Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (34 page)

Chapter Forty Four

  The Rat wis fair chuffed wae himsel, taking aw the circumstances intae consideration.  First thing that morning, he’d heided straight doon tae Paddy’s Market.  The place hid been buzzing wae people, buying and selling shite that the city dump widnae even take fur free.  It hidnae taken him long tae spot exactly whit he wis efter and then his mind hid gone blank. The stall holder hid looked at him.

  “A nice suit then, sir?”

  “It’s no fur me, it’s fur somewan else.”

  “Size?”

  That’s whit hid stumped him.  He couldnae remember if Harry Portoy wis eight feet two or three feet nothing.  Fuck, he’d thought tae himsel…he wis sure Harry wis aboot five feet five.  He’d tried tae remember Harry’s height fae when he’d chucked him intae the back ae the Morris Traveller o’er oan the Ladywell a few days earlier.  Aye, five feet five and full ae bones, he reckoned.  It wis then that he’d spotted Charlie Chatter, the biggest grass that side ae The Clyde, who’d been strolling towards him as if hauf the toon wisnae efter him fur being responsible fur the overcrowding up in the Bar-L.

  “Charlie, how ur ye daeing?” he’d asked, feeling a wee bit guilty when he saw Charlie jist aboot tae jump oot ae his broon brogues wae fright.

  “Fuck’s sake, Sammy.  Ah thought some basturt hid spotted me.”

  “They did.  Whit ur ye up tae?”

  “Ach, Ah’m jist oot hivving a break fae the High Court roond the corner.  There’s a recess oan.  Something tae dae wae ma reliance as a witness, Ah think Ah heard the defence saying.”

  “Whit?  They’re no accusing ye ae lying, ur they?”

  “Kin ye believe that?” the lying basturt hid said, wae a hurt expression oan that ugly kisser ae his.

  “Ach, Ah’m sure they’ll wise up and spit oot their guilt before ye hiv tae go back in.  In fact, Ah bet they’re trying tae plea bargain as we speak.”

  “Dae ye think so, Sammy?” Fork Tongue hid exclaimed happily, brightening up.

  “Ach, fur Christ’s sake, of course Ah dae.”

  “So, whit brings a man ae yer style and charm doon here?” Charlie hid asked him, looking o’er at the desperate, scowling salesman, who wis struggling tae hide the look ae disappointment oan that mug ae his, due tae the interference ae the High Court’s resident informer.

  “Ach, jist killing time.”

  “Oh, aye?” The Chatter hid asked, lowering that baw-heid ae his in a conspiring whisper.

  “Ah’m no oan a story, Charlie.  Ah wis killing time before heiding roond tae the High Court tae see whit’s gaun oan.”

  “Ah widnae bother if Ah wis you.  Ma trial ae wan ae they younger McGregors, in the North Court, his ground tae a halt and the other wan in the South is jist some eejit who stabbed his wife five times efter he’d strangled her.  He claimed he thought she wis still alive when he nipped next door tae a neighbours tae borrow a boner knife.”

  “See, ye’ve put me aff noo.  That’s me goosed fur the day then.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Ach, never mind, Charlie, Ah’ll maybe jist heid up tae the Sheriff Court alang in Ingram Street and see whit’s happening up there, eh?  By the way, Ah saw an auld pal ae yers the other day there.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Aye, that brief, whit’s his name?  The wan that hit the booze?”

  “Portoy?  Harry Portoy?  Aye, he’s well fucked.  Ah see him every noo and again.  Sleekit basturt, that wan.  Best thing that ever happened.”

  “Whit wis?”

  “Him hitting the skids face first.  Tied me up in knots mair than a few times, the basturt.  Ah wis jist aboot tae be sent doon oan a perjury charge when his client pled guilty tae get his wife aff.  Ah could feel the shite touching cloth that day, Ah kin tell ye.  Ah don’t usually tell anywan this, bit wan night Ah clocked him rolling aboot in the pish wae wan ae his jakey pals, doon oan the Broomielaw.  Ah jist couldnae help masel, given aw the shite he’d put me through.  Ah hid a quick shifty aboot and then gied him a swift wee kick in the auld ging gang-goolies.  He wisnae so fucking full ae himsel that night, Ah kin tell ye,” The Chatter hid said, relishing his tale.

  “Aye, well.  Ah clocked him staggering alang Duke Street.  Ah’m telling ye, Ah never recognised him.  He looked as if he’d shrunk.”

  “Probably heiding fur The Tontine.  Mind you, if ye say he’s shrunk, he must be hitting midget level by noo.  He wis never an inch o’er five feet.”

  “Is that right?  Ah must’ve goat the wrang drunk.  This wan wis well o’er five and a hauf feet.  Anyway, Charlie, nice tae see ye.  Ah hiv tae get oan.”

  “Aye, okay, Sammy.  Ah better get back tae business, eh?”

  Five feet, Sammy thought.  Christ, he wid’ve put Harry at five feet five at least.  It jist showed how wrang a person could be aboot these things when they hidnae seen somewan in a while.

  “Right, ma man.  Ah need a full outfit.  The best ye’ve goat and Ah don’t want tae spend mair than four bob, including the shoes.”

  “Dis that include a tie as well, sir?”

  “The full rig-oot.”

  “Nae problem, sir.”

  “Ah’m no sure Ah’m fit fur this,” Harry mumbled, efter sitting listening tae The Rat explain the situation.

  “Harry, ye jist need tae turn up.  Ye kin dae this wae yer eyes shut, given whit ye’ve hid tae deal wae in the past.”

  “Bit, Ah don’t practice anymair, Sammy,” the brief winced, clearly in pain and shaking like a jelly.

  “Ye’re no practicing, ye’re defending.  We cannae use anywan else.  Ah’ve telt ye, if it gets back that the paper’s involved, we’re aw in Shite Street thegither.”

  “Ah’m scared tae take wan step in front ae me in case Ah drap ma guts in ma pants,” the brief groaned, clutching his stomach wae baith hauns.

  “Dae ye want me tae stoap and let ye oot behind these bushes that we’re coming tae?”

  “Naw, Ah wis shiting fur forty eight hours straight, even though Ah didnae want tae and noo that Ah dae, it feels as if Ah’ve goat a bag a coal stuck up ma arse.”

  “Harry, it’s no fur me tae say, bit ye hiv tae come back tae civilisation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the world needs ye.  The Irish Brigade ur ruling the roost wae an iron fist.”

  “Whit his that goat tae dae we me?” Harry replied, rubbing his whiskery chin wae a trembling haun.

  “If people like yersel ur gonnae jist turn o’er and bare their arses tae be kicked, then the wee folk ur well and truly fucked.”

  “So, when did ye become part ae the revolution, Sammy?  The last time Ah saw ye wis wae yer haun stuck up the arse ae Big Bill Bennett, defending his reputation as an honest businessman while he wis swindling the Forth Road sub-contracting companies oot ae thousands.”

  “Listen, Harry, Ah admit Ah hivnae much principles, bit whit’s yer excuse?”

  “Stoap the car a minute, Ah hiv tae puke up.”

  The Rat watched and listened tae Harry retching at the side ae the road.  When he stood up and flicked some hinging slabbers away fae his mooth wae his fingers, a bit ae colour hid returned tae they ashen grey unshaven cheeks ae his.

  “The witch, Mad Molly, said this might happen fur a few days until Ah’m able tae keep stuff doon.”

  “Ye’re looking a lot better than when Ah last saw ye, when Ah picked ye up fae the gutter up oan the Ladywell.”

  “Is that where ye found me?”

  “Aye, kin ye no remember?  Ye said that ye hid tae turn yer life aroond or ye wur gonnae end up pan breid.  Ah telt ye aboot Mad Molly and ye insisted that Ah take ye tae her right there and then.”

  “Did Ah indeed?”

  “Ye sure did,” The Rat lied, turning up the drive towards the prison gates.

Chapter Forty Five

  “So, Alex, tell us again where ye think that bunch ae manky basturts that done that tae yer face ur hiding oot,” The Sarge asked, sitting in the back ae the Black Maria wae Crisscross oan his left and Big Jim and Jinty oan his right, up in Pinkston Road, oot ae sight ae any nosey parkers.

  “Ah’ve telt ye, somewhere in-between St James’s Road and Stanhope Street.  It’s either Ronald Street or Parson Street.  It’s definitely wan ae the two,” Fat Boy whimpered, tenderly touching the hooped rope-burn weals oan that fat face ae his, facing them.

  “C’mone, Alex, ye kin dae better than that, son.  That means they could be in any ae a hunner hooses between St James’s Road and Stanhope Street,” said Crisscross, who’d been patrolling the area fur the previous
three years.

  “Look whit they’ve done tae ye.  Ye’re no gonnae let them aff wae that, ur ye?” Big Jim challenged him gently.

  “It’s aw right fur youse tae say.  Ah hiv tae live here.”

  “Aye, we know, bit put it this way, wance we get them, their arses will aw be slung in the clink, oot ae harm’s way.”

  “Ah telt ye, aw Ah know is that they’re always coming and gaun up aboot the tap ae Ronald Street.  Ah’ve tried following them, bit they always heid aff or double back in pairs.  They go in and oot ae aw the closemooths in wans and twos tae make sure they urnae being followed.  Ah cannae get close tae them.  If Ah follow two ae them, there’s a good chance another pair will turn up oot ae the blue and clock me.”

  “So, tell us again why they done that tae yer good face?  It’s no because they’ve found oot that ye’re a gra...Ah mean, a special constable, is it?”

  “Naw, if they knew that, Ah’d be deid.  Ah telt ye, me and ma pals wur oot collecting ginger bottles and they jumped us at the tap ae Taylor Street.  We tried tae run, bit they caught up wae us roond the backs and tried tae strangle me.”

  “Whit aboot yer pals then?”

  “There wis only wan rope.”

  “Naw, Ah mean, whit happened tae them during aw this carry-oan?”

  “They goat kicked fuck oot ae as well.  Aw fur nothing.  They fucked aff wae oor ginger bottles that we spent aw day collecting.”

  “That’s pure bang oot ae order, so it is,” Jobby snorted in disgust.

  “Aye, we’re dealing wae fucking animals here,” Big Jim chipped in, wae a shake ae that heid ae his.

  “Then they lined us up and made us kneel doon and sentenced us tae two greasers each in the mooth.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake!”

  “Aye, so apart fae being lassoed roond ma coupon, Ah goat ten big greasy wans as well.”

  “Ah take it they don’t like yersel and they pals ae yours, eh?” Crisscross asked, hoping tae ingratiate himsel further.

  “Ah’ve never done anything tae them in ma life.  Ah think it’s because they think Ah’m fat.”

  “Ach, Ah widnae say he wis fat, wid you, boys?”

  “Fat? Him?
Not at all.”

  “Well built, bit certainly no fat.”

  “No that far away fae being athletic, fae where Ah’m sitting.”

  “Aye, weightlifting wid be a good career fur ye, Alex.”

  “Ah want tae be a famous detective,” Blubber Boy blubbered.

  “So whit else, Alex?” The Sarge asked, starting tae get irritated by the amateur dramatics ae the eejits oan either side ae him.

  “That’s it.  They fucked aff wae oor ginger bottles, the basturts.”

  “Naw, Ah mean, whit hiv ye picked up oan whit they’re up tae?”

  “They screwed The Gay Gordon.”

  “Wis that them?”

  “Aye.  Ah think they flogged the stuff tae The Big Man.”

  “There’s a surprise, eh?” Big Jim muttered under his breath.

  “Whit else?”

  “They’re the wans that stripped the lead aff ae St Mungo’s chapel.”

  “And?”

  “There’s two ae them daeing the roonds ae the pubs at night, selling the early editions ae The Evening Times and The Glesga Echo.”

  “Which wans?”

  “Joe McManus…the wan that strangled me, and that wee wan.”

  “Taylor?”

  “Naw, Ah heard them calling him Silent.”

  “Where ur they getting the papers fae?”

  “They’re blagging The Evening Times fae Dundas Street Bus Station before the bus drivers pick them up tae take them oot ae the toon. Ah’m no sure where they’re blagging The Echo fae.”

  “Carry oan, son, ye’re daeing fine, so ye ur,” The Sarge reassured him.

  “It wis them that stole the cash box oot ae the Saw Mill office up in Baird Street oan Monday morning.”

  “Ah bloody-well telt youse!  Ah knew it wis they filthy thieving wee basturts,” Crisscross yelped triumphantly, looking aboot fur a commendation, bit being ignored.

  “Aye, and?”

  “They robbed two ae the Murphy brothers.”

  “The Murphys?  Ur ye sure?”

  “Oh aye, they goat aff wae cases ae booze.”

  “Fae where?”

  “Oot ae their wee red van up in Ronald Street.”

  “Aye, they’re fucking game wee basturts, Ah’ll gie them that,” Big Jim acknowledged tae nods fae the others
.

  “Whit happened tae the booze, Alex?”

  “They flogged it tae Big Toby in The Gay Gordon.”

  “Bit Ah thought ye jist said that they wur the wans that tanned The Gay Gordon?”

  “Ah did.  They sold Toby’s stuff tae The Big Man,” Fat Boy replied miserably.

  “There’s a surprise, eh?” Big Jim said, smiling.

  “Anything else?”

  “They nicked Big Frankie Crown’s good Davy Crockett hat when he laid it doon while he wis daeing a shite up behind Horsey John’s stable block.  They buried it up at the canal and even made up a wee cross and stuck it oan tap ae the grave.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, aye, bit Ah soon fucking wrecked it.”

  “They wee manky basturts jist love dicing wae death, so they dae,” Jobby said, shaking his heid, in amazement.

  “Anything else, Alex?”

  “Ah’m no sure, Ah might’ve furgoat something.”

  “Never you mind, son, ye’ve done fine.  Ye’re a credit tae aw the decent young people fae the Toonheid,” The Sarge commended, getting affirmative nods fae the others.

  “Aye, ye’re a star, Alex.  Ye’ll make a good polis constable someday, so ye will,” Big Jim acknowledged, tae the beaming, fat rope-burnt face.

  “Ah wid say there’s maybe even a sergeant in there trying tae come oot.  And believe you me, some day it will,” Crisscross goat in.

  “Right, Ah think we’ve goat enough tae be getting oan wae.  We’re gonnae hiv tae try and nab the lot ae them in wan fell swoop, rather than pick them aff wan or two at a time, if whit Alex here is saying is true aboot them splitting up and coming back in wans and twos tae their hidey hole,” Big Jim declared.

  “Oan ye go, Alex.  Stay well clear ae the tap ae Ronald Street fur the next few days, okay?  We widnae want they shitehooses tae think ye gra…er…informed us ae their whereaboots,” Jobby said, as the Fat Arse goat up and wobbled oot ae the back door ae the van. 

  “So, who took doon whit wee Alex his jist reported tae us then?” The Sarge asked, looking aboot.

  Silence.