Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (32 page)

  Silence.

  “Ah’ll ask youse again, who the fuck done that?”

  Silence.

  “The last wan tae answer is gonnae get fucking strangled wae this rope,” Joe threatened, moving towards them, the dripping rope hinging aff ae his haun.

  “Him!” four voices said, as four hauns attached tae four erms pointed at Blubber Boy.

  “It wisnae me, Tony, honest,” Fat Arse whimpered, lying like the guilty basturt that he wis.

  “Ah bloody-well warned ye, ya fat fucker.”

  “Ah swear, it wisnae me, Tony...please?” Fat Arse wailed.

  “Shut the fuck up, ya lying fat basturt, ye,” Paul snarled.

  While Johnboy wis staunin there, wondering whit wis gonnae happen next, he spotted an auld wummin wae her elbows sitting oan her windae sill, slurping a cup ae tea and smoking a fag.  He hauf expected her tae tell them tae leave the poor wee boys alane, bit she seemed quite the thing wae whit wis happening.

  “Right, Ah’ve made up ma mind and if Ah hear wan mair fucking bleat oot ae any ae youse cocksuckers, Ah’ll fucking let him loose oan youse,” Tony warned them, nodding towards Joe and that rope ae his.

  “Whit’s it tae be?” asked Paul.

  “Two greasers each in the gub and nae spitting oot allowed.”

  Johnboy thought he wis hearing things.  He looked across at Silent.  It wis obvious that Silent wis thinking the same as him.  Johnboy wis only starting tae get used tae Tony punching boys he’d taken umbrage tae when they wur oot and aboot, bit he bloody-well hated it when Tony started tae enjoy himsel. It wisnae fur the first time that he’d regretted taking Senga Jackson’s knockback ae his offer ae a box ae good Maltesers oan the day ae her tenth birthday
oot oan Alex Milne, by hitting him wae a ‘Sticky Screamer’ oan tae that fat face that wis noo kneeling across fae him. 

  “Right, Ah’m first,” Joe volunteered eagerly.

  “Joe, let Silent go first.  He wis the wan that goat attacked,” Tony said calmly.

  Johnboy thought Silent wis gonnae aboot turn and fuck aff in the direction they’d jist came fae, bit Silent jist stood there, rooted tae the spot.   He opened his gub tae say something, bit nothing came oot.  Tony wis clearly hitting him wae another test.

  “Look, let Johnboy go first.  He’ll show ye wan ae his specials, won’t ye, Johnboy?” Joe hooted.

  “Joe, don’t involve me.  If ye want tae dae that, then that’s your business,” Johnboy grumbled, clearly no wanting anything tae dae wae whit wis gaun oan…or aboot tae happen.

  “Johnboy, shut the fuck up or ye’ll end up kneeling o’er there wae yer fat pal,” Paul threatened.

  “Paul, fuck aff, ya tit, ye!  Don’t involve me in yer manky scheme…Ah’m jist as much a manky as you ur,” Johnboy bleated, as Tony, Joe and Paul burst oot laughing.  “Tell them, Tony.”

  “Johnboy, shut up.  Ye’ll be daeing it as well as the rest ae us,” Tony replied, a big grin still plastered across his coupon.

  “See you, Paul, ya psycho fucker.  That’s your fault, so it is,” Johnboy howled, as everywan except Silent and Fat Boy Milne and his pals burst oot laughing again.

  “Right, we’re waiting, Silent,” Tony said quietly, as everywan looked across at Silent.

  “Ye kin dae it, Silent,” Johnboy said encouragingly, as Tony scowled at him fur interfering.

  “Ye need tae dae this, Silent.  If ye don’t, pricks like them will walk aw o’er ye fur the rest ae yer life,” Paul said, nodding at the kneeling, terrified boys, lined up in front ae the puddle, wae their hauns clasped behind their backs.

  “Look, here’s how it’s done,” Joe said, as Silent hesitated, killing time by pretending tae focus oan stemming the flow ae blood fae his beak.

  Joe stepped forward, leading the way.

  “Eyes shut and mooths open, ya bunch a bullying basturts,” Tony commanded, as Joe started working his way alang the line, quickly followed by Paul and then Tony himsel.

  “C’mone, Johnboy, hurry up.  You tae, Silent,” Joe chided them, as they reluctantly walked across tae the start ae the line.

  “Ah’m telling youse right noo…this is the last time Ah’m being tested by any ae youse basturts,” Johnboy grumbled, snorting a nose full ae greaser juice up intae his mooth.

  Although Johnboy wanted tae throw up, he took a deep breath and jist went fur it.  He wisnae convinced that Paul’s threat ae him joining Fat Boy and his pals kneeling in the puddle wisnae a bluff though.  Efter a hesitant start, by the time he’d reached Fat Arse Milne, his simmering anger at the fat basturt fur causing him aw this grief hid turned tae rage. His second wan didnae go straight intae Fatty Arbuckle’s gub, probably due tae the fact he wis shaking fae his fat heid tae his wobbly knees, like wan ae they big jellies Johnboy’s ma used tae make every Easter Sunday.  Under the circumstances, everything seemed tae be working fine, apart fae the anticipated scream.  It wis mair ae a whimper, bit given the circumstances, Johnboy thought that wis probably fair enough as the second Silent Screamer splattered right in the middle ae that fat foreheid ae his.  Johnboy wanted tae throw up at the sight ae that fat, oozing, spit-filled open mooth, as a thick dollop ae his second greasy spit rapidly ran fae Fat Boy’s foreheid doon between they beady piggy eyes ae his, intae his mooth.

“Haud still, ya fat fucking lump ae shite or ye’ll get a repeat performance fae the rest ae us again,” Tony warned Fatty.

  “Aye, and nae swallowing till we tell ye,” Joe reminded them.

  “Fuck’s sake, boys, check oot Silent’s.  It’s like raspberry jam,” Joe said, laughing, and they aw looked o’er at Silent, who wis emptying a bloody dollop intae the mooth ae the wee ugly freckly wan.

  “Jist like a strawberry ice cream oot ae Gizzi’s Cafe,” chipped in Paul wae a grin.

  “Right, ya poxy pack ae basturts.  Efter three, Ah want tae see youse aw swallow at the same time.  Any fucking aboot and there’ll be a repeat performance. Right, wan, two and three.”

  Five gulps later, and wae Johnboy jist aboot tae throw up, Tony suddenly stepped forward quickly and wae the sole ae his right sandshoe, hauf kicked, hauf pushed Blubber Face backwards intae the black stinking puddle.  In an effort tae get up and oot ae it, Fatty stumbled and fell face first, straight oan tae the floating manky rotten doo.  He hidnae been sick during his spittle supper like three ae his pals, bit when he stood up, there wis a look ae total horror oan that roond face ae his that hid hauf a rotten doo stuck tae the side it.  His body and shoulders started tae heave while his fat mooth started tae make dry-boaking grunts tae start aff wae.  Johnboy, Silent, Paul, Joe and Tony wur aboot seven feet away fae him, bit still hid tae jump oot ae the way as a gusher ae puke and mashed feathers came flying towards them.

  “Right, Ah’m no gonnae warn ye again, Fat Arse. This is yer final warning.  Don’t come anywhere near any ae us or it’ll be worse the next time.  Let’s go,” Tony said, as The Mankys skirted the puddle, heiding back the way they’d come.

  Johnboy looked up.  The wee wummin wae the cup ae tea and the fag sticking oot her face gied him a wee friendly, appreciative smile.

Chapter Forty Two

  “Take a seat, Liam,” Colin said, nodding tae the chair in front ae him.

  The Sarge sat doon and looked aboot the office.  As the heid in front ae him began displaying its hauf a silver dollar baldy patch, while its face wis stuck in a file ae papers, The Sarge gied himsel a fixed stare in the mirror behind Colin.  He’d still goat the auld looks, he thought tae himsel.  He clamped they teeth ae his thegither and jerked his lips intae a horsey grin.  There wid be mair than a few in this place that wid gie their eye-teeth fur a set ae gnashers like his tae call their ain.  He turned his heid tae the left, bit wisnae too happy wae whit he saw, so he slid roond oan his chair sideways a wee bit and managed tae catch the profile he wis efter.  That wis better - definitely Cary Grant fae ‘The Prisoner Ae Zelda’ wae a wee bit ae Montgomery Clift fae ‘Raintree County’ slung in, he thought.  Tae think that Cliffy boy hid the chance tae perch oan Lizzie Taylor bit decided tae fuck aff tae fight in the civil war insteid, showed jist whit a real gentleman he wis.  In fact, despite his admiration, nowan could argue that that pair wurnae two ae the biggest gentlemen in the world.  They hid aw the wummin falling at their feet withoot even trying, the lucky basturts.  No like some ae these pansies who pranced aboot, kidding oan, pretending tae be like real men.  He scrunched up his eyebrows and gied his reflection a severe pouting stare a la Edward G Robertson.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Liam, whit am Ah gonnae dae wae ye?”

  “Oh, er, sorry, Colin.  Whit wur ye saying?”

  “Ah wis saying, nae wonder we’re under fire aboot here.  Insteid ae admiring yersel in ma bloody mirror, ye should be sitting there in front ae me, trying tae work oot an excuse fur catching fuck aw bit the bloody cauld.”

  “Ah thought Ah hid something stuck in ma gnashers, so Ah wis trying tae detect it in ma reflection.”

  “Detect?  Noo we’re getting somewhere.  Tell me the last time yersel and Big Jim detected anything worth putting in the crime sheets?” The Inspector asked, waving his haun o’er the divisional sheets.

  “It’s peaks and troughs, Colin.  Ye know that.”

  “Liam, this is the sheet fae the Marine, o’er in Partick.  They’re bulldozing the fuckers through the courts.  Check this wan fae Possil.  Three drunk and disorderly arrests at twenty past eight in the morning.  We’re lucky tae get that at ten o’clock oan a Friday night up oan Parly Road.  Look, here’s another wan.  Two sailors lifted in Maryhill Road fur pishing through the letterbox ae Thompson the Butchers at two in the morning.  There’s mair where that wan came fae as well.  Pensioner reported fur biting his neighbour’s dug and bus driver reported fur taking a short cut through The Western Infirmary.  They’ve even caught some eejit fur getting married four times last year tae four different wummin.”

  “Aye, Ah heard aboot that.  The boys wur jist talking aboot it doon in the canteen.  It took them four weddings tae suss oot that the bampot in the black shirt, yellow tie, McGregor tartan trews and wearing a deer stalker hat, wis wan and the same person.  No exactly Dixon ae Dock Green, that wan.”

  “Liam, the point Ah’m making is that they’re gieing confidence back tae the community.  People in Maryhill and Possil know that when they hit their flea pits at night, the boys in blue ur oan the beat, tracking doon the wrong-doers.”

  “Aye, and meanwhile we’re getting assaulted by a bunch ae big hairy wummin, wielding big sticks, claiming tae be peacefully protesting.  Colin, we’re in the front line up in the Toonheid.  If ye want us tae track doon auld basturts who bite dugs, we’ll soon gie ye that.  Christ, it wis only the other day there Ah saw this mad basturt walking doon McAslin Street wae a skinned cat oan his heid, looking like fucking Davy Crockett.  Noo, Ah knew whose cat it wis, because that poor auld Mrs McClelland, the wan that’s always smelling ae cat’s pish and who stays at the tap ae St Mungo Street at the Parson Street end, reported that her good pet Persian cat, Chominsky, hid went AWOL two days earlier.”

  “How dae ye know it wis hers?” Colin asked, interested.

  “She said that it hid a big white stripe running doon the length ae its silver blue bushy back.  Rare as fuck, she said it wis.”

  “And?”

  “And whit?”

  “And did ye dae anything aboot it?”

  “It could’ve been any auld flea bitten cat, fur aw we knew.”

  “So, this bampot wis walking doon the road wae a Davy Crockett hat oan his napper that wis silver blue and hid a white stripe doon the back ae it and ye wurnae sure if it wis her cat?”

  “Whit Ah’m trying tae say is, if it wisnae hers, we wur fucked, and if it wis, we wur fucked.”

  “How the hell dae ye work that wan oot, fur Christ’s sake?” The Inspector demanded incredulously.

  “He wis a big basturt.  Imagine the scene if he took umbrage efter we accused him ae kidnapping some auld smelly bat’s cat and he’d bought it legally doon the Barras or something.  Think ae the paperwork.  As fur auld Mrs McClelland? The Corporation hiv been trying tae capture some ae the twenty two cats that she keeps in that single-end ae hers fur years.  Wan cat isnae gonnae make her lose her beauty sleep at night, is it, gieing the amount ae them she’s goat running aboot, pishing aw o’er the place?  Wan less mouth tae feed wis whit Crisscross said.”

  “Right, Ah’m tempted tae respond tae whit Ah’ve jist heard, bit Ah’m too tired and busy tae even go there.  And anyway, that’s no whit Ah’ve shouted ye in here fur.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Listen, ye hiv tae keep this tae yersel.  Things ur moving fast and we’re involved in the co-ordination.”

  “Right.”

  “No a cheep tae anywan, especially that Crisscross wan.  If anything gets back tae that faither-in-law ae his, Ah’m stewed.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Couldnae be clearer.”

  “Right, so ye hiv tae get that wee manky mob aff the streets before next Friday, at the latest.”

  “If we kin catch the wee basturts.”

  “Liam, this could be yer big chance.  If ye’re efter promotion, ye’ll dae this pronto, swiftly and wae speed.”

  “Bit we’ve no tae let oan tae anywan we’ve done it, wance we dae it.  Is that right?”

  “Liam, whit the fuck ur ye oan aboot?”

  “Ye said we’ve tae keep it under the hatch.”

  “Liam, whit Ah’ve jist said is, that there ur important things happening o’er the next few days and it’s important that yer wee thieving arse-bandits hiv been neutralised...within the law, that is.”

  “Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit Ah hivnae goat a clue whit ye’re oan aboot.”

  “Ah’m oan aboot aw this shite aboot the Kelly boy being toasted in that cabin.  We know that it wisnae us and The Big Man is using it as a smoke screen tae get tae us.  He’s goat that reporter fae The Echo oan the case fur him, stoking up aw kinds ae inflammatory rumours that it wis us that done it.  Noo that JP Donnelly his slung the Taylor bitch intae the clink, tae keep her oot ae the way, we’ve released a statement saying that efter an internal independent investigation, we believe there wis foul play, bit we believe it wis some ae the local young wans who torched it because they were jealous ae whit yer manky wee mob hid goat their hauns oan.”

  “Ah see.”

  “Naw, ye don’t see.  Some basturt or basturts, probably they wee manky fuckers, tanned the Murphy’s loft and no only fucked aff wae aw their doos, bit they goat away wae The Big Man’s special breeders that cannae be replaced.”

  “Naw!”

  “It wis tanned the night ae his maw and da’s party in The McAslin Bar.”

  “Christ, some basturt’ll suffer fur that.”

  “Liam, we’re suffering fur it.  He thinks it wis us.”

  “Us?  Whit the hell wid we want tae blag some scabby doos fur?”

  “We’ve heard, oan good authority, that he thinks yersel, Big Jim, Crisscross and Jobby wur involved.”

  “Why the fuck wid we be involved?  Ah hivnae even crossed the threshold ae that loft.  Ah couldnae tell ye the difference between a doo and a chicken.  How dae they make that oot?”

  “According tae oor sources, Big Jim and Jobby wur seen hinging aboot ootside the pub aw night, the night ae the party.”

  “Wur they?”

  “And the other sergeant in the area, alang wae a skelly-eyed guy in a polis uniform, wur clocked sitting ootside the Murphys’ close aw night, casing it oot, tae allow the bad guys tae get in and plunder the place.”

  “Well, that’s a bloody lie fur a start, so it is.  Masel and Crisscross wur sitting oan Ronald Street eating oor fish suppers maist ae the night.  In fact, that wis the night the baith ae us wur nearly kilt when some basturt threw a jemmy straight through the windscreen ae the squad car.  Her indoors is still trying tae scrape the shite aff they pants ae mine as we speak.”

  “That jemmy probably came fae the robbers who wur hauling the doos across the roof above they heids ae yers while yersel and Crisscross wur tucking intae yer fish suppers.”

  “Eh? Oh, right.  Ah see where ye’re coming fae.”

  “So, where did the doos come fae?”

  “Whit doos?”

  “The doos that you and Crisscross gied tae Flypast.  Fur Christ’s sake, Liam.  Will ye keep up?”

  “Whit the hell his that tae dae wae anything?”

  “Liam, Liam, ur ye as fucking stupid as ye look?”

  “Whit?”

  “Where did the doos come fae that yersel and Crisscross haunded o’er tae Flypast?”

  “We took them aff ae two wee toe-rags up in the High Street and haunded them o’er tae Flypast.  Crisscross hid wrecked his dookit earlier in the summer and squashed a couple ae his doos while he wis at it.”

  “The morning efter?”

  “The morning efter whit?”

  “The morning efter The Big Man’s good special doos wur blagged, never tae be seen or heard ae since.”

  “Oh, fuck!”

  “So, ye see the mess we’ve goat oorsels intae?”

  “Where’s his proof that it wis us?”

  “Liam, we’re no in a court ae law here.  We’re dealing wae a psychopathic gangster who’s demanding compensation fae us.  Until he gets it, he’s waging war against us.”

  “Why don’t we jist lift the basturt.  Fit him up wae something, eh?”

  “There ur aw sorts ae complications, so there is.  The main thing is, we’re narrowing his options so we kin sit doon and hiv a wee pow-wow tae sort it aw oot and get back tae whit we wur daeing before aw this kicked aff.  Ah’m telling ye, you and that Crisscross ur no popular up oan the tap flair jist noo.”

  “So, we’re back oan the manky toe-rag shift?”

  “Aye.  JP is gonnae send doon the maw wae the big mooth fur three months next Friday.  Wance she goes doon, that reporter, who The Big Man is bank rolling, by the way, is well and truly fucked. According tae Ralph Toner, the heid ae the Criminal Intelligence Department, the maws ae yer wee manky mob won’t dae a thing withoot the nod fae the Taylor bitch.  Noo, as Ah’ve jist said, higher up ur trying tae come tae an arrangement wae The Big Man tae back aff, as well as tae dampen doon the thirst ae the bloodhounds fae The Echo.  Yersel, Big Jim, Crisscross and Jobby need tae tie up the loose ends oan the ground at this end.  We cannae hiv they wee manky mongrels upsetting the apple cart.  Dae ye see where we’re coming fae?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “So, get a haud ae them.  Use that wee fat canary…whit’s his name?”

  “Alex Milne.”

  “Fat Alex, that’s him.  If he wants a badge, whistle or a fucking pokey hat, make sure he gets aw that and mair, as long as we get whit we’re efter and oor end is sound.”

   “Is there overtime fur the boys?”

  “As long as they wee fuckers ur aff the streets by Friday at the latest, Ah’ll sign the chitty.”