by Todd, Ian
Chapter Thirty Four
Wan-bob Broon shifted uncomfortably in the shadows ae the gleaming black 1954 Wolseley six eighty. He used the back ae the bench seat in front ae him tae good effect tae shield him fae the prying eyes ae the stragglers crossing Bannatyne Avenue as they walked alang Alexandra Parade. It wis hauf eleven, no too late fur somewan tae be sitting in a car at night, tucked up a side street, deliberately no wanting tae draw attention tae himsel. The pub doors across the city hid shut o’er an hour ago, efter disgorging their pished punters oot oan tae the street. Some ae the local stragglers hid staggered alang the avenue in Wan-bob’s direction, passing the car, singing some shitey, misty–eyed sentimental love songs, oan the way hame tae batter their missus fur no hivving their tea oan the table. The few who’d glanced in at him in the passing, wondering who the fuck the stranger wis in the auld fancy car, hid soon averted their eyes when they’d recognised the cauld stare looking back at them. They’d been sitting fur nearly three-quarters ae an hour before Charlie Hastie exited the car and heided across tae the single gate ae Alexandra Park. This particular gate wis usually locked efter six o’clock, bit Charlie hid arranged fur it tae be left open that night. Wan-bob watched a couple being pulled alang by a big Alsatian oan a leash, crossing the avenue fae right tae left. It wis the same couple who’d passed by ten minutes earlier. He wisnae too concerned at their reappearance. The guy looked alang towards where the Wolseley wis sitting, as the sound ae wan ae the last buses ae the night, changing up a gear oan Cumbernauld Road behind him, rumbled aff intae the distance. Wan-bob wid’ve been mair worried if the bus hidnae attracted the dog walker’s attention. It wis the wans who crossed, eyes fixed forward, who didnae look tae see whit wis happening up the side streets, at junctions, who wur the wans tae worry aboot. It wisnae natural no tae glance up a street, especially if ye hid tae cross between two pavements. Even in the dead ae the night, when there wisnae any traffic aboot, it still wisnae natural no tae hiv a wee gander tae yer left or right, jist in case. It wis aw psychological. It wis a wee thing, bit paying attention tae that kind ae detail hid goat him oot ae a few scrapes wae the bizzies, and others, who’d tried tae ambush him mair than a few times when he wis growing up in the Toonheid, back in the thirties, forties and fifties. He glanced across at the gate o’er the tap ae the seat in front ae him again. He could be daeing withoot aw this lounging and creeping aboot in the back ae a car up a side street in Dennistoun oan a Wednesday night. He’d gied up heiding across tae The White City because ae this.
“Oor pal…wan ae The Gruesome Twosome…wants tae speak tae ye, in person this time,” Charlie hid said tae him earlier.
“Me? Tell him tae fuck aff…Ah’m busy. Get him tae talk tae Peter the Plant.”
“We’ve tried that, bit he isnae hivving it. Peter’s awready spoken tae him twice the day, so he his. He’s insisting it his tae be yersel or nowan. He also says he’s looking fur a hunner quid…up front…non-negotiable.”
“A hunner quid? Whit’s he trying tae sell us, the fucking Crown Jewels?”
“He says this is pure gold and he’ll only talk tae yersel wae nowan else present.”
“Fuck him. Tell the prick, Ah’m busy,” Wan-bob hid growled.
Two hours later he’d changed his mind and asked Charlie tae set up the meeting. Dave McGovern wis a polis sergeant, based up in Possilpark, who, alang wae his partner, Shane Priestly…another three striper…wur commonly known in the toon as The Gruesome Twosome. It wis a well-known fact that if The Gruesome Twosome goat a haud ae ye oan yer lonesome, then ye’d be as well spilling the beans as soon as, rather than allowing them the pleasure ae extracting it oot ae ye in some polis safe-hoose or deserted piece ae waste ground somewhere. It hid crossed Wan-bob’s mind oan mair than a few occasions tae get shot ae McGovern wance and fur aw, bit he’d proved useful, particularly since The Big Man hid expanded up intae Possil and Milton. Efter The Simpsons and Blaster Mackay hid been neutralised, McGovern hid proved his worth by letting them know whit the investigating murder and serious crime squad teams wur up tae, two steps before they jumped intae action. Mind you, even then, he hidnae demanded a hunner big wans. This is whit hid made Wan-bob change his mind aboot the face-tae-face. Nothing wis worth a hunner quid…unless? He knew the question wid’ve eaten away at him aw night and wid’ve spoilt his relaxation across at the track. He suddenly became alert. Charlie Hastie hid jist appeared through the gate oan tae the wide pavement. He stoapped and slowly took a packet ae Benson & Hedges oot ae his jaicket pocket and lit wan up, hivving a wee look up and doon the Parade while he wis at it. He then turned right and disappeared oot ae sight, walking in the direction ae Castle Street. It hid been agreed that if everything wis hunky dory, Charlie wid light up a fag and make his way back tae the car via Alexandra Park Street and Cumbernauld Road. By the time he reached the car, Wan-bob wid awready be in the park, making his way towards the bandstand.
Wan-bob clocked the lighted fag-end long before he emerged fae the line ae trees oan the path. He stoapped and listened, looking aboot tae make sure it wis only the baith ae them in the vicinity. He knew McGovern widnae hiv seen him yet. That wid happen wance he stepped oot intae the open. Although dark, he could make oot the chain haudin the paddleboats thegither oan the pond o’er tae his right. He could jist make oot the ootline ae a couple ae ducks wae their heids stuffed doon intae the plumes ae their chests as he exposed himsel. He saw the fag-end stoap in mid-air before being flicked aff tae the side. He strolled across tae the wee iron fence surrounding the pond and waited. He heard the crunching footsteps behind him drawing closer until a pair ae shiny-toed boots appeared next tae his haunmade Cambridge brogues.
“Ah used tae come up here when Ah wis a wee snapper and take the sweeties aff ae the other weans who’d been sent up here by their maws tae get them oot fae under their feet during the summer holidays,” Dave McGovern sighed wistfully.
“That wid’ve been well efter ma time, Dave. Ye wid’ve goat the fucking fright ae yer life if it hid been ten or fifteen years earlier,” Wan-bob said, smiling tae himsel.
“Thanks fur seeing me, Bob.”
“Ach, Ah wisnae daeing anything else anyway…no since Ah’ve went in tae semi-retirement.”
Aye, and Ah’m a fucking blue fairy, the sergeant thought tae himsel. People like Wan-bob Broon didnae retire, at least no when somewan like Pat Molloy wis still oan the go, sunning the cheeks ae that arse ae his across in Marbella. He’d need tae go caw-canny, he telt himsel again. Wan-bob wis notorious fur shooting the bringer ae bad news. Bizzy or no, that uniform ae his widnae protect him if he upset the bear staunin beside him. He’d wanted tae ask Charlie Hastie if Wan-bob wis in a good mood, bit hid held back as he didnae want them tae know that he wis nervous.
“So, Dave, ye wanted a wee word?” Wan-bob asked, as the blue flashing light ae a squad car darted through the trees oan their right, speeding towards the junction ae Edinburgh Road and Cumbernauld Road.
The baith ae them watched it in the distance as it went through a red light and disappeared aff tae the right, heiding in the direction ae Cranhill and Barlanark.
“Ah’ve picked up a few wee ditties that Ah thought ye’d be interested in,” McGovern said cautiously.
“A hunner quid’s worth? They must be right tasty at that price.”
“Well, Ah’ll leave that fur you tae decide. If ye think it isnae worth that amount, Ah’ll take whitever it is ye think its worth and we’ll call it quits. Ah cannae say fairer than that, kin Ah?”
“Ah’m listening,” Wan-bob said, facing the sergeant fur the first time.
“Hiv ye ever come across an eejit called Haufwit…Haufwit Murray…in yer travels?”
“Disnae sound that familiar, bit then again, as Ah said, Ah’m in semi-retirement these days.”
“Aye, well, he wis wan ae these guys who always seemed tae be hinging aboot like a bad smell, no serving any particular function, mair like a gofer…that kind ae thing.”
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��Wis? Tae who?”
“Well, he wis quite friendly wae some ae The Simpson crew a few years ago up until Toby put a pint glass intae that coupon ae his fur gieing him a bit ae lip. Efter that, he popped up oan the horizon a few times, in tow wae that Wee Eck Thomas wan, who wis wan ae Blaster Mackay’s bum-boys at the time.”
“Aye, Ah know Eck…a good wee earner, so he is. He’s noo running Blaster’s yard fur us since we bought poor Blaster’s wife oot. So, whit aboot this Haufwit wan then?”
“A few weeks ago, he ended up getting himsel stabbed twenty two times aboot the neck and chest before being unceremoniously slung oot ae the back ae a speeding car jist alang fae the lights oan Colston Road.”
“So?”
“So, though still breathing, he wis in such a state, that he died fae his wounds twenty two hours later, up in Stobhill. He wis that bad that they decided no tae bother transferring him doon tae The Royal or across tae The Western, bit jist decided tae plap him intae a wee side room tae let him go withoot gaun through the rigmarole ae farting aboot, wasting time oan somewan who wis clearly no gonnae make it.”
“Ah still don’t see the connection wae us,” Wan-bob said casually, looking beyond the sergeant’s heid at the bandstand in the distance.
“Aye, well, before Haufwit gied up the ghost, an auld pal ae yers…Paddy McPhee…managed tae blag his way intae the hospital and intae wan ae they family rooms that ur set aside fur the dying. It wis in the middle ae the night, an hour or so before Haufwit departed this world, so it wis,” The Sergeant said, searching fur a reaction fae the gangster’s face in front ae him, bit getting none.
“The Stalker? Ah wis wondering when his rotten name wis gonnae crop up. Carry oan, Dave…ye wur saying?”
“Well, according tae ma sources, Paddy managed tae grill Haufwit before getting slung oot oan his arse by the young nurse oan duty, a right mouthy wee cow, by aw accounts. Anyway, and don’t take this the wrang way…” the sergeant said, hesitating fur the first time and picking his words carefully, “…jist keep in mind that Ah’m the good guy here. According tae Haufwit, Shaun Murphy and Peter the Plant waylaid Toby Simpson and Bootsy Bell in Bob Montieth’s factor’s office across in Woodside, before shipping whit wis left ae them across tae the Coocaddens where, according tae Haufwit, Charlie Hastie took a baseball bat tae them before you shot them at point blank range,” The Sergeant whispered, haudin his breath, quickly looking aboot, waiting fur a reaction, bit getting none.
“Is that it?” Wan-bob asked, they piercing eyes drilling in tae McGovern’s.
“Er, naw. He also claimed that Blaster MacKay hid also goat ambushed oot in Alexandra, near Dumbarton, at some chicken farmer’s place and ended up joining Toby and Bootsy, somewhere in the Coocaddens.”
Silence.
“Ah’m sorry.”
“Fur whit?”
“Fur bringing bad news tae yer door,” the sergeant replied, mentally preparing himsel fur signs ae impending violence coming his way.
“Well, Ah widnae worry too much aboot it, Dave, because it’s aw shite, so it is. This Haufwit wan wis obviously well-named. It aw sounds pure Isaac Asimov tae me,” Wan-bob grunted dismissively, shrugging they shoulders ae his underneath the dark Gabardine coat that wis straight oot ae The Third Man.
“Aye, well, he also telt Paddy that it wisnae that young Taylor boy that shot Liam Thompson and that young PC in that bank job up oan Maryhill Road either, a year or so ago.”
“So, if it wisnae him, who wis it?”
“According tae Haufwit, it wis the wan they call Snappy…Snappy Johnston.”
“Noo, where the fuck wid a nonentity like this Haufwit wan pick up that kind ae gossip fae then, eh?” Wan-bob growled, momentarily losing his composure.
“Pass.”
“So, ye said The Stalker goat evicted fae the room?”
“Aye.”
“So, how did he manage tae blag his way in, in the first place? Ah thought they wur strict aboot that kind ae intrusion, especially fae the likes ae youse?”
“The doctor oan duty goat him access seemingly. Paddy huckled him wan night when they raided wan ae yer brothels across in the West End a while back.”
“And?”
“And, this doctor fella hid been getting his arse thrashed by wan ae the lassies when Paddy arrived oan the scene. Paddy let him walk oan the understaunin that he might need a favour in return some day.”
“Did he hiv a name tag fur this doctor wan?”
“If he did, Ah wisnae telt it.”
“Is that it?”
“Er, aye.”
“Dave, if there’s mair, spit it oot. Ah don’t want tae end up back here if ye’re haudin back oan something else that ye should’ve telt me this time roond.”
“Well, there wis wan other thing, bit it disnae really make sense…at least no tae me anyway,” the sergeant murmured hesitantly, scared tae fart in case he shat himsel.
“Why don’t ye let me decide that and jist tell me…everything,” Wan-bob whispered encouragingly.
“Well, he also said that it wis that young Johnboy Taylor wan that, er, shot Shaun Murphy…which came as a total surprise tae Paddy…Ah mean, er…everywan believes that Shaun Murphy is in Spai…” The Sergeant replied, faltering and regretting fur the first time being in a dark park, oan his lonesome wae Glesga’s maist notorious killer, bit getting confused at the sound ae the chuckle.
“He is, and he’s never been shot in his life, at least no tae ma knowledge,” Wan-bob said, as the sergeant felt his sphincter stretch tae breaking point.
“Look, Bob, Ah’m sure ye’re right and this Haufwit wis jist a walking fantasist. The toon is full ae them, as you well know. Ye widnae believe the shite that some people come oot wae, efter walking intae a cop shoap,” The Sergeant said lamely.
“Is there anything else, Dave?” Wan-bob asked, almost pleasantly.
“That’s it.”
“Ur ye sure noo?”
“If there wis mair, Ah wid’ve telt ye.”
“So, whit’s The Stalker gonnae be daeing wae aw this malicious gossip then?”
“Efter aw the commotion that he stirred up o’er the Tam Simpson case, he’s keeping it tae himsel and Bumper…at least, fur the moment. He’s put oot a few feelers…that’s how Ah managed tae pick up oan it…bit there wis nae way he wis gonnae raise his heid above the parapet withoot Daddy Jackson nipping him in the bud. Paddy’s still persona non gratis doon at Central, efter stirring up the shit by blaming Gucci and his manky-arsed mob ae being involved in the Tam Simpson murder. It’s jist as well he goat made up tae an inspector when he did, because that’s the only promotion he’ll ever be getting in the force. He’s absolutely despised by everywan, efter accusing them aw ae being wrang and him being right, so he is. As far as Ah could pick up fae Bumper, he’s hit a brick wall and isnae pursuing any ae the information due tae a lack ae corroborated evidence. He’s goat his squad ae pavement pounders trying tae track doon Wee Eck Thomas though. Whitever else Haufwit knew, he took it tae the grave wae him. Seemingly, Paddy wis raging fur days aboot the wee nurse that slung his arse oot ae the room.”
“And ye’re sure that there’s nothing else, Dave?”
“Naw, that’s it, Bob.”
“Why his The Stalker no taken his information tae this special group who ur looking at aw these so-called baddies that ur supposed tae hiv disappeared?”
“Because they’re toothless, that’s why. It’s aw show, jist tae keep the likes ae The Glesga Echo and that journalist, The Rat, aff ae their back. There wis wan meeting and that wis it. Seemingly, everywan fell oot wae each other, accusing each other ae no sharing intel. There hisnae been the same cohesiveness since The Glesga Echo goat shot ae The Irish Brigade back in the late sixties. Noo, there wis a team ae right basturts,” the sergeant said, allowing himsel a nervous chuckle. “As Ah’ve jist said, Paddy caused so much bad blood efter the Tam Simpson carry-oan, that they’ll get shot ae him if he suddenly turns up wae any mair
shite connected tae The Simpsons, and he knows it. That’s a deid subject, at least fur the time being, doon in Central.”
“Right, even though whit ye’ve telt me is a pile ae pish, Ah’m still appreciative ae the fact that ye thought Ah’d be interested. So, ye’ll be pleased tae know that Ah’m still gonnae gie ye fifty quid fur yer trouble. Is that okay wae yersel, Dave?”
“Er, aye, Bob, sounds good enough tae me, so it dis,” The Sergeant gulped, wondering if he wis still gonnae make it oot ae the park alive.
“Right, in that case, Ah’ll be oan ma way then,” Wan-bob said, haunin o’er a wee batch ae folded notes, before slowly walking back the way he’d come.
“Trouble?” Charlie asked him in the mirror, efter he slid back in tae the back seat ae the Wolseley.
“Maybe,” he replied, before filling in his right-haun man oan whit hid been said across in the park.
“So, whit dae ye want done then?”
“Get shot ae McPherson, the farmer, as in pretty pronto.”
“That shouldnae be a problem. His wife died jist before Christmas last year so he’s oan his lonesome. Ah kin get that done the morra night.”
“Make sure we get aw his paperwork. Ah don’t want any business links between him and Rob Roy’s Poultry oot in Kirkintilloch.”
“Anything else?”
“Aye, find oot the exact date when this haufwit wan croaked it and who wis oan duty in the family room up at Stobhill that night. Ah need tae find oot the names ae the nurse and the doctor who wur oan duty.”
“Ah’ll see if he’s a regular ae Big Bella McPhail’s. If she’s been thrashing that arse ae his, she’ll know everything there is tae know aboot him,” Charlie said, smiling.
“Also, find oot who done this Haufwit in. Ah want tae know everything there is tae know, including who he’s been running aboot wae. Make sure ye don’t alert anywan that we’re sniffing aboot. Some basturt his goat a loose tongue and Ah want it ripped oot before there’s any mair damage done.”