whinging and whining between Skull and Joe soon hid them aw in stitches.

  “Right, Skull, you up oan tap. Johnboy, you’re in the middle and me and Joe will dae the filling ae the boxes fae doon here,” Tony said.

  Fur the next couple ae hours, they worked oan the line wae boxes being passed up full and slung back doon empty. Skull and Johnboy took turns ae shifting aboot when Johnboy’s erms goat sore. They jist slid the briquettes oot ae the boxes o’er the tap ae the wall. By the time they wur finished, they wur able tae step aff ae the tap ae the wall oan tae the stack they’d made and scramble doon oan tae the ground.

  “Right, aw we hiv tae dae noo is start shifting them o’er tae the edge ae The Nolly, next tae
oor wee bridge…and we’re done,” Tony said.

  There wis nae moaning as they aw set aboot shifting the briquettes, probably due tae the fact that they wur aw knackered. They carried two boxes o’er tae the canal every journey, each containing two dozen briquettes. The smell ae fish aff the boxes wis long gone.

  “Make sure ye lay them flat,” Tony shouted efter them. “We don’t want any thieving basturts tae see them fae the other side before we collect them in the morning.”

  “How much hiv we goat then?” asked Skull.

  “Ah reckon aboot eighty dozen,” said Tony.

  “So, whit’s the profits gonnae be then?”

  “The other guys who take oot the horses and carts charge wan and ninepence a dozen, so we’ll charge wan and a tanner,” Joe said.

  “Eighty times wan and six comes tae...comes tae...” Skull said, looking at the sky above Johnboy’s heid, wae his eyebrows bobbing up and doon, while at the same time, coonting furiously wae they fingers ae his, like wan ae they contestants oot ae
‘Double yer Money’ or ‘Open the Box’. “...six quid, less five bob, means we’ll get five pound, fifteen bob profit,” he declared wae a smug look oan his face.

  “Jeez, Skull. That wis quick,” Johnboy said, clearly impressed.

  “Aye, bit it disnae sound right tae me,” Joe said doubtfully.

  “Believe you me, ya dumb monkey-nut, ye…Ah goat it right first time, nae sweat. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

  “Where dis the ‘less five bob’ cum fae then?” Joe demanded tae know.

  “The price ae the hire ae the horse and cart.”

  “Ah’ll let ye aff.”

  “Wow, Ah cannae believe we’re gonnae make that amount ae dosh,” Johnboy said, in wonder, black as two in the morning and covered in coal dust.

  “Right, first thing the morra morning, you and Skull heid up here, Joe. Me and Johnboy will pick up the horse and cart and bring it up tae the road-end and we’ll get loaded up. Awright?”

  Jist before Johnboy left them at the bottom ae North Wallace Street tae heid hame, a squad ae the Toonheid Toi boys, who wur spray painting graffiti oan the auld toll building at the lights oan the corner ae Parly and St James’ Road, turned and gied them a warm welcome.

  “Fuck’s sakes, watch oot, boys, the baby Black and White Minstrel Show his come tae toon efter walking a million miles.”

  “How’s yer maaammy, maaammy?” wan ae them howled, shaking his hauns, palms held ootwards taewards them.

  “Gie’s wan ae yer famous maaammy smiles.”

  “Lick ma shitey Catholic arsehole, ya Proddy pricks, ye,” Skull shouted back at them.

Chapter Twenty Six

  “Ah don’t think we should try and get a grip ae him in front ae his mates,” Crisscross murmured, taking another wee peek oot ae the closemooth entrance.

  “Aye, we’ll need tae nip him where we cannae be seen talking tae him or people might get ideas,” The Sarge agreed.

  They wur watching the wee fat grass walking doon Parson Street towards them wae four ae his mates jist before the five ae them disappeared intae wan ae the closes.

  “Ah think he’s oan his way hame, if ye ask me. Whit dae ye think?”

  “Aye, there’s a good possibility ae that. Let’s nip up his close and we’ll see if he turns up,” The Sarge replied as they exited the closemooth they wur in and nipped doon intae Taylor Street.

  When they arrived at the wee fat boy’s closemooth, they heided up tae the middle landing between the ground and second flair and peered oot ae the broken stairheid windae tae see whit wis gaun oan. They saw the boys walking diagonally across the back court in their direction.

  “Here, hiv a look at this,” Crisscross said, nodding his heid jist o’er tae the left ae where the boys wur.

  “Whit?”

  “Kin ye no see it?”

  “See whit?”

  “The scabby doo fluttering aboot in the puddle.”

  “Oh, aye.  Ah wonder whit’s wrang wae it.”

  “Probably a broken wing.”

  The boys hidnae seen the doo at first and walked past it. It wisnae moving. It looked as if it hid sensed the danger. Wan ae the boys suddenly bent doon and picked something up. It wis then that he spotted the doo as it started tae flutter and walk aboot in circles, dragging its wing in its wake through the puddle.

  “Look at that, Alex!” The Sarge and Crisscross heard the boy say tae Fat Boy who stoapped and turned.

  “A scabby doo!” Fatty shouted in glee, as him and his mates walked o’er tae see whit the score wis.

  “Aye, its wing’s goosed,” they heard wan ae them say.

  “Right, listen up,” Fatty announced, walking away fae the puddle, putting wan foot in front ae the other, toe tae heel and heel tae toe, coonting up tae twenty before turning. “Here’s the rules…nowan is allowed tae go beyond this line,” he said, dragging the toe ae his shiny shoe across the dirt.

  “Aw, brilliant!”

  “Get yer stanes!” Fatty shouted, as they aw scattered in different directions, collecting bits ae broken bricks, slates and debris fae the back court.

  “Me first!” Fat Boy screamed, as he launched a hauf brick that missed the doo by aboot a quarter ae an inch bit covered it in an explosion ae dirty water.

  “Ach, never mind, Alex. If you cannae stone it tae death, ye kin always try tae droon it.”

  The next stane tae be let loose struck it oan its injured wing, the force ae the blow sending it tumbling through the water.

  “Is it deid then?” wan ae them asked, clearly disappointed.

  “Naw, here it comes,” Fatty said, pointing as the doo struggled tae its feet.

  Four large stanes later and it still hidnae been hit.

  “Five points tae the next wan that gets it,” an ugly wee toothless fairy shouted.

  “Ma turn!” Fatty shouted and let fly.

  The stane caught it oan the side ae the heid and the doo disappeared under the water.

  “Aw, fuck’s sake, Alex!” whined Toothless, “Ah wanted another shot.”

  They stood looking at the puddle, bit there wis nae movement. They walked o’er tae hiv a closer look. Jist when they goat tae the puddle, the doo stood up, shook its heid and started tae move away fae them, dragging its gammy wing behind it.

  “Yes, ya wee darling, ye!” wan ae them shouted, as they aw raced back tae the line, picking up mair stanes oan route.

  Toothless let fly and missed by a mile. Two mair shots came and went. Meanwhile, Fatty hid walked o’er tae wan ae the middens and came back wae an unbroken red brick. He threw it the way the sojers throw grenades in the war films. It landed narrow end doon, right smack oan tap ae the doos heid. The doo widnae hiv known whit hid hit it. It lay with baith its wings grotesquely twisted flat, while its feet wriggled fur a few seconds and then went still.

  “That’s cheating Alex, ya prick, ye,” whined Toothless.

  “How come?”

  “Ye could hardly miss wae the size ae that brick.”

  “Haw youse!
Ya
evil wee basturts. Leave that poor bird alane,” a wee wummin shouted fae her kitchen windae.

  “Fuck aff and mind yer ain business,” Fatty shouted back. “We’re only putting it oot ae its misery.”

  “Ah’m gonnae hiv tae go,” wan ae them said.

  “Aye, so am Ah,” Toothless added.

  “Okay, Ah’ll see youse aw the night then,” Fatty grunted, walking towards the back close where The Sarge and Crisscross wur waiting.

  “Charming wee fucker, eh?” The Sarge murmered.

  “Aye, dae ye think he’s polis material?”

  “Him? Naw, too sadistic, that wan. He’s mair suited tae being a screw up in the Bar-L.”

  The two ae them held their breath.  They could hear Fatty, the grassing doo-killer, stomping through the back close, whistling like Tweety Bird. He hesitated at the first step fur a second, paused, and then started tae thud up the stairs. He jist aboot shat himsel when he wis confronted by two big bizzies, wan wae skelly eyes that Ben Turpin wid’ve been proud ae, and the other wae sergeant’s stripes oan each erm.

  “It wisnae me, sir…honest,” he whined in automatic mode.

  “Whit wisnae you, Alex?” asked Crisscross.

  “That hurt that doo. Ah tried tae stoap them, bit they widnae listen…honest, sir.”

  “Ah don’t know aboot you, Crisscross, bit Ah’d let him aff if Ah wis the judge, wae that excuse.”

  At the mention ae a judge, Fat Boy, the grassing doo killer, burst intae tears.

  “Ah swear oan ma maw’s life, cross ma heart and hope tae die, Ah didnae dae it, sir. It wis them. Ah kin tell ye aw their names,” he whined, crossing himsel oan the wrang side ae his chest, like a typical Proddy.

  “Listen, Alex, furget the doo…it wis only a scabby hawker. We’re no interested in that. We jist need a wee chat wae ye,” The Sarge cooed gently.

  “A…a chat?”

  “Aye, jist a wee chat, son.”

  “Er, whit aboot?”

  “Y’know…this and that.”

  “This and whit?”

  “That wee thieving manky mob that tanned the shoap in St James Road. Ye remember them, don’t ye?” Crisscross said.

  “They bast...Ah mean, they boys that goat aff wae it? They wans?”

  He’s a sly wee fucker, this wan, The Sarge thought tae himsel.  It hidnae taken him long tae recover.

  “Aye, well, hopefully no fur long wae your help, eh, Alex?” The Sarge purred gently tae him.

  “Ma help?”

  “Aye, we need tae know whit they’re up tae.”

  “Where they go at night.”

  “Who’s gaun wae who.”

  “Who’s daeing whit.”

  “And where they keep their stash.”

  It wis the mention ae the stash that goat the first response.

  “Stash? Whit stash wid that be, sir?” the wee fat sleekit baw-bag asked them.

  “Alex, don’t play games wae us noo. We’ve jist clocked ye tormenting a helpless wee doo and telling that auld nosey basturt tae fuck aff. There’s at least two charges in there, so there is,” said The Sarge, starting tae enjoy himsel, looking o’er at Crisscross who’d jist taken aff his hat and wis sitting doon oan the white-wash covered stairs.

  “No tae mention resisting arrest and assaulting the polis,” added Crisscross fur good measure, clearing the wax oot ae his ear using the match that he’d spotted lying oan the landing.

  “Bit, bit...”

  “No, bit nothing, Alex. We know ye’d rather be in the polis station as a junior constable when ye grow up, rather than locked up in the same cells as that bunch ae wee manky-arsed toe-rags.”

  At the mention ae sharing a cell wae the manky mob, Fat Boy’s face turned white.

  “Bit Ah’ve no done anything,” he wailed, panic taking a grip ae him.

  “Exactly…that’s the point, Alex. Noo it’s your turn tae get wan o’er oan they wee fucks, isn’t it?” Crisscross said, soothingly, trying tae wipe the wax aff his matchstick oan tae the glossy painted wall.

  “Whit is it ye want?”

  “We want ye tae follow them, keep yer eyes oan them, stalk them…the way Tonto dis in The Lone Ranger, or jist like in Sherlock Homes. Ur ye wae me?” asked The Sarge.

  “Er, aye, Ah think so.”

  “We’re no interested in yersel or yer mates…we jist want them. We need tae know where they keep that stash ae theirs.”

  “If they catch me, they’ll kill me, especially that Tony Gucci…the Atalian wan.”

  “Aye, bit ye’ve goat us. Who the fuck hiv they goat, eh? Answer me that wan.”

  “The Big Man,” Fatty muttered.

  At the mention ae The Big Man, Crisscross threw his match, heavy laden wae a big dollop ae wax oan wan end, oan tae the stair, while The Sarge almost choked, bit somehow managed tae keep his voice calm.

  “Whit aboot The Big Man?”

  “Ah’ve heard they’ve been daein some jobs fur him,” Fat Boy whimpered, shrinking back, wishing he hidnae mentioned The Big Man’s name.

  “Whit kind ae jobs?” asked Crisscross, skelly eyes narrowing.

  “Stealing doos oot ae dookits and breaking intae shoaps fur fancy wee radios.”

  “How dae ye know this, Alex?” The Sarge asked, back in gentle mode, heart beating faster noo.

  “Cause Ah heard Horsey John and Tiny speak aboot it.”

  “When?”

  “Jist yesterday. They said that Tony Gucci and his pals hid goat a good collection ae fancy radios and hid passed them oan tae The Big Man. He goat them aw at knock doon, dirt cheap prices. Ah heard Tiny tell Horsey John that The Big Man wis really happy wae them and that he wis gonnae gie them mair work.”

  “So, where dis the doos come intae it then?” Crisscross asked.

  “Tiny said tae Horsey John that when he went roond tae drap aff a bag ae meat, Shaun telt him that he wis aff tae meet up wae Tony Gucci and his pals.”

  “Bit he never actually said he wis gonnae get them tae steal some eejit’s doos, did he?” Crisscross pressed.

  “Naw, bit Ah know fur sure that Tony Gucci and that gang ae his tanned dookits before and fucked aff wae doos fur Shaun and his brothers. Why else wid he invite them roond tae his cabin, eh?” Fat Arse asked.

  “Right, whit time dae ye normally finish yer paper roond?” asked The Sarge.

  “Aboot hauf five.”

  “Right, every second night, wan ae us or Big Jim and Jobby will be waiting here tae talk tae ye. Is that okay?” The Sarge stated, rather than asked him.

  “Er, aye.”

  “It’s a big responsibility we’re gieing ye, so don’t let us doon noo, will ye?”

  “Naw, Ah won’t.”

  “Right, aff ye go.  We’ll see ye two nights fae noo, Alex.”

  The Sarge and Crisscross started tae heid doon the stairs when Fat Arse couldnae resist calling efter them.

  “Er, ye don’t think there’s any chance Ah could get an undercover badge, dae ye, Sir?”

  The Sarge wis jist aboot tae tell him tae fuck aff, when Crisscross goat in there first.

  “Don’t ye worry aboot that, Alex. We’ll get ye wan ae oor special ‘behind enemy lines’ badges…won’t we, Sarge?”

  “Er, aye, don’t ye worry aboot that…Special Constable Milne,” The Sarge said, trying no tae pish himsel laughing.

  “Brilliant!” Fatty whooped, a big smile plastered across his coupon as he aboot-turned and stomped up the stairs, feeling aw chuffed wae himsel.

  When The Sarge and Crisscross hit the street, it hid started pishing doon.

  “Aye, the gardeners will be happy noo,” sighed Crisscross, sniffing the air.

  “Whit gardeners?”

  “Whit?”

  “Ah said whit gardeners?”

  “Y’know, garden gardeners.”

  “Whit?  In the Toonheid?”

  “Naw, don’t be stupid. Ah didnae mean aroond aboot here, ya stupid bampot, ye.”

  “Aye, Ah wis wondering whit the fuck ye wur oan aboot.”

  “Here, did that wee fat grass wae the forked tongue mention he saw Tiny deliver a big bag ae meat roond tae The McAslin Bar?”

  “Aye, he’d get ye hung that wee fat basturt, so he wid.”

  “Ye don’t think that wis Buttercup, dae ye?”

  “Buttercup?”

  “Aye, Buttercup that went missing the day before the weans ‘Doon oan the Farm’ party at the school.”

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Crisscross. Sometimes Ah jist cannae believe ye.”

  “Whit did Ah say?”

  “Of course it wis Buttercup, ya stupid eejit, ye.”