The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (19 page)

  “Unless whoever owned the ring wisnae supposed tae be where they wur in the first place and didnae want tae be exposed,” Harold murmured.

  “So, why wid ye announce that it hid gone missing through the papers then?” Swinton wondered.

  “A reward?” The Rat volunteered.

  “Oh, there’s a reward been offered, although it disnae say how much.  A much better option wid’ve been tae get a private dick oan the case...somewan tae scurry aboot in the background.”

  “Aye, somewan like yersel, Sammy?” Harold said, as the two ae them looked at him, eyes narrowing and brows furrowed.

  “Me?  Christ, Ah’m jist back.  Ah widnae know where tae start wae something like that nooadays,” The Rat replied, chuffed that the pair ae eejits wurnae oan the case ae the missing ring, or if they wur, hidnae a clue where tae start.

  “Anyway, boys, Ah’ll need tae be oan ma merry way and get me a bed tae lay that weary heid ae mine.  See youse aboot, eh?”  The Rat said suddenly, staunin up, picking up his bags and leaving them tae pick up his tab.

  Efter hivving a good swatch tae his left and right tae make sure nowan wis watching him, he turned left and heided up towards Cambridge Street in search ae a room.  So, if it wisnae the polis, and the journos didnae know he wis back, then it hid tae hiv been heavies that hid been up at his door.  He felt his sphincter expand slightly.  It wid jist be his bad luck if Pat Molloy knew he wis back.  If that wis the case, he knew fine well that he’d hiv tae tread oan plenty ae shite before he wis done wae whitever The Big Man wanted him tae dae.  It wid also fuck him up fur a permanent job if anywan picked up that he wis back working fur the bad guys.  He started tae regret his decision tae come back tae Glesga.  He knew that wance the jungle drums put oot that he wis oan the trail ae whoever blagged the ring, then the word wid spread that he wis getting paid tae track it doon.  He took wan last glance behind him quickly, before nipping through the shabby-looking door in Hill Street that hid a sign behind the dirty glass saying ‘vacancies.’ 

Chapter Twenty Five

  They’d nabbed him as he goat aff a forty seven bus at the tap end ae Renfield Street that he’d caught oan Balmore Road, up in Possil earlier.  He’d jist aboot shat in they troosers ae his when Wan-bob Broon appeared fae naewhere in front ae him before telling him tae get that arse ae his in tae the back ae the white transit van that hid jist drawn up beside him.

  “Wan-bob…er, it’s yersel?” he’d yelped in fright, as a pillowcase wis swiftly pulled o’er his heid.

  “Sammy, shut the fuck up, ya wee rodent, ye.  Somewan wants a word wae ye,” another voice hid growled.

  The Rat hid jist aboot jumped oot ae his skin as the van door slammed shut and the engine shifted intae gear.

  “Pat?  It’s yersel…er, long time no see?” The Rat hid squeaked, blinking and fighting tae keep the frightened tremble oot ae his voice, as somewan behind him yanked the bag fae his heid.

The Rat hid tried tae take in his surroundings…a kitchen…smelling musty…nae sound ae traffic fae the ootside…probably a secret address that wisnae used much…sense ae danger…shallow-graves…Oh sweet mother ae God...try and breathe easy, he’d telt himsel.

  “So Sammy, long time no see.”

  “Ah, er, aye, Pat”

  “Right, tell me whit ye’re up tae then?” The Big Man hid demanded, nae messing aboot.

  “Me?  Er, oh well, y’know, this and that, er…” he’d mumbled.

  “Sammy, if ye don’t stoap pissing me aboot, Ah’m gonnae gie Wan-bob or The Goat the go-aheid tae sort that stutter ae yers oot.”

  “Oh, er, sorry, Pat.  It’s jist that, er, Ah’m surprised tae see ye… and me finding masel here…if ye, er, know whit Ah mean?” The Rat hid whimpered, looking aboot him, frightened and confused.

  “Well, that’s okay then.  Ah’ll let ye aff.  Ye obviously needed time tae get yer breath back.  So, oan ye go.  Whit ur ye up tae then?”

  “Oh well, er, y’know, whit is it exactly that ye want tae know?”

  He’d known instantly that his response hid been a mistake, as The Big Man hid looked at him fur a full five seconds before nodding tae the two bears who’d proceeded tae wallop him aboot the ears and heid.

  “Right, hopefully that’ll hiv helped ye tae collect yer thoughts.  Noo, remember, if Ah hiv tae ask ye wan mair time or if ye try and evade answering ma questions, wan ae they fingers ae yers is gonnae get snapped.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Er, aye, Pat.  There’s really nae need tae sp...” he’d started tae whimper, as The Big Man held up his haun tae silence him.

  “Right, Sammy, why hiv ye been gaun aboot aw the pubs in the toon, Maryhill and Possil then?”

  “Me?  Well, er, Ah wis jist trying tae, er, see if, er...”

  He’d heard the pinkie ae his right haun snap like a twig.  The pain that shot up his erm wis the maist excruciating he’d ever experienced in his entire life and hid continued efter his haun hid been released fae the shovels that The Goat used as hauns.  Efter aboot five minutes ae him screaming and howling in pain, Wan-bob hid lifted him up aff the flair and oan tae his feet tae face The Big Man, who wis still sitting in his chair, lighting up a Panatela.

  “Right, Sammy...fae the beginning.  And remember whit Ah telt ye,” The Big Man hid warned him, blowing oot a cloud ae white smoke.

  “Ah’m…Ah’m, trying tae track doon whoever blagged The Princess’s Ring fae that hoose across in the West End,” he’d managed tae get oot, as another bolt ae pain shot up his erm fae his broken finger and a big dollop ae sweat drapped aff the end ae his beak.

  “Fur who?”

  “The paper...The Glesga Echo.”

  “Who oan the Echo?”

  “Tom Bryce, the sub-editor.”

  “Why dis he want it?”

  “I, er, Ah...”

  This time he’d known that he’d been unconscious.  When he’d come roond, he wis sitting oan the hard-backed kitchen chair, facing The Big Man.  He hidnae been sure if somewan hid brought him roond by throwing water across his face or if he’d jist dribbled doon the front ae his shirt and tie, which wur baith wringing wet.

  “Oh, Pat…Oh Jesus, oh ma God…the pain...it’s excruciating, so it is,” he’d panted and howled in agony, looking aghast at his ring finger that wis twisted and facing in the opposite direction tae where it should’ve been like something oot ae a Hammer Hoose ae Horror film.

  “Right, Sammy, carry oan...ye wur saying?”

  “It’s fur the owner…Lord whitever his name is,” he’d squealed, wanting tae throw up as a wave ae searing pain engulfed him.

  “Lord Frank Owen?”

  “Aye, that…that’s him.  It belongs tae him, or at least, tae somewan he knows.  Who…whoever it is, th…they want it back.  Ah’m oan a freelance contract tae…tae try track it doon.”

  “And the pubs?”

  “Ah’m jist laying the groundwork.  Ah’ve…Ah’ve jist started the search the day.”

  “Why did ye no open yer door this morning, Sammy?  It wid’ve saved everywan aw this pissing aboot.”

  Silence.

  “Right, then, whit hiv ye turned up?”

  “Nothing, so far…honest…Ah swear tae God, Pat,” he’d whined, efter catching sight ae The Big Man gieing The Goat a wee glance.

  “Let me be the judge as tae whether ye’ve goat much tae report back oan or no, eh?”

  “Ah…Ah drapped intae The Five Ways, The Bay Horse and The Blythswood and a few others in the toon centre, tae see if there hid been any chat picked up aboot it.  Ah goat a wee tip oot ae The Hangman’s Rest, doon in Wilson Street.  Shady Aleck telt me that Ah…Ah should concentrate across in the west ae the city...Maryhill or…or Possil, tae be precise.  He wis pished as a piss-pot, so Ah couldnae tell if there wis anything in whit he wis saying, or if he wis jist havering or no…there widnae be any chance ae getting a wee aspirin or two fur the pain, wid there?”

  “So, why Maryhill or Possil then?” he’d been asked, his request fur medication ignored.

  “Shady Aleck said that he only knows three people who could’ve done it and two ae them ur up in the Bar-L.  Wan’s waiting trial and wan is daeing six months.  The…the fact that he mentioned three possibilities disnae mean tae say that that’s aw the possibilities there is.”

   “Whit wis the name ae the third wan then?”

  “Ah don’t know.  As Ah said…he wis pished and he said he couldnae remember.  He said it wis a double-barrelled kind ae name.”

  “Right, okay.  So, ye heided up tae Maryhill and then whit?”

  “Ah jist trooped aboot, gaun in tae a couple ae the bars tae try and get a haundle oan…oan the name.”

  “So, where did ye go tae?”

  “Ah wis in The Glen Lyon, The Griffin oan Garscube Road, The Gushet and Ah then ended up in The HLI, up at the barracks.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.  Ah then heided across tae Possil, bit ma arse goat the better ae me efter Ah thought Ah clocked Jo Jo Robson hinging aboot Saracen Cross.  Ah then jist jumped oan a forty seven bus, back intae the toon and bumped intae Wan-bob,” he’d groaned, furtively gieing Wan-bob a wee glance, as the sweat pished aff ae him and another tidal wave ae pain shot up and doon his erm fae they back tae front fingers ae his.

  “This double barrelled name?  Tell me exactly whit Shady Aleck telt ye.”

  “He jist said it wis a funny name that rhymed, a name that tripped aff ae yer tongue…some…something like that.”

  “So, he never mentioned double barrel, did he?”

  “Er, naw, no really, Pat.”

  “Then whit the fuck did ye say that fur?  Ah’ve telt ye, Sammy…don’t fuck me aboot...Ah’ve no goat the patience tae fuck aboot noo, so Ah hivnae.  When Ah ask ye tae tell me something, stick tae the facts and stoap bloody embellishing things.”

  “Ah’m…Ah’m sorry, Pat.  It’s ma fingers...they’re throbbing like hell.  Ah…Ah think Ah’ll need tae get drapped aff at The Royal.”

  “Listen, ya bawbag, ye.  We’ll decide the amount ae treatment ye’ll need, as and when we’re ready.  The way ye’re gaun, there’s still another eight fingers tae add tae yer treatment,” Wan-bob hid snarled.

  “It widnae be Harper Harris, wid it?” The Goat hid suddenly asked oot ae the blue.

  “Who?” The Rat and The Big Man hid asked at the same time, surprise in their voices.

  “H H?  Harper Harris?  That’s a name wae a ring tae it, plus he’s well-known fur tanning people’s hooses.”

  “Who also lives up in Possil,” Wan-bob hid added, smiling.

  “And wis that no the name ae the bawbag that Alex The Manager said wis in and oot ae Jonah’s lounge last Thursday and Friday night, looking fur oor wee Tally pal?  Noo, why the fuck wid a hoosebreaker like him be across in Springburn, in Jonah’s baith nights, looking fur Tony Gucci, Ah wonder?”  The Big Man hid wondered oot loud.

  “Dae we know where he lives, Goat?” Wan-bob hid asked.

  “Naw.  Gucci or some ae that wee ned crew ae his might know though.  Ah could always get a haud ae wan ae them tae find oot, if ye want.”

  “Naw, naw, let’s keep them oot ae this fur the time being, jist in case oor Tony is pulling a flanker oan us.  That includes keeping away fae Possil.  We don’t want any ae they Simpson pricks tae find oot that we’re sniffing aboot.  Right, Sammy, Ah think it’s aboot time we goat ye doon tae The Royal tae see aboot they fingers ae yers, before that swelling gets any worse.  In the meantime, Ah want ye oan the trail ae this Harper Harris wan.  Find oot where he’s kipping and whether he’s the wan we’re efter fur the ring.  And remember, Ah don’t gie a fuck who’s paying yer wages…ye’re working fur me noo.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “A…Aye, Pat,” The Rat hid groaned, feeling faint as the throbbing in his fingers shifted up a gear.

  “And another thing...if ye even breathe that ye’ve seen me within the past twelve months, ye’ll be lucky if they even find they fingers ae yours.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Aye, Pat.”

  “Right, Ah want yer new address haunded o’er tae Wan-bob and he’ll arrange the times and places fur regular updates.  Ah want tae see that ring in the palm ae ma haun within the next few days.”

  Efter Wan-bob hid dumped him ootside The Royal, The Rat hid spent the rest ae the efternoon howling in agony, getting x-rayed and they fingers ae his strapped up.  He’d picked up painkillers fae the wee chemist shoap across fae The Royal in Glebe Street and heided hame tae his bedsit.  He’d need tae be up early the next day tae try and track doon this Harper Harris wan up in Possil, withoot they Simpsons cottoning oan tae whit he wis up tae.  If they sussed oot that he wis working fur The Big Man, he’d end up doon in the morgue, minus they bawbags ae his.

Chapter Twenty Six

  Harper ordered another pint ae lager fae Big Billy, heid barman in The Auld Hoose oan Keppochhill Road.  No only wis he in a quandary, bit he wis shiting himsel big-style.  He’d thought that he’d managed tae get Duggie Dougan, The Inspector and The Gruesome Twosome aff ae his back aboot whit wis gaun oan, bit they’d come back fur mair.  No only that, bit Jo Jo Robson hid been up at his door, banging the fuck oot ae it, looking fur him as well.  He hidnae a clue whit tae dae next.  He wis kicking himsel fur no turning up at The Scotia Bar the night before tae collect his hunner quid fae Tony Gucci.  The dosh wid’ve come in handy, given the situation he noo found himsel in.  He looked up at the clock.  Twenty minutes tae go before the pub shut at hauf two.  He looked up at the windaes oan either side ae the door.  It wis still light ootside.  Even wae the snow coming doon, he could still be spotted fae a distance.  Whit wis he tae dae?  He’d thought he wis in the clear.  He’d jist been getting oot ae the bath the night before when he’d heard the thumping oan his door.  He’d jumped up oot ae the bathtub and hid stood wae the steam wafting aff ae him as he heard the letterbox open and Jo Jo Robson’s voice.

  “Harper?  Harper, open up.  It’s me…Jo Jo!”

    He’d stood rooted tae the spot, trying no tae shite himsel as the loud gurgling ae the water spinning doon the plug hole in the bath hid screamed tae anywan that wis listening, that he wis in.

  “Harper!  Look, Ah know ye’re in, so open the bloody door, ya daft eejit, ye.  Ah’m no gonnae herm ye.”

  He’d been tempted tae open the door and try tae blag his way through, bit the assurance ae non-violence hid made his mind up fur him.  He knew that whitever that Simpson crowd said, ye should expect the opposite.  Efter another five minutes ae the door being ladled intae by fists and feet, he’d heard the footsteps stomping doon the stair.  He’d quickly nipped through tae the bedroom at the front ae the hoose and peeped through the curtains doon oan tae the street.  He knew that Jo Jo wid be doon there, looking up at his living room windae, which hid the lights oan.  The bedroom wis in darkness, so he knew he couldnae be seen.  Sure as fuck, Robson hid been staunin oan the pavement oan the opposite side ae the street looking up.  He’d been staunin oan his ain, bit that hidnae made Harper feel any better.  Jo Jo Robson wis a well-known nasty basturt and whether he’d a blade in his haun or used they fists ae his tae pummel ye intae pulp, whit wis left always required a stretcher.  Harper hid lived in Mansion Street fur aboot a year and he liked the location.  The bus routes intae the toon fae Balmore Road wur handy, as wur the buses up Hawthorn Street tae take ye intae Springburn.  Tae get across intae Maryhill, ye could get a bus fae Bilsland Drive, jist alang fae the picture hoose oan the corner ae Balmore Road and Hawthorn Street.  He could come and go as he pleased, due tae aw the brick dykes in the backs hivving been demolished long ago by aw the local weans.  He took full advantage ae this when he didnae want tae be seen.  The rent wis cheap and the neighbours left him alane.  He’d decided tae leave the living room and bathroom lights oan, jist in case Jo Jo came back.  The two bob bit he’d put in the meter wid soon run oot.   He’d swithered long and hard o’er whether he should heid intae the toon tae collect his money, bit hid decided against it.  He widnae hiv put it past that basturt, Robson, tae hiv been hinging aboot doon in the closemooth, waiting fur him tae sneak oot the back close.  He must’ve fallen asleep oan the couch as he’d woken up in a panic jist efter midnight, wae his door being battered again.  This time, he’d known it wis the bizzies, due tae the type ae knock.  Efter five minutes, they too hid disappeared.  There hid been two ae them.  He knew it wid’ve been The Gruesome Twosome.  He’d hardly slept a wink efter that.  Whit the fuck wis gaun oan?  Wan day he’d been gaun aboot his usual business ae making ends meet and the next, he’d been a witness tae a murder that hid been carried oot by three ae the maist dangerous basturts in Possil…in the whole ae Glesga…and aw because ae that poxy ring.  If he hidnae lifted the ring oot ae the hoose across in the West End, he widnae hiv ended up across in Springburn.  He knew better than tae try and claim the reward that hid been offered in The Glesga Echo, and anyway, he’d awready met up wae Tony Gucci and hid passed it across tae him, even if he hidnae collected the dosh.  He’d jist been so glad tae hiv goat shot ae it, oot ae his possession.

  He wis wondering if he’d hiv the time fur another pint when Big Billy switched the lights aff behind the gantry.

  “Time, gentlemen, pleasssse!”

  He’d need tae find some cover and pronto.  If only he knew how tae get in touch wae Gucci, that wid solve his problem meantime.  He’d heard that Gucci wis lying low in a flat across in Petershill Road somewhere.  He tried tae work oot how he wis gonnae get across there withoot being clocked.  He reckoned he hid two options.  He could nip alang Keppochhill Road tae the wee bridge opposite Carlisle Street, which took ye intae Sighthill.  Then he could cut through the graveyard oan tae Springburn Road and then straight intae Petershill Road itsel.  His other option wis tae nip doon Pinkston Drive, opposite the pub, and get intae Sighthill that way.  This second option wis longer, bit he wis less likely tae be clocked by passing cars, carrying bizzies or gangster basturts, especially if they wur oan the lookoot fur him.  Hivving made up his mind, he stood up and heided fur the door.

  “If anywan’s looking fur ye, hiv ye been in?” Big Billy asked him.

  “Naw, no since earlier in the week, Billy, thanks.”

  “Nae problem, Harper.”