Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (45 page)

  “Aye, bit he says Ah’ve tae tell youse that there’s a squad car wae that big sergeant and Crisscross sitting in it, jist doon oan the street fae where youse ur.”

  “Fuck, dae they know we’re here?”

  “Naw, they’re hivving their tea.”

  “Right, Ah’ll pass it oan. Haun me another empty box. That group ur bloody good, so they ur. Hiv ye been listening tae them?”

  “Aye.”

9.25 P.M.

  “Coo-ee, Da, Ah’m o’er here,” Fat Sally Sally shouted, waving the Grand Prix GP nine-o-wan above her heid, trying unsuccessfully tae get JP’s attention while he’d his two eyeballs two inches fae Gina’s glistening bosom.

  “Ah cannae believe that ugly fat cow won that tranny,” Helen said tae Daisy.

  “Ah know. There’s nae justice in the world. Look at the pair ae them. Pat says they wur supposed tae be gaun roond at the break wae their cans and then pissing aff. They hivnae budged aw night and the two ae them ur as pished as a pair ae drunken priests.”

  “Thank ye…youse ur aw very kind. This is a song fur aw youse ladies oot there by Kitty Wells, called ‘It Wisnae God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels.’  Don’t be shy noo and please join in.”

  “Aw, Ah love this wan,” Helen shouted across tae Jimmy, as the whole ae the pub burst intae song.

9.55 P.M.

  “Right, Johnboy…tell Calum he kin go efter this wan. Tell him Tony said he’ll see him o’er the next few days.”

  “Right.”

  “Gie’s up that alarm clock…Skull wants it.”

  “Whit fur?”

  “Christ knows.”

  “Here ye go.”

  “Ta.”

  “Psst, Johnboy? Gie’s the next wan doon.”

  “Here ye go, Calum.  This is yer last wan. Tony says he’ll see ye o’er the next few days. Thanks fur helping us oot.”

  “Nae problem. Youse ur welcome.”

10.00 P.M.

  “How ur ye gonnae get the bar aff the front ae they cages, Skull?” Tony whispered tae him.

  “Ah clocked a tool box.  Ah’ll jist go and see if there’s a jemmy in it.  Hing oan a minute. Bingo!”

  “Nice wan, Baldy!”

  “Right, Ah won’t be a tic.”

  Skull hid the bar aff in less than ten seconds flat. The nesting box doors wur noo goosed and wid need replaced, bit who the fuck cared. He gently lifted oot the three big Horseman Thief Pouters, wan at a time. They didnae even blink, bit insteid jist glared at him as if tae say ‘Right, oan ye come, ya
big prick. We’re ready fur anything.’ At least, that’s whit Skull telt the boys the next day. He’d also said that he now knew whit it felt like tae touch the arse ae royalty and that he knew fine well that he’d never get another opportunity tae repeat it as long as he lived.

  “Where’s the alarm clock?” he asked Tony.

  “Here ye go. Whit the fuck dae ye want wae that?”

  “Whit time did ye say ye wanted us up at the cabin the morra morning?”

  “Aboot hauf eight.”

  “Right, if we’re up at that time oan a Sunday, so ur they big fud-pads, Shaun, Danny and Mick. Set it fur eight thirty tae gie them time fur their breakfast before they come tae visit.”

  “Christ, ye’re some boy, Skull. Right, here ye go.”

  “Ta.  Ah’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Aye, okay, Ah’ll get the Horsemen o’er tae the exit loft.  Don’t fuck aboot noo, Skull. We’ve goat whit we came fur. Ah’ll be back in two minutes.”

  Skull set the clock doon oan the flair at the far end ae the loft, as far away as he could fae the hatch door that led doon intae the hoose below. Using baith hauns, he heaved up the hatch and peered doon. He crept doon the stairs and began wandering slowly fae room tae room, looking aboot him as he went. Sometimes he stoapped tae touch a curtain or the quilt oan a bed or tae lift an ornament and peer at it. He picked up a black and white photograph ae three smiling wee boys wae their parents. He thought the photograph hid maybe been taken up in Alexandra Park as they wur aw staunin by a boating pond. He recognised the boys as Shaun and the twins, Danny and Mick. He spent a few seconds looking at the shrine the brothers hid set up oan tap ae a sideboard tae their ma and da, who wur obviously pan-breid. A black and white photo ae two grimacing adults wis in the centre ae a frame wae a wee collage ae family snaps surrounding it in a circle. The frame hid a set ae rosary beads embedded behind the glass. RIP wis embossed oan the bottom ae it. Skull thought aboot his ain life and the state his da wis in and whit could’ve been, before turning away. He slowly sauntered through tae the kitchen where he came across a big ashet steak pie, sitting oan tap ae the cooker, its layer ae uncooked pastry covering the tap ae it, jist waiting tae be shoved intae the oven the next day fur the Murphys’ Sunday dinner.  Skull spent a few seconds surveying it. It wis a big stoating family-sized wan. He didnae want it tae go tae waste oan they Murphy pricks and decided tae add a bit ae flavouring tae it. He lifted it doon oan tae the middle ae the kitchen flair, gently lifted away the layer ae pastry oan the tap ae it, before drapping his troosers and shiting right in the middle ae the stewed beef. He spread it evenly wae the back ae a spoon fae the cutlery drawer, while humming ‘Ah Goat Ye Babe’ by Sonny and Cher, before gently patting the pastry back in place and replacing the pie back oan tap ae the cooker, where he’d found it. Efter another couple ae seconds ae humming away, admiring his handiwork, he washed the spoon in the sink, put it back in the cutlery drawer and nipped back up the stairs tae the loft.

  “Christ, ur ye no aboot done yet, Skull?” Tony hauf whispered through the boxes.

  “Aye, Ah’m coming.”

  “Right, well done. Let’s go!”

  The music wis still blasting oot fae the pub. It wis getting dark as Tony pulled Skull up tae the tap ae the roof beside him.

  “Whit the fuck’s that?” Tony hissed at him.

  Before Skull could answer, Tony saw him clutch at his troosers which wur aboot tae end up aroond aboot his ankles. As Skull tried tae stoap them fae falling doon, the jemmy Skull hid taken as a wee souvenir, clattered oan tae the slates and shot doon the side ae the roof and disappeared o’er the edge ae it intae Ronald Street.

10.05 P.M.

  “So, how did it go, Calum?” The Big Man asked.

  “Fucking shite!”

  “Is that right?”

  “Aye, it wis really hairy fur a wee minute or two, bit Ah sorted it oot.  Ah hate they driving instructor pricks.”

  “See, ye should listen tae yer Uncle Pat.”

  “Aye, ye wur right.”

  “Ah’ll tell Wan-bob tae get oan tae that driving licence straight away. Ye’ll hiv it in aboot two weeks. Gie him aw yer details before he disappears hame the night and mind and add three years oan tae the day ye wur born.”

  “Aw, Pat, thanks very much.”

  “Nae problem, son. Calum, if there’s wan thing Ah’ve learned in life, it’s that blood’s thicker than water and money cannae buy loyalty. That’s why you and me need tae stick thegither.”

10.06 P.M.

  The Sarge hid jist fallen intae a wee efter-supper slumber.  Crisscross wis happily engrossed, knuckle deep in that nose ae his, trying tae figure oot why aw the driving school cars seemed tae be stoaping jist oot ae his view at the bottom ae the street. Sure enough, another wee Morris eleven hunner hid jist arrived fae the left oan St James Road and signalled tae pull across tae the right, opposite the janitor’s hoose ae the City Public before disappearing oot ae sight.

  “That’s the eighth driving school car tae dae that,” he said tae The Sarge, who wis oblivious tae his surroundings and who’d started tae whistle through that nose ae his.

  It wis jist then that the jemmy came hurtling through the windscreen like a rocket and exploded oan tap ae the dashboard. The Sarge and Crisscross didnae know whit the fuck hid hit them. Aw they knew wis that they wur under attack and they hid tae get oot ae the vehicle. The Sarge stood, hyperventilating, wae his back against the tenement wall and his right haun pressed against his heart, while Crisscross wis across oan the pavement oan the other side ae the street, gaun fae wan fit tae the other, trying tae peer intae the car tae see whit type ae bomb it wis that hid come through the windscreen.

  “Sarge, ur ye aw right?” he panted fae across the street.

  “Am Ah fuck! Ah think Ah’ve jist shat ma pants. Thank fuck they wurnae a clean pair.”

  “Aye, well, join the club.”

  “Ah think it wis a bit ae the building that came aff and landed oan tap ae us,” The Sarge wheezed.

  “Ah thought it looked like a big bit ae metal in the shape ae a jemmy.”

  “Well, go and hiv a bloody look, insteid ae staunin there staring at the fucking thing, Crisscross. Ah cannae move and Ah think Ah’m aboot tae hiv an arrest!”

  Crisscross gingerly moved across tae the car and peered in.  The whole ae the tap ae the dash board hid totally fractured and collapsed. A solid steel jemmy, aboot two feet long, wis embedded in the dashboard.

  “Ah wis right…it is a jemmy,” Crisscross shouted, looking up at the roof, walking backwards tae where he’d jist come fae.

  “That effing thing nearly killed us, so it did,” The Sarge panted, still haudin his heart.

  “Dae ye think it wis intentional? It seems too good a tool fur some eejit tae jist throw away.”

  “Christ knows.”

  “See whit we hiv tae put up wae aboot here?” a wee wummin said, tutting, fae the second flair windae where she wis looking oot, her elbows resting oan a striped pillow.

  “Aye, it’s okay, hen…we’re awright. We wurnae hurt, so don’t feel the need tae phone fur an ambulance,” The Sarge grumbled sarcastically, looking across at Crisscross.

  “Aye, well, it wid’ve been a different story if ye hid been. If ye think it’s bad at the front, ye should see it oot the back. Ah cannae let any ae ma weans oot tae play wae the amount ae shite coming aff ae that roof.”

  “Whit, is there building gaun oan?” Crisscross asked, peering up at the roof.

  “Trooping up and doon they stairs wae bits ae wood and boards at aw hours ae the day and night, no tae speak aboot the drilling and sawing. That’s been two weeks noo.”

  “Whit his?”

  “They Murphy wans. A law untae themsels, so they ur. If ye say anything, that Mick wan jist gies ye the dug’s abuse.”

  “Aye, okay…we get the message, so we dae,” The Sarge girned, wondering if he should maybe get Criscross tae take him up tae The Royal fur a wee check-up.

  “Well, it’s awright fur youse. Youse don’t hiv tae live here. We dae.”

  “Right, c’moan Crisscross, let’s see whit they’ve goat tae say. Thanks fur ye’re co-operation, hen.”

  “Don’t thank me. Aw Ah’m daeing is minding ma ain business and looking oot ae ma windae.”

  “Aye, right,” The Sarge mumbled, heiding intae the closemooth wae Crisscross at his back.

  “Dae ye think they’re in, Sarge?”

  “Whit?  Of course they’re fucking in. They jist aboot killed us, didn’t they, ye daft twat, ye?”

  “Let me try,” Crisscross said, taking oot his baton and hammering oan the door wae it, while The Sarge peered through the letter box.

10.07 P.M.

  “Christ awmighty, that bampot Skull jist drapped something aff the roof oan the bizzies’ side. It looked like a fucking jemmy. Right, Johnboy, Ah’ll nip doon the hatch oan tae the landing and you haun doon the last box,” Joe yelped, scampering fur the hatch.

  Johnboy wis jist putting the box through the hatch tae Joe when Tony and Skull arrived. Tony slid shut the wooden hatch leading oan tae the roof behind him, plunging the loft intae darkness apart fae a beam ae light coming up fae the landing.

  “You go next, Johnboy,” Tony said calmly.

  Johnboy rolled oan tae his stomach and slid doon feet first. He felt Joe’s hauns grabbing his ankles as he slid doon Joe’s body. Skull went next, followed by Tony, who lifted the stairwell hatch intae place, before drapping doon tae Joe. Tony and Joe took wan end ae the box each and they aw heided doon the stairs. Johnboy wis hoping tae hiv a wee swatch ae the three big Horsemen, bit never goat the chance. When they arrived at the bottom ae the close, a learner driver car wis sitting wae its engine running.  Johnboy never hid a chance tae look at the driver either as Joe, Skull and himsel turned right when they came oot ae the closemooth and heided towards Rodger The Dodger’s scrap shoap aboot fifty yards further alang. Skull and Joe turned right intae McAslin Street while Johnboy scurried across St James Road in the direction ae Sherbet’s. Before Johnboy disappeared roond the corner, he turned and saw Tony put the egg box intae the back seat ae the car.

10.10 P.M.

  “Is that the Horsemen, son?”

  “Aye.”

  “Kin Ah hiv a quick wee peek?”

  “Aye.”

  “Dae ye know whit these ur worth?”

  “Aye, three years in an approved school if Ah’m caught by the bizzies who’re jist roond the corner…or me being bundled intae a weighed doon GPO sack and slung intae the Nolly up by the Stinky Ocean, if the Murphys or The Big Man find oot we’re involved in this.”