From the very first shipment, the money began to pour in. It was proving to be true, selling drugs was a far more profitable business than the other scams they had been involved in. Bobby had also drafted in a dodgy accountant called Percy, a grey-haired man in his 60s, who talked in a posh accent. With his pin striped suit and posh accent, Percy certainly looked like an accountant or bank manager.
But he had a dark past and had served time for defrauding several elderly clients out of their life savings. As the cash flowed in, Johnny and Bobby were puzzled what to do with it all. The problem was they could not exactly go out and be seen spending large amounts of ready cash, otherwise the police would be on their trail. But Percy was the sort of guy who had all the answers to such a dilemma. At a meeting, he told Johnny and his cohorts, “We have a great deal of what some would say was ‘dirty money’ coming in. The dilemma is what to do with this dirty money. And it’s a simple matter of laundering it. We must set up legitimate businesses as a front for the money and the cash can be laundered through them.”
“What sort of businesses are we talking about?” Johnny asked Percy.
“Oh, things like pubs, cafes and even taxis. All deal in ready cash and the dirty money can be disguised in the turnover and profits.”
Bobby was delighted by the suggestion, “It’s something that the Mafia have been doing for years in America. So, if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for us.” Percy was put in charge of acquisitions and sussing out what businesses to buy to launder the money. There were several such meetings a week and Johnny began to have a migraine after every one of them. He had been in riotous gang fights, had shovelled sawdust into bags but had never experienced stress like this. Big money brought along with it a variety of big problems. After one such meeting, he went for a walk through the Gorbals. It was the same old faces doing the same old things but he noticed many people looked at him in awe. He was now a big shot in the Glasgow underworld, a wee star in a big picture or a big star in a wee picture, depending how you looked at it.
In Gorbals Street, he bumped into wee Alex and a few other guys. All of them were smoking a joint which they passed between them. What surprised him was Alex’s appearance had changed. He had got rid of his short back and sides and grown his hair long. He had also taken to wearing brightly coloured Paisley shirts which gave him a psychedelic look. Alex gave Johnny a puff of his joint. Normally he would have refused, but this time, because of his business migraine, he took up the offer. Alex said to him, “Go on, Johnny boy, inhale deeply and you’ll feel top of the pops!”
Johnny did inhale deeply and instantly his headache disappeared. Alex said, “Told you, a few puffs has put you right. This is good gear.” Johnny knew it was good gear as he had shipped in the stuff from Spain. A few more puffs, and inhaling deeply, he looked at Alex and began to giggle like a schoolboy, “You look like a fucking hippy,” he said. He began to giggle even more when Alex told him he was now listening to Bob Dylan and began to sing in an out of tune voice, “Hey Mr Tambourine Man…” It all seemed ludicrous. Once Alex had been tipped to become one of Glasgow’s most violent gangsters but now he had metamorphosed into a Gorbals hippy. Perhaps drugs were a good thing, self-medication that turned you from being a psychopath into a peace loving beatnik.
When he was thinking this, Johnny suddenly felt anxious. A wave of paranoia came over him when he saw two men staring at them from across the road. At first glance, they looked like workmen in shabby overalls but at second glance, Johnny noticed their hands did not look right. They were white and soft looking. In fact, they looked like the hands of policemen.
Were these two fellows undercover policemen spying on them? He said to Alex, “Do you know those two guys over there?” Alex glanced over, “Nah, never seen them before in ma life.” Johnny said, “Ah think those two wankers are undercover polis. So, watch yourself and don’t let them catch you smoking a joint or you’ll end up doing time.”
Alex gave a mad laugh, “Ach, you’re just getting paranoid, Johnny, that’s what hash does tae some people.” Johnny bade his pal farewell but the image of the “two workers” with soft hands stayed in his mind. Definitely the polis. He walked back in the direction of his house in the high flats when he bumped into his old pal Malky, who had phoned in sick to take a day off from the sawmills. “Fancy a quick pint?” Malky said.
Johnny’s mouth felt dry after smoking the marijuana and he quickly agreed. They ended up in a nearby pub. It was just like the old times but of course the gulf in their status was clear. Malky was still a lowly labourer in the sawmills, while Johnny was a high flying gangster. For about half an hour they had banter about the old days but then Johnny asked about Lorraine. Malky looked a bit disillusioned but masked the fact by giving a weak smile, “Oh, she wants tae get married as soon as possible. Ah suppose it’s tae get away fae her stinking-of-fish father.
“So, when dae you think you’re gonnae tie the knot?” Johnny asked.
“As soon as we can. That’s why ah’ve taken the day off work on the sick. Ah’m meeting Lorraine up the toon and we’re gonnae look again at rings, they won’t be cheap!” Johnny looked genuinely pleased to hear about the engagement, “Ah’m made up for you, Malky. Lovely lassie, Lorraine. Like Cathy, she’ll make a great wife. Cheers!” They raised their pints to celebrate the union. Before he left the pub, Johnny asked his old pal, “Have you noticed a lot of strangers in the Gorbals, some of them pretending to be workmen?”
“Aye” Malky replied, “Nae doubt about it, Glasgow is getting flooded with drugs and the chief constable told the papers a few weeks ago he was going to hammer the dealers by putting more undercover polis on the streets.”
So that was it, problem solved! The news must have come out when he and Bobby were away in Spain. He headed for Bobby’s flat. The door was answered by Archie. They went into the kitchen and Bobby was sniffing cocaine with a straw from the table. He shouted to Johnny, “Come away in and have some of this gear. Fucking magic!” Johnny was handed a straw and sniffed a line. Suddenly he felt extremely confident and energetic with some of the white powder still stuck to his nose, “Just been for a wee walk and there are a lot of strangers on the streets. A pal tells me they’re undercover polis out to catch drug dealers.”
Bobby replied in an over confident voice which had been fuelled by the Charlie, “Ah, don’t worry about them. They’re no’ out to get us. They’ll nab those low life druggie bastards on the streets.”
Johnny was unsure about the remark, perhaps his boss was being too confident. But he did not argue and maybe he was being too paranoid. Archie said, “The boss is right. The polis will no’ be messing wi’ us. They’ll take the easy route and jail the bampots who deal on the streets for pennies.”
Bobby snorted another line of cocaine and shouted to Johnny, “Follow me and ah’ll show you a right Aladdin’s Cave.” He walked into the next room and opened his safe. It was full of banknotes, packets of cocaine and some cannabis.
He declared, “This drug game has taken us up to a new league, Johnny boy.” But Johnny had serious doubts. It was clear the cocaine had given Bobby a sense of invincibility. An invincibility that could become a weakness in the wrong hands.
Chapter 57
FUTURE
The drugs game was going far better than predicted. Bobby and the boys had acquired several businesses like pubs and cafes and even a small taxi firm to launder the money that was coming in. Many of the businesses had not actually been bought but merely “taken over.” For example, one pub landlord agreed to front the money laundering by increasing his turnover five-fold. His takings of £300 a week jumped to £1500 a week. Other pub landlords and café owners followed suit for a fee, usually five to ten per cent of the increased turnover. They also had the advantage of protection by Bobby’s mob. The guy responsible for laundering the most money was the bookie who had originally asked for protection. He was laundering anything between 5-10 grand a month.
The b
ookie was pleased with his cut of the dodgy profits and made the drug money disappear like a magician with a rabbit in a hat. Johnny and Bobby were invited to the bookie’s mansion in the leafy Bearsden area for “a bite to eat” and a talk about business. Archie chauffeured them there and when they arrived they were very impressed with the set up. He had a five bedroom detached house which even had chandeliers inside with gaudy paintings. The bookie lived there alone after his wife of 30 years had left him for another business guy. But he was not a bitter man, he had house staff to look after him, a cook a cleaner, and a secretary. If he wanted sex, he had a little black book of expensive hookers to hand.
He handed Johnny and Bobby two big cigars as they sat in front of a huge log fire in his living room. On the mantelpiece was a photo of his wife with a dart stuck in it.
As the bookie puffed away on his cigar he poured the boys two large brandies and pontificated on the situation, “This money laundering lark is working quite well for us, do you no’ think?” He began to laugh, “My 20-odd shops have certainly seen a higher turnover since ah got involved wi’ you guys.” They then went into the dining room where there was a buffet laid on with smoked salmon, and even caviar. They boys were impressed as they filled their plates and drank champagne. But although it was luxurious, the atmosphere felt a bit stiff. Bobby said to the bookie, “You certainly enjoy your wealth. You can explain it away wi’ your bookie shops but we’re caught in a sort of stalemate. We still live in council flats and drive old cars.”
“Why’s that?” the bookie said, “You’ve got the dough, so enjoy it.”
“We’d love to,” said Johnny sipping his Moet & Chandon, “But as soon as we’re seen to be loaded, the polis will be on us a like a ton of bricks.”
Bobby nodded his head, “Aye, sometimes ah just want tae shout out ‘I’m fucking loaded’ but that would give the game away. So far it’s a case of being low profile. The jails are full of gangsters like us who decided tae go high profile with their wealth and appeared in newspapers and all that palaver. Ah suppose it’s a case of all Glaswegians love bragging about what they’ve done.” It was all getting a bit too serious for Johnny, he could feel a headache coming on and decided to tell a bragging joke to lighten up the meeting.
“There was a wee Glasgow guy shipwrecked and stuck on an island for a year wi’ nae company, when suddenly he sees a big blonde on a raft. He dives into the ocean and saves her. They begin shagging all the time but after a while he gets fed up and says, ‘Can you put ma shirt and trousers on?’ She agrees and then the wee guy says, ‘Can you put my hat on? And will you let me draw a moustache on you and call you Bob?’ She agrees again. He then tells her to go for a walk along the beach. A few minutes later he runs up to her and shouts, ‘Hey Bob, you want to see this big blonde ah’ve been shagging!’”
Bobby gave out a loud laugh, “That’s exactly how ah feel. Ah’m dying to tell everybody how successful we are but we’ve got tae keep our mouths shut. That’s if we want tae avoid doing time.” The night went well and the bookie was quite intoxicated when he said to Johnny, “I know you admire my red Rolls Royce, come outside and have a look at it again.” They went into the long driveway and Johnny looked at it with admiring eyes. The bookie handed him the keys and said, “Start up the engine.” He did and it had a lovely purring noise. He said, “I have ordered a new Rolls so I want to give it to you.” Johnny was dumbfounded and said, “It’s very kind of you to offer me your Rolls Royce, but how the fuck would ah be able tae explain it away? We’ve told you already we’ve got to keep a low profile.”
“Simple,” the bookie said, “Tell anyone who asks, you won it in a bet with me or I loaned you it. And if anyone asks further questions, including the police, ah’ll back it up.” Johnny could obviously not take up the offer of the free Rolls Royce straight away, but Archie could pick it up and store it in one of the many garages he had access to all over Glasgow. They left the bookie in good spirits and when they got back to the Gorbals, Bobby was in the mood to celebrate further, “Right, we’ll have a few lines of Charlie to celebrate you becoming a Rolls Royce owner!”
They had four lines of coke and Bobby sniffed the majority. It was obvious he had an addictive personality. Having such a condition was dangerous in his position. But things got worse. Bobby pulled out a joint and began to smoke it. Johnny knew from previous experience that Bobby, had at times, been excessive with the bevvy, but now it had transferred to drugs. They seemed to have a grip on him, something that the bevvy had never achieved. In the morning,
Johnny was lying in bed with Cathy quite peacefully when he heard loud banging on the door. He looked at the clock, it was only 7.15 am. He got up and went to the door while Cathy was still asleep. He opened the door and it was her mother who had obviously been crying. She said to Johnny, “Come quick son, ah cannae wake Bobby up, he’s comatose.” Johnny rushed into their flat and Bobby was lying in his bed barely breathing. He checked his pulse, it was beating slowly and faintly. He shouted to Bobby, “Wake up, boss. Wake the fuck up!” But there was no movement. He said to Bobby’s wife, “Quick, phone an ambulance!” The ambulance arrived 20 minutes later. The medics walked into Bobby’s bedroom and checked his pulse, “He’s still breathing,”one of them said, “But barely. We’ll have to get him to hospital straight away.”
Shortly after he said this his wife began to shout, “What’s the matter wi’ ma Bobby? Is it a heart attack?” The medic shook his head, “No missus, it looks like a drug overdose to me.” She wailed, “A drug overdose? My Bobby disnae touch drugs.” Of course, she had been unaware that when she was out Bobby regularly put excessive amounts of Charlie up his nose and often delved into his marijuana supply.
They took the barely-breathing Bobby away on a stretcher. To Johnny, this was a warning. He would never touch drugs again. Drugs were a good earner but it was a mistake to start abusing the stock. Bobby had broken the golden rule and suffered the consequences. Back in the kitchen, Bobby’s wife said to him, “What the hell are we gonnae tell Cathy?”
He came to the conclusion it was better for both of them to say nothing. If Cathy asked where her father was, she would be told he had gone away at the last minute on another “business trip to Troon.” Later that morning, he went for a walk and noticed more strangers in the vicinity. When he stared at them, they seemed to turn their heads away. Was he being spied on? Were the strangers yet more undercover policemen? It was a dilemma that had to be thought about carefully. Meanwhile, he had to ensure that his boss had survived his ordeal. Would Bobby learn from his mistakes? Or would he get worse and become even more of a liability to them all?
Chapter 58
RECOVERY
With Bobby being invalidated by his own stupidity, Johnny took control. Over time, he had mastered the art of delegating and thinking through complicated situations. All sides of the business were doing well. The drugs were pulling in big money and the insurance, banking and betting were also prospering. Johnny had a rival in the organisation. It was not the other guys, who like him had trained on the streets of the Gorbals, but middle class Percy, who controlled the financial planning side of the organisation. There was no doubt about it, Percy was a very good accountant but on the other hand he could not punch his way out of a wet paper bag. Indeed, it was highly possible that Percy had never been in a fight in his life but Johnny had to admit he was good with money. As a dodgy accountant, Percy was perfect but he had as much chance of becoming a gangster as a one-legged man winning an arse kicking competition.
Nevertheless, Johnny considered him a good thief, and a man with a briefcase and a posh accent can be more dangerous than a guy with a razor and a guttural dialect. Johnny decided to visit his boss in the Royal Infirmary. He had been told Bobby was in a ward associated with drug addicts. When he got to the hospital ward, he was surprised to see Bobby sitting up in his bed, and who was sitting beside him? Percy, of course. Johnny hated the accountant bastard on sight and had an overwhelming fee
ling that he wanted to chib him there and then. But he held up a pretence of being friendly, “So, how’s it gaun boss?”
He was armed with the usual bunch of grapes and bottle of Lucozade. Bobby looked pale and drawn, it was obvious the heavy drug abuse had taken it out of him. He was certainly not the man he used to be, but he was still the boss, that’s all that mattered. “Aye, no’ bad, Johnny boy,” he replied from his bed, “Took too much Charlie and hash. An overdose, or so they tell me. Nearly copped ma whack. Ah’ll have tae rest for a wee while.” Percy nodded his head in agreement and said in his posh voice, “I think boss, the thing is you have to learn. It’s ok for us to sell drugs to the common man but you should make it a rule that no-one in the organisation, including yourself, should take them as well.”
Bobby looked annoyed at the mild telling off but then grinned, “You’re right. Ah mean, if you ran a pub it would be a mistake to start drinking all the stock.” Percy laughed at the remark, and as he did so, bared his teeth. They looked brown and yellow. They were the worst teeth Johnny had ever seen in a man. In fact, they reminded him of a row of condemned Gorbals tenements. Ironically, he had never noticed Percy’s teeth before because in his job as accountant, he had never been seen to smile or laugh. Johnny thought, “What an ugly bastard. no wonder he never laughs wi’ those gnashers.” He also had his suspicions about Percy. The accountant knew where he and Bobby lived but they did not know where Percy resided. He had been vague about his address saying it was “a bungalow” in the leafy area of Milngavie. Bobby took a sip of his Lucozade, ate some grapes, and suddenly announced, “Right boys, ah’ve been daft wi’ this addiction but it’s business as usual. Johnny will run things for a few weeks and you, Percy, make sure there are no problems wi’ the money flow.” Percy suggested a few modifications to the running of the organisation.
The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 31