The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (8 page)

  Silent hid been put back tae work wae the other pretend joiner-screw in Polmont.  Wan day, no long efter Johnboy’d decided tae hiv a wee go at the SO fur the cheek he’d been dishing oot tae him, Silent hid appeared oan South Wing, wae a big joiner’s bag, full ae tools, slung o’er his shoulders.  It hidnae helped that Johnboy hid been hivving a shite day.  The SO in charge ae the wing hid been swanning aboot, ranting at everywan and finding fault wae everything.  Three times that day, he’d looked fur an excuse tae find shite jobs fur Johnboy tae carry oot.

  “And turn that fucking racket aff!” he’d shouted, as Isaac Hayes started growling that he wis jist the man tae ‘shaft’ every bit ae poontang in sight in doontoon Harlem.

  It hid been a Wednesday night and Johnboy hid been up in the wing, getting some flair polish oot ae the store.  He should’ve been at recreation wae everywan else, bit much tae Johnboy’s surprise, the angry SO hidnae been happy wae some job he’d asked Johnboy tae dae during the day, so he’d made him dae it in his recreation time.  The screws’ office wis in the middle ae the building where the cell wings swept oot intae rows ae cells.  Fae where Johnboy hid been loitering aboot, he could see the angry basturt sitting oan that lazy arse ae his, daeing sweet fuck-aw, efter warning Johnboy every five minutes that he’d better dae a good job or he’d hiv tae dae it aw o’er again.  Johnboy could hear him spouting tae everywan that he needed tae get away sharp when he finished his shift that night as he wis heiding south tae his mother-in-law’s funeral, somewhere south ae London.  The funeral wis at ten o’clock the following morning and there wis nae way he could miss getting that wife ae his doon there oan time.

  “Ah picked up ma car fae the garage last night.  A full service it cost me fur that auld bag.  Mind you, if it keeps her indoors happy, that’s aw that coonts, eh?”

  “Aye, ye’ll be well-goosed if that auld banger ae yers breaks doon,” Johnboy’d heard another faceless, bone-lazy fucker reply.

“Christ, that disnae bear thinking aboot.  It wid be the divorce courts fur me...efter she cut ma baws aff, that is,” Mr Angry hid chortled back tae whoever it wis he wis talking tae. 

  It hid been at that point that Silent and his pretend joiner-screw hid appeared oan the scene tae deal wae two wee repair jobs.  Wan ae them hid been tae seal up a draughty windae that wis letting in water in the social worker’s office and the other job hid been tae unstick the jammed hatch in Johnboy’s wee kitchen space.  The Pretender hid gone aff and started oan the hatch and Silent hid started oan the windae.

  “Whit ur ye up tae?” Johnboy hid asked him, as Silent stood back tae let Johnboy see whit he wis daeing.

  “Whit’s that ye’re using?” he’d asked, as Silent looked at the tube before haudin it up fur Johnboy tae see.

  “Is that glue? Hiv ye goat much ae it?” Johnboy hid demanded, looking aboot tae make sure nowan wis lugging in.

  Silent stepped back while Johnboy wis doon oan wan knee, looking through The Pretender’s work bag that he’d left Silent in charge ae.  And wae that, Johnboy hid lifted up two ae four tubes and scooted roond aw the cell doors oan the first flair landing, filling up the key holes, before gieing them a wee wipe wae a cloth dipped in turps…also supplied by Silent’s boss…as he moved oan tae the next door.  It hid taken Johnboy aboot five minutes tae dae thirty doors.  He’d jist telt Silent tae make sure he replaced the tubes ae glue when he goat back tae the workshoap when The Pretender arrived back oan the scene, and asked Silent if he wis finished. Aw the boys in South Wing hid gone aff tae recreation, so the glue’d hid aboot two and a hauf hours tae dry before the doors hid tae be unlocked.  Johnboy hid quickly polished up his flair and wae the SO’s reluctant approval, hid swanned aff tae join the Garngad crowd, who’d been sitting at a table, playing a game ae Bella.  Silent hid joined them fifteen minutes later.  Johnboy and Silent hidnae let oan tae the uglies whit they’d done.  At five tae nine, the bell that sounded the end ae recreation hid clanged and everywan hid queued up tae get searched, as usual, as they heided through the doors tae go back tae their cells.  Johnboy hidnae reached his cell by the time pandemonium broke oot.  Mr Angry Screw hid been running aboot, screaming the place doon.  Aw the boys hid been made tae aboot-turn and troop back tae the recreation hall until something could be done aboot the wee problem oan the first flair wing.  It hid been hilarious at the time.  It must’ve been aboot three or four o’clock in the morning by the time the screws brought in blankets fur aw the wans who couldnae get back intae their cells, which hid included Johnboy, Silent and the Garngad crowd.  They’d aw been instructed tae kip where they could find a space.  Johnboy and Silent hid shared the snooker table wae the uglies.  The screws hid thought that there must’ve been an escape planned and that gluing up the locks hid been some sort ae decoy.  They’d sat in amusement, watching Mr Angry pleading wae The Chief, Baker The Basturt, that he needed tae get away because he wis taking his wife doon south tae her maw’s funeral, which wis taking place the next morning.

  “Mr Paul, as the senior officer ae South Wing, it’s your duty tae ensure the security ae South Wing is in nae way compromised and ye’ll be here fur as long as it takes tae get this bloody-well sorted oot.  Dae Ah make masel clear?” The Chief could be heard bawling.

  “Bit, Ah, er...”

  Oan the Thursday morning, Silent and Johnboy hid been hauled up before Crawford, the Assistant Governor, who’d soon wiped the smirks aff ae their faces.

  “You may think this is a joke, Taylor, but we’ve had to change thirty locks, at great expense and no end of bother, as a result of your little prank.”

  “Bit Ah hid nothing tae dae wae it, sir,” he’d pleaded.

  “And poor Mr Paul and his grief stricken wife will not be able to attend her mother’s funeral now, as cancelling it at such a short notice is not an option.  What you two have done is despicable,” the AG hid spat at them.

  And that hid been that.  If Silent hidnae been farting aboot, playing wae the dumper truck across in Cornton Vale, they widnae hiv ended up lying in the digger, staring at the bricks oan the walls.  Insteid, they wid’ve been getting aw excited, waiting fur their liberation in a few days’ time.

Chapter Eleven

  Duggie Dougan wis a man ae few words.  No because he wis shy or anything like that, bit because he didnae hiv anything much tae say maist ae the time.  He wis wan fur letting other people dae the talking.  He’d been promoted tae inspector in the eftermath ae the corruption trials a few years earlier.  Some people said it wis because nae other fucker wid take oan Possilpark, bit he knew that they wur aw talking a heap ae shite.  If ye wur a bizzy, where wid ye want tae be, other than in a place like this, he mused tae himsel.  Crime? Christ, this wis the nirvana ae crimedom.  They other bampots wur only bloody playing at it across in Springburn…fae whit he could tell.  Across here in Possil, he’d organised crime, disorganised crime, murders, slashings, stabbings, hoose breakers, gas-meter breakers, shoap-breakers, drunks, punks, big men, wee men, doo men, fly men, rapists, stoat-the-baws, heid-the-baws and then there wis the wummin tae contend wae. Fuck, Possilpark wis crime paradiso, so it wis, jist so long as ye could leave it behind ye when yer shift ended.  That wis the secret ae his success.  Ye needed that wee break in-between yer shifts tae recharge the auld batteries, he kept telling himsel, especially when the area turned intae a scene oot ae an auld wild west film.  He looked up at the clock.  It said hauf ten, bit that meant twenty five past.  Like his watch, he liked tae be five minutes oot ae sync so he wisnae late fur anything.  He always liked that extra five minutes tae get tae where he wis gaun and tae then be able tae catch his breath wance he arrived.  He looked doon as the phone rang.  He let it ring four times.  He liked the way each ring hung in the air before the next ring started the process aw o’er again.

  “Aye?  Right, Ah’ll be doon in a minute,” he growled, hinging up.

   He’d been well pissed-aff efter trooping doon tae the confab at Central the day before.  Bloody waste ae time, as far as he could make oot.  There wis plenty he could’ve contributed, bit he’d held his sooth.  Shane, wan ae The Gruesome Twosome, hidnae telt the others everything that Frisky Frank hid muttered oan the stretcher, as he wis being lifted intae the ambulance, alang at St Teresa’s Chapel.  A few other names hid been mentioned, bit wan in particular…somewan called Harper…hid caused an eyebrow or two tae be raised up here in the station. There hid been speculation between himsel and The Gruesome Twosome, aboot who this Harper wan could be before they’d aw come tae the same conclusion. Harper could only mean Harper Harris, a snivelling wee misfit, who hung aboot oan the fringes, ducking and diving, picking up crumbs fae here and there.   He wis a well-known hoose breaker and wis always oan the go, selling his shite roond the pubs.  The question wis, why wid somewan like Frisky Frank McKenna mention Tam Simpson, the Tally Gucci and the boy McManus, who’d jist goat murdered, alangside Harper Harris…aw in the same breath?  There wis only wan way tae find oot and that wis tae ask the man himsel.

  “Where is he?” he asked wan ae the sergeants, Dave McGovern, doon in the cells.

  “Shane’s hivving a wee word wae him tae try and calm him doon.”

  “Why wid he need calming doon if he hisnae done anything?”

  “Aye, well, wait till ye see him and then ye kin make up yer ain mind,” The Sarge advised, shrugging they shoulders ae his and leading the way.

  “Right, whenever youse ur ready,” The Inspector announced, plapping that arse ae his doon oan tae the chair behind the desk in the interview room.

  “Mr Dougan, w…whit’s aw this aboot?  Ah hivnae done anything, honest.  Ah sw…swear oan ma niece and nephew’s life,” Harper whinged, shaking like a leaf, sitting opposite him, clearly petrified, looking fae The Inspector tae The Gruesome Twosome and back tae The Inspector.

  The Inspector noted the red welts oan Harper’s neck and his hair staunin oan end where somewan hid obviously been trying tae pull it oot by the roots.  The Gruesome Twosome wur staunin, leaning oan the walls oan either side ae him, no saying a word.

  “Harper, before we start, look aboot ye, son...”

  “Bit Mr Dougan, Ah k...”

  “...there isnae any windaes in this here room.  Dae ye know whit that means?  Ah’ll tell ye whit that means.  It means that it’s soundproofed.  Noo, ye kin scream and plead aw ye want, bit nae fucker between here and Milton will hear ye, so they wullnae.”

  “Bit, bit, Ah hivnae done anything, Mr Dougan,” Harper pleaded, starting tae bubble.  ”Ah swear…”

  “And who said ye hiv?  Ah know Ah hivnae.  Hiv any ae youse two accused Harper here ae daeing anything wrang?” The Inspector demanded, looking fae Harper tae the two sergeants.

  “Naw.”

  “Certainly no me.”

  “See?  So, stoap yer bubbling and settle doon.  Ye’ll be fine, so ye will,” The Inspector coo-ed soothingly, playing his haun carefully.

  “Bit, Mr Doug...”

  “Sshhh,” The Inspector shushed, interrupting him, haudin up the palm ae his haun tae the bubbling bubbler, sitting there opposite him.

    The Inspector sat back and looked at the specimen, shaking like some auld jakey.  It wis clear tae everywan in the room that this wisnae an act.  The fear wis squirting oot ae his every pore by the bucket load. Harper’s body language wis gieing a sterling performance tae support that fact. The problem that The Inspector hid wis trying tae figure oot whether Harper wis sitting there, scared witless because ae the presence ae Possilpark’s finest or whether his fear hid absolutely fuck-aw tae dae wae them, bit mair tae dae wae his fear ae Tam and Toby Simpson hivving him in their sights. The Inspector wished he’d telt The Gruesome Twosome tae go easy oan Harper before he’d hid the chance tae question him.  It wis obvious that he wis hiding something.  While the daft basturt’s fear wis logical and understandable, it didnae help The Inspector in trying tae find oot why the fuck his name hid come oot in the semi-delirious ramblings ae a psychopath stretched oot oan a stretcher.

  “Right, Harper, Ah’ll start again,” The Inspector sighed. “And this time, don’t bloody interrupt me, okay?”

  “Bit…”

  “Listen tae whit The Inspector’s telling ye,” Shane snarled, gieing Harper a slap oan the side ae that heid ae his that nearly lifted him oot ae his chair.

  “Look aboot ye, Harper.  There’s nae paper or pens in here,” The Inspector informed him wae a sweep ae his erm.  “We’re no gonnae write anything doon, so we’re no.  We jist want tae ask ye a few wee simple questions and get a few wee simple answers back…truthful answers, mind ye, and no any ae the usual forked–tongue dingers that ye’re well-known fur slinging oot ae that lying gub ae yers.  So, take a deep breath and let us know when we kin start, okay?”

  Silence.

  “Er, well, aw…awright, f…fire away,” Harper mumbled, efter whit seemed like ages, looking and sounding as if  he wis jist aboot tae be put in front ae a firing squad.

  “Springburn.”

  “Springburn?  Whit aboot Springburn?” Harper demanded, accusingly…much too fast, The Inspector noted, inadvertently daeing a wee drum-roll wae his fingers oan his bottom lip.

  “You tell us,” he eventually replied, his eyes boring intae the prisoner, trying tae detect…anything…that wid gie them a wee crumb tae work oan.

  “W…whit is there tae tell ye?” he asked, slowing doon a bit.

  At least he’s trying tae keep himsel in check, The Inspector mused, lifting up his packet ae twenty Senior Service and taking his time, lighting up a fag before responding tae Harper’s question.

  “Whit the fuck’s gaun oan?”

  “Ah…Ah, don’t know whit ye mean, er, Mr Dougan.”

  “Tam Simpson, Frisky Frank McKenna, Tony Gucci, Joe McManus...Harper…Harris?” The Inspector enquired in barely a whisper, leaving Harper’s name hinging in the air, as he cocked his eyebrow, awaiting a response.

    The words wur hardly oot ae The Inspector’s gub when Harper suddenly let oot a boaking, gulping, choking roar before forcing his chair back quickly so that he could puke up aw o’er the flair, causing The Gruesome Twosome tae jump oot ae the way ae the gusher that wis firing oan aw cylinders.  Efter Harper managed tae plap that arse ae his back oan tae the chair wae the help ae the two gruesomes, The Inspector cursed under his breath while screwing up that face ae his in disgust.  Hivving tae sit and witness the gasping, foul smelling, terrified, blubbering idiot, wae the sweat dripping aff the end ae his nose, making a spirited, bit vain attempt, using baith hauns, tae wipe the front ae his Fair Isle jumper, which wis covered in vomit dribble, nearly hid The Inspector throwing up himsel.  The Inspector managed tae compose himsel quickly, back tae being the true professional that everywan knew he wis and back tae the wee flair show playing oot in front ae him.  It widnae hiv been the first time he’d hid tae sit through a performance like the wan in front ae him, usually fae chancers who saw themsels as being Oscar material, bit he’d always prided himsel oan being a realist.  He looked at Harper o’er the tap ae his fag, as he took a drag fae it.  Harper’s face wis as white as a sheet and he looked as if he wis aboot tae shite they tight, bell-bottomed troosers he wis wearing.  The stench that hid engulfed the room wis taking a grip ae aw their senses.  The Gruesome Twosome looked as if they wur aboot tae boak up oan tap ae whit Harper hid jist spewed oot.

  “Right, Dave, get Harper here a bucket wae plenty ae disinfectant in it, tae clean up this mess, bit get that jumper aff ae him and let him wash his face and hauns first.  Shane, you come wae me,” The Inspector growled, staunin up and flicking his fag-end intae the vomit.

  He gingerly stepped roond the slowly expanding puddle, tae the sizzling sound ae the fag-end being extinguished.

  “Is…is, it aw right if Ah dae a shite first, Mr Dougan?” Harper pleaded, apologetically, clutching his stomach, as The Inspector gied him a wee affirmative nod oan the way past.

  “Whit dae ye think, Shane?” The Inspector asked wance they reached the front desk.

  “Well, ye certainly loosened him up, that’s fur sure.”

  “And his reaction?”

  “Worse than whit Ah’d been expecting.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, it’s patently clear that he’s definitely shite scared ae The Simpsons, bit…”

  “Bit whit?”

  “That reaction wis way o’er the tap, so it wis.  There’s a lot like him oot there who ur scared ae The Simpsons, bit Ah’ve never come across anything like whit Ah’ve jist witnessed,” The Sarge replied, nodding towards the crumbling hooses across the road through the double, glass fronted doors, that led oot oan tae the street.  “Ah reckon he’s terrified because he knows far mair than whit wid be good fur his health...if ye get ma drift?”

  “Aye, that’s whit ma thinking is.  Right, it’s Saturday...go and get Dave and we’ll heid up tae Bishopbriggs tae the club and get a gammon steak.  We’ll leave Harper tae stew fur a wee bit.  Tell that Tam The Bam, the desk sergeant, that nowan his tae go near him under any circumstances.”

  “Should we no get back in there and strike while the iron’s hot?”

  “Naw, whitever’s freaking Harper oot, we won’t get oot ae him the day.  Let the skinny prick stew fur a few hours and then we’ll sling his arse back oot oan tae the street wae the proviso that we’ll be back.  He’s no gonnae open up tae anywan unless he’s sure they’ll be able tae guarantee him a hunner percent protection.  It’s a pity that isnae us.  If Tam and Toby Simpson get a whiff that that poor eejit through there could dae them any damage, then it’ll take a lot mair than us tae save that arse ae his and he knows it,” The Inspector snorted, heiding fur the double doors.