Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (8 page)

  She hid felt as if somebody hid kicked her in the chest.  She’d hardly been able tae catch her breath, bit hid managed tae get a question oot.

  “Whit?  Wan ae ma Johnboy’s pals?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Dear God, Pat, ur ye sure?  Ah mean, it cannae be Johnboy…he wis up and oot the door, back tae school efter the summer break this morning.”

  “The fireman said it could’ve been caused by a candle or a match catching fire oan something.”

  “Bit there wis definitely somebody in it when it went up?”

  “The guy says it looked like a youngster.  If it wis an adult, it could’ve been Tiny, ma stable midget, bit he’s at work this morning.”

  “So, who is it then?”

  “Ah don’t know, bit we think it wis wan ae the boys.  We’re trying tae find oot.”

  “Dear God, that’s terrible, so it is.  Ah’ll need tae find oot so Ah kin go up and see his maw and da.”

  “Aye, well, Ah’m no sure it wis an accident though.”

  “Whit?  Why dae ye think that, Pat?”

  “Helen, be honest…kin you see any ae that wee crowd accidently burning doon their ain dookit, two minutes efter they’ve jist took it o’er?  Ah know Ah cannae.”

  “So, whit ur ye saying then?” Helen hid asked, still in a state ae shock, back tae haudin in her breath.

  “Look, don’t take this the wrang way and Ah’m no bragging here, bit there is absolutely nowan oan this side ae the city who’d hiv a go at me.  And seeing as Ah hivnae hid any bother wae anywan fae the south side ae the city in aboot three years, there’s nae fucker aboot tae hiv a go, simply because Ah hivnae done anything tae anywan.”

  “So?”

  “So, if it’s been started deliberately, and Ah’ve nae proof that it his been at this stage, then who could it be?”

  “Who?”

  “Well, if there’s nowan efter me and it’s become common knowledge that yer Johnboy and his pals hiv took o’er the cabin, who dis that leave ye wae?”

  “Ah’m sorry, Pat, bit Ah still don’t get where ye’re coming fae?”

  “The polis hiv been chasing the boys aw o’er the Toonheid aw summer.  The last time Ah saw them being chased, Ah remember thinking tae masel that Ah widnae want tae be in their shoes if that big sergeant, Liam Thompson, caught wan ae them.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Pat, there’s no way the polis wid be involved wae something as serious as this…no way,” Helen hid retorted, her heid spinning.

  “Why?  Dae ye think they widnae burn doon some poor basturt’s dookit because they’re the polis?  Christ’s sake, Helen, Ah’m surprised at ye.”

  “Bit, ye jist said yersel that ye don’t know if it wis an accident or if it wis deliberate.”

  “Exactly, bit Ah find it hard tae believe that wan ae that wee crowd wid be stupid enough tae burn doon a cabin that’s been staunin there fur the last twenty years.  That’s aw Ah’m saying.”

  “Naw, Ah suppose…Ah cannae see that either.  Ah know fine well, tae ma cost, that the polis kin be dirty sleekit gits, bit Ah couldnae see them daeing something like that,” she’d said, surprised tae hear hersel defending the polis, and big Liam Thompson in particular.

  “Even if they thought the cabin wis empty?  Ah’m no saying that they wid’ve known that somewan wis in it.  Helen, believe you me, they shite-hooses ur capable ae anything.  If ye knew the hauf ae whit Ah know aboot the bizzies roond aboot here, ye widnae let yer boy oot at night.”

  “Look, Pat, Ah’ll need tae go.  Thanks fur the tea and the snow-baw.”

  “Nae bother, Helen.  Listen, Ah’m meeting a contact ae mine in hauf an hour.  He’s a journalist…as ugly as sin, bit he’s good at his job.  He owes me mair than a few favours.  They call him The Rat because, apart fae looking like wan, he’s good at snooping aboot and finding oot things that other people don’t want people tae know aboot.  Ur ye okay if Ah tell him aboot oor wee chat?  As ye say yersel, there’s probably nothing in it, bit it’ll gie him enough tae wet that snout ae his.  He might come in handy in the future, if they basturts keep oan harassing that boy ae yers.”

   Efter she’d left the pub, Helen hid bumped intae her maw oan Parly Road.  Wan ae her maw’s cronies hid awready telt her that the big dookit at the tap ae the road hid been burnt tae the ground.

  “It’s aw they kids, running aboot wae matches and aw that,” she’d said tae Helen.

  “Aye, well, at least it wisnae somebody’s hoose, eh?”

  “Aye, bit Ah think it’s probably serious, cause there’s aw sorts ae cars and vans up there.  They’ve even goat a white tent up.”

  “So, whit dis that mean?” Helen hid asked, keeping tae hersel whit The Big Man hid jist telt her.

  “That usually means trouble.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, if there’s a murder or something.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh, aye, guaranteed.”

  “So, who dae ye think it is then, Sherlock?”

  “Ah don’t know, bit the polis ur sure tae know.”

  “See, Maw, that’s the problem roond here.  It’s people like you and that pal ae yers that gies this place a bad name, wae aw that speculation.  Ye’re the second wan Ah’ve heard the day, talking aboot the same thing, bit baith coming up wae different stories.”

  “Aye, well, Ah’ve said ma piece.”

  “And whit else is new then?”

  “Ach, nothing.  Yer da’s away aff tae work this morning wae a splitting headache.  He’s still recovering fae Saturday night.”

  “Aye, it wis a stoating wee night so it wis, eh?”

    Helen couldnae get oot ae her heid whit Molloy
hid said aboot Johnboy and his pals’ pigeon cabin gaun up in flames.  Oan the way hame, she’d gone roond by the school tae check tae see if Johnboy hid goat there.  She’d been gonnae go in, bit hid noticed him climbing up the bottom level stairs during the morning play break wae some ae his pals, so she’d heided hame via Sherbet’s and goat hersel five single fags.  Before Johnboy’d finally showed up later oan that night, she’d started tae get hersel intae a right state, bit hid relaxed wance he appeared.  He hidnae been through the door mair than a few minutes before the polis hid turned up.  Betty, fae next door, hid telt her that they’d been up at Helen’s door at different times during the efternoon, bit as Helen hid been oot and aboot, she’d missed them.  When she’d ushered Johnboy intae the sitting room tae talk tae an Inspector Mack and big Liam Thompson, Johnboy hid jist clammed up.  Efter she’d suggested that the sergeant leave the room, much tae Liam Thompson’s obvious annoyance, Johnboy hid seemed tae relax a bit and hid answered the inspector’s questions.  Johnboy hid said he knew aboot the dookit being burned doon.  He’d said that he’d heard that it wis his pal, the wee wan they called Skull, that hid died in the fire.  They’d come fur his sister in the morning and hid taken her oot ae school.  He’d telt the inspector that the last time he’d spoken tae the Kelly boy hid been doon at the closemooth the night before.  He hidnae been too sure ae the time, bit it hid still been light ootside.   Helen hid been able tae confirm that it hid been aboot hauf seven when he’d appeared. He’d telt the inspector that they’d been doon at some doo shoap in the Saltmarket.  When asked aboot the dookit, he’d said that the Murphy brothers hid haunded it o’er tae them as they didnae want it, seeing as there wis a motorway being built where it stood, which hid been news tae Helen.  He’d said that he didnae know whit could’ve started the fire, bit hid admitted there wis candles and matches in the dookit.  He’d said he didnae know whit hid happened tae his pal efter he’d left tae go up the road.  Efter the inspector hid left, Johnboy hid telt Helen that the boy who’d died hid been the wan that hid been sitting oan his ain when Helen hid gone doon wae the other maws tae get them oot ae the polis station.  That hid been the Sunday that the boys hid aw been lifted fur seemingly being a walking crime wave, even though there hidnae been a shred ae evidence, at least none that she’d known aboot.  He’d said he’d seen the heidline oan The Evening Citizen poster that a boy hid died in the fire and that him and his pals wur aw really upset aboot it.  He’d also been upset that poor Elvis hid died too.  Helen knew that aw the local weans wur aw really attached tae the poor beast.  Seemingly, Tam The Bam hid gone oan a bender when he heard the news.  Helen hid sat Johnboy doon and telt him that sometimes these kind ae things happened and that’s why her and his da wur always oan tae him aboot playing wae matches.  When she’d telt Jimmy that night, he’d telt her tae keep an eye oan Johnboy, bit no tae speak tae him aboot it.

  “He’ll get o’er it soon enough.  When Ah wis his age, me and ma pals wur playing up at the Nolly and wan ae them ended up getting droont.  Ah furgoat aw aboot him efter a couple ae weeks and jist goat oan wae ma life.  Ah still think aboot him every noo and again though.”

   A couple ae days later, Helen’d hid her first encounter wae the sleekit wee man that Molloy hid called The Rat.  Pat hidnae been exaggerating either…ye could’ve chopped sticks wae that face ae his.  He wis pretty gaunt and thin, wae a sharp hooked nose, sharp yellow protruding teeth and a thin weedy-looking moustache, stuck oan between his tap lip and that hooked nose ae his.  It wis the kind ae moustache that ye’d hiv tae be very careful wae when ye trimmed or shaped it.  Wan false move and it wid’ve been gone furever.  He wore a dirty thin beige cloth raincoat that ye could spit through, so Christ knows how it wis meant tae keep the rain aff.  When he walked, he stooped o’er and kind ae scurried.  He wis jist like a rat, Helen remembered thinking when she first clapped eyes oan the weedy wee gnaff.  This wis wan guy who’d definitely sell his granny fur a tanner and two tipped single fags.  As soon as she’d clapped eyes oan him, despite whit Pat Molloy hid said, she’d made up her mind there and then tae keep him well oot ae her face.

  “Er, excuse me, missus?” he’d squeaked, expressing surprise when she body-swerved roond him. 

  Ha, he didnae expect that wan, the wee weasel, she’d smiled tae hersel.  She’d been a wee bit surprised at first tae find that he must’ve taken the hint as he seemed tae suddenly disappear intae thin air.  She couldnae see him oot ae the side ae her eyes nor hear the sound ae they wee feet ae his scurrying behind her either.  She’d still detected his presence though, bit there wis no way she’d been gonnae look behind tae see if he wis tailing her, so she’d jist kept walking up Parly Road, minding her ain business.  Jist as she crossed the road at Taylor Street, she’d stoapped and hid a look in the windae ae McCluskey’s, the butchers oan the corner.  As she wis looking at aw the nice tasty ashet steak pies, she’d managed a wee sly look oot ae the side ae her eye tae her right while she wis kidding oan that she wis looking at the price ae a bit ae meat she couldnae afford that wis hinging oan a hook up tae the right.  Efter relaxing, she’d peered aw the way back doon the road tae The Grafton picture hoose, bit still, there hid been nae sign ae him.  He surely couldnae be that good, she’d jist thought tae hersel when she clocked the wee basturt.  He’d been loitering wae intent across the road, behind her.  He’d looked a bit agitated, probably due tae the fact that he didnae hiv any cover and wis shoogling aboot, looking as if he wisnae sure whit tae dae wae himsel next.
Wance she knew where he wis, she’d felt back in control.  She’d sauntered intae the shoap and stood in the queue.  She’d jist managed tae see him nip intae the first close in Lister Street.

  “Goat ye, ya wee scurrying rat,” she’d blurted oot loudly.

   She’d known he’d be able tae see her wance she came back oot ae the shoap.  He must’ve lit up a fag, because a blue puff appeared oot ae the closemooth where she knew the sleekit wee eejit wis hiding.  She’d thought she even saw him take a wee peek oot tae make sure she wis still there.

  “Helen, ma darling, is that ye talking tae yersel again?  Whit hiv Ah telt ye aboot that, eh?  Noo, whit side ae the coo dae ye want tae rob me oot ae the day?”

  “Er, kin Ah hiv a marrow bone fur ma soup, Charlie?”

  “Only if Ah’m getting an invite roond tae taste it.”

  “Cheers.”

  “Anything else before aw these wummin clean me oot,” Charlie hid said cheerfully, nodding towards the cackle behind her.

  “Naw, bit kin Ah jist nip oot ae yer side door, Charlie?  Ah think wan ae they Provi-cheque men is oan ma trail.”

  “Ur ye sure that isnae an excuse tae clock ma good steak pie recipe that the boys ur working oan through there?”

  “Ah promise no tae look.”

  “In that case, ma wee darling, wance Ah get that thrupenny bit aff ye fur ma soup bone, ye kin jist go through they stripy curtains o’er there,” he’d said, shouting, “Wullie, hide they deid cats.  There’s a customer coming through.”

  “Hello, Wullie, Ah’m jist taking a wee short cut. There’s a Provi-cheque man oan ma trail, so there is,” Helen hid said tae Wullie, big Joan Scullion’s man, who wis staunin, covered in blood, like a mad axe man, wae a fag sticking oot ae his face.

  “Nae bother, hen.  Tell Jimmy Ah wis asking fur him, will ye?”

  When she’d come oot oan tae Taylor Street, she’d heided up oan tae Ronald Street, across St James Road and o’er Canning Place Lane oan tae Cathedral Street.  She’d jist sat doon wae her feet up tae hiv a fag, and wis watching the steam bubbling aff ae her fine pot ae soup, when she’d heard the chapping oan the door.  It wisnae wan ae they official knocks like the polis wid’ve done.  Whoever this wis, hid been too fly fur that.  He’d chapped oan the door the same way as a neighbour or the weans up the close wid’ve done…the kind ae chap that people wid open the door tae.  She’d known fine well it wis him as soon as she’d heard the first knock.  She’d been swithering whether tae go and speak tae him or wait until she’d finished her fag, bit he’d spoiled the moment.  She’d gone through and opened the door tae find him staunin there, gaun fae wan fit tae the other.