The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (34 page)

Chapter Fifty Seven

  The Stalker cupped his hauns thegither and scooped up a haunful ae cauld water fae the running tap and splashed it across his face.  He repeated the process, as the shock ae the Baltic cauld water stung his face.  He looked at his reflection in the mirror.  It hid a stunned surprised look aboot it, as the water ran doon his cheeks and dripped aff the end ae his nose and chin in heavy droplets.  He hesitated slightly, still swithering whether tae hiv another go, until the fart that erupted fae the arse ae his troosers, emitting the same sound ye heard when a tenement building came crashing doon, resounded aff the tiled walls and forced him tae scurry back tae the nearest cubicle.  Wance settled, he tore aff a couple ae bits ae the newspaper cuttings that wur hinging doon fae a piece ae string oan the back ae the lavvy door, avoiding wans wae photos oan them that wid be full ae print ink, and dabbed the water aff ae his face.

  “Hoot ye, ya basturt, ye!” he gasped in astonished wonder, as his echoing voice, competed wae the thunder ae an eruption and the splash ae his breakfast hitting the water in the pan beneath him.

  He hoped nowan wid come intae the toilet while he wis perched there.  Even he widnae be able tae live doon the smell that wis emanating fae the cubicle he wis in.  Whit should’ve been a celebratory shite hid turned intae an escape fae aw the crap that wis being spoken aboot, through in the canteen.   He could still hear the laughter through the walls, even though it wis a bit mair subdued than whit it hid been when he’d torn intae Fitz in front ae everywan earlier.  He cursed himsel fur being such a prick.  He’d need tae get a grip ae himsel and stoap aw this bloody nonsense.  It hid crossed his mind that he should maybe pay a wee visit tae the confessional, bit whit wid he say?

  “Furgive me father, fur Ah hiv sinned...because ae you, ya wee sleekit basturt, ye!”

  The day hid started aff quietly enough fur a Monday morning.  He’d looked at the previous night’s action sheet.  Some toe-rags hid scaled the fence ae Sighthill Goods Terminal and blagged twenty boxes ae Benson and Hedges fae their high security cage, totalling a hunner thousand fags.  Fitz hid been doon at the terminal since four o’clock in the morning, trying tae piece thegither whit the score wis.  A ten-year-auld boy hid goat hit by a van at quarter tae eleven the night before, while he wis crossing Hawthorn Street...when he should’ve been hame, asleep in his bed.  The van didnae seem tae hiv done much damage tae him, bit the bottle ae milk he wis sent oot fur, fae Mohammed’s, the wee grocer shoap oan the corner, hid smashed oan the road and the shards fae it hid imbedded themsels intae the boy’s back when he’d landed oan it.  Smith’s electrical shoap hid goat tanned, alang wae Miller’s, the newsagent.  The Stalker could jist picture the thieving gits sitting there wae fags sticking oot ae their faces in a cloud ae blue smoke, while they wur lying sprawled, changing the channels ae their new colour TV...pricks that they wur.  Also, two hooses hid goat tanned, wae their gas and TV meters being emptied and Hope and Glory hid arrested the same bunch ae Hari Krishnas that hid goat lifted jist before Christmas, fur breach ae the peace...again.  Glory hid telt him that it wis a repeat performance ae the last time.

  “How dae ye know that?” he’d asked him.

  “The same auld shite...Hari this, Rama that...Ah blame that George Harrison wan, so Ah dae,” Glory hid lamented.

  At aboot hauf ten that morning, The Stalker hid jist been aboot tae start oan his seventh mug ae tea ae the day, when he’d goat a call.  Jings Johnston, his pal, who wis an inspector across in Yoker, hid alerted him that Harper Harris, the main witness against Toby Simpson, Frisky Frank McKenna and Jo Jo Robson, in the murder ae young Joe McManus, hid been hit by a car oan Saracen Street across in Possil, at nine o’clock the previous night.  No only that, bit the car hid failed tae stoap.  Hit-and-run incidents wur an everyday occurrence in Possil and Springburn, as they wur everywhere else in Glesga, wae aw they wee thieving joyriders, bit if anything happened tae Harper, then Bobby Mack’s murder squad widnae hiv a living witness.  When Jings hid blurted this oot, The Stalker hid jist aboot shat himsel, bit it hid goat better.

  “Aye, and no only that,  Bobby Mack and co. don’t think it’s related, so they don’t.  Kin ye believe that?” Jings hid said in disbelief.

  “And Harper?  How is he?”

  “He’s still alive.  He’s goat a broken pelvis, broken leg and a scraped face.  Shane Priestly...dae ye know him?  He’s wan ae the Gruesome Twosome sergeants o’er there?”

  “Aye, Ah know Shane and Dave McGovern...good guys, so they ur.”

  “Well, Shane telt me that he hid tae peel Harper’s skin aff ae the road because the ambulance driver telt him tae try and lift it aff in wan piece as they might be able tae graft it back oan tae Harper’s face.  Kin ye imagine that?  Bloody amazing whit they kin dae nooadays, eh?”

  “So, whit makes Bobby Mack think there isnae a connection?”

  “Harper telt him that he’d run between two cars oan the spur ae the moment and hid run straight in front ae it.  The driver hid nae chance ae stoapping and ran right o’er the tap ae the stupid bampot.”

  “Bit the driver still kept gaun?”

  “Harper said he’d probably hiv done the same, so he wid’ve.”

  “Sounds dodgy tae me.  So, who wis in the car?  Did he recognise anywan?”

  “He said the guy wis oan his lonesome and looked as surprised as Harper wis.  He reckons the driver jist panicked.”

  “And he didnae get the car’s number?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, where’s Harper noo?”

  “They took him up tae Stobhill, so they did.”

  “Stobhill?  Ah’m surprised they didnae put him tae The Western.”

  “Aye, that’s whit Ah thought, bit seemingly the ambulance wis jist coming fae there wae some auld boy that wis getting transferred up tae Stobhill, so Harper accompanied the auld wan...killing two birds wae the wan stane.”

  “Whit dae ye think yersel, Jings?”

  “Well, Ah usually go oan the basis that if ye smell shite, then there’s a good chance that there’s a big dod ae it lying aboot somewhere, waiting tae jump oot and surprise ye when ye’re no looking.”

  “Aye, that wid be ma thinking tae.  Any word oan where Toby Simpson, Bootsy Henderson and Blaster Mackay ur hiding oot?”

  “Naw.  Bobby Mack still believes Blaster’s deid and the other two hiv gone abroad, bit Ah hiv ma doubts.  The only fly in the ointment wae me is Blaster Mackay.  Why the fuck wid he disappear oan the same day as Toby and Bootsy?  It disnae make sense, unless...”

  “Whit?”

  “Unless the three ae them ur haudin up a skyscraper somewhere.”

  “Naw...dae ye think so?”

  “Ah’m telling ye.  Find oot whit happened tae Blaster, and ye’ll find oot where, or whit, happened tae the other pair.  That’s ma theory, fur whit it’s worth.”

  “Right, listen, Jings, thanks fur that.  Ah owe ye wan.”

  “Nae bother, Paddy.  Jist don’t let oan that ye heard whit happened tae Harper fae me.  Yer name is still mud aboot this place, in certain quarters, so it is.”

  The Stalker couldnae believe that Harper getting run o’er wis an innocent hit-and-run job.  He’d jist been wondering whit the hell wis gaun oan wae Bobby Mack and his boys when Bumper and Fitz hid arrived wae some auld wummin between them.  She’d been caught shoaplifting oot ae Woolies oan Springburn Road and they’d insisted oan charging her as a warning tae others.  The sergeants hid found a four pack ae soap and a bottle ae Palmolive shampoo in her bag that she hidnae a receipt fur.  The Stalker hid telt them tae release her and get their arses intae his office.  Wance there, he’d explained whit Jings hid said.

  “And that useless prick, Mack, said there wisnae a connection?  Fur Christ’s sake, is he oan hallucinating medicinals or something?” Fitz hid asked incredulously.

  “Right, whit dae ye want us tae dae, Paddy?”

  “Ah want the pair ae youse tae nip up tae Stobhill tae check it oot.”

  “Fur whit?”

  “Ah don’t know, bit Harper Harris is oan ma patch and Ah want tae find oot whit the score is.  Speak tae some ae the nurses and doctors and see whit they’re saying.”

  “And Harper?”

  “Don’t go near him.  Ah don’t want word tae get back tae Daddy that we’re still sniffing aboot in the Tam Simpson case.  He’ll go ape-shit if he gets a whiff ae us daeing anything oan that front.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Aye.  Oh, and by the way, talking ae Tam Simpson...Ah goat masel a wee whiff ae shite, oan the QT, last night, so Ah did,” Fitz hid said.

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Right, dae ye know a wee maggot called Jack Lemon?”

  “Aye,” The Stalker and Bumper hid said thegither.

  “Well, hiv ye clocked him lately?”

  “Naw,” they baith replied.

  “Well, whit a bloody state he’s in...and Ah’m talking as in the walking deid here, so Ah am.  Two black eyes, two broken fingers, erm in a sling wae a fractured elbow, walking aboot impersonating an Askit Powder advert, so he is.  He telt me that underneath his jaicket, his ribs ur aw bandaged up.”

  “A hiding?” Bumper hid asked.

  “Aye, bit it gets better.  He said that it hid been done by Peter The Plant and Danny Murphy while Wan-bob Broon jist stood there talking tae some floozy.  He said he thought he wis a goner, then aw ae a sudden, Wan-bob hid turned roond and telt them that that wis enough and they’d jist sauntered aff, leaving him lying there, howling and beaten tae a pulp.”

  “Jack Lemon?  Noo, why the fuck wid The Big Man’s crowd dae that tae a loser like him?  He’s no in wae The Simpsons.  He’s jist a wee toe-rag who’d steal the eyes oot ae yer heid.”

  “Aye, well it gets better, so it dis.  Seemingly, they knocked fuck oot ae him fur breaking intae a stationary goods wagon across in Cowlairs.  And here’s the icing oan the cake...they telt him tae stay away fae Cowlairs because it belongs tae oor wee pal, Tony Gucci.”

  “Jesus Christ!” The Stalker hid exclaimed.

   “Ah heard it fae him wae ma ain ears...even though he wis in pain oan account ae me clinging oan tae his two bandaged fingers wae that big haun ae mine,” Fitz hid said, haudin up his five-fingered persuader.

  “Nice wan, Fitz, haw, haw,” Bumper hid guffawed, laughing.

  “Ye know whit this means, don’t ye?  It means that The Big Man’s boys ur protecting Gucci and that wee manky mob’s interests by haunin o’er a slice ae The Simpsons’ pie.  Noo, why the hell wid they dae something like that fur?”

    “Unless they’re under instructions...” Fitz hid suggested.

    “Or ur getting paid back fur favours received,” Bumper hid chipped in.

    “Exactly whit Ah wis thinking,” The Stalker hid murmured.

  “Right, before youse get any ideas, there’s nae way in a month ae Sundays that we’ll get Jack tae testify, let alone press charges, so ye kin furget that wan,” Fitz hid warned them.

  “Whit if we break the fingers oan his other haun?” Bumper hid asked.

  “Naw, furget it.  Let’s no go there.  As Paddy said, it gies us a link between The Big Man and Ali Baba and The Forty Thieves, so it dis.”

  “Right, well done, Fitz.  We’ll add this wan tae aw the other evidence we’ve been building up oan The Mankys.  Ah’d bet ma virginity that it wis Gucci and co. that blagged the fags fae the terminal last night.  In the meantime, get yer big hairy arses up tae Stobhill and see whit ye kin find oot.  Noo, remember, keep a low profile, fur Christ sake...Daddy’s watching us, so he is,” he’d warned them.

  Bumper and Fitz hid only been gone jist under an hour when the shit hid hit the fan.  Fitz hid awready been in civvies, wae him being a detective sergeant, and Bumper hid taken aff his uniform jaicket and replaced it wae a checked sports jaicket, so as no tae arouse suspicion.  Efter arriving up at Stobhill, they’d immediately clocked Spencer Smith, wan ae The Simpsons’ crew, sitting in a parked car.  Luckily, Spencer hid been too busy looking in the mirror, picking his nose, and hidnae seen them.  They’d parked roond the side ae the main building and hid nipped in wan ae the exit doors that a couple ae nurses hid been coming oot ae.  Efter finding oot that Harper wis in room eleven oan the third flair, they’d legged it up the stairs, two at a time.  As soon as they’d arrived oan the landing, they’d clocked the unmistakable broad shoulders and ugly mug ae Big Bert Martin, nipping intae a room.  No only wis it Big Bert, bit the bugger hid been decked oot in a white coat, wae a stethoscope hinging roond his neck.  By the time the pair ae them hid lunged intae the room, Big Bert wis staunin looking oan as Jackie Fraser, another Simpsons heavy, in a doctor’s green theatre gown and matching hat, hid baith ae his hauns roond the neck ae Harper Harris and wis choking the living daylights oot ae him.  Big Bert hid attempted tae punch his way past them, bit Bumper hid gied him a moothful ae dandruff fae that foreheid ae his before following through wae a pummelling tae Bert’s body and face wae they big hammer fists ae his.  While this hid been gaun oan, Fitz hid scudded Jackie Fraser twice oan the back ae his napper wae his truncheon, splitting his skull wide open.  Jackie couldnae hiv known whit hid hit him as he fell face doon oan tae his victim, unconscious.  As Fitz dragged Jackie aff him, Harper hid let oot a big gasping gurgle that sounded mair like a cough, as he inhaled the air doon intae his empty lungs.  Another ten seconds and Harper wid’ve been a goner, leaving the prosecution withoot their star witness against Toby Simpson, Jo Jo Robson and Frisky Frank McKenna.  Aw the commotion hid attracted the attention ae the staff and other patients.  They’d aw stood at the door, gawping at the carnage in the room.  Wance Big Bert hid been hauncuffed tae the bed, Fitz hid trotted aff and phoned the station tae inform Paddy whit hid gaun oan.  Hauf the station hid emptied and heided up tae Stobhill.  Spencer Smith hid been nabbed in his car, still engrossed in picking his hooter.   By the time Bobby Mack and Daddy hid arrived oan the scene, the three wid-be murderers hid been locked up in the cells doon at the station.  Bobby hid looked sick as a pig, bit Daddy hid been fair chuffed and hid congratulated The Stalker, Bumper and Fitz in person, in front ae Bobby and the whole station.  It hid been Bumper and Fitz’s arrest, so it wis them that hid charged Spencer Smith, Big Bert and Jackie Fraser wae attempted murder, attempting tae pervert the course ae justice and intimidating a Crown witness.  The judge at The High Court wid throw the book at them.  Efter aw the excitement hid died doon, Fitz and Bumper hid been haudin court in the canteen, recounting the events up at the hospital.  Fitz hid let slip that earlier oan in the day, he’d hid a run in wae Helen Taylor oan Springburn Road.  He’d been staunin talking tae Biscuit aboot the fag heist when Helen Taylor hid walked towards them, haunin oot election leaflets.  Fitz hid jist been telling Biscuit that it hid probably been Gucci and his manky crew that hid blagged the fags.  Seeing as wan ae The Mankys, Johnboy Taylor, wis Helen Taylor’s boy, Fitz, the fucking twat that he wis, couldnae keep his mooth shut.