Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (23 page)

  “So, whit hiv ye goat, Joe?” Tony hid asked.

  “We’ve goat a hatchet.  We goat it oot ae the slater’s yard oan St James Road beside the blue polis box that we burned doon.”

  “Will it dae the job okay?” Johnboy hid asked, running a finger alang the blade end.

  “It’s a wee bit blunt, bit aye, it shouldnae be a problem.”

  It took them aw ae five minutes tae get intae the pub.  As soon as they arrived in the front room, Paul pulled oot the hatchet and skelped it straight between two ae the wee short access flairboards.  Wance it wis imbedded, he used the heel ae his shoe and his weight tae get the board tae spring up.  Efter that, the other four flairboards wur up in aboot two seconds flat.  When the mad axe-man wis finished, Tony stood wae his hauns oan Paul and Joe’s shoulders and used the heel ae his shoe tae kick a hole through the ceiling intae the bar below.

  “Wait until the dust settles before sticking yer heid through the hole, Paul,” Tony advised.

  “Aye, and watch oot fur any jagged ends ae the Latham.  Ah knew a guy wance that lost an eye wae that stuff,” Joe added, nodding doon at the dust-filled hole between the soot-covered rafters.

  “Latham?” Silent asked.

  “Aye, aw the walls and ceilings hiv goat Latham plaster oan them.  Ye nail oan thin strips ae wood, leaving wee gaps between them and then ye whack oan heaps ae plaster.  Before ye know it, ye’ve goat yersel a wall or a ceiling.”

  “So, is this building made ae that?” Johnboy asked, thumping the windae wall wae his haun.

  “Naw, they use bricks oan the main walls and then cover it wae Latham.  They mix horsehair in wae the plaster. Don’t ask me why the they dae that though.”

  “It’s tae keep stupid pricks like youse talking, insteid ae climbing through holes like youse ur supposed tae be daeing.  Right, who’s first?” Paul demanded, looking up fae the ragged square hole that the rest ae them wur staunin peering doon intae.

  “Whit’s below the hole, Paul?” Tony asked.

  “The bar itsel.  It’s jist aff tae the left.  We’ll hiv tae swing o’er a wee bit before we land.”

  “Right, first doon is Joe, then Silent, Johnboy and then masel.  Everywan, get yer socks aff and oan tae yer hauns.  We don’t want tae leave any dabs aboot the place.   Paul, you stay up here and keep a look-oot.”

  “Look oot fur whit?  There’s nae fucker tae look oot fur.  We’re in a bloody empty hoose.”

  “We’ll need somewan tae haun the stuff up tae.  Ah want ye tae keep peeping oot ae the windae oan tae Parly Road, tae make sure there’s nae bizzies oan the go.”

  “Why the fuck should it be me?  Whit’s wrang wae wan ae they other knob-ends staunin aboot here, daeing sweet fuck aw?”

  “Cause Ah said so, that’s why.”

  “Aye, shut the fuck up and dae whit ye’re telt, Paul, ye whinging whingerer.  Get tae fuck oot ae the way, and let the real expert in,” Joe said, sitting doon and putting his legs through the hole.

  “Fuck you, Joe.  The only thing ye’re an expert at, is letting that dirty heathen, Father McSwiggan, wiggle that fat sticky finger ae his up that smelly arse ae yers when ye tried tae wangle yer way intae being an altar boy.”

  “Aye, he did say tae me that he dumped ye when he discovered some other dirty basturt hid goat there before him,” Joe said, as he swung himsel roond oan tae his belly and slid through the hole, hinging oan wae his sock-covered finger tips.

  “Kin ye see the bar, bum-boy?” Paul asked, lying flat wae his face peering between Joe’s hauns.

  “Kin Ah fuck.  Ah’m facing the wrang way.  Ah’ll need tae turn roond.”

  “See?  Ah telt youse,” Paul said in disgust, looking up at them.

  “Hurry the fuck up, Joe.  We hivnae goat aw night,” Tony grumbled, as Joe’s hauns moved roond the square opening, before disappearing six inches further doon and gripping oan tae the Latham plaster that wis haudin the bar’s ceiling up.

  “Ah see it!” he whooped, before suddenly disappearing.

  This wis followed by a loud crashing thud and a long painful groan two seconds later.

  “Ur ye aw right, Joe?” Paul whispered, as they aw knelt roond the hole, peering doon intae the semi-darkness.

  “Naw, Ah’m fucking no. The fucking plaster came aff in ma hauns, so it did,” moaned Joe, fae the darkness below.

  Everywan burst oot laughing.

  “Shhhh!” Tony giggled at them.

  “Joe, ur ye still wae us?” Paul whispered doon, laughing quietly.

  “Ah’ve jist fucking telt ye.  Am Ah fuck,” he groaned.

  “Right, Silent, oan ye go.  When ye get through, Ah’ll haud yer haun and swing ye across towards the bar.  Jist tell me when tae let ye go…okay?”

  “Er, aye, okay,” Silent mumbled nervously, as he drapped doon oan tae his stomach and wiggled backwards through the hole, haudin oan tae Tony’s ootstretched haun.

  “Noo!” Silent hauf squealed.

  Tony’s haun appeared oot ae the hole, jist before they heard an even bigger thud, yelp, crash and groan.

  “Ah think he skidded aff the bar,” Tony said, looking up, as Johnboy and Paul doubled up wae laughter again, listening tae the groans coming up through the hole, which wur quickly followed by the smell ae shite.

  “Whit ur they up tae?” Johnboy asked, screwing-up his face.

  “Wan ae them is in wan corner and wan is in the other and they’re baith daeing a shite, the filthy basturts,” Tony replied, grinning.

  “Right, tell them tae stack up some ae the tables in the bar when they’re finished, so we kin drap doon oan tae them, Tony,” Johnboy said, peering past Tony’s heid intae the hole.

  “We heard,” Joe shouted fae below.

  “Aye, well, keep the noise doon.  It’s a wonder the whole ae Parly Road hisnae been woken up,” Tony growled, changing position and swinging his legs roond intae the hole.

  Tony, followed by Johnboy, drapped doon oan tae the wobbly tables that wur stacked up, three high tae the left ae the bar.

  “Ur youse okay then?” Tony asked them.

  “Ah bloody-well telt ye.  Ur we fuck.  Ah think Ah’ve broken a rib and Silent’s cracked his skull when he thudded it aff the tap ae the bar,” Joe whinged.

  “Right, Joe, ya shitey basturt, where the fuck did ye dae that shite?  Ah don’t want tae be trailing through it,” Johnboy said, treading carefully.

  “O’er beside the toilet door.”

  “Silent…shite?”

  “Jist in front ae the front door.”

  “Aye, whoever walks through the door first better no be in their bare feet, eh?”

  “Silent Shite.  Is that no some sort ae a Christmas tune?” Paul asked, looking doon at them.

  “Carol.”

  “Whit, is she the singer?” Joe asked fae behind the bar.

  “Naw, it’s called a carol…a Christmas carol,” Johnboy said, wondering how the fuck Joe ever managed tae stay oot ae The Grove fur mair than a day.

  “How dis it go then?” Paul’s heid asked fae the hole up in the ceiling

  “Ah think Ah know.”

  “Well, spit it oot, Carol, darling,” Paul cooed, as everywan stoapped poking aboot and looked across at Silent.

  “Oh, come aw ye faithful...” Silent started tae sing badly.

  “Silent, that’s ‘Oh Come Aw Ye Faithful’,
ya diddy, ye.  Even Ah know that and Ah’m a Catholic,” Tony scoffed.

  “Naw, ye’re a fucking Atalian grease-ball, Tony.  There’s a big difference.  Don’t think we don’t aw know that.  Fuck knows why we allow a greasy foreigner tae run aboot wae us, that’s aw Ah kin say,” Joe said, looking aboot wae a glint in they eyes ae his.

  “Okay, is this it?  ‘Away in a manger, no crib fur a...”

  “Paul.  Ye’re worse than Silent Shite o’er there.”

  “Right, fucking Holy Wullie, gie’s a wee verse fae yersel then,” Tony challenged fae behind the bar.

  “Tony, shut the fuck up.  Kin ye no see that Ah’m putting oan ma singing heid.”

  “Well, stoap fucking aboot and get oan wae it, ya bloody haufwit, ye.”

  “Right, here goes then.  Listen and learn,” Joe said, composing himsel.  ‘Hark the herald angels sing, glory tae...”

  “That isnae it,” a choir ae voices hooted at him.

  “It fucking is so.  Tell them, Johnboy.”

  “Right, here’s whit ye should aw be singing, ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright...” Johnboy sang, feeling chuffed wae himsel, leading a choir fur the first time in his life. 

  Everywan wis wandering aboot, hauf-singing and hauf-murmuring the carol, oot ae tune, as they went aboot their business ae rifling the place, avoiding the two steaming shite piles.  They heard a car pull up ootside and they aw froze oan the spot where they wur staunin.

  “Paul, go and see who the fuck that is,” Tony whispered.

  Aw eyes watched Paul’s heid disappear fae the hole and reappear aboot five seconds later.

  “It’s that Sarge wan and that skelly-eyed Crisscross,” Paul whispered doon tae them.

  “Whit the fuck ur they daeing?” Tony whispered up tae him.

  “Sitting scoffing fish suppers,” Paul whispered back, as everywan tiptoed o’er tae the front door, cocking their heids and making sure they knew where Joe’s pile ae shite wis.

  “Aye, she won’t be so fucking loose wae that tongue ae hers noo, the bitch,” they heard Crisscross saying, burping and smacking they lips ae his, efter guzzling doon hauf a bottle ae Irn Bru.

  “Right, the rest is mine, ya greedy basturt, ye,” The Sarge retorted, swiping the bottle aff ae Crisscross and placing it oan the flair between his feet.

  “That’s no bad that, when ye think ae it.”

  “Whit isnae?”

  “The maw’s in the clink, the auldest boy’s in borstal and the wee toe-rag hopefully goat his arse humped oot in The Grove.  Some bloody family, eh?”

  “Aye, well, he might’ve been in The Grove, bit Ah kin still feel his presence and aw they ugly wee cronies ae his.  It’s funny, even when ye know they’re no staunin in front ae ye, ye kin still sense them roond aboot ye, so ye kin,” The Sarge said, lifting up the bottle and taking a slurp.

  “Well, Ah widnae worry too much aboot Ginger Nut.  It’s the wee sticky fingers ae they pals ae his that we hiv tae worry aboot the noo.  Get Gucci, McManus and McBride and Taylor will disappear fae view.”

  “Aye, it widnae surprise me if the wee foxy basturts wurnae sitting watching us right this minute,” The Sarge agreed, sticking his haun oot ae the car windae and shining his torch up and doon the front door ae The Gay Gordon, before stuffing five chips intae his gaping mooth in wan go.

  “So, dae ye reckon the two that fucked aff fae The Grove the other day there will hing aboot the Toonheid?”

   “Ah don’t know aboot the wee wan fae Kirkintilloch bit the other wan will definitely be skulking aboot.”

  “So, whit’s gaun oan doon at Central then, Sarge?”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “C’mone, ye know whit Ah’m talking aboot.”

  “Well, if ye gie me a bloody hint, Ah might be able tae answer ye.  Spit it oot.  Whit hiv ye heard?”

  “Oh, Ah don’t know.  Ah’ve been telt no tae mention whit Ah’ve heard, if ye know whit Ah mean?”

  “Crisscross, Ah don’t hiv a clue whit ye’re oan aboot and naw, Ah don’t know whit ye mean, so spit it oot.”

  “Ah, cannae.  Ah’ll get shot by JP.”

  “Crisscross, it’s no JP who’s sitting here wae ye the night, is it?  If ye know something that me, Jinty and Big Jim should know aboot, then ye need tae tell us.  We’re either a team or we’re no.  We aw either staun thegither or we go doon separately.  There’s nae in-between, so there isnae.”

  “Ah think ye awready know whit Ah’m oan aboot.”

  “Whit?”

  “The fire.”

  “Whit aboot it?”

  “Ye know,” Crisscross replied, lowering his voice, bit still loud enough fur everywan in The Gay Gordon tae hear.

  “Crisscross, spit the fuck oot whit’s stuck in the back ae that throat ae yers.”

  “That some people, high up, hiv goat us doon as torching the cabin that that wee baldy wan wae the skull…the Kelly boy…goat toasted in.”

  Silence fae the car.

  Silence fae the pub.

  “Crisscross,” The Sarge finally spoke, speaking slowly, “ur ye aboot tae say something here, that maybe ye shouldnae be saying publicly, before first speaking tae wan ae the Federation lawyer boys?”

  “See, Ah telt ye.  Ah knew ye’d be mad at me fur bringing it up.”

  “Listen, this isnae the place tae discuss that business. Ye don’t know who the fuck’s lugging in.  Let’s get gaun and we’ll talk aboot it while we drive.  Heid o’er tae Stirling Road and we’ll see if any ae oor absconders fae The Grove ur oan the go,” The Sarge said, tossing baith ae their empty fish and chip wrappers oot ae the windae as the car slid away fae the pavement.

  Ye could’ve heard a pin drap in the bar.  They stood fur a minute looking at wan another, no saying a word.  Tony walked across the bar and sat doon oan wan ae the four chairs beside a table.