But Carlyle had never in his depraved young life come across the likes of Paddy Coyle. He was a real hard case, a man, not a boy, and one who was totally fearless. By the time Carlyle was discharged from the prison hospital Paddy was well established.
Prison life wasn’t too bad; it was more tedious than anything. Having adopted the mantle vacated by Carlyle, Paddy had few complaints. Compared to his usual living conditions, this was positively five stars with all mod cons.
There was a fully equipped gym, a library, three square meals a day and he didn’t have to shift thirty tons of coal to earn it. Paddy intended to make good use of his time away from home; he would come out a more educated man.
He was a big strong lad due to his coal-carrying days which stood him in good stead. Within a few weeks there was no-one fitter or more intimidating than him.
The borstal was close enough for his mother and the twins to visit frequently and occasionally they brought his new sister, baby Marie. She was just the most beautiful child. Her brothers adored and spoiled her, especially the eldest. Although things for the family were hard, thanks to Paddy’s foresight there was enough in the ‘stash’ to keep them going, hopefully till he got out.
His main problem was Pete. He was his mate and he couldn’t just leave him hanging out to dry. But the idiot had made enemy after enemy trading on Paddy’s name. In fact, there were more inmates who held a grudge against him than not. He just didn’t know when to leave it.
There was always someone not giving him respect. Or he was not getting what he thought was his due, but worse, he was getting a reputation for picking his victims. It seemed he was preying on the more vulnerable youngsters and this was a definite no no. No matter how often Paddy tried to keep things together, he would have to give some lad a dig. More often than not, one who often didn’t deserve it, but who, poor sod, just happened to be on the receiving end of Pete McClelland’s spite.
For the most part the two lads kept their noses clean and, having served almost half their sentence, were up for release. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be home the following week. They had passed the panel and it was now a waiting game.
Thanks to Pete and his need to always settle scores, on the eve of their release a few of his enemies decided it was payback time and that he was due a little ‘leaving present’. They misguidedly reckoned that Paddy wouldn’t jeopardise his release. They hadn’t bargained on Paddy’s loyalty.
“Paddy, quick, your mate’s in trouble,” shouted one of the inmates, “The rec room. Quick.”
Faced with four wannabes, Paddy strolled into the rec room taking in the scene. Pete had certainly taken second prize in the contest, much to Paddy’s anger.
“Well well, who fancies their chances before I take my leave?” he asked the group. “No-one? Okay, well one for all as they say,” and Paddy steamed in amongst them.
In front of the governor the following morning there was no disguising what had happened and certainly no-one would believe that four inmates had fallen down stairs, all at the same time.
Paddy was there for the duration, and Pete - well he was enjoying a celebration drink in the Guardsman pub with his da and his mates. Not a thought for Paddy Coyle or his family.
Lizzie and the twins were furious and refused to visit for weeks unable to cope with Paddy’s stupidity, especially over Pete.
“How could you let that snivelling bastard involve you again?”
“Do you think for one minute he’d do the same for you?”
“C’mon, Ma, he’s not a fighter,” replied Paddy.
“He doesn’t have to be, ya bloody eejit. He’s got you, his pet boxer.”
During the months he had left to serve he had only one visit from Pete and one postcard, from Benidorm. Still, Paddy made excuses for him but they were getting thin on the ground.
Nearing the end of his term he had an unexpected visit from the twins. The lads came as often as they could but due to the visiting conditions, seldom together or without their mother in tow. He could tell they were extremely agitated but trying hard to keep it together for his sake. Something major was up and things had to be desperate for them to visit this close to his release.
All the while Paddy had been away, the twins had carefully looked after his ‘stash’. Each month they took just enough to pawn or sell to keep the family with a roof over their heads and food on the table.
For all the time Paddy had been away, this had worked perfectly. Michael and Sean, although a pair of buggers, were responsible for their family’s survival and took their responsibilities seriously. But when they had gone to the graveyard a couple of months previously, to collect what little was left, it had gone.
The twins and Lizzie had struggled on as best they could, keeping this news from Paddy, but the family were in dire straits. The young lads didn’t know what to do. They had promised their ma and Paddy, when he was first incarcerated, that they wouldn’t go on ‘the rob’ but things were getting desperate.
Their mother could barely cope with the present circumstances but certainly wouldn’t if another of her family was put away. But what else could they do? They were all so close to the finishing line, having endured all those months, surely they weren’t going to fail now?
“Go and see Pete,” ordered Paddy. “Get him to lend you enough to last this month.”
“No good,” said Michael. “He was the first port of call but says he’s got nought, mind you he’s just come back from two weeks in Spain, the jammy bastard.”
“I know, I got a postcard,” Paddy answered.
“Paddy, who knew about the stash?” asked Sean.
“Us three and Pete.”
“What does that tell you? It wouldn’t take fucking Mystic Meg to know where the loot went then.”
“Aye, fucking Spain,” said his younger brother.
“Look, he’s my best mate and he knows what that money was for, somebody must have seen you.”
“No way,” chimed both boys.
“No way, we were never followed. We took a different route every time. What do you think we are - a couple of Muppets?” cried Michael.
“Funny nothing happened while he was inside, but all of a sudden he can afford holidays in fucking sunny Spain.”
“Aye, he doesn’t have to bring a donkey home, he’s got a pet one right here.”
“Now we’ve got Ma threatening to go to Mickey Kelly for a loan.”
“Not that fucking shark, we’ll still be paying the interest off with my pension,” shouted Paddy, drawing the attention of two of the screws.
“Everything okay lads?” asked one.
“Aye fine, ma mother’s just won the lottery and we’re wondering if we can buy him out early. Any chance?”
“Any more smart remarks and you’ll be keeping your brother company.”
“Oh, yer letting him out then?” smirked Sean.
“Can it you two. What about Dad’s bits and pieces? Is there anything worth selling?”
All gone, said the twins.
Visiting time was over and Paddy promised his brothers he would sort something out and phone them later that night.
He needed to get hold of Pete. It was payback time.
Revenge
Completely ignoring the speed restrictions, and not giving a toss whether they drew attention to themselves or not, the convoy of vehicles sped through Glasgow city centre. Paddy, grasping the shred of blood-stained netting, was stony faced and silent. The big man didn’t trust himself to speak. His brothers, too, were silent, dreading what the significance of the veil meant. Christ alone help us if they’ve hurt Erin.
There were few rules amongst the gangs and certainly not much of a code of ethics but women and children were never to be involved. It would seem the McClellands had crossed that line.
Turning into the street, the way was blocked with police cars, ambulances, paramedics and a bloody helicopter flying overhead; it was like a scene from a Hollywood blockbust
er. But this was real life. Racing from his vehicle, Paddy dashed back and forth looking for his wife and kid, almost passing out with dread when he saw his girl drenched in blood.
“She’s okay, Paddy she’s okay,” screamed Bridget. “It’s not her blood. She’s okay.”
“What happened, who did this?” roared Paddy as if he didn’t know. Grabbing his girl and holding her tight to his chest, “Daddy’s here darling. Daddy’s here, speak to me, are you okay, are you hurt? Christ, look at the fucking state of her, Bridget. What in God’s name happened, who’s hurt?”
Erin didn’t utter a word.
“Oh Paddy,” Bridget sobbed, “she was having a wonderful day. She wanted to help Jamesie out in the van. I should have said no, I shouldn’t have let her, but I never thought. Oh! Paddy if we’d lost her. Oh my god,” Bridget was inconsolable.
Michael came running to his brothers’ side. “Marie’s in a bad way Paddy, she tried to stop one of the cunts and caught it full blast, it’s not looking good. She’s on her way to the Royal. I’m going there now. Jamesie wasn’t so lucky, poor fucker, one of the boys better go see his old ma.”
“Anyone else?” asked the big man.
“Aye, Father Jack, he’s been taken to the Southern General, I think it was his heart. We were set up Paddy, the bastards set us up.”
Like a general on a battlefield Paddy Coyle took charge. The green was stripped of the tables and makeshift bar, much to the disgust of a couple of old jakies who were completely oblivious to the carnage. Paddy descended on them like the wrath of God. Picking one up and throwing him across the green, he turned his attention to the other, who, not having the sense to shut up and fuck off, was protesting loudly at the treatment of his buddy while necking his pal’s drink.
Paddy Coyle was one of the most feared men in Glasgow. In a city full of hard men there were few who would ever cross him and right now the need to vent his anger was uncontrollable. He had half-killed the drunk in full view of at least two dozen police officers, but none would have dared approach him.
“The fucking nerve of them,” roared Paddy, banging his fist on the table with such force he almost cleaved it in two. “Coming to my fucking turf, shooting at my fucking family. They’re dead, every last fucking one of them dead.”
Paddy was beyond reason and those sitting round the table knew he had good reason to be. McClelland’s actions today were mugging them off, showing the rest of Glasgow that the McClellands were no marks and that Paddy couldn’t defend his own people.
A council of war had been summoned and Paddy’s clan were assembled in Lizzie’s kitchen. The news from the hospital on Marie was not too promising and their mother would not leave her daughter’s bedside. One side of Marie’s body had taken the full force of the shot.
Bridget had taken Erin home and Paddy sent Teresa to see how Father Jack was faring. Shame it hadn’t been the other old cunt. The two old guys he’d joked with earlier that day had flesh wounds and were being kept in hospital overnight for observation. Teresa volunteered to check on them also.
“I want that bastard McClelland taken out once and for all. He’s gone too fucking far this time and he’s making a cunt of us. I want him finished. Davey, Johnny Boy and two of your best, put the vans out of action. Torch the place. He’s going to know we’ll come after him so we won’t have the element of surprise, just plain brute force. Go in all guns blazing. I want fuck-all left.”
“Next, his house, I’ll go with Sean, I want to see it burn.”
Later that night, the smoke could be seen all across the Glasgow skyline.
By the end of the week, word on the street was Pete McClelland had gone. No-one knew for sure where, but with his businesses finished and his home torched, the pubs, clubs and saunas that had been under his protection were either reduced to ashes or now part of the Coyle Corporation. Only a very few of his men were still on his payroll and they were conspicuous by their absence. There was nothing left in Glasgow for him. Like thieves in the night, the McClelland family disappeared.
What Pete had worked for all these years was gone, there was nothing left. Coyle had moved in and destroyed him. Why? There had been no love lost between them for years not since just after Paddy’s discharge from borstal. Yeah he supposed he could have done a bit more to help, but what was he, a fucking babysitter? The truth was he’d got in tow with some old boiler and was in shagging heaven. At seventeen with his hormones racing, fuck-all else in the world existed.
Aye, he’d felt a bit guilty that Paddy’s family had it fucking rough, but so did everybody in those days. His mate had been out only a few weeks and walked straight into a job with Mickey Kelly. So what the fuck was his beef? If it hadn’t been for him, Pete reasoned, the big man would still be carrying bags of coal; in reality he’d done him a favour.
Taking McClelland out had been too easy. No resistance, no fight, no retaliation. It was as if McClelland had just lain down and accepted his fate, either that or he didn’t know it was coming. No way, the cunt must have known, no-one in their right minds would believe Paddy Coyle would not seek revenge, especially when it concerned family.
Paddy
It had not been the best of home-comings, within an hour of his return the family had had a visit from two of Mickey Kelly’s collectors demanding payment.
“A hundred quid by five o’clock or the kid gets it.”
“You’ve been watching too many gangster films,” laughed Paddy.
“Five o’clock,” the biggest of the two replied.
“Fuck off man, I’m just out. I’ve not had time to get my shit together. No can do, tell your boss he’ll get his money, I just need a bit of time.”
“Four o’clock. We’ll be back at four,” the two men banged the door behind them.
“Fuck’s sake, Ma, how much do you owe the cunts?” demanded Paddy.
“Don’t blame me,” his mother cried. “It was your bloody pal that got us into this mess. I’ll bet he was waiting at the gate this morning with a fist full of tenners? No, I didn’t think so.”
“Never mind him, he’ll keep,” Paddy was still convinced that Pete would come good.
“Where the fuck am I going to get that kind of dosh by four o’clock?”
“Oh, Paddy, I’m sorry. Honestly if I had had a choice. I owe everybody, all the neighbours, most of the shops you name it, I owe them. It’s been hellish.”
“You still haven’t said how much we owe.”
“Honest, son, I don’t know, but I can tell you, delivering milk isn’t going to pay our debts off.”
At four o’clock exactly came a knock at the door.
Paddy had been home for almost a week before he caught up with his best mate. Strolling along Sauchiehall Street with the latest bird on his arm, a sheepish McClelland came face to face with his old pal.
“Hey mate, how’re you doing? He said slapping Paddy on the back. “I was just on my way to see you,” blustered Pete. “This is Fiona. Say hello to Paddy, Fiona. Sorry I’ve not been about but you know how it is, busy, busy. I was giving you time to settle in,” crawled an anxious McClelland.
Survival was the name of the game and without Paddy at his back the snivelling coward knew he had no chance. He had meant to call in and see Paddy but the time just disappeared, and with his latest crush, well! McClelland had joined forces with a gang from his own neck of the woods which pretty much left Paddy out in the cold.
Knowing full well he had let his old mate down, Pete babbled on in the hope he could talk Paddy round.
“C’mon, let me buy you a drink, pal, and we’ll catch up.”
Paddy didn’t utter a word.
“Honest, it’s great to see you Paddy, I’ve really missed you, but what the fuck’s happened? You look like you’ve been in the wars; who have you been upsetting?” Shit! McClelland could have bitten his tongue seeing the expression on Paddy’s face.
“But,” he blundered on, hope fading. “How are you fixed, big man? Here, that s
hould see you alright,” as he offered him a bundle of notes.
Fiona seemed none too pleased at the sudden generosity of her companion. She’d had her eye on a smart jacket in Lewis’s window and was hoping to persuade Pete she just had to have it.
“Excuse me, darling,” as Paddy turned away from the girl and with one punch knocked his ex-best mate clean out. He walked off, leaving a bewildered Fiona busy gathering up scattered ten pound notes and an unconscious McClelland to fend for themselves on the busy Glasgow street.
Canon Francis O’Farrell
Canon O’Farrell watched in wry amusement as the Coyle clan went haring off to the other side of the city, leaving a furious wife and mother. Disrupting the enjoyment of not only the family, but that of neighbours and all the scoundrels and misfits on Coyle’s payroll, on what the priest knew to be a wild goose chase.
How did he know? In exactly the same way that he knew the blacked out vehicle that had just pulled up behind the ice cream van would arrive when it did. That it would contain three gunmen, whose orders were to render the van and its contents out of commission and to make sure that he, Canon Francis O’Farrell was well out of range. How did he know there would be no-one left at the celebration able to stop this happening, or that Paddy Coyle wouldn’t just send his lieutenants to deal with the problems with the Police? He just knew!
What didn’t amuse him was the feckin’ stupidity of his understudy, Father Jack, getting so bloody het up about the situation. Not only did the eejit suddenly become a ‘have-a-go-hero’, but even more stupidly, he’d gone and had a feckin’ heart attack in the midst of all the chaos.
Christ, the stupid fecker could be out of commission for weeks, months even, and that would certainly throw a bloody great spanner in the works where he was concerned.
Father Francis O’Farrell had been seconded to the city of Glasgow not long after he had left the seminary. His first impression of Craigloch was that of a dank and dreary outpost. For a lad brought up in the magnificent landscape of Galway, with its wild terrain and rugged countryside, it would definitely be a trial. But he was there for a purpose and it wasn’t just to serve God.
The Silence Page 3