The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (7 page)

  “That’s whit Ah wis wondering masel, Bobby.  Ah thought Springburn wis part ae his flourishing empire,” Daddy mused, biting oan his bottom lip.

  “He’s still gaun strong.  He’s still goat that big swanky hoose oot in Newton Mearns.  Ye won’t hiv clocked him oot and aboot much these days because him and Wan-bob Broon ur supposedly oot in Spain, although his boys, under the command ae Shaun Murphy, ur still active enough.  We’ve been trying tae bug Molloy’s big fancy
hoose fur years, bit we cannae find anywan stupid enough tae break in and place a bug where it widnae get found,” Mickey Sherlock, guru ae serious crime and intelligence volunteered.

  “If he’s still as strong as ye say, Mickey, then why the fuck is he letting The Simpsons walk aboot up in Springburn?  That’s whit Ah want tae know,” Daddy asked, a puzzled frown appearing between his eyebrows.

  “Ah heard that he’d retired, at least that’s whit the whisper wis daeing the roonds up in Possil,” Duggie Dougan informed them.

  “Is that no whit the Serious Crime Squad ur supposed tae be finding oot, Mickey?” Chic asked.

  “See, there lies the problem.  People don’t realise, bit it’s a science tae be able tae know exactly whit’s gaun oan.  It’s shite like whit Duggie his jist come oot wae that creates problems.  Rumour and lies never helped anywan.  Concrete intel…that’s aw we’re interested in, so it is, Daddy,” Mickey shot back defensively.

   “Look, we need tae work thegither oan this wan, keep oor ears tae the ground and nip whitever it is that they Simpsons ur up tae in the bud.  We need tae see if there’s any fire behind aw this smoke,” Chic persisted.

    “Ye’re right, Chic.  So, here’s where we’re gaun wae this wan.  Billy will co-ordinate this end and keep me up tae date.  Ah’ll feed it upstairs tae Mackerel and Bison when it’s appropriate.  They’ll keep Jack Tipple posted.  Pat Molloy’s name still his bad karma aboot this place.  We need tae keep this close tae oor chests fur the time being.  By that, Ah mean, amongst oorsels.  Let’s hing back a wee bit and see whit way the wind’s blowing first, making sure that if there’s any skulduggery oan the go, it disnae get oot ae haun.  Ah don’t want tae see blood oan the streets, so Ah don’t.  Noo, if ye’ll excuse me, Ah’ve goat a game ae fitba that Ah want tae watch.”

Chapter Nine

  “Did ye no see the look oan Daddy’s face when Mickey Sherlock mentioned Harry Portoy being droont?” The Stalker asked Bumper as they hung aboot, drinking tea in the canteen, waiting fur Gucci tae turn up wae his brief.

  “No really.  Whit wis so different fae his usual ugly basturt look?”

  “It wis wan ae they ‘keep that tongue in yer heid’ kind ae looks.”

  “Ye don’t think they’d anything tae dae wae auld Portoy’s drooning, dae ye?”

  “Naw, bit Ah widnae put it past them, the sleekit basturts.”

  “Ach, well, it’s aw water under the bridge noo, so it is.”

  “Did ye mean tae say that?”

  “Whit?”

  “That auld Harry Portoy’s drooning is aw water under the bridge?”

  “Well, it is,” Bumper replied, laughing.

  “Right, Paddy, Bobby’s no happy wae you being in the interview room, so don’t upset him.  Ye’re jist there tae sit in and listen,” The Inspector warned him, sitting doon tae join them wae his mug ae tea.

  “So, whit’s the point ae me being there if Ah’m no allowed tae say anything?”

  “Listen, it wis yersel that asked tae be present.  This is a murder investigation.  Ye’re no part ae the investigation team.  Bobby his made that clear.”

  “So, where the fuck is aw the ‘we need tae work thegither oan this’ shite gone then, Chic?” Bumper wanted tae know.

  “Ah’m telling ye, it’s Bobby’s way, or no way.  Make yer minds up,” The Inspector warned them, patting his pockets in search ae his fags.

  “So, Ah cannae ask him anything?  Is that whit ye’re saying?”

  “Whit Ah’m saying is that ye need tae take yer lead fae Bobby.  He’s the main man here.  Ah’ve goat enough shite gaun oan withoot it being added tae.  So, behave yersel,” he said, lifting up Bumper’s lighter fae the tap ae the packet that wis sitting oan the table and flicking open the Zippo.

  “He’s here,” Happy Harry, the desk sergeant announced, popping his heid roond the door.

  “Right, Mr Gucci, Ah’m glad ye could manage tae come in.  Ah’m Chief Inspector Ma...” Bobby started, bit wis stoapped deid in his tracks.

  “Before we start, I’d like a few points clarified and acknowledged,” Portoy demanded.

  “Like whit?”

  “That my client is not under suspicion of being involved in the sad death of his friend, Joseph McManus, that you acknowledge that my client is here of his own free will, in order to assist in any way that he can, that my client will not be subjected to any form of interrogation or verbal abuse in any shape or form, that my client is free to terminate this interview at any time, if he so wishes and that my client will be free to leave this police station unhindered.” Portoy said, looking across at The Stalker.

  The Stalker felt his hackles go up.  Gucci sat there expressionless, letting his brief dae the talking.  The Stalker knew Tony Gucci better than he knew some ae his ain family.  He’d been chasing Gucci’s arse since Gucci wis a twelve-year-auld.  Whenever he’d caught up wae him, it hid usually ended up wae somewan getting a sore face.  Gucci wis a walking crime wave then and things hid goat worse as he’d goat aulder.  The Stalker and Bumper hid only been in the Toonheid wan day when they’d hid their first run-in wae him and that wee crew ae his.  The Stalker hid watched them gaun roond the vehicles in the Montrose Street multi-storey car park, siphoning petrol oot ae the cars.  Insteid ae nabbing them when they’d hid the chance, him and Bumper hid decided tae follow them tae see who they wur selling the stuff tae.  They wur running a wee rat-line.  Gucci and his pal, Johnboy Taylor, wur sucking the petrol oot ae the tanks intae jerry cans and then shifting them up tae a closemooth oan Stirling Road.  Two ae their pals, Paul McBride and Joe McManus, wur then uplifting them up tae an auld air raid shelter in a back court up oan Parson Street where they wur emptying the petrol intae auld tin baths.  By the time Gucci and Taylor wid arrive wae two mair full cans, two empty wans wid be sitting waiting fur them tae take back doon tae the car park.  By the time The Stalker and Bumper hid goat oan their case, the wee toe-rags must’ve made aboot two dozen journeys.  There couldnae hiv been a car in the car park that wisnae sitting wae an empty tank.  Bumper hid fucked up, as usual, by gaun in aw heavy-haunded and leaving the starting block too soon.  When they’d gied chase, the boys hid dispersed and disappeared through the myriad ae back closes that covered the whole area.  By the time Bumper and him hid heided back tae the air raid shelter tae retrieve the petrol and confiscate the tin baths as evidence, the fire brigade hid awready arrived.  He’d heard later that it hid been Joe McManus that hid fucked aff back and put a burning tea towel soaked in petrol tae the stored fuel.  The fire boys hid decided that it wis too dangerous tae go intae the shelter as it meant hivving tae work their way roond the blast walls efter they went in through the entrance.  They said it wid be better jist tae let the fire burn itsel oot.  Three hours later, The Mankys managed tae dae whit the Luftwaffe hidnae managed and the concrete roof hid caved in oan tae the tin baths, obliterating the evidence that the shelter wis being used tae store the stolen petrol.  They wid’ve needed a crane tae lift the concrete slab roof aff ae the cans and tin baths.

  “Ah kin confirm that yer client is under nae suspicion fur the death ae Joseph McManus and that we’re appreciative ae yer client gieing up his time tae come and talk wae us, tae...er, fill in a few wee blanks regarding his, er, whereaboots oan the night ae Joseph McManus’s untimely death.  Yer client is free tae leave at any time he wants, although we cannae guarantee that we wullnae want tae talk wae him in the future, should the investigation require his assistance again,” Bobby replied, breaking intae The Stalker’s thoughts.

  “Can I confirm that it will be yourself that will be questioning my client?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can I ask why we have the company of Sergeant McPhee?  I wasn’t aware that he would be present today.”

  “Sergeant McPhee is wan ae the local sergeants covering the Springburn area, and Gourlay Street in particular.”

  “So, Sergeant McPhee is one of the investigating officers then?”

  “Sergeant McPhee is assisting the investigation team, as are aw polis officers in Springburn, aye.”

  “But, if it’s you that is asking the questions, and my client isn’t under suspicion, why is Sergeant McPhee’s presence required?”

  “Ah don’t see why th...”

  “Are you aware, my client has accused Sergeant McPhee and another sergeant, who is also based in this police station, of inflicting unprovoked assaults and harassment on him and his associates on numerous occasions over a number of years.  Therefore, I’m sure that you will appreciate that his presence here today is placing my client in a state of fear.”

  “Ah’m, er, aware that yer client his made unsubstantiated claims in the past, aye.”

  “I’m afraid that unless you’re going to caution my client, and you have already made it clear that you are not, we wish Sergeant McPhee to be excluded from this interview and ask that he be removed from the room.”

  Silence.

  “Paddy, kin Ah speak tae ye ootside fur a second?” Bobby finally asked, staunin up.

Chapter Ten

Digger Day Two

  Johnboy wis fair chuffed wae himsel as he settled back oan his mattress.  The day hid flown by.  The only interruption, apart fae his soup being delivered earlier in the day and his macaroni being delivered at tea-time, hid been Crawford, the Assistant Governor, daeing his roonds in the morning.  It hid been Crawford that hid sentenced Johnboy tae fourteen days in the digger while Silent hid been gied seven days fur being an accessory.  Worse than that though, wis the fact that the baith ae them hid lost seven days remission.  Insteid ae getting oot oan Christmas Eve, liberation wid noo be oan Hogmanay fur the baith ae them, although Silent wid hiv a week back in circulation while Johnboy wid still be stuck in the digger oan his lonesome.  Johnboy wisnae too bothered aboot that.  In fact, in a perverted sense, he wis glad they wur keeping him locked up fur the duration ae his sentence.  He didnae want tae risk being put oan report again.  Silent ran the risk ae some evil basturt ae a screw daeing the dirty oan him, tae make sure he wis kept in o’er the New Year.  Naw, Johnboy thought tae himsel, this wid dae him jist fine till it wis time fur him tae be let loose…jist so long as he didnae let the screws fuck him up in the heid.

  “So, Taylor, everything all right?” The AG hid asked him, as he hid the previous morning, five minutes efter sending him and Silent doon.

  “Fine and dandy at ma end,” he’d replied tae the gawky prick.

  “Oh?  No complaints then?” he’d asked, visibly disappointed.

  “No fae where Ah’m staunin, there isnae.”

  “It’s sir tae you, Taylor, when ye’re speaking tae the governor,” the chief screw, Baker The Basturt, hid snarled.

  Silence.

  Johnboy hid jist stared back at The Chief, trying no tae gag efter being overpowered by the strong smell ae Brut efter-shave attacking his senses while being dazzled by aw that silver braid and red fancy padded crown buttons oan the hat and the shoulders ae that pristine uniform that wis staunin there in front ae him.  The gagging sensation hid only lasted a few seconds, as Johnboy hid been trying tae remember who Baker reminded him ae.  Then it hid dawned oan him.  He wis the spitting image ae the angry, fat, ruddy, red-faced, jowled pig, Napoleon…the wan that brought up aw the wee orphaned sheep-dug puppies in Animal Farm, Johnboy’s favourite full-length cartoon, which he eventually used tae terrorise aw the other animals in the joint.  The Chief and Napoleon could’ve been twins in looks and nature.  It wis uncanny…a pig in a uniform, wae the silver-laden brim ae his hat squashed flat against the tip ae his nose, wae two wee pink, beady piggy eyes darting aboot underneath the shadow ae the cap’s brim.  Being unusually so close-up tae authority, Johnboy hid taken advantage ae hivving a wee swatch ae the five rows ae medal ribbon bars oan show oan that chest in front ae him.  Napoleon hid clocked Johnboy hivving a fly swatch, and hid puffed oot his chest in pride…or wis it a challenge, clearly gieing Johnboy a warning ae who he wis dealing wae.  In they few seconds, Johnboy hid goat the measure ae the porker, convinced that Baker wis a phoney…the kind ae vain basturt that wid’ve goat his poor wee doontrodden wife tae nip doon tae The Barras tae buy a crop ae medals fur a few bob, jist so he could prove he’d goat the medals tae go wae the ribbons if he wis ever challenged.  Johnboy’d wanted tae ask him how long it took him in the mornings tae produce that image.  Surely walking aboot, looking like that, wisnae normal behaviour fur a grown-up, Johnboy thought tae himsel.

  “And the food?  Everything all right with the food?” The AG hid demanded, breaking intae his contemplation.

  “Ah cannae complain...sir.”

  “Oh well, I’ll let you get on with it then,” the gawky basturt hid spat, daeing a quick aboot-turn before disappearing, wae Mr Pig-boar-heid in tow, as the cell door jist aboot brought the digger doon aboot them aw, as it wis slammed shut in their wake.

  Get oan wae whit?  That wis the question Johnboy hid been asking himsel aw day.  Efter The AG hid gone, wae Napoleon trotting aff behind him, he’d gone and wrapped his erms and legs roond the pipes in preparation fur a wee morning siesta, trying tae lug in tae whit wis being said in Silent’s cell next door.  Although he couldnae hear Silent’s reply tae The AG’s questions, Johnboy couldnae contain himsel fae smiling.

  “Speak tae the governor when he asks ye a bloody question, Smith,” Bawheid hid bawled.

  Johnboy hid settled himsel back, allowing himsel tae feel a wee bit guilty aboot being annoyed wae Silent the day before.  It hid always been hard tae stay annoyed wae Silent.  When he thought aboot it, he knew fine well that he wis jist as much tae blame fur their current situation as Silent wis.  Before they’d goat slung intae the digger, Johnboy hid awready started tae feel nervous.  He hidnae been able tae believe their luck so far.  Efter actively planning tae stay oot ae herms way, by avoiding the uglies fae the Garngad, Lady Luck hid abandoned them.  When Silent hid gone tae work wae the joiner-screw as his joiner boy, and Johnboy hid been slung intae the pallet shoap, Johnboy hid thought that that wis him fur the duration ae his sentence until things hid started tae look up.  Five minutes efter turning up fur another day ae slave labour and threatening scowls fae Toffee Arse behind his safety glass, Johnboy hid impaled his wrist oan a rusty nail that wis sticking oot ae a broken pallet.  Apart fae a wee dribble ae blood and a hard lump appearing efter he’d unstuck himsel, he’d jist carried oan hammering the hell oot ae every pallet that came his way fur the rest ae the day.  During that night, he’d felt his whole erm throbbing like a big massive heart beat.  The next morning, he’d jist aboot shat himsel when he saw his erm.  It hid blown up tae aboot three times its normal size and wis a black, purple and blue colour.  He couldnae open or shut his fingers either.  When he’d gone tae see the sick-screw, Johnboy’d thought the glaikit diddy wis gonnae shoot his load in his pants.  Apart fae guys wae black eyes, broken jaws or burst knuckles, Johnboy didnae think he wis used tae dealing wae real patients.

  “Well, well, whit dae we hiv here? Hmmm…oh my…ooh, that looks nasty, so it dis,” Dr Zhivago hid cooed, nearly fainting wae pleasure, looking at Johnboy as if he wis a long-lost rich widow.

  “Aye, Ah woke up this morning and this is whit Ah found,” Johnboy hid croaked, trying tae look and sound as if he wis at death’s door.

  “Da, da, da, daa!” Sick Screw hid chimed, strumming an imaginary guitar.

  “Eh?” Johnboy hid asked, as Sick Screw’s sick boy helper looked at the ceiling behind his back as if tae say ‘See whit Ah hiv tae put up wae?’

  “Ah woke up this morning...Da, da, da, daa!” Sick Screw hid repeated, daeing the worst Elvis impression Johnboy hid ever come across, as he looked at Johnboy like he wis the daft wan in the sickbay that morning.

  “Er, sorry, sir, Ah don’t get it,” he’d groaned, in the maist friendliest, deathly sick patient voice that he could muster at that time ae the day, hoping tae be telt tae get right back tae that bed ae his and no tae come oot fur a month.

  “Ach, never mind…furget it,” Sick Screw hid retorted, clearly disappointed that Johnboy wisnae impressed at his impersonation.  “Right, haud up yer erm and gie’s a wee swatch.”

  “Ouch, ooh, that’s sore, so it is,” Johnboy hid whimpered, laying it oan thick, as that erm ae his wis prodded.

  “Whit dae ye think, Michael?”

  Eh? Johnboy remembered thinking tae himsel.  Whit the fuck did Michael Cassidy know?  Why wis Sick Screw asking that wee pretentious prick, who wis well-known fur running aboot oan the ootside, up there in sunny Drumchapel, stabbing fuck oot ae people that wur gaun aboot their daily business, shouting ‘Drummy, ya bass?’  Whit the fuck wid he know aboot serious illnesses?

  “Is there a puncture, sir?” Stab-along Cassidy hid asked Sick Screw.

  “Did ye break the skin?  Nowan his stabbed ye wae anything, hiv they?” Sick Screw hid demanded, his eyes narrowing, looking at him suspiciously, as he took the lead fae the stabbing merchant staunin beside him.

   And then it hid dawned oan Johnboy, jist in time, as he remembered the nail in the haun fae the day before in the pallet shoap.

  “Ye mean this?” he’d asked in triumph, turning his erm o’er and exposing his puncture wound.

    “Ouch, ya fucker, ye…that looks a sore wan,” Sick Screw hid gasped, obviously impressed tae find Johnboy wisnae there under false pretences efter aw.

    “Aye, Ah stuck ma haun oan a pallet that hid a rusty nail sticking oot ae it yesterday.”

  “Aye, well, ye’ll no be near the pallet shoap the day, or the morra fur that matter,” Stab-along hid uttered grimly, as a big appreciative smile appeared across Johnboy’s coupon.

   “That bad, eh?” Johnboy hid gasped, seeing the blue flashing lights ae the ambulance whisking him doon tae Falkirk Royal Infirmary where aw they wee sexy nurses hung aboot, prancing aboot in their uniforms and black tights, jist waiting tae dab him here, there and everywhere.

  And that’s how he’d ended up being the Pass Man fur the dining hall in South Wing.  Efter Sick Screw hid jabbed Johnboy’s arse wae a needle tae make sure he didnae get tetanus, he’d been put oan antibiotics and telt tae report tae the senior screw oan South Wing.  The previous Pass Man hid been liberated that morning and Johnboy hid been telt that he could take his place until they goat somewan new.  While it wis nae substitute fur bed baths in Falkirk Royal Infirmary, it hid been the next best thing.  He’d been informed by the SO that his daily duties wur tae make sure aw the tables wur cleaned efter breakfast, lunch and tea.  He’d also tae serve up the grub tae the boys oan the wing efter it wis transferred o’er fae the kitchens and wash up the trays efter everywan hid gone back tae work.  Bloody cushy, so it wis.  Even better, there wis a big radio stuck up oan the wall that the Pass Man hid responsibility fur.  Efter four miserable months in the pallet shoap, efter The Two Johns goat liberated, expecting tae be stabbed at any moment by Toffee Arse Simpson, Johnboy hid been shifted tae paradise, apart fae the daily hassle ae being confronted by the SO, who’d been making it his personal mission in life tae find fault wae Johnboy’s cleaning routine.  Apart fae being a right prick, he wis always stomping aboot, shouting the odds at people, jist tae hear his ain voice.  Johnboy hid been trying his best nae tae respond, at least no negatively, bit the basturt hid been starting tae get oan Johnboy’s tits, so he hid.  Wan ae the boys oan the wing hid telt Johnboy that the SO hid hid the last dining hall Pass Man Brasso-ing the key holes ae the cell doors, the prick that he wis.  Efter a few days ae simmering contemplation, Johnboy hid made up his mind that it wid be better if he goat in there well before the basturt goat tae the Brasso stage, where things could end up spiralling oot ae his control.  He’d decided that he’d strike at the first opportunity.

  Meanwhile, things hid been looking up fur Silent.  The joiner-screw that he wis the boy fur, hid been sent aff tae work oan the wummin’s nick that wis getting built across in Stirling.  Everywan in Polmont wanted tae work in Cornton Vale…apart fae Johnboy and the rest ae the uglies.  Despite the fact that it goat ye oot ae Polmont, Johnboy jist couldnae understaun why people didnae see the irony ae getting prisoners tae build a prison tae lock people like them up in.  Ah mean, how wid they feel if a group ae wummin wur being employed tae build a nick tae lock up men, he’d argued wae the daft basturts who tried tae justify whit they wur daeing.  Bit as it wis, a bus-load ae borstal boys travelled across tae Cornton Vale, o’er in Stirling, every day and returned at night. Wan ae this contingent wis Silent.  Oan the rare occasions that he spoke, he’d tell Johnboy aboot working alangside aw these civvies...real joiners, who knew whit the fuck they wur daeing.  He’d even claimed tae hiv learned a thing or two before he’d fucked up...big style.  Even though he wisnae called Silent fur nothing, there wur times, every noo and again, usually when he wis efter something...like a cushy job…that ye could be furgiven fur believing that Silent wis jist like everywan else. Johnboy hid always suspected that there wis something mair serious wrang wae him.  Fur the majority ae the time he didnae speak or gie ye the impression that he knew whit wis gaun oan roond aboot him, while at other times, he’d suddenly jist start chatting away as if that wis a normal occurrence fur him.  When Silent wis oot and aboot oan the building site at Cornton Vale, he wis always trying tae blag a shot ae wan ae the big dumper trucks that wur whizzing aboot aw o’er the building site. 

  “The buckets ur hydraulic, so they ur.  Ye don’t hiv tae heave them up tae empty them,” he’d come oot wae wan time, speaking fur the first time in o’er a week.

  It hid been good tae hear his voice, even though Johnboy hidnae a clue whit he wis prattling oan aboot.  The joiner-screw he worked wae hid wan ae these fancy big dumpers allocated tae him, so when they ran short ae materials, Silent always volunteered tae nip aff and collect stuff oan the dumper, despite knowing he shouldnae be volunteering fur anything because volunteering only ever goat ye intae trouble.  There wis a strict rule oan the site that workers hid tae hiv a driving licence tae drive them, which wis wan thing Silent didnae hiv.  Silent hid telt the civvy joiner foreman that he’d worked as a van driver oan the ootside.  Anyway, wan morning, efter he’d arrived oan site as usual, Silent and his civvy joiner boss hid noticed that some basturt hid been using the dumper the night before and that the bucket wis full up wae whit they thought wis scrap wood.  Silent hid jumped oan the dumper and driven it across tae wan ae the big fires that wur scattered aboot the place, tae burn aw the rubbish.  When he’d tipped the bucket-load oan tae the fire, the whole dumper hid flipped o’er and landed in the middle ae the flames.  Underneath the wood, some basturt hid filled the bucket wae wet concrete the night before, obviously trying tae noise-up the screws…or Silent.  The fire hid been a couple ae hunner yards fae the nearest building, bit insteid ae raising the alarm, Silent hid pissed aff tae another building even further away, picked up a sweeping brush and hid started tae brush the flair wae it.  That hid happened in the morning, bit by early efternoon, he’d been whisked aff the site and back tae Polmont, fur threatening tae punch fuck oot ae the civvy foreman, who’d come across and started ranting at him that the insurance company wisnae gonnae pay fur the dumper because Silent didnae hiv a licence and wisnae supposed tae hiv been driving the bloody thing.  Some nosey civvy hid clocked whit hid happened and hid grassed oan Silent.  Of course, Silent hidnae defended himsel due tae no answering his accusers questions, so the foreman hid telt the screw bosses that if Silent wisnae removed, he’d take his civvy crew aff the site due tae health and safety concerns.