The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (43 page)

  Harper dodged in and oot ae the traffic, crossing the street towards the car.

  “How did it go, Harper?”

  “Fine.  The only thing he really insisted oan knowing wis where Ah wis getting the cash tae pay him, seeing as Ah wis signing oan the burroo.”

  “And?”

  “Ah telt him the truth that Ah wis getting the reward fur returning The Princess’s Ring tae The Glesga Echo,” Harper replied, wae a nervous grin.

  “Good answer,” Tony said, as Pat turned oot intae the traffic, jist as two bizzies crossed the street towards them.

Chapter Fifty Six

  The Rat wis nervous.  Even though he’d haunded o’er the two grand tae Wan-bob Broon, and hid received assurances fae The Big Man that they’d leave him tae get oan wae his life, there wis still wan caveat left.  Wan-bob hid telt him that there wid be a package…a letter…left fur him at The Glesga Echo Office first thing oan the Friday morning.  Wan-bob hid been evasive aboot its contents, in that he’d telt The Rat tae shut the fuck up and listen carefully tae whit he wis saying.  He’d tried tae assure him that it wis a thank ye fur the sterling work he’d done fur The Big Man o’er the ring.  He’d also made it clear that, under nae circumstances, wis the content ae the package tae be printed in Friday morning’s edition ae the paper or released before twelve o’clock that day.  He’d been adamant aboot that and hid warned him that failure tae stick tae that wid mean he’d end up haudin up wan ae the multi-storey blocks ae flats that wur springing up aw o’er the city.  He didnae know whether he wis coming or gaun, although the Calamine lotion wis daeing the trick wae that rash ae his.

  “Lord Frank will see you now, Mr Elliot.  Just go right in,” the P.A. purred, putting the telephone back oan its cradle.

  “Sammy, ye’re back...wae the special delivery, Ah take it?” Hamish McGovern asked, wan eyebrow raised.

  “Aye, here ye go, Lord Frank,” The Rat said, sliding the padded envelope across the table tae the seated publisher.

    He watched Lord Frank snatch up the envelope, tear it open and extract the ring.  The Rat caught the dazzle ae the wintry sun bouncing aff ae it as Lord Frank held it up tae the light streaming in the windae.  The publisher fished oot an eye-glass fae his jaicket pocket and stuck it in his eye socket, as he held the ring close tae his face.

  “Ah...excellent, excellent.  Well done, Mr Elliot, well done.  You’ve made a miserable man extremely happy.  Now then, what can I give you as a reward, Mr Elliot?”

  The Rat looked across at Hamish who looked back at him wae a deid-pan expression oan that kisser ae his.

  “Er, a permanent post as a hack, back oan the paper, wid be much appreciated, Lord Frank,” he replied.

   Silence.

  “Ye mean, wae The Echo, Sammy?” Hamish asked him, surprise in his voice.

  “Why no?  Ah think Ah’ve earned it, so Ah hiv,” he replied, looking at Lord Frank.

  “Oh, no-one is suggesting you haven’t earned it, Mr Elliot.  We...Hamish and I...thought that a job with a little less pressure would be more appropriate to your er, health and wellbeing.”

  “Oh?  So, whit did youse hiv in mind then?” The Rat asked, clearly shocked and disappointed.

  “I’ve taken over The Dunoon Gazetteer, which is in need of an experienced journalist to take over as its editor.  It would be a big promotion for…er, someone like you, Mr Elliot.”

  “Bit Ah’m an investigative journalist, wae aw respect, Lord Frank.  Farming somewan like me oot tae cover stories ae drunken American sailors widnae be ma cup ae tea, Ah don’t think,” The Rat replied, trying tae suppress the sound ae pleading that wis leaking fae that mooth ae his.

  “Sammy, listen tae ye.  Ye’re no a well man, fur God’s sake.  Investigative journalism is a young man’s game these days.  Surely, somewan wae yer experience kin see that?” Hamish said tae him gently.

  “Hamish, wae aw due respect, Ah work hard, take a few risks here and there, bit Ah always get the story, so Ah dae.  Aw Ah’m asking, pleading fur, is another bite ae the cherry.  Ah won’t let yersel and Lord Frank doon.  Ah’ll keep it clean, aw the way, fae noo oan, so Ah will...Ah promise.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Lord Frank murmured, pursing his lips and looking across at Hamish.

  “Look, as well as working oan getting The Princess’s Ring back fur ye, Ah’ve been investigating a big story.  This will send the circulation up through the roof...it’s hot aff the press, so it is,” The Rat pleaded, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “Whit is it?” Hamish asked.

  “Ah cannae say, bit ye’ll hiv the full article the morra at exactly eleven o’clock, jist in time fur the lunchtime news, so ye will,”

  “What do you think, Hamish?” Lord Frank asked his editor.

  “And ye think that it’s big enough fur the lunchtime news tae pick up oan, Sammy?”

  “And the national evening news as well,” The Rat lied, no hivving a clue whether there wis a story or no.

  “Right, well, depending on what you come up with…and if it is as big as you say, Mr Elliot…welcome back to the staff of The Glasgow Echo,” Lord Frank beamed.

Chapter Fifty Seven

  The Stalker sat slumped in the driver’s seat next tae Bumper, looking across at Jonah’s lounge oan Springburn Road.  They wur parked up ootside the public halls in Millarbank Street.  There must’ve been a five-a-side fitba session oan the go in the hall as they could hear the shouting and the thud ae the baw smashing against the inside walls ae the games hall.

  “How many times hiv we sat here like a pair ae clowns, no knowing whit the fuck we’re looking fur?” The Stalker asked his partner.

  “Ah think the last time wis a couple ae weeks ago, jist efter the McManus boy goat chibbed ootside the bingo hall roond the corner...remember?  That wis the night we goat a grip ae Frisky Frank.  It seems like a lifetime ago noo.”

  “Ah’m no talking aboot the last couple ae weeks, Fin.  Ah’m talking aboot the last couple ae years.  How many times hiv we sat here like the two stooges, twiddling oor thumbs, waiting fur something tae happen?”

  “It’s three.”

  “Whit is?”

“The stooges...there wur three ae them.”

  “The problem as Ah see it, is that, this is the problem.  If we sit back and watch nothing happening, then aw the thieving will take place roond aboot us while we sit in inertia, kidding oorsels oan that we’re oan tap ae things, when we’re no.”

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Paddy.  Ye’re no still upset aboot yer meeting wae Mickey Sherlock, ur ye?  Ah telt ye, ye wur wasting yer time, so Ah did.  That’s why Ah decided no tae go wae ye.”

  “Aw he went oan aboot wis how they wur gonnae nab the big boys wae their hijacked booze.  Meanwhile, there’s a ticking bomb aboot tae go aff up here or across in Possil and nowan gies a toss because it’s no high profile enough fur them.”

  “Maybe they know something that we don’t.”

  “Like whit?”

  “Like, maybe we need tae be furgetting aboot aw the big boys and concentrating oan the sweetie shoap stuff.”

  “They don’t come any bigger than Pat Molloy or Tam Simpson,” The Stalker mumbled, ignoring his partner.  “Put them away and the whole place wid flat-line and be wide open fur some smart young Turk tae try and move in and take o’er.  Kin ye imagine the battles we’d get involved in?” The Stalker sighed, ignoring the radio asking them where their present position wis.

  “If life is gonnae keep repeating itsel, why bother wae Molloy and The Simpsons?  It’s aw the same tae us, whether it’s them or somewan else.  Don’t gie yersel an ulcer…it’s nae worth it.  Let some other eejit take the strain.”

  “Aye, Ah suppose ye’re right, bit it gets oan ma tits every time Ah think ae that bloody Atalian, Gucci, strolling through life, while the rest ae us hiv tae work fur a living.  It’s jist no fair, so it isnae.  It wid be nice if we could aw lie back and watch the money rolling in like him.  Mark ma words, Fin, that thug’s gonnae make a name fur himsel wan day, so he is, and it’ll aw be because we let him.”

  “So, tae change the subject, whit did ye mean when ye said that Simon Epstein led ye a merry dance last night?”

  “Ah wis stalking the bampot aw night.  Ah lost him a few times, bit then caught sight ae a flashing sock disappearing intae wan ae the lanes.”

  “Aye?”

  “When Ah sneaked roond fae the far side, the dirty basturt wis humping a bird up against the wash-hoose wall.”

  “A knee trembler?  Anywan we know?”

  “Aye, Willie Mason, the coalman’s daughter…the wee barmaid wae the big paps who Ah’ve fancied fur ages.  And tae think she disnae even gie me the time ae day.  Whit is it wae these animals, eh?  They stroll aboot, flashing their cash, and then get tae shag aw the nice birds that the rest ae us only dream aboot when we’re bashing the auld bishop,” The Stalker moaned, looking at the radio.

  “Ach, that’s wan ae the doon sides ae being a bizzy in a place like Springburn...everywan hates us, bit cannae dae withoot us,” Fin sighed.

  “Sergeant tango wan four, ur ye there?  Over,” the radio crackled.

  “Wan four.  Over,” The Stalker said intae the moothpiece.

  “There’s a possible siege situation in full flow up in the Balgrayhill flats.  Over.”

  “Whit’s the current situation?  Over,” The Stalker asked, starting up the ignition and switching oan the blue lights.

  “Yer pal, who Biscuit put in the hospital wae a cracked skull, efter trying tae slit his wife’s throat, is at it again.  Over.”

  “Bit Ah thought he wis in hospital wae a fractured skull. Over.”

  “He wis.  He signed himsel oot.  Over.”

  “And the lassie…his wife? Over.”

  “Oh, she managed tae escape. It’s aw the local wummin who’ve turned up mob-haunded, trying tae get at him. Over.”

  “We’re oan oor way.  Send in the back-up and tell them we’ll be there in two minutes.  Over and oot.”

  “Back-up?  Whit back-up wid that be then?  Over and oot.”

Chapter Fifty Eight

Digger Day Thirteen – Last Night

  It hid been a good day aw roond.  Johnboy hid sang himsel through the day, wae every Creedence, Beatles, Stones and The Who songs he knew, except fur a few wee intermissions tae dae his keep-fit routine and scoff the gruel when it arrived.  Oan the wan haun he’d been disappointed when the hammering across in the pallet shoap hid stoapped fur the day, as it hid been gieing him a bit ae bass in the background, behind his vocals.  Oan the positive side, it hid meant he wis closer tae that front gate and freedom.  The screws wurnae happy.  They’d been up tae their auld noise-up tactics.  No only hid the basturts put his mattress oot ae action, bit when he’d gone tae grab his blanket, pillow and pyjamas earlier, some sick basturt hid pished aw o’er them as well.  Efter discovering they wur soaking wet, he’d coonted tae five…slowly.  The surge ae rage that hid shot through him hid been difficult tae keep in check.  He’d jist drapped his bedding back on tae the pishy-smelling mattress and looked at McVey and Beattie, the smirking pair ae basturts, who’d been clearly finding it difficult no tae pish themsels wae pleasure at his discovery.  Efter a wee pause that hid gied him time tae collect himsel, he’d jist stripped aff tae the bare buff and strolled back intae his cell.  He hid tae admit, that in the noise-up division, they’d played their cards jist right.  He hidnae even attempted tae figure oot the pleasure tae be had fae pishing oan somewan’s bedding and jist accepted it as wan ae the hazards ae daeing time in Polmont’s digger.  He’d awready carried oot his last day’s programme and, as far as he wis concerned, everything wis still oan track.  The plan hid been nae tae sleep during this, his last day, tae ensure he goat a bit ae kip oan his last night.  He knew the pish-pot brigade wid up the ante, bit they’d left it too late.  The day hid started aff quite the thing.  The AG and Napoleon The Boar hid turned up, as per usual, clearly sick as parrots that it wis his last day ae being tormented.

  “Ah, Taylor, less than twenty four hours and you’ll be a free man,” The AG hid sniffed, showing the first signs ae defeat since Johnboy hid been slung in the digger.

  Silence.

  “No doubt, you’ll be back, although not to here.  Thank God the borstal system only allows for one stint.  I don’t think we could put up with you again.”

  “Ach, don’t ye worry, Governor, it won’t be the last we’ll see ae Taylor, so it won’t,” Porky The Pig hid grunted, sounding exactly like the fat ugly porker that he wis impersonating.

  “Well, I hope you’ve had plenty of time to reflect on your past deeds and have come to the conclusion that crime doesn’t pay,” The AG hid whined accusingly, his eyes boring intae Johnboy’s, wae a fleeting glimmer ae hope that miracles did indeed happen.

  Silence.

  “Ah think ye’re wasting yer breath oan this wan, Governor.  If Taylor hid any intentions ae accepting sound advice, he wid’ve accepted it by noo.”

  “Oh, well,” Mr Failed Rehabilitator grumbled.  “Carry on, Taylor.”

  And wae that, the two ae them hid aboot-turned and gone aff tae torment some other poor soul.  Reflect?  Too bloody true he’d reflected since ending up in that shitehoose ae a place.  The minute him and Silent hid goat huckled by The Stalker and Bumper, it hidnae taken much reflection tae realise where they’d fucked up.  Whit hid made matters worse hid been that Harry The Bouffant hid warned Johnboy a month earlier when he’d gied Snappy a haun tae deliver seventeen commercial full-heid hairdryers tae his salon oan Springburn Road.

  “Any chance ae a quick blow, seeing as we’re here, Harry?” Snappy hid asked him.

  “Oh, Snappy, ye’re welcome tae a free blow anytime, son, so ye ur,” Harry hid beamed, flirting like the auld drama queen that he wis.

  “Naw, Ah meant wae wan ae these.  Ah’ve always wondered whit it wis like,” Snappy hid laughed, sitting under the hairdryer and pulling it doon o’er his heid.

  “The reason Ah’ve been so successful in business, is because Ah don’t mix business wae pleasure.  That’s the path tae success, so it is,” Harry hid crooned, bouffant rising and falling gently, like the heid ae a plastic duck floating in a bathtub full ae water.

  And whit hid Johnboy gone and done?  Ignored sound business advice fae somewan oan the inside, who knew the business game inside oot.  Silent and himsel hid jist moved intae their first flair pad oan the corner ae Millarbank Street and Gourlay Street, jist opposite the public halls.  It hid been the perfect set-up.  They’d each hid their ain bedroom and shared the kitchen-come-living room.  They’d goat the place decked oot wae swanky furniture, courtesy ae the big furniture shoaps in the toon centre.  Cracks hid started tae appear early oan in their wee independent piece ae paradise when the place started tae become a temporary warehoose fur everywan who couldnae shift stuff as quickly as they’d hoped.  Business hid been booming, despite the hassles wae The Simpsons.  It hid aw started wan morning no long efter they’d moved in.  Johnboy hid been trying tae impress Aggie McCoy by making her scrambled eggs fur breakfast wan morning, efter finally getting intae her knickers the night before, efter two months ae using every persuasive trick in The Mankys ‘Getting Them Aff In Wan Week Flat’ book.  The chances ae getting a morning’s second helpings hid been spoiled by the thumping oan his front door.   When he’d opened it, Billy MacRae, the milkman, hid been staunin there wae Simon Epstein, The Carpet Blagger.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Simon, this is no the time, so it isnae.  Whit dae ye want?” he’d squealed in frustration.

  “Great, ye’re in, Johnboy.  Ah’ve goat a couple ae rolls ae carpet that Ah need tae drap aff wae ye fur a couple ae hours, so Ah hiv.”

  “Whit?”

  “Billy his tae get back tae the depot tae pick up his deliveries fur the shoaps.  He’ll come back in a couple ae hours tae pick them up, so he will.”

  And wae that, the pair ae basturts hid aboot-turned and disappeared doon tae the milk wagon tae haul up two big rolls ae Axminster or whitever make they wur.  No only hid Johnboy burnt his good scrambled eggs, bit Aggie hid shot oot ae bed and quickly put her gear oan, before fucking aff, as she hidnae wanted Billy tae see her there, because he drank wae her da in The Auld Hoose pub alang oan Keppochhill Road.  There hid always been problems wae deliveries.  Sometimes, when Billy and the other Henderson’s milkman, Terry Marshall, turned up at a door, the customers who’d ordered swag fae the toon centre shoaps wurnae in.  Wae Billy and Terry hivving tae dae their shoap deliveries in the efternoon, they only hid a short time tae pick up and drap aff swag.  They wur furever oan the lookoot fur storage.  The other problem wis that, wance they found storage fur stuff, especially big bulky items like furniture and rolls ae carpet, the basturts always seemed tae take their time tae come back and pick it back up, as new stuff wis being blagged oan a daily basis that also needed delivering.  It goat tae the stage where there wis furniture and carpets and heaps ae other shite stacked up aw o’er Springburn, waiting tae be uplifted.

  “We’re the victims ae oor ain success,” Peter The Runner wis always bleating.

  “Aye, bit how aboot trying tae figure oot a solution oan how tae get aw this shite shifted insteid ae moaning aboot it, Peter,” Johnboy wis furever whining at him.

  “Ah’m trying, Ah’m trying.”

  “The answer is that we need tae slow doon.  It’s nae use blagging aw this swag if we cannae get it tae where it’s supposed tae be gaun,” Ben hid volunteered, the last time that it hid been raised.

  “Whit?  And miss oot oan a sale?  Here’s me, running masel intae the groond, trying tae find youse customers and aw youse kin dae is bloody moan.  How aboot, well done, Peter, here’s an extra percentage fur aw yer troubles,” Peter hid retorted.

  “Ah think we should open oor ain shoap, so we should.  Imagine catching some wee shoaplifter trying tae blag aff the blaggers?” Snappy hid said, laughing.

  “Whit wid ye dae wae him if ye caught him?” Pat hid asked him.

  “Break his wee sticky fingers.”

  It hid never goat sorted oot and before they knew whit wis happening, Johnboy and Silent’s good pad hid been full ae furniture, carpets, cookers, fridges, TVs...in fact, everything, including stainless steel kitchen sinks, which hid been sitting fur o’er two weeks, waiting tae be uplifted.  Fur Silent and Johnboy tae get intae their kips, they hid tae climb o’er mountains ae stuff.  Wan night, Silent hid been shagging somewan and a chest ae drawers hid landed oan his back, as his arse wis gaun like the clappers.  He’d hid three Schreiber chest ae drawers stacked up oan tap ae wan another at the bottom ae his bed and the tap wan hid toppled aff and nearly broken his spine and the lassie underneath him hid nearly suffered a fatal stab wound tae her back.  At wan point, brand new Schreiber bedroom units hid been sitting oot oan the stairheid landing, forcing the neighbours upstairs tae squeeze past them when they wur coming and gaun.  It hid only been a matter ae time before the shit hit the fan.  Johnboy hid been fast asleep wan night, when Silent hid climbed o’er a mountain ae good G-Plan furniture, still in its wrapping paper in Johnboy’s bedroom.

  “Ther…there’s something g…gaun oan at the front d…door.  Ah think it c…could b…be the bizzies,” he’d managed, his face screwed up like a contortionist’s arse.

  By the time Johnboy hid goat his gear oan and climbed oot intae the lobby, tae join Silent, staunin staring at the front door in the dark, their worst fears hid been confirmed in dramatic fashion. 

  “Right, noo lads!” The Stalker’s voice hid screamed.

  The front door hid suddenly crashed in and six big bizzies hid surged forward, before toppling o’er like skittles in a ten-pin bowling alley.  The Stalker, followed by Bumper, hid been the first two through the door, intae the dark lobby.  Unfortunately fur them, they’d run straight intae the ends ae two rolls ae carpet that hid been lying oan the flair, waiting tae be picked up by The Milkmen.  Close behind them, Biscuit Smith, followed by Hope and Glory hid joined the divers before Froggie Shearer decided tae join in.  It hid aw happened in a matter ae seconds.  Baith Johnboy and Silent hidnae fucked aboot during aw this palaver.  The baith ae them hid shot forward and tried their best tae scramble across the backs ae the screaming and cursing bizzies, who wur howling and scrambling aboot in the dark, trying tae get back up oan tae their feet.  Wan ae them…Johnboy thought it might’ve been Bumper, hid managed tae get a grip ae Johnboy’s leg oan his way past, which hid caused him tae topple in amongst them aw.  Silent hid done a bit better and hid managed tae get oot ae the hoose and doon the stairs, only tae be grappled tae the ground by a polis inspector and a spotty-faced wee bizzy cadet who’d ended up in tears efter Silent hid ran o’er the tap ae him in the closemooth, intae the waiting erms ae the hat wae the braid oan it.  Efter lying oan remand fur three months, which hid included Christmas and the New Year, they’d been found guilty oan twenty three accounts ae theft and resetting stolen goods.  They’d goat sentenced tae two years borstal training.  The charge oan Silent fur assaulting the spotty cadet hid been drapped.  Although the sentence hid been two years, everywan knew that that meant nine months locked up in Polmont, no counting any loss ae remission gathered oan the way.  He’d still share a pad wae Silent when they wur liberated, bit nae fucker wis getting tae use the pad as a storage warehoose.  

  Wae this being his last night, he’d broken up his stale roll and hid left a trail oan the flair, alang the edges ae the wall fur Rabbie tae hiv a few days’ supply.  He wisnae too sure ae whit tae expect in the morning, bit as soon as he wis back in the toon, the aim wid need tae be a planned come-back oan whoever the fuck it wis that hid chibbed Silent.  Johnboy knew fine well that while himsel and Silent hid been oot ae circulation, things wid’ve become a lot hairier ootside wae The Simpsons.  It hid been gaun oan fur too long.  He wondered if Tony hid managed tae get in touch wae The Big Man or Wan-bob Broon.  They couldnae go oan like they hid been before.  Joe being stabbed tae death wis evidence ae that.  If somewan in the state he wis in wis targeted, then there wis nae chance fur the rest ae them.  The regular beatings hid started no long efter Joe hid been well enough tae be allowed oot and aboot oan the street by his ma, Issie.  Frisky Frank McKenna hid made it plain tae Snappy and Ben that it wid continue until Tony agreed tae a sit-doon wae Toby.  Aw The Mankys knew that Tony’s decision tae bait The Simpsons intae hivving a go at them across in Springburn, so they’d draw The Big Man or Wan-bob Broon intae the fight, wis the right wan.  Everywan knew they’d be at risk.  The only person they hidnae taken intae consideration wis Joe.  Efter aw, who wid be as low as tae take the liberty ae hivving a go at somewan who hid brain damage and who went aboot shiting himsel in the street?  The decision no tae carry guns, in case it erupted intae a full war involving The Big Man, hid regularly been brought up. 

  “Look, ya stupid basturts.  Aye, it’s terrible whit’s happening tae Joe, bit we cannae be the wans tae be seen tae escalate the situation by using shooters…and anyway, the fact that Silent used a gun doon in Waterloo Street means The Simpsons ur hivving tae be wary anyway.  They probably believe we’re always carrying, so jist be patient.  It won’t be long noo until The Big Man and Wan-bob resurface,” Tony hid argued.

  Efter Tony, Silent hid become The Simpsons’ next favourite hate figure, due tae the damage he’d inflicted oan Bootsy Bell.  That hid gied them mair justification, as if they’d needed any, tae wipe oot The Mankys.  Johnboy wis desperate tae find oot whit hid happened tae Joe.  He’d find oot soon enough.  It wid be too much tae expect that by killing Joe, that maybe they’d ease aff...a tooth fur a tooth and aw that.  He knew that wis jist wishful thinking.  Noo that they wur oan the verge ae being liberated, Silent wid be the wan that wid need the protection.  It wid be up tae everywan tae either staun up tae the basturts, so that they could get oan wae their lives, or gie up and be used as punch bags every time they came across Jo Jo Robson and Frisky Frank McKenna, oot and aboot oan the street.