Her husband consoled her, “Don’t worry, everything will be all right. Just make sure that letter box is sealed at all times, especially when we are asleep.”
Johnny said nothing, he was still in shock. The McCoy bastards had tried to murder his family. They had to pay.
He had a walk round the Gorbals and rounded up his pals, Malky, Chris and Alex. They sat in a café pontificating on the situation. “Well it looks like those guys don’t fuck about, they mean business Johnny,” said Malky.
Chris agreed, “McCoy and his gang have made a mistake, a big fucking mistake. It’s comeback time.”
Alex, as usual, was more extreme, “Ma uncle has a few cans of petrol in his garage. We’ll track the McCoy mob doon, pour the petrol over them and set them alight. Human fireballs. That would be a laugh… whoosh!”
Johnny knew Alex’s suggestion was honourable but highly impracticable. He emphasised the fact that they had to find out where the McCoy gang were hiding and then strike. Malky said he knew they were still hiding out in the Gallowgate but it would be too dangerous to go there. They came up with a solution. They had to find Mick the mixer again and see if he had any new info on where to find the McCoy mob. Mick was known to go into the Mally Arms around eight every night.
Meanwhile, Johnny and his trusted hammer patrolled the streets of the Gorbals on the look-out for his enemies, but after a few hours, there was no sign.
Just after eight they were sitting at a table in the pub when sure enough Mick the mixer walked in. Johnny bought him a pint and Mick sat down with them. Johnny got straight to the point, “So, what’s the score wi’ that McCoy wanker? He and his mob tried to set fire tae ma house.”
Mick looked unsurprised, “Ah know all about it. That’s what they dae, they wait until you think everything has gone quiet, then they strike.”
Malky became aggressive, “Tell us something we don’t know Mick. How can we find those cowardly bastards?
“It’s no’, no’, no’ that simple boys,” Mick stuttered, “Ah’ve heard they are hiding out in a tenement near the Barras. Now that’s real Tong country, so ah widnae go near there.”
“Anything else?” Johnny said.
“McCoy and his father have brought in a couple of their relatives from Northern Ireland as reinforcements. They were in the UVF, right Orangemen who hate Catholics.”
Malky replied, “The UVF, that mob of mad protestant fuckers? I’ve read about them in the papers.”
“Aye, the UVF is like the IRA only for Protestants. All’s ah know is one of the guys has a King Billy tattoo on his right hand. But watch out Johnny they are dangerous bastards. Be on your guard from now on.”
Johnny was not afraid as he fingered his hidden hammer. “Ah’m no’ scared o’ those Huns, they’ll get sorted out soon enough.”
Mick the mixer’s information had given them a buck up and he said he would have another word with “the wee bird” to obtain more information.
The boys were in a mercurial mood and as a result, the beer flowed. When the pub closed its door at 10pm they left each other in high spirits, staggering their separate ways.
When Johnny got to his close it was in complete darkness. Suddenly two men ran towards him with large baseball bats and battered into him. Johnny was thrown to the ground as the two guys rained down blows.
For a brief moment, he saw McCoy and his father standing behind them as they continued to batter into him. One of them had a tattoo of King Billy on his hand.
As they battered him even more, Johnny’s blood ran all over the tenement stairs and walls. Johnny lost consciousness but as he did so an elderly man came into the close and shouted, “What the fuck is going on here?”
It was one of Johnny’s neighbours, 72-year-old Duncan Mackintosh. The men, covered in blood rushed past him out of the tenement into Crown Street. Duncan Mackintosh looked at the bloodied heap that was Johnny. He put his ear to his mouth to see if still breathing.
He was breathing - only just.
Chapter 35
TUNNEL
Johnny was once again dreaming but it seemed he had been dreaming for a long time. He was in a long dark tunnel with no sign of light at the end of it. He marched on through the darkness but the further he marched the darker it seemed to get. How the hell had he landed in this tunnel? A tunnel that seemed to go on forever. After what appeared to be an eternity there was salvation. A little glimmer of light approached him but it was approaching slowly.
At first it was a dull light but as time went on it got brighter and brighter. Was this danger in disguise? Was it a train heading towards him intending to knock him down? The light began to close in on him, getting closer by the minute. Suddenly he heard a soft quiet voice saying, “Johnny, wake up son. Wake up.” His eyes opened, the dream had come to an end. No longer was he in a dark tunnel but in a hospital ward. Sitting beside his bed was his mother, father and Cathy. His mother gave a gasp of relief, “Thank god, he’s awake.” She said, perhaps she had been the light at the end of the tunnel. He heard his father say, “About bloody time as well. Ten days in a coma but now he is back in the land of the living.”
Cathy’s soft voice joined in, “He’s a fighter sure enough. Ah’ve told him tae forget about aw this gang warfare garbage. But he widnae listen and look what’s happened to him.” He began to speak slowly, the long dream had affected his senses, “How long have ah been asleep?” His father replied, “Ten bloody day’s son, ten days when we did not know whether you were going to live or die.”
“It was touch and go son,” his mother said. Cathy nodded her head, “You’ve put us through ten days of torture. It’s been the longest ten days of our lives.” He felt pain all over his body. He could barely move his right arm and his left leg was as stiff as cardboard. Also when he breathed a searing sensation seemed to overwhelm his ribs.
He did not feel like speaking but did so in the voice of a defeated man. “So ah’ve been sleeping for ten days? That was some doin’ ah had” His father was quick to reply, “Ten days out the game, you’re lucky to be alive. If it wisnae for auld Duncan Mackintosh, you’d be propping up the daisies.” Johnny was confused. He said in a weak voice, “Auld Duncan Mackintosh! What’s he got tae dae wi’ it?”
“He saved your life son. Luckily he was in the Army medical core years ago,” his mother said. His father smiled and nodded his head, “After those bastards beat you to a pulp it was Duncan who gave you the kiss of life. It was him that saved you from an early grave.” Cathy chimed in, “He saved your bacon, got you breathing again before the ambulance arrived.”
The pain seared through his body. It was all a bit much to take in. Sure, he was a Gorbals’ hardman, a gang leader, and had been saved by the lips of an old age pensioner! A doctor appeared at the bedside. He was a young cheery looking guy in his late 20s, “Good to see you have survived such a savage beating. At one point we thought we had lost you.”
Johnny gave a weak smile, “So, doctor, what’s the verdict? How badly am I injured?” The doctor looked at a medical chart he was holding, “Broken right arm, broken left leg, severely broken ribs. Whoever did this certainly intended to kill you.”
He thought the doctor was stating the obvious and asked him, “How long will it take me to recover?” The doctor sounded optimistic, “At least three months but you must rest as much as you can. The beating has given you serious injuries. But now you are out of a coma they aren’t life threatening.” The message got through and the atmosphere around the bed seemed more upbeat than before. After the doctor left a nurse told those beside his bed to leave as Johnny needed to rest.
The next day he felt somewhat better when the nurse said, “There’s an auld guy called Mackintosh outside asking if it all right to come in and see you?”
He replied through the pain, “Aye, he’s all right, send him in.”
The young nurse sighed, “Ok, Johnny but only for a few minutes. You have got to have time to regain your strength and recuperate.” Duncan Mackintos
h approached his bed, “Hey, Johnny boy, glad to see you’ve survived. At least you’ve shown those bastards that tried tae kill you that you’re a real fighter!” He was clutching a bottle of Lucozade and a bunch of grapes. Duncan sat down beside the bed and they talked quietly so the nurses and other patients could not hear.
“So, what happened then Duncan?” Johnny said. Mackintosh was quick to put him in the picture. “Well ah went oot for a walk around the Gorbals and when ah walked into our close there were four guys beating the hell out of you wi’ big clubs. When they saw me shouting they ran off leaving you in a pool of blood. I put ma ear to your mouth and there was barely any breath and you had a faint pulse. Ah gave you the kiss of life and your breathing got better. Man, you had a lucky escape ah can tell ye!”
Johnny shook his hand, “Thanks for saving ma life, man. Did you recognise any of the guys?” Duncan replied, “There was a middle aged guy and a younger fella who I’ve seen before about the Gorbals, but no’ the other two guys.”
Johnny presumed he was talking about McCoy and his father, “The other two guys, did anything stand out?” Duncan thought for a moment, “Come tae think aboot it, aye. As the two of them were shouting, they had Irish accents. But ah think they were Northern Ireland accents. Also, ah noticed one of them had a King Billy tattoo on his hand.”
The nurse came over and told Duncan his time was up. He rose to leave saying, “Don’t worry son, you’ll be on the mend soon and be fighting fit before you know it. Fit enough tae sort out those Orange bastards.”
Over the next few days his parents and Cathy said the attack had been a warning that he should give up his gangster days. His mother said, “The game’s a bogey, no more gang fighting for you. Settle doon and get a job, otherwise you’ll end up dead.” Johnny’s father agreed, “Once you’ve recovered you’d be better getting the hell oot o’ the Gorbals. When ah get ma job back, ah’ll try tae get ye on the boats wi’ me.” Johnny noticed that Cathy said little when his parents were there. His parents presumed she was another of his many girlfriends. They did not know that Cathy was pregnant with his child. And when he recovered, a marriage would be imminent.
After a few more days Cathy visited him alone and had him all to herself. He might have looked a wreck, but the pregnancy had given her a bloom.
“Look ya stupid eejit,” she said, “This is a message to you saying your daft gang days are over. Besides, we’ve got a new baby on the way. It needs a father and mother, no’ a widow and a corpse.”
He agreed and nodded his head meekly, “You’re right Cathy, it is time ah grew up, all this palaver has been a lesson to me.” But when the words came out of his mouth, inside he was not entirely convinced that he was ready to give up his hardman ways. He had to tell the mother of his child what she wanted to hear. Afterwards Cathy kissed him on the cheek and left in a consoled mood. But there was only one thing on his mind… retribution.
During his weeks in hospital he had an assortment of visitors. Two CID guys turned up and as he had expected, played the Mr Nice guy, Mr Nasty guy game. They sat beside his bed with Mr Nice guy starting off the conversation, “Look pal, if you tell us who it was that nearly beat you to death, problem over. We’ll do them for attempted murder, 10-15 years, and that’s the end of them”
Johnny politely refused to co-operate saying the savage beating had given him amnesia. Mr Nasty guy took over with his psychology, “Ya daft bastard, why are you trying to protect those no users? Maybe you’ve got vengeance on your mind. But if you do, it’s you that’ll end up doing 15 years, not them. So, it’s time to stop being a silly idiot and give us some names, otherwise it’s you who’ll be in big trouble. That is if you don’t get murdered first.”
Johnny kept up his pretence saying the amnesia meant he could not recall any of the events leading up to the attack or any of the assailants. They left empty handed, he hoped he would not see them again.
The visitors he was glad to see were the boys. Malky, Chris and Alex all turned up with Lucozade and grapes. Malky put Johnny in the picture, “The word on the street is McCoy, his father and the two Northern Irish bampots are going about boasting how they almost battered you to death and put you in hospital.”
Chris agreed, “They’re supposed to be gloating about it. But we’ll sort them out when you are fighting fit and back on the streets.”
“Too right,” Alex said, “Naebody messes wi’ us and gets away wi’ it. We’ll fucking mollicate them! I’ve just bought an air pistol- I’m gonnae shoot them!”
After a couple of weeks he could feel that he was on the road to recovery and was now able to walk through the ward, a few steps at a time ona crutches and an arm sling.
The doctor was pleased with his progress, “You’re coming along fine, Johnny. Your ribs, arms and leg are coming along well. It’s probably because you were in a fit physical condition and your age means you recover faster than most people.” After these consoling words he certainly felt ten times better but he got a bit fed up eating all those grapes and drinking all that Lucozade. What he yearned for, once he was discharged, was a big greasy fish supper and a pint of Guinness.
But vengeance was still very much on his mind. It was destined that the McCoys and the two Northern Irish bastards would feel the full force of his wrath.
It was just as he was thinking this the young nurse approached the bed, “There’s two men here to see you.”
“Who are they?”
She replied, “They did not give their names but they say they’re your pals. They sound Irish to me.”
He thought the two Northern Irishmen had turned up at the hospital to finish him off. He picked up his crutches and hobbled a few yards from his bed. He glanced down the corridor and what he saw took him aback, it was John, the Irishman from the Portland dancehall and his leader Danny.
The IRA had come to visit him. That was the best get well message he could ever have.
Chapter 36
LUCOZADE
The two Irishmen entered the ward and looked genuinely pleased to see him. He was on the road to recovery but still did not look like the robust virile Johnny of old. The beating seemed to have knocked something out of him but the Irishmen concealed their concerns about him with fast friendly banter. Johnny smiled weakly as they placed a bottle of Lucozade and a bunch of grapes on his bedside cabinet. He felt slightly nauseous looking at the Lucozade and grapes, psychologically to him they had become symbols of failure and ill health.
If he never saw Lucozade or grapes again, it would not perturb him. The big Irishman from the dancehall was first off with the breezy patter, “We hear a few cowardly orange men tried tae dae you in.”
“Aye, they attacked me in the close when ah was steaming drunk.”
The big Irishman raised his eyebrow, “In a way it serves you right. You should have had your wits about you at all times.” Danny joined in, “We often say that things can sometimes get a wee bit dangerous, so dangerous you’ve got tae sleep wi’ your eyes open.”
Danny leaned over to speak in Johnny’s ear, “We know who did you, Pinky and Perky and the idiot father and son the McCoys.”
The big Irishman laughed, “Aye, Pinky and fucking Perky. We’ve been after those bastards for a while”
“Who the fuck is Pinky and Perky?” Johnny asked.
Danny replied, “They’re two no-users from Belfast. They used to be in the UVF but they’re on the run here in Glasgow.” Johnny was aware of Pinky and Perky from watching TV, two ugly pigs who sang in high pitched voices. In fact, when he was kid he had grown up laughing at their childish antics.
“Why do you call those guys Pinky and Perky?” he asked.
Danny smiled, “Because they look like a couple of ugly swines with squeaky voices. The big fella with the King Billy tattoo, we call Pinky. He’s wanted in Northern Ireland for shooting a couple of our guys and blowing up a few others. His mate Perky, a short fat fella, tried tae shoot me while back in Belfast but ah was quick enoug
h tae dodge the bullets.”
“Missed you by a couple of inches,” the big Irishman nodded.
Danny replied, “We’ve got an idea where those bastards are hiding out and we have plans in place tae kidnap them.”
“And then what?”
Danny replied with a grin, “Then they disappear. Pinky and Perky become the invisible men, or should I say… invisible pigs?”
“What about the McCoys?” Johnny asked.
Danny smiled again, “They beat the living daylight out of you but to be fair they did not shoot or bomb you. So perhaps we might just show them a wee bit of mercy. But it’s up to you Johnny. If you want them to disappear with Pinky and Perky, then that can be arranged as well. Your decision.”
Johnny contemplated the situation. Sure, he hated the McCoy’s but could he really give the go-ahead for a death sentence? Pinky and Perky were a different matter, two members of the UVF, who had murdered IRA men, they had it coming to them. They had also set fire to his house.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
The big Irishman and Danny nodded. “No hurry,” Danny said, “Wait till we work out a battle plan then we’ll be in contact.” They got up and began to leave. Danny shouted, “Enjoy the grapes!”
Johnny replied, “Grapes? Ah’ve had so many ah think ah might be turning intae a grape!”
“Those bastards who we were talking about will be getting grapes as well – the grapes of wrath!” the big Irishman said.
After they left he felt consoled. Consoled not only because the might of the IRA was behind him but because of the fact the act of vengeance was now out of his hands. The two ugly pigs, Pinky and Perky, were consigned to end up in the IRA abattoir. But the McCoys were a different matter. Would he, like a Roman emperor, give the thumbs up for them to be spared, or the thumbs down to be killed? He had mixed emotions about the matter. He reflected that maybe he had deserved a doing after putting the young McCoy in hospital. Maybe he had gone too far by ridiculing his father. They might just get a thumbs up to show some mercy but they certainly needed to be punished in some way.
The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 20