Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (44 page)

8.50 P.M.

  “Pat, ur ye wanting any running aboot done the night?” Calum asked The Big Man efter he came aff the stage.

  “Naw, naw, Calum. We’re aw hivving a break…yersel included. Jist make sure ye get doon tae that cellar and get they kegs changed o’er in plenty ae time fur Tam the Bam. That heavy is gaun doon they throats the way flood water goes doon a drain oan a stormy night.”

  “Er, Ah might hiv tae nip oot fur a wee while.”

  “Whit fur?”

  “Er, Ah’ve goat a driving lesson.

  “Ye’ve goat a whit?”

  “A driving lesson.”

  “At ten tae nine oan a Saturday night?” The Big Man said, sliding his sleeve back tae hiv a look at Charlie Chip’s good Rolex watch. “Who the fuck his a driving lesson at ten tae nine oan a Saturday night? Anyway, furget aw that shite. Ah’ll get ye a bona fide driving licence. It means ye’d never need tae learn. Aw the boys hivnae learned tae drive or sat a test and they're aw good drivers.”

  “Well, it’s a surprise fur ma maw.”

  “Calum, ye’re only bloody fifteen.”

  “Aye, well, that’s why Ah need tae take ma lessons at this time oan a Saturday night. This’ll be ma fourth wan.”

  “Ah’m no happy. How long will ye be?”

  “Three quarters ae an hour.”

  “Ach, well, if it’s fur that wee maw ae yours, who am Ah tae deny her, eh? Ye’ll miss the cutting ae the cake and a wee game ae Bingo, bit oan ye go, and don’t be long.”

  “Ah won’t. Cheers, Pat!”

8.55 P.M.

  “Let’s heid doon past The McAslin Bar, Crisscross,” The Sarge said, sitting wae two fish suppers oan his lap and a bottle ae Irn Bru clenched between his feet.

  “Yer word is ma command,” Crisscross replied, as he cut across Parly Road intae St Mungo Street and then right intae McAslin Street.

  “Wid ye look at aw they haufwit eejits staunin oot there, lugging in. It’s like bloody craws waiting fur crumbs. Did ye manage tae get an invite fur Sally?”

  “Naw, The Big Man wisnae wearing it. Ah think it wis probably because you and him fell oot. Ah saw her earlier oan and she said that her and Sister Flog wur gonnae try and wangle their way in jist before the music kicked aff.”

  “Hing oan a minute. Stoap the car…Jim! Jinty! Whit the bloody hell ur youse pair up tae, staunin there withoot yer hats oan?”

  “Aw, Hellorerr Liam.  We’re jist listening tae the music. Bloody stoating singer that lassie is. The boy’s pretty good at backing her oan some ae they songs tae.”

  “Whit’s wae the hats aff the nappers?”

  “Aw, jist in case The Inspector turns up. It wid help us tae nip up the close withoot him thinking it wis us.”

  “Well, we noticed ye, ya plonker, ye.”

  “Ah, bit ye’ve goat eyes like a bloody hawk, so ye hiv. So, whit ur youse two up tae?”

  “We’re aff tae hiv oor tea.”

  “Ach, well, ye know where we ur, if ye need us. Catch ye later.  Ah think the Bingo’s aboot tae finish and the music’s coming back oan. We’ll jist nip back tae get oor place beside the door before some basturt steals oor spot. Ah’ve telt Tiny, who’s oan the door, tae keep oor pitch fur us.”

  “Right, Crisscross, left up Taylor Street and right oan tae Ronald Street. Jist park hauf way doon the street oan the right haun side and we’ll tan these suppers before they go cauld.”

9.00 P.M.

  “Any sign ae Calum yet, Johnboy?” Joe asked, as he slid the fourth box doon tae Johnboy.

  “Naw.”

  “Keep gaun o’er tae the landing hatch and listen. He should be here any time noo.”

  “Aye, Ah’ve been gaun o’er tae it every couple ae minutes. There’s been nae sign ae him yet.”

  It wis jist then that they nearly lost the box full ae doos that Joe hid slid doon tae Johnboy, as well as jist aboot shiting themsels. It wis jist as well Johnboy managed tae compose himsel and grab the box as it slid past him.  Some mad wummin hid let oot a shriek that wid’ve curdled milk.

“Two fat ladies, eighty eight.  Legs eleven, number eleven. Crisscross’s eyes, number wan.  Two little ducks, twenty two.”

  “Aarrggh! Hoose! Oh ma God! Oh Jeesusss!  It’s me!  Ah’ve won!” The banshee wailed.

  “Gie a big doze ae the clap tae the wummin in the uniform, wearing the hat wae the purple bow. She’s jist won the night’s star prize…a Grand Prix GP nine-o-wan transistor radi-oh!” Kirsty howled in disgust intae the microphone, as a sporadic smattering ae haun claps came fae the disappointed guests, and fizzled oot as quick as it started.

  The sound coming fae the pub wis echoing aw o’er the buildings, bit whoever hid won the tranny sounded ecstatic. Johnboy hoped that the doos wid be okay efter that shriek.

9.01 P.M.

  Calum pushed open the lounge door ae The Atholl. A wee man, wae a moustache, wearing a woollen checked jaicket wae leather patches oan his elbows, horn-rimmed glasses and clutching a clip board wae baith hauns, wis staunin oan a chair shouting at the tap ae his voice above the din ae laughter, singing, glasses tinkling aff ae each other and two wummin hivving a square-go in the corner jist tae his left.

  “It is ma considered opinion,” he roared, “that the government, due tae increased accidents oan the motorways, may introduce a speed limit later this year.”

  “Er, excuse me, Jimmy.  Dae ye know The Driving Instructor?” Calum asked a passing drunk.

  “Aye, son.”

  “Kin ye pass oan an important message?”

  “Aye, Ah kin that.”

  “Kin ye tell him that we’re ready fur the boxes tae be picked up?”

  “Ah kin indeed.”

  “Ur ye sure ye know who Ah’m talking aboot?”

  “Aye, Ah kin see him sitting jist o’er there, son.”

  “Thanks, ye’re a pal.”

  “Nae problem, son. Ur ye sure ye don’t want tae join us fur a wee swally?”

  “Naw, Ah’m watching the clock. Cheers!”

9.05 P.M.

  “Here, wis that no The Big Man’s runner…whit’s his name?”

  “Calum Todd.”

  “Aye, Calum. Wis that no him whizzing by us doon the bottom ae the street, alang St James Road?” Crisscross asked, munching intae the tail ae his haddock.

  “Wis it? Ah didnae see anything.”

  “Ah’m sure it wis.”

  “He’s a funny boy, him.  Dae ye no think so?”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “Aw that running aboot like a big glaikit beanpole.”

  “Whit’s wrang wae that?  At least it keeps him oot ae trouble and fit intae the bargain.”

  “Aye, Ah know. Don’t get me wrang, Crisscross, bit, look at aw the other toe-rags aboot here…stealing, thieving, ripping the lead aff ae the roofs, screwing people’s gas meters, breaking intae shoaps.”

  “So?”

  “So, dis it no strike ye as a wee bit wee queer?”

  “Whit dae ye mean?”

  “Ye know?”

  “Sarge, running aboot tae keep fit disnae mean ye want tae perch oan yer girlfriend’s brother’s arse.”

  “Hiv ye ever clocked him running aboot wae a hairy?”

  “He’s jist wan ae they clean living dafties. Ma Sally wis wondering if we should approach him tae see if he’d maybe be interested in joining The Sally Army as a cadet.”

  “Ach, well, don’t say Ah never warned ye. If ye’re born here and ye’re no a conniving, sleekit, wee thieving basturt, then there’s something wrang wae ye. Pass me that bottle ae Irn Bru.”

9.07 P.M.

  Johnboy thought he’d heard movement coming fae the landing. He nipped o’er and peeked doon through a slit in the hatch and could see Calum’s face staring up at him. He lifted aff the cover.

  “Aw right, Calum?”

  “No bad, Johnboy. How’s it gaun?”
  “Fine.”

  “Right, pass me doon a box. They’re oan their way.”

  “Right. Watch oot when Ah pass ye it doon.  The doos will aw slide towards ye.”

  “Nae problem. Ah’ll see ye fur the next wan in five minutes fae noo.”

  “Right,” Johnboy said, covering the hatch o’er the hole again wance Calum hid box number wan safely oan the landing.

9.10 P.M.

  “Who likes Patsy Cline?”

  “Us!” everywan in the bar screamed back.

  “Right, this is a wee song that Daisy his asked me tae sing tae Bill tae show her love and affection fur aw the years she’s hid tae put up wae him,” Sarah May said tae hoots ae laughter.

  “She wisnae saying that last New Year when she cracked open ma heid wae a pair ae fire tongs,” Bill quipped loudly, tae cheers and whistles.

  “That wis because his false teeth fell oot and woke me up while he wis trying tae hiv his evil way wae me when Ah wis asleep oan the couch. When Ah sussed oot it wis him and no Sean Connery, Ah let the horny auld git hiv it,” Daisy shouted, tae howls ae laughter.

  “Christ, Daisy, ye’ve even goat The Bad Habit and that Fat Sally Sally wan in stitches, so ye hiv,” Helen laughed
intae Daisy’s lug.

  “And wae they sweet words ae endearments, this is ‘Walking Efter Midnight’ by the late, great, Patsy Cline,” Sarah, the pie flinger said intae the microphone.

9.15 P.M.

  “Psst! Johnboy!”

  “Whit?”

  “The basturt’s no turned up.”

  “Whit?”

  “Ah’ll need tae nip back doon tae The Atholl tae see whit the score is. Whit time is it?”

  “Quarter past nine.”

  “Right, here ye go, take this box ae doos back up.”

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Calum!”

9.17 P.M.

  “Did ye see him, Sarge?”

  “Who?”

  “Calum?”

  “Where?”

  “He’s jist fucked aff back up St James Road, in the direction he came fae ten minutes ago.”

  “So whit?”

  “Ah’m jist saying.”

  “Ye said that ten minutes ago.”

  “Aye, well, he’s obviously worked oot a wee street circuit. Ah wonder if he’d let me join him wan night when Ah’m oan the early shift.”

  “Ye’d need tae catch him first. Every time Ah see him, he’s always running aboot aw o’er the place, like a man oan a mission, so he is.”

9.19 P.M.

  “Therefore,” the wee man wae the broon elbow patches, who wis staunin oan the chair, screaming at the tap ae his lungs shouted, “the safety aspects ae a pedestrian anticipating an emergency stoap fae an oancoming vehicle is slim. However...”

  “Hoi! Hoi!” Calum screamed.

  The place came tae a staunstill. Even the two mad wummin in the corner stoapped pulling the hair oot ae each other’s heids tae see whit aw the commotion wis aboot.

  “Put up yer haun if ye’re the driving instructor,” Calum yelled at the drunken booze-up. “Ah don’t fucking believe this,” he groaned, as forty seven guys and two wummin put their hauns up in the air.

  “Right, Ah don’t know which wan ae youse Ah’m efter, bit Ah’ve goat a stack ae boxes piling up, so kin ye get yer arses in gear and get doon tae ye know where, and pick the fucking things up.”

9.22 P.M.

  “Before ye say anything, Crisscross. Ah’ve jist clocked him
again
.”

  “He’s bloody fit that wan. Ah wonder whit time it wid take him tae cover a mile?”

  “Six and a hauf minutes.”

  “Hmm, he’s a young whippet and he kin shift like shite aff ae a hot shovel.”

  “Aye, he might be young bit tae dae it in less time, ye’d need professional coaching. The way he runs…like a big pansy…he widnae know whit a coach looked like. If ye asked him whit a coach wis, he’d probably think ye wur talking aboot a Corporation bus.”

  “Whit the hell wis that?”

  “Whit?”

  “Something jist rattled aff ae the tap ae the car.”

  “Ah never heard anything.”

  “Right, Ah’ll take a look.” Crisscross said, opening his door.

  “Whit is it?”

  “It looks like wee tiny bits ae slate coming aff the roof above us.”

  “Ah’m telling ye, the quicker these tenements ur pulled doon, the better. They’re aw falling apart.”

9.23 P.M.

  “Psst! Johnboy!”

  “Aye?”

  “Haun doon the box. They’re oan their way.”

  “Ur ye sure?”

“Aye, bit listen…tell Tony and the boys that there’s a squad car sitting jist below them oan Ronald Street. It’s goat that big dunderheid ae a sergeant sitting in it wae that skelly-eyed twat, Crisscross. Tell them no tae worry though. They’re jist sitting eating something oot ae the chippy and guzzling a bottle ae Irn Bru.”

  “Right, here ye go, Calum. See ye in a minute.”

  “Right, Johnboy, that’s five. Three mair tae go. His Calum arrived back tae get the boxes?” asked Joe.