The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (22 page)

  “Hiv ye ever heard ae a guy called Tony Gucci, Snappy?” Johnboy hid finally asked him.

  “Nope.”

  “Whit aboot Paul McBride?”

  “He disnae play fur Celtic, dis he?”

  “Naw, ye’re thinking ae Joe McBride who plays fur Hibs.  Whit aboot Joe McManus?”

  “Naw.”

  “Dae ye remember wan ae The Peg boys lost an eye, as well as hauf ae his nose, efter somewan took a screwdriver tae it when he wis at a meeting aboot trying tae stoap violence getting oot ae haun?”

  “Aye, that wis John Dale.  Whit a beezer that wis.  His nose still looks as if it always wants tae piss aff fur a pint, so it dis.  He looks like something oot ae ‘The Man wae The Bent Nose.’”

  “Aye, well, that wis Joe McManus that done that and he’s wan ae ma best pals, alang wae the other two that Ah’ve jist mentioned.”

  “Whit?  Ye run aboot wae the tadger that took a liberty wae poor John Dale, when aw he wis daeing wis trying tae stoap the trouble fae spiralling oot ae control?”

  “Snappy, before we go any further.  Yer pal wis an aggressive prick and wis only making things worse.  Noo, if ye want tae go aheid wae this wee venture, ye need tae get it intae yer heid that ye cannae say ye ran aboot wae The Peg.  Ye’re nae intae gangs either, setting wan up or otherwise, and when ye dae meet them, keep yer trap shut and yer bright ideas tae yersel, at least fur the first five minutes.  They won’t take any shite aff ae ye, so keep that in mind.  Other than that, they’re actually okay.”

  When Peter Paterson hid finally goat back in contact, Johnboy hid jist aboot shat in his pants.  The reason fur the delay hid been because Peter hid been oot and aboot and hid managed tae get hauf ae Springburn doon tae the shoap tae check oot whit wis available.  When Johnboy hid read the list that Peter hid produced, he hidnae been aware that Silverman’s sold hauf the stuff that hid been requested.  Peter’s punters wanted bed quilts, sheets, lamps, cushion covers, shoes, boots, curtains, snow globe ornaments, canteens ae cutlery...you name it...if the shoap sold it, they wanted it.  There wis nae way that they wid’ve been able tae haul aw that stuff back up the road oan the bus every night, withoot attracting the scent ae every bizzy in the toon.  Johnboy hid arranged a meeting between Tony, Joe, Snappy and Peter in Jonah’s.  Because Pat hid awready started semi-hinging aboot wae them, he’d sat in as well, although he hidnae contributed any advice, wance he’d found oot that they couldnae get intae the jewellery department.

  Efter a hesitant start, they’d soon goat doon tae business.  Peter wid take ten percent ae everything sold.  The other ninety percent wid be split four ways.  Joe and Tony wid borrow wan ae Fat Fraser’s vans behind his back and come doon tae the shoap aboot nine o’clock at night, allowing Johnboy and Snappy time tae make up the orders.  It hid also been agreed that they’d strike while the iron wis hot o’er the next four weeks, as Peter said he could keep the orders coming in.  Efter four weeks, baith Snappy and Johnboy wid jack in their jobs.  At lunch times, they’d look aboot the toon centre fur mair shoaps tae try and get jobs in, while Peter checked oot the kind ae stuff that his punters wanted.  Fae it jist being Johnboy, Joe and Tony running aboot thegither, Pat McCabe, the jeweller, Snappy Johnston and Peter the Runner hid joined the ranks.  Things hid started tae look up.

Chapter Twenty Eight

  George Crawford sat facing the interview panel in the administration office above the gatehoose ae Barlinnie Prison.  While he wisnae overconfident, he felt comfortable enough tae be able tae answer maist ae the questions that wur being thrown across the desk at him.  The clock above the heids ae the panel members said it wis six minutes past nine.  He’d been in the hot-seat fur exactly six minutes before the questions started coming at him.

  “According tae yer file, Mr Crawford, it says that ye’ve been an Assistant Hall Governor in HMP Barlinnie twice, hiv hid two stints as AG in Peterheid, wan in Friarton, Perth, and that fur the last two and a hauf years, hiv been Assistant Governor in Polmont Borstal oot near Falkirk.  Apart fae Barlinnie, these are aw relatively small institutions.  Whit strengths and experience dae ye believe ye hiv that wid assist ye tae manage a large institution ae o’er a thousand adult prisoners here in Glesga?” Jack Broon, Scottish Prison’s manager asked.

  “Well, sir, you rightly highlight that all of the institutions mentioned have been small in comparison to Barlinnie, but I would point out that all of these institutions have housed prisoners, young and old, who are serving minimum tariff sentences of two years or more.  This has afforded me an opportunity to study the inmate at close quarters over longer periods of time and respond accordingly to the needs of the prison service locally and the department centrally, thus ensuring effective control is maintained, whatever the situation might be and wherever a situation may arise.”

  “So, you make a distinction between those prisoners serving longer sentences and those who are with us for a few short months?” Maggie Bates, known throughoot the prison service as Maggie Tin Knickers, governor ae Gateside Wummin’s Prison asked him.

  “I believe my experience in dealing with those incarcerated for longer, whose offences would be categorised as more serious than your local short stay inmates, has allowed me a better insight into the minds of repeat offenders and of how we, as a service, should be responding to the needs of these malcontents, whilst at the same time protecting the communities we are entrusted to serve.”

  “Can you give us an example, Mr Crawford?” Maggie Tin Knickers asked.

  “Well, in my experience, throwing resources at the flotsam of society, believing we can somehow change the way people behave in their communities is…well...quite preposterous really.  If we cannot change offending when we have riff-raff for periods exceeding two or more years, then the chances of changing short-term sentenced recidivists, is hardly likely to succeed in the time we have them in our local facilities.  As governor of this fine institution, I would ensure that as little money as possible is spent in molly-coddling those who believe society owes them a favour and would apply the necessary short, sharp, shock treatments to make them think again before darkening the doors of this prison again.  I believe I would be able to save the department money whilst at the same time, ensure that society gets its well deserved pound of flesh...if you’ll pardon the expression, ma’am.”

  “Not at all, Mr Crawford, not at all,” Maggie Tin Knickers purred, flashing her eyelashes at him, as the other two interviewers nodded in agreement, clearly impressed.

  “What are your views on the handling of prison staff, Mr Crawford?”

  “The Prison Officers’ Association is like any other union...full of bullies, trouble-makers and communists.  Whilst I clearly do not subscribe to anything they stand for, the ordinary decent prison officer, in my mind, most of the time, acts like a lost sheep.  I believe their needs are as simple as themselves and that they cry out for strong, firm leadership that not only listens to what they have to say, but acts accordingly.”

  “Yes, I notice that the officers in Friarton refused to work to rule when you were in charge and that the same applied in Polmont recently, much to the consternation of the Prison Officers’ Association, Mr Crawford.  What would you say were the secrets of your success?” Alistair Fleming, Scottish Home and Health Department, prisons’ secretary asked.

  “It’s really quite straightforward, sir.  If a prison officer claims an institution regime is being too soft on prisoners, then the chances are, he is right.  He’s the one who has to implement management decisions in allowing prisoners out of their cells, having to supervise evening recreational access, family visits, and more so-called visiting committees gaining entry to our institutions, all of which undermine his supposed authority.  Where I have had responsibility, I have applied fair, but measured rules to those incarcerated, as laid down by the Secretary of State for Scotland.  If I have any weaknesses at all, it is that I don’t fully subscribe to all this rehabilitation nonsense that is being forced on us by longhaired social worker psychologist types, who believe that talking to people who break the law will somehow cure them.  For some strange reason, prison officers tend to believe they have a right to be heard and my way of controlling them is by giving them the impression that the tough measures I enact are as a result of me listening to what they have to say.  Of course, it’s a total illusion, as all decisions are made at the centre.  Prisons were built to lock people up, not allow inmates to wander about the place once they’re removed from society and put behind prison walls.  In my view, prisons are there to punish.”

  “Here, here,” Jack Broon harrumphed, tapping twice oan the desk wae his white knuckles.

  “You mention social worker types, Mr Crawford.  It says here that your wife is...er, a social worker herself.  Does that mean she holds opposing views that conflict with your own?  I can imagine there must be some interesting conversations around the Crawford dining table on occasions,” Maggie Tin Knickers enquired, slipping the stiletto silently and effortlessly between they ribs ae his.

  “Oh, er, not at all, Miss Bates, on the, er, contrary.  When Alison and I decided to pursue careers in giving back to the community, our approaches on how best to do that were based on the same Christian principles, but our approach was always going to be different.  Whilst I chose to apply my Christian values within the prison service, Alison, my dear sweet wife, wished to devote her life to doing missionary work within communities themselves.  After twenty years of blissful matrimony, I can honestly say that we are still in harmony in our determination to help those less fortunate than ourselves.  Since our children have left and gone on to university, my wife has gone back to work in one of the most deprived communities in Glasgow.  Like me, she is quite capable of ascertaining who requires help and time invested in them and those who are a drain on resources and society,” he replied tae Tin Knickers, feeling that sphincter ae his twitching fur the first time since entering the room.

  “Barlinnie was built to hold 1008 prisoners but I believe the current population stands around the 1500 mark.  How would you deal with overcrowding, Mr Crawford?”

  “As I stated earlier Mr Fleming, prisons are, in my view, there to inflict punishment.  If this means offenders such as rapists, muggers and misfits having to live on top of each other, then so be it.  I would contend that that’s how half of them probably live on the outside anyway.  My priority would be to ensure they stay locked up with minimal time out of their cells.  If that means two, three or even four to a cell, then perhaps time spent reflecting on the implications of breaking the law in the future will be time well spent.”

  “Right, well, unless there ur any further questions, Ah’d jist like tae thank Mr Crawford fur attending the interview this morning,” Jack Broon, Scottish Prisons’ manager declared, looking at the panel members.

  “May I ask a question, sir?” The AG asked.

  “Of course you can, Mr Crawford.”

  “Could you give me an indication of when a decision will be made regarding who will be appointed to the post?”

  “I think Mr Fleming may be able to answer that, Mr Crawford.  Mr Fleming?”

  “We will make our recommendation later today to the Secretary of State, seeing as there was only one other candidate…Mr Bob Grump from Craiginches, up in Aberdeen…other than yourself, Mr Crawford.  The process usually takes about seven days, therefore you should hear by telephone, in the first instance, if you have been successful, probably by this time next week.  Hopefully, I am not talking out-of-school when I say that I am very impressed by your interview today and I would not be surprised if Mr Brown will be phoning you next Friday with a Happy New Year message from the department,” he beamed.

  “Hear, hear,” Jack Broon harrumphed again, tapping the desk fur the second time wae they white knuckles ae his as Maggie Tin Knickers fluttered her eyelashes across the desk at the candidate.

Chapter Twenty Nine

  It wis clear that the Superintendent meant business, The Stalker thought tae himsel as he entered the boardroom.  Daddy’s right-haun bum-boy, Chief Inspector Billy Liar, wis lifting the black chalkboard up oan tae the wooden pedestal at the end ae the table, as everywan wis shuffling and bumping intae each other, heiding fur the same seats that they’d been sitting oan at the meeting the previous week. 

  “Talk aboot creatures ae habit,” The Stalker mumbled.

  “Well, well, wid ye look at the mooth oan that...haw, haw,” Shane Priestly, wan ae The Gruesome Twosome, shouted oot, laughing.

  “Whit happened, Paddy?  Some wee lassie gie ye a skelp fur poking yer finger in where it wisnae wanted, eh?” the other gruesome prick, Dave McGovern, chipped in.

  “Ignore they bawbags, Paddy.  Tell them fuck-aw,” Bumper said.

  “Ah hope ye gied the tart mair than whit she gied yersel, Paddy,” Billy Liar quipped fae the bottom ae the table.

  “It wis the dentist,” The Stalker mumbled, taking his seat, while dabbing his mooth wae a bar towel that he’d goat fae wan ae the wummin at the warrant sale up in Endricks Street earlier oan.

  “Aye, that’s whit they aw say,” Shane mumbled tae titters fae Duggie Dougan and Chic Thompson.

  “Aye, bit the difference between me and you, Shane, is that Ah tell the truth aboot these things.  Whit wis the name ae that wee wummin that used yer tie and yer baws as a stepping stane tae get far enough up so she could stick the heid oan ye?”

  “Haw, haw…Maggie, the Mansion Street midget.  Broke that nose ae his, if ma memory serves me right,” Bumper guffawed.

  “Aye, and whit did he try and say?  He walked intae a door.  Isn’t that right, Shane?”

  “Fuck aff, Paddy, ya Irish tadger, ye,” Shane replied, eyes narrowing.

  “Oh, sorry, Ah furgoat, it’s still a sore point,” The Stalker tittered, gieing his blood-stained lips a wee dab wae the towel.

  “And still a talking point as well, at least it is o’er in Springburn, Burmulloch and Balornock,” Bumper slung in.

  “Wid youse bucks cut the cackle,” Daddy warned them, looking up fae the file he wis reading.

  “Wankers!” Shane mumbled under his breath, looking across at The Stalker and Bumper.

  “Ah’m warning ye...don’t get me started.  Right, Billy, ye kin kick aff the meeting,” Daddy said, scowling across at the sergeants.

  Wance they’d aw lit up their fags, everywan turned tae The Chief Inspector at the bottom ae the table, as he picked up a stick ae white chalk fae the wee holder oan the trestle.

  “Right, lads, jist tae recap oan where we wur last week.  Oan the wan side, we hiv The Simpsons fae Possil and oan the other, we hiv the elusive Pat Molloy, who we hivnae seen oan the surface fur a while, even though we know that Wan-bob Broon his resurfaced.  In between aw this, we hiv a brain-damaged ned, who’s noo as deid as a dodo.  Then there’s Paddy and Fin’s
auld pals, the manky mob, heided up by a young twisted thug called Tony Gucci.  Alangside aw this, we hiv Possil gangsters including Frisky Frank McKenna, Jo Jo Robson and Toby Simpson, aw frequenting the boozers across in Springburn, which we aw know tae be wan ae The Big Man, Pat Molloy’s fiefdoms.  As if that isnae enough, we hiv an unconscious gangster, namely the aforementioned Frisky Frank, mumbling that he telt nae fucker fuck-aw, aboot something we don’t know aboot, whitever that’s supposed tae mean…and we’re still no sure whit’s gaun oan…at least we didnae this time last Saturday,” Billy announced fae within a cloud ae chalk dust, staunin back and looking at his squiggly chalk haundiwork oan the blackboard.

  “So, ye’ve aw hid nearly a week tae check things oot, so who’s gonnae start the baw rolling?” Daddy asked them.

  “Ye’ve a name missing, Billy.”

  “Oh, aye, and who wid that be then, Shane?”

  “Ye better include Harper Harris’s name in the middle there, alang wae the rest ae them.”

  “And ye’ll maybe want tae share wae us the reason fur his inclusion?” Billy replied, as aw heids turned tae Shane.

  “Well, ye know how Ah said that Ah heard Frisky Frank mumble the names ae Gucci, McManus and Tam Simpson?  Well, it wis only efter Ah left here last Saturday that Ah remembered he also mentioned Harper Harris.”

  Silence.

  “Efter ye left here last Saturday?” Daddy asked suspiciously.

  “Er, aye, Daddy.  It jist suddenly dawned oan me that that’s whit the missing mumble wis that Ah couldnae make oot at the time...until later.”

  “And wis there any reason why this widnae hiv been reported back...wance ye realised yer mistake?” Daddy asked coldly, as everywan fidgeted in their seats.

  “Ah did.  Ah reported it tae ma inspector,” he replied, as aw eyes shifted tae Duggie Dougan.

  “Aye, well...” Duggie said, before he wis quickly interrupted.

  “Fuck!” Mickey Sherlock, serious crime and intelligence blurted oot.

  “Whit?” Daddy and Billy Liar baith asked thegither, as aw heids swivelled again.

  “Ah think Ah’ve jist goat us the connection,” Mickey announced.

  “Ye hiv?” Daddy asked.

  “The Rat.”

  “The Rat?” everywan chorused.

  “Aye, that wee crawling misfit that goes aboot, impersonating a journalist.  Sammy Elliot, teller ae tall tales and dribbler ae lies.  The wee prick is back oan the go, so he is,” Mickey said tae the astonished faces roond the table.

  “Since when?” Daddy demanded, face tightening.

  “Fuck knows, bit Ah kin assure ye, he’s back oan the go.”

  “So, where’s the connection, Mickey?” Chic asked.

  “Two days ago, wan ae the pavement pounders approached wan ae ma boys, Casey Jones, saying he’d been approached by a hack looking fur some low grade info.  It wis only when Ah wis gied the description ae the journalist, that Ah knew that oor wee favourite rodent wis back oan the go.”

  “Whit wis he efter then?”

  “He wanted tae know where he could find Harper Harris, whit his last two known addresses wur and if there wis any chance ae getting a mug shot ae him and the low doon oan any previous criminal convictions.”

  “Sammy Elliot no only worked fur The Glesga Echo, bit wis well-known fur being in the back pocket ae Pat Molloy,” Billy Liar said, jist in case there wis anywan who hidnae heard ae the rodent, as he wrote The Rat and Harris’s names oan the board.

  “So, whit did the pavement pounder say tae him, Mickey?” Daddy asked.

  “He said he telt him tae fuck aff.”

  “And dae ye believe him?”

  “Ah think so, even though the wee prick offered him thirty quid, bit Ah couldnae swear oan it.”

  “Who wis the boy oan the beat, Mickey?” Duggie asked.

  “Ach, well, Ah wid rather keep that tae masel, if that’s okay wae yersel, Duggie.”

  “It bloody better no be wan ae ma boys fae up in Possil,” Duggie replied, scowling at The Gruesome Twosome.

  “Thirty quid fur that?  Christ, he must be desperate.  Ye could get that kind ae info fur a third ae that...at least that’s whit Ah’ve heard,” Dave McGovern blurted oot.

  “Duggie?” Daddy asked.

  “Well, as Ah wis gonnae say...when Shane telt me that he thought Frisky Frank hid mentioned Harris, rather than get back tae ye oan a hunch, we decided tae dig a wee bit deeper.  We hauled Harris’s arse in last week.  Bloody shiting bricks, so he wis.  He threw up aw o’er the flair when we asked him why his name hid been mentioned in the same breath as Tony Gucci, Joe McManus and Tam Simpson.”

  “And?” Daddy asked.

  “It wis hard tae get anything oot ae him that made any sense.  He swore he didnae hiv a clue why somewan like him wid’ve been mentioned.  He telt us that Tam Simpson hid broken his fingers some time ago when he tried tae get a good price fur some shite he wis trying tae sell him.  He claimed he’s been oan the straight and narrow ever since.  ‘Crime disnae pay,’ wur the words he used.”

  “Is that it?”

  “He did tell us whit the score wis between Gucci’s crowd and The Simpsons though.  Seemingly, Bobby’s corpse…the McManus boy…hid been perching oan The Simpsons’ wee sister at wan time...the only sister ae the three brothers.  When Tam and Toby found oot aboot it, they put the squeeze oan McManus tae back aff...or else.  McManus, as ye’d expect, telt them tae fuck aff and carried oan, the dirty randy dug that he wis.  Well, ye kin imagine how that wid’ve went doon in the Simpson hoosehold, eh?”

  “Ah cannae bloody believe ye know aw this and hivnae passed it oan tae me before noo, Duggie, ya two-faced prick, ye.  Nae wonder we cannae solve murders in the toon when the bloody polis don’t come forward wae vital info,” Bobby Mack exclaimed in disbelief.

  “Aw, Bobby, shut yer hole jist noo till we find oot whit the score is,” Billy Liar growled fae the bottom ae the table.  “This time last week ye wur claiming none ae this hid anything tae dae wae the Murder Squad.”

  “Did she no croak it because she wis some sort ae junky or something, Duggie?” Billy asked.

  “Probably.  Who knows whit these vermin get up tae maist ae the time.”

  “Ah heard she wis a wee stoater at wan time, so she wis.  Hid a pair ae tits and an arse oan her tae die fur,” Mickey volunteered.

  “Oh, she wis that awright...bloody lovely, so she wis,” Shane confirmed.

  “Aye, well, fae where Ah’m sitting, it sounds as if that’s exactly whit McManus ended up daeing fur her, Mickey,” Bobby said, hivving relaxed, tae sniggers fae roond the table.

  “Aye, well, when McManus widnae back aff, seemingly Toby Simpson turned tae Tony Gucci and started putting the squeeze oan him tae intervene, bit Harper thinks Gucci and McManus hid awready parted company, so Gucci wisnae in a position tae dae anything aboot it.  Anyway, youse aw know whit a psycho Toby is, and he didnae believe Gucci couldnae sway McManus tae stay well clear.  Since then, The Simpsons hiv been trying tae put Ali Baba and The Forty Thieves oot ae business fur nae co-operating,” Duggie said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “So, whit wis the reason behind Gucci and McManus falling oot then, Duggie?  It must’ve been serious.  They basturts hid been joined at the hip since they wur wee snappers back in the Toonheid,” The Stalker said, pissed aff he never picked up oan the sister connection.

  “Harper said he didnae know,” Shane replied, shrugging, lighting up another fag.

  “Ah cannae believe that rat wan his resurfaced.  Kin we nip him oan attempted bribery charges, Mickey?” Daddy asked.

  “Ah doubt it.  It wid be his word against the wan bizzy.  Kin ye imagine the negative publicity and harassment allegations that the press wid sling at us if we failed tae convict?  He’s probably working fur wan ae the papers...ma money wid be oan The Glesga Echo.”

  “Aye, it wid be better tae hing back there.  At least we know he’s back and oan the make.  Whit we need tae figure oot is, why wis he wanting the lowdoon oan somewan like Harper Harris?  Ah thought he jist went efter big fish.  Harper’s jist a tuppenny tea leaf, so he is,” Dave McGovern volunteered.

  “Bit, where’s The Big Man in aw this, Duggie?  Did Harper mention him?”

  “Naw.”

  “According tae oor recent intelligence, Pat Molloy is in Spain.  He left here jist o’er a year ago fur a hernia operation in France and then moved oan tae Marbella, in Spain.  The Spanish boys telt Interpol that he wis last seen in a restaurant jist o’er a week ago wae a crowd ae undesirables fae London that they’re keeping tabs oan.  They said that they think he arrived in early November last year,” Mickey Sherlock volunteered.

  “So, there’s the reason fur Toby and company strolling aboot Springburn then,” The Stalker threw in.

  “And the brothers Grimm...Shaun and Danny Murphy?”

  “As far as we know, Shaun’s running the show jist noo,” Mickey replied.

  “So, why the fuck is he allowing The Simpsons tae be running aroond Springburn?”

  “Ah don’t know, bit it could be that as long as they don’t interfere wae The Big Man’s business, they’re being allowed a free haun.”

  “Ah find that hard tae believe,“ The Stalker said, getting a nod ae agreement fae Bumper.

  “So, ye’re saying that it’s business as usual, Mickey?”

  “As far as we kin tell.  There’s been a few wee rumours and odd things happening, bit nothing that wid ring any alarm bells.”

  “Like whit?”

  “Woodside Accommodation?”

  “Aye?”

  “The guy who runs the business, Bob Montieth, turned up at The Western Infirmary recently, wae cuts and bruises aw o’er his coupon.  It wis obvious that some basturt hid either put his face through a windae or a windae hid put itsel through his face.”

  “And?”

  “Well, we happen tae believe that Pat Molloy is the senior sleeping partner in the company.”

  “So, whit’s the significance?”

  “The significance is...why wid somewan who his the kind ae protection that Bob Montieth his, turn up at The Western wae cuts and bruises oan that face ae his?  Who’d be daft enough tae hurt him?  If The Big Man is oot ae the game abroad, it’s either Shaun Murphy throwing his weight aboot, or maybe...jist maybe...somewan’s trying tae muscle in,” Mickey Sherlock suggested, leaving that thought hinging in the air, as everywan reached fur their fag packets.