Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (6 page)

Chapter Eight

  “That’s quite an allegation, Sammy,” Tom Bryce, sub-editor ae the crime desk at The Glesga Echo said, swinging back and forth oan the two back legs ae his chair, his feet up oan his desk. 

  His day hid been gaun quite well up until noo, he thought tae himsel, as he looked across the tap ae his desk at the skinny wee dishevelled man, staunin in front ae him, who passed as the tap investigative crime journalist at the paper.

  “Ah’ve goat it oan good authority,” squeaked Sammy Elliot, well-known in the city by aw and sundry as The Rat.

  “Ah jist find it hard tae believe, plus the shite that’ll hit us if we get it wrang will be by the bucket loads.  Ah jist don’t know.”

  “Hiv Ah no come up wae the goods o’er the last year?”

  “Aye, bit this is different.”

  “Whit’s so different aboot this then?”

  “Whit ye’re coming oot wae is conspiracy and possibly the murder ae some wee street urchin by the city’s finest.  It’s a wee bit different fae catching the heid ae The Corporation’s cleansing department perching oan the wife ae a cooncillor, which wisnae exactly murder, wis it?”

  “Maybe, bit catching the heid ae the city’s cleansing department perching oan the wife ae the cooncillor who agrees the contracts fur dumping aw the city’s shite intae nine landfill sites aw o’er the scenic west coast and being a silent partner in her company, alang wae two well-known city gangsters, is.  Ye said so yersel.”

  “Aye, bit it wisnae exactly Profumo, wis it?”

  “It will be, if Ah kin only track him and Madame Tussaud doon.”

  “Ah’ve heard they’re across in Spain.”

  “And Ah’ve heard that they’ve baith ended up beside each other in amongst aw the shite that they goat tipped intae auld farmer MacDonald’s good carrot field, efter they conned him oot ae it,” The Rat squeaked.

  “Supposition and rumours, Sammy. Granted, the story wis hot fur a couple ae weeks efter being picked up by aw the broad sheets, bit then it went cauld.”

  “Aye, bit no before we milked it tae death.”

  “This is still different.”

  “Look at the rug scandal then?”

  “Whit aboot it?”

  “Who wis it that exposed the fact that aw they lovely Persian rugs in the city’s art collection, which get rolled oot every time The Queen comes tae tea, wur made in a garage in Birmingham, while the real wans wur flogged fur a fortune in a New York auction room in the nineteen fifties?”

  “Aye, that wisnae bad, that wan,” Tom conceded, laughing.

  “Ah heard it cost The Corporation a bloody fortune tae change aw they big coloured photographs in the chambers ae Her Majesty, staunin there, grinning wae an auld rug fae Sutton Coldfield under her plates ae meat.”

  “Aye, bit...”

  “And who wis it that goat the photos ae the two inspectors loading up and drapping aff aw that single malt personally in a Black Maria, haun delivering it tae the McGregors, the biggest gangsters oan the south side ae the river, eh?”

  “That wis different…ye wur oan the Pat Roller team then.”

  “That’s no ma point, Tom.”

  “So, whit is?”

  “Copy…good copy equals sales.  Since Ah’ve been here, the circulation his gone up by nearly hauf a million new readers.  And that’s jist wae a few wee juicy stories.”

  “Ah still find it hard tae believe.  Where’s the motive?  Talk aboot taking a hammer tae crack a nut? Tell me again, bit slowly this time.”

  “Ah’ve been reliably informed that this wee ten year auld and a couple ae his pals hiv been running aboot, aw o’er Glesga, thieving like Christmas wis the morra.  The local pavement pounders, who ur something else, by the way, hiv been daeing their dingers because they hivnae goat within a mile ae them.  Because ae the pressure being brought tae bear oan them locally, this wee manky crowd started tanning electrical shoaps aw across the city, particularly doon in the Saltmarket and across in Partick.”

  “Carry oan.”

  “That’s Billy Liar and Daddy Jackson’s patches.  This wis efter the local shiny buttons started tae try and set them up. The wee scallywags continued tae oot-fox them and wur running rings roond them.  A couple ae months back, in desperation, they tried tae kidnap two ae the wee fuckers oan the QT, bit aw the local wummin in the area arrived oan the scene, mob-haunded, and there wis a pitch battle in wan ae the back courts ae a tenement building up in Montrose Street.  There wis two plods involved…a big sergeant called Liam Thompson and a squinty-eyed pavement pounder that everywan calls Crisscross due tae the massive squint in baith his eyes.  Seemingly Ben Turpin’s isnae a patch oan these wans.”

  “Aye, Ah know who ye’re oan aboot.  Ah’ve seen a photo ae him when he goat awarded a bravery medal.  Bloody sin, so it is.  Ah’ve never seen a pair ae eyes like it.  The medal wis probably awarded tae him fur running aboot wae they eyes ae his in public,” Tom murmured, no being able to stoap himsel fae smiling.

  “Aye, well, Ah’ll get tae the medal in a minute,” The Rat continued, walking across the office and returning wae a chair before plapping his arse doon oan it in front ae the desk.

  “How they eyes ae his ever goat tae join the city’s finest is anywan’s guess,” The Sub said in wonder.

  “Anyway, PC Shiny Buttons and Sergeant Plod, alang wae the other pair ae Keystones fae the area, basically hung oot ae the arseholes ae this wee crowd fur two months solid.  They hid an early success by nabbing two ae them, breaking intae a wee tobacconist shoap oan St James Road.  It wis because ae whit happened that night that the skelly-eyed wan and his mate earned their medals.  Seemingly, wan ae the boys scudded wan ae them wae an iron bar and knocked him oot, while Squinty tackled him, supposedly unarmed, and made the arrest.”

  “Aye, Ah remember.  We put Slipper doon tae the presentation tae take the photos.  It didnae matter whit he did, he couldnae dae anything wae they eyes ae his.  Slipper won the funniest photo ae the year at the staff pub crawl doon in Blackpool.”

  “Anyway, Ah heard that it wis the squinty wan that inflicted the damage oan his colleague wae his baton, bit they papped the blame oan tae wan ae the young wans.”

  “Ah wid’ve probably hiv done the same masel.”

  “Aye, bit whit didnae come oot at the time wis that they took the pair that they’d captured up tae the Stinky Ocean o’er in Pinkston Road and tortured them until they goat the names ae their pals aff ae them. The night watchman fae the briquette plant came oot tae see whit aw the screaming wis aboot.  He reckons if he hidnae appeared oan the scene when he did, they’d probably hiv done away wae them.  He said that in the morning, he came across a freshly dug hole that hidnae been there when he started his shift.”

  “Sammy, it’s a well-known fact that the polis aw o’er the city hiv tae gie some ae they wee toe-rags a kick in the arse every noo and again tae tober them up.  Christ, when Ah wis a snapper masel, the local sergeant jist aboot lost his boot efter he booted ma arse and sent me oan ma way, when Ah goat caught pinching apples aff some auld codger’s tree in his back garden.”

  “When they spotted the night watchman, they jist bundled the wee tinkers back intae the van and drove aff withoot saying a word.  That’s whit probably saved their lives. He said the boys looked absolutely terrified.  They’d hid the pair ae them hauncuffed tae the back bumper ae a Black Maria and wur ladling intae them.  This is ten and eleven year auld weans we’re talking aboot.”

  “Hmm, Ah’m still no convinced there’s a story here.  If we go roond stirring up a hornets nest doon at Central, it better be fur something important.”

  “That wid’ve been aroond aboot the end ae June or the beginning ae July,” The Rat continued, ignoring the doubts being raised. “Due tae the heat being applied oan the streets, the wee toe-rags spread their wings.”

  “Ah still don’t see where the wee boy in the fire comes in, Sammy.”

  “Ah heard oan good authority that the boys wur using a haungun tae tan in the shoap windaes.”

  “Bit, did ye no say we’re talking aboot ten and eleven year aulds here?”

  “Aye.”

  “Kin we authenticate the use ae a gun?”

  “Oh, aye, bit it gets better.  Seemingly, there wis a big hush-hush meeting between aw The Irish Brigade doon at Central.  They wur aw in attendance, so they wur.  Wan ae their decisions wis tae put the word oot that if the gun that the boys wur running aroond wae wisnae haunded in that very night, they’d shut the whole ae the Toonheid doon.”

  “Did ye jist say The Paddy Brigade hid a hush-hush meeting?” The Editor asked, a flicker ae interest appearing under they thick eyebrows ae his.

  “That’s the story Ah wis telt.”

  “And the gun?”

  “Haunded in that very night.  There’s mair.  The forensic report, which Ah’ve read by the way, oan the windaes that hid seemingly been shot oot, never mentioned a gun being used.”

  “So, whit did it say then?”

  “It claimed the boys used glass marbles in a sling.”

  “Ye mean bools?”

   “Aye.”

  “Sammy, so far, ye’ve telt me nothing that wid lead me tae believe that the polis in the Toonheid hiv set themsels up as some sort ae avenging vigilantes who ur operating ootside ae the law.  Noo, if they wur attempting tae pop aff Pat Molloy, The Big Man, or some ae his boys, then that wid be different.  Granted, Ah widnae want tae be first in the queue when Billy Liar and Daddy Jackson wur dishing oot the second prizes.  Ah’ve seen some ae the pictures that hiv been taken efter The Irish Brigade hiv dealt wae eejits that didnae take a telling.”

  “There’s a lot mair.  The wee bampots widnae take a telling and carried oan whit they wur daeing.  Then wan Sunday, wan ae the young crowd wis spotted crossing St James Road by wan ae the local squad cars.  No only did they gie chase, bit they ran him o’er before reversing o’er the tap ae him.  This wis in broad daylight.  Despite his injuries, they bundled him intae the boot ae the car and fucked aff wae him.”

  “Naw.”

  “Oh, aye.  Remember, we’re talking aboot a ten year auld here.  There wur plenty ae witnesses aboot.  Again, that’s whit probably saved the wee
tink’s life.  Who knows whit wid’ve happened tae him if people hidnae spotted him being bundled intae the back ae the car?”

  “It certainly sounds as if they wur a bit heavy-haunded.”

  “Tom, we’re no talking aboot a wee slap oan the lug or a kick up the arse here fur stealing an apple oot ae somewan’s garden.”

  “Wis he okay?”

  “Well, they refused tae take him tae the hospital, despite being bruised fae heid tae toe. They slung him in solitary confinement fur aboot ten hours withoot a drink or anything tae eat, alang wae his other three pals who’d been arrested earlier the same day.”

  “Don’t tell me?”

  “Aye, whit a bloody hiding they goat.”

  “Wur they charged?”

  “The polis?  Ur ye kidding.”

  “Naw, the boys?”

  “Wan ae the maws, a right tough cow, goat word ae whit hid happened and gathered up aw the other maws and charged doon tae Central.  She nearly caused a riot, so she did.  Started hitting them way aw sorts ae legal shite, jist like a real lawyer, aboot the wee wans’ rights…no gieing them food or water…assaulting them…you name it, she rattled aff aw the illegal stuff tae them.  Seemingly, she’s notorious fur charging aboot the area wae a gang ae local wummin, aw nutters, jist like hersel, turning up at aw the local warrant sales, causing mayhem by attacking the sheriff officers, gaun aboot their business.  Knows the law like the back ae her haun by aw accounts, so she dis.”

  “Bit, did they charge the boys wae anything?”

  “She bloody walked right oot ae the door wae the lot ae them in tow, withoot a charge tae their name.”

  “Christ, that must be a first fur doon there.”

  “Aye, The Irish Brigade wur seemingly jumping up and doon fur a week at the inspector who let them walk.  That’s when the word wis put oot.”

  “Fur whit?”

  “Tae crush they wee basturts at any cost, nae questions asked.”

  Silence.

  “Ah still don’t know, Sammy,” The Sub finally said, pursing his lips.

  “Whit don’t ye know?”

  “It aw seems a bit heavy o’er nothing.  So they tanned a couple ae shoaps?  Hardly a capital offence, is it?”

  “Tom, ye’re no listening tae whit Ah’m saying here.  Kin ye imagine the heidlines fae the competitors if we’re no oan tap ae this?  ‘Vigilante Polis Operating in the Second City ae the Empire’,” The Rat crowed, spelling oot the big heidlines wae the fingers ae baith hauns in front ae them.  “Who else his been at the receiving end ae their self-styled justice that we don’t know aboot, eh? This could be massive.”

  “Ah’m still no convinced ye’ve telt me anything that wid lead me tae believe we’ve goat rogue polis trawling the streets, dishing oot vigilante justice.  We aw know whit that Irish Brigade are capable ae, bit given whit they awready get away wae, getting shot ae a ten year auld fur breaking shoap windaes seems a bit far-fetched tae me, so it dis.  As Ah’ve awready said, if it hid been gangsters at the receiving end, fair enough.  Ur ye sure that it wisnae jist the local pavement pounders being a bit heavy-haunded wae the boys tae get them tae stoap upsetting everywan?  Tangling wae that Irish Brigade kin be bad fur yer health, so it kin.”