The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  The Inspector noted the red welts oan Harper’s neck and his hair staunin oan end where somewan hid obviously been trying tae pull it oot by the roots. The Gruesome Twosome wur staunin, leaning oan the walls oan either side ae him, no saying a word.

  “Harper, before we start, look aboot ye, son...”

  “Bit Mr Dougan, Ah k...”

  “...there isnae any windaes in this here room. Dae ye know whit that means? Ah’ll tell ye whit that means. It means that it’s soundproofed. Noo, ye kin scream and plead aw ye want, bit nae fucker between here and Milton will hear ye, so they wullnae.”

  “Bit, bit, Ah hivnae done anything, Mr Dougan,” Harper pleaded, starting tae bubble. ”Ah swear…”

  “And who said ye hiv? Ah know Ah hivnae. Hiv any ae youse two accused Harper here ae daeing anything wrang?” The Inspector demanded, looking fae Harper tae the two sergeants.

  “Naw.”

  “Certainly no me.”

  “See? So, stoap yer bubbling and settle doon. Ye’ll be fine, so ye will,” The Inspector coo-ed soothingly, playing his haun carefully.

  “Bit, Mr Doug...”

  “Sshhh,” The Inspector shushed, interrupting him, haudin up the palm ae his haun tae the bubbling bubbler, sitting there opposite him.

  The Inspector sat back and looked at the specimen, shaking like some auld jakey. It wis clear tae everywan in the room that this wisnae an act. The fear wis squirting oot ae his every pore by the bucket load. Harper’s body language wis gieing a sterling performance tae support that fact. The problem that The Inspector hid wis trying tae figure oot whether Harper wis sitting there, scared witless because ae the presence ae Possilpark’s finest or whether his fear hid absolutely fuck-aw tae dae wae them, bit mair tae dae wae his fear ae Tam and Toby Simpson hivving him in their sights. The Inspector wished he’d telt The Gruesome Twosome tae go easy oan Harper before he’d hid the chance tae question him. It wis obvious that he wis hiding something. While the daft basturt’s fear wis logical and understandable, it didnae help The Inspector in trying tae find oot why the fuck his name hid come oot in the semi-delirious ramblings ae a psychopath stretched oot oan a stretcher.

  “Right, Harper, Ah’ll start again,” The Inspector sighed. “And this time, don’t bloody interrupt me, okay?”

  “Bit…”

  “Listen tae whit The Inspector’s telling ye,” Shane snarled, gieing Harper a slap oan the side ae that heid ae his that nearly lifted him oot ae his chair.

  “Look aboot ye, Harper. There’s nae paper or pens in here,” The Inspector informed him wae a sweep ae his erm. “We’re no gonnae write anything doon, so we’re no. We jist want tae ask ye a few wee simple questions and get a few wee simple answers back…truthful answers, mind ye, and no any ae the usual forked–tongue dingers that ye’re well-known fur slinging oot ae that lying gub ae yers. So, take a deep breath and let us know when we kin start, okay?”

  Silence.

  “Er, well, aw…awright, f…fire away,” Harper mumbled, efter whit seemed like ages, looking and sounding as if he wis jist aboot tae be put in front ae a firing squad.

  “Springburn.”

  “Springburn? Whit aboot Springburn?” Harper demanded, accusingly…much too fast, The Inspector noted, inadvertently daeing a wee drum-roll wae his fingers oan his bottom lip.

  “You tell us,” he eventually replied, his eyes boring intae the prisoner, trying tae detect…anything…that wid gie them a wee crumb tae work oan.

  “W…whit is there tae tell ye?” he asked, slowing doon a bit.

  At least he’s trying tae keep himsel in check, The Inspector mused, lifting up his packet ae twenty Senior Service and taking his time, lighting up a fag before responding tae Harper’s question.

  “Whit the fuck’s gaun oan?”

  “Ah…Ah, don’t know whit ye mean, er, Mr Dougan.”

  “Tam Simpson, Frisky Frank McKenna, Tony Gucci, Joe McManus...Harper…Harris?” The Inspector enquired in barely a whisper, leaving Harper’s name hinging in the air, as he cocked his eyebrow, awaiting a response.

  The words wur hardly oot ae The Inspector’s gub when Harper suddenly let oot a boaking, gulping, choking roar before forcing his chair back quickly so that he could puke up aw o’er the flair, causing The Gruesome Twosome tae jump oot ae the way ae the gusher that wis firing oan aw cylinders. Efter Harper managed tae plap that arse ae his back oan tae the chair wae the help ae the two gruesomes, The Inspector cursed under his breath while screwing up that face ae his in disgust. Hivving tae sit and witness the gasping, foul smelling, terrified, blubbering idiot, wae the sweat dripping aff the end ae his nose, making a spirited, bit vain attempt, using baith hauns, tae wipe the front ae his Fair Isle jumper, which wis covered in vomit dribble, nearly hid The Inspector throwing up himsel. The Inspector managed tae compose himsel quickly, back tae being the true professional that everywan knew he wis and back tae the wee flair show playing oot in front ae him. It widnae hiv been the first time he’d hid tae sit through a performance like the wan in front ae him, usually fae chancers who saw themsels as being Oscar material, bit he’d always prided himsel oan being a realist. He looked at Harper o’er the tap ae his fag, as he took a drag fae it. Harper’s face wis as white as a sheet and he looked as if he wis aboot tae shite they tight, bell-bottomed troosers he wis wearing. The stench that hid engulfed the room wis taking a grip ae aw their senses. The Gruesome Twosome looked as if they wur aboot tae boak up oan tap ae whit Harper hid jist spewed oot.

  “Right, Dave, get Harper here a bucket wae plenty ae disinfectant in it, tae clean up this mess, bit get that jumper aff ae him and let him wash his face and hauns first. Shane, you come wae me,” The Inspector growled, staunin up and flicking his fag-end intae the vomit.

  He gingerly stepped roond the slowly expanding puddle, tae the sizzling sound ae the fag-end being extinguished.

  “Is…is, it aw right if Ah dae a shite first, Mr Dougan?” Harper pleaded, apologetically, clutching his stomach, as The Inspector gied him a wee affirmative nod oan the way past.

  “Whit dae ye think, Shane?” The Inspector asked wance they reached the front desk.

  “Well, ye certainly loosened him up, that’s fur sure.”

  “And his reaction?”

  “Worse than whit Ah’d been expecting.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, it’s patently clear that he’s definitely shite scared ae The Simpsons, bit…”

  “Bit whit?”

  “That reaction wis way o’er the tap, so it wis. There’s a lot like him oot there who ur scared ae The Simpsons, bit Ah’ve never come across anything like whit Ah’ve jist witnessed,” The Sarge replied, nodding towards the crumbling hooses across the road through the double, glass fronted doors, that led oot oan tae the street. “Ah reckon he’s terrified because he knows far mair than whit wid be good fur his health...if ye get ma drift?”

  “Aye, that’s whit ma thinking is. Right, it’s Saturday...go and get Dave and we’ll heid up tae Bishopbriggs tae the club and get a gammon steak. We’ll leave Harper tae stew fur a wee bit. Tell that Tam The Bam, the desk sergeant, that nowan his tae go near him under any circumstances.”

  “Should we no get back in there and strike while the iron’s hot?”

  “Naw, whitever’s freaking Harper oot, we won’t get oot ae him the day. Let the skinny prick stew fur a few hours and then we’ll sling his arse back oot oan tae the street wae the proviso that we’ll be back. He’s no gonnae open up tae anywan unless he’s sure they’ll be able tae guarantee him a hunner percent protection. It’s a pity that isnae us. If Tam and Toby Simpson get a whiff that that poor eejit through there could dae them any damage, then it’ll take a lot mair than us tae save that arse ae his and he knows it,” The Inspector snorted, heiding fur the double doors.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harper knew that he wis in trouble...serious trouble. It hid aw started wae a poxy ring. He’d tanned a big hoose in the West End, doon by the BBC stu
dios. He’d never intended tae tan it in the first place. He’d been oan his way back hame fae Billy Smart’s Circus o’er in the Kelvin Hall, where he’d been mingling in the queue ootside. The place hid been hoaching wae people and he’d managed tae lift three purses oot ae the haunbags ae some ae the wummin who wur waiting tae get in wae their excited weans in tow. He’d originally planned tae stay a while longer, bit he’d heard wan ae the wummin further up the queue letting oot a shriek at the guy oan the door. She wis screaming that she’d awready bought tickets fur her and her weans tae get in, bit some dirty basturt hid nicked her purse. A few seconds efter the commotion up at the entrance door hid started up, he’d heard another blood-curling scream. He’d assumed it hid been wan ae the other wummin noticing that her purse hid went walkies tae. Given that he’d still hid the purses oan him and hidnae hid a chance tae go through them, he’d thought that he’d better disappear before the bizzies arrived oan the scene. He widnae hiv put it past they basturts tae start searching up and doon the queue, looking fur the culprit. Efter a wee scan aboot tae make sure nae bizzies wur oan the go, he’d jist casually sauntered aff across the road tae the museum before heiding, under the cover ae darkness, through Kelvingrove Park. He’d swiftly emptied the money oot ae the purses before slinging the evidence intae the River Kelvin. He’d breathed easier wance he’d goat rid ae them. He hidnae been in any hurry when he came oot oan tae Great Western Road and hid cut through St Margaret’s drive, heiding towards Maryhill. His plan hid been tae hiv a pint or two in The Tavern in Maryhill, which wid’ve gied him the opportunity tae try and sell the Billy Smart tickets, before cutting across by Firhill and back intae Possil. When he’d clocked the hoose, which wis as big as a palace, it hid been lit up like a Christmas tree. He’d hung aboot fur aboot hauf an hour, casing the joint. Fae where he wis staunin, he could see straight in through the front windaes. There wisnae a soul in sight. When he’d nipped roond the back, it hid been the same as the front. Aw the lights wur blazing. He’d crept up tae the back door and tried the haundle. It wis locked. He’d knelt doon and rolled up his left trooser leg, exposing the wee calf-leather pouch he kept strapped roond his shin oan double inch wide elastic straps. He’d peered at the lock which wis by then at eye level and felt the warm jet ae air fae inside the hoose blowing through the keyhole against his face. The heat hid felt pleasant in the damp cauldness ae the back yard. The lock wis probably the original wan that hid come wae the hoose when they’d built it. When he wis seventeen he’d managed tae get taken oan as an apprentice wae Chubb as a locksmith. Everything hid gone fine fur the first eighteen months and then him and a pal ae his hid goat caught tanning a big fancy hoose up in Bishopbriggs and he’d goat the sack. The strange thing aboot the break-in hid been that he’d tanned wan ae the back windaes insteid ae gaun in through the door. It hid never crossed his mind that he hid the skills tae pick the fancy lock oan the front door at the time. He hidnae telt his bosses aboot being charged wae the hoosebreaking until his court summons arrived wae his date tae turn up in court. That hid been aboot two months efter the burglary, bit he hidnae wasted his time o’er they two months. He’d crammed in as much learning as he could aboot lock mechanisms before his court appearance. It hid also allowed him tae put thegither a nice wee set ae tools that he kept strapped tae his leg. He’d picked oot wan ae the spikes that hid a wee hook oan the end ae it and slid it intae the keyhole. He’d shut his eyes and the image ae the inside ae the Georgian lock hid appeared like a colour picture oot ae the Locksmith’s Gazette. He’d felt the weight ae the hammer and the resistance ae the spring, before a wee sound fae the lock bolt sliding back hid telt him he wis in business. Efter a slight hesitation, and taking a deep breath, he’d slipped in and shut the door quietly behind him. The furniture and paintings hinging up hidnae been tae his taste, bit that didnae mean that he couldnae appreciate swag that hid cost a few bob or two. It wisnae often he wis stumped aboot whit tae take, bit aw that quality stuff hid screamed ‘hassle’ at him. He’d stoapped daeing the big fancy hooses a year earlier efter Tam Simpson hid broken two ae his fingers oan his left haun and the thumb oan his right fur trying tae negotiate a hauf decent price o’er a nice wee pair ae solid silver Victorian candlesticks. It wisnae good fur his health nicking expensive gear anymair because ae the hassle that came alang wae it. He jist didnae hiv the contacts tae shift it withoot it coming tae the attention ae The Simpsons. Efter they fingers ae his hid healed, he’d stuck tae under the radar stuff that didnae draw attention tae himsel fae the big boys. He usually dealt in hauf decent stuff that shifted as soon as he produced it roond the pubs, like electric kettles, tape recorders, Roberts radios...that kind ae stuff...practical swag that people wanted, or if they didnae, they always knew who wid. He’d crept through intae the fancy big hall where the front door wis, keeping away fae the two front rooms that everywan and their granny could see intae as they wur walking past ootside oan the street. He’d stuck his heid roond a door beside the big wooden staircase. A long table, aw set up and posh as fuck, wis sitting empty. Red candles, in fancy silver candlesticks, wur burning merrily oan the middle ae the table, alangside posh silver serving dishes, which wur sitting between them, wae the lids lying discarded tae wan side. Two plates, wae whit looked like hauf eaten meals wur sitting beside two glasses that still hid wine in them, waiting tae be finished. He remembered clocking red lipstick oan the rim ae wan ae them. A big cooked bird wis squatting oan an even bigger silver dish, wae a big skelp cut aff ae its arse. He’d looked at the bird and then at the plates, thinking that whoever the lucky basturts wur that hid been sitting there tucking in, hid fucked aff in a hurry. He’d jist aboot-turned and gone back oot in tae the fancy hallway when he’d heard the noise. It wis faint, bit sounded as if somewan, a victim, wis being strangled fae somewhere up the stairs. He’d hesitated. He hidnae been getting a good feeling aboot the place, bit his curiosity hid goat the better ae him and he’d silently nipped up the carpeted runner oan the stairs. At the tap, he’d noticed clothes scattered alang the landing leading tae a bedroom door that wis slightly ajar. A solitary earring lay oan the flair between the opening. He’d been slowly tiptoeing alang towards the door, when the screaming hid started. He’d nearly hid a bloody effing heart attack.

  “Yes, Frank! Yes!”

  “Take that, and that, you strumpet! Oh my God…and that!” a male voice hid growled like a fucking randy lion that hid jist escaped fae doon at the circus in the Kelvin Hall.

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “And that, that, that!”

  Efter arriving at the bedroom door, he’d taken a deep breath before peering roond it. Opposite the door wis a dressing table wae a big roond mirror sitting oan tap ae it. Aw he could clock wis a big hairy arse pounding fuck oot ae whit wis between the long legs that wur wrapped roond Hairy Arse’s waist. He’d seen enough. While relieved tae discover that the victim wisnae getting the life strangled oot ae her, the bad feeling aboot the place hid still lingered in the pit ae his stomach. He’d tiptoed back alang the corridor and doon the stairs. He’d jist been aboot tae heid fur the back door, when he’d stoapped and turned. He’d nipped back intae the room where the big bird wis sitting. He’d leaned across and ripped the biggest leg aff ae the biggest bloody chicken that he’d ever clapped eyes oan in his life...and it wis then that he’d clocked it. It hid been the light aff the candle that hid caused the sparkles tae dazzle they eyeballs ae his. Wae wan haun gripping the greasy leg, he’d scooped up the ring that wis sitting in the wee velvet ring box and hid heided fur the back door.

  He knew he’d fucked up by taking the ring when he arrived hame that night. It wis too classy. It screamed oot expensive tae him. In the middle ae it sat a big blue, whit he thought wis a sapphire, surrounded by a dozen wee diamonds. There wis nae way he’d be able tae punt that dazzler roond the pubs. It hid crossed his mind tae flush the thing doon the cludgie and then it hid come tae him. Tony Gucci wid take it aff his hauns. He’d haggle like fuck, bit Harper knew he’d sti
ll get a good few bob fur it, which wid make his wee detour back fae the circus aw the mair worthwhile. That hid been oan the Wednesday night. Oan the Thursday night, he’d nipped across tae Springburn tae Jonah’s lounge. There hid been a few ae The Mankys hinging aboot, bit nae signs ae Gucci. Pat McCabe hid been amongst them. Harper knew he wis the wan that dealt in jewellery, bit he didnae trust him. Naw, Harper hid wanted tae deal wae Gucci direct, tae ensure that everything wis above board and the source ae the ring wis kept secret. He felt he could trust Tony, plus he knew that him bypassing Tam Simpson widnae get back tae Tam because he’d heard that there wis a lot ae bad blood between The Mankys and The Simpsons. He’d asked wan ae them, he couldnae remember which wan, if Tony wis aboot and wis telt he widnae be in that night. He’d probably be aboot oan the Friday though. Harper hidnae hung aboot and hid started tae heid back across tae Possil via Gourlay Street. He’d jist turned the corner aff ae Springburn Road, when a red Ford Cortina, driven by Jo Jo Robson, hid zoomed past him and screeched tae a halt ootside The Princes Bingo Hall. Toby Simpson, Jo Jo Robson and Frisky Frank McKenna hid jumped oot and started booting fuck oot ae somewan. He wis sure they hidnae spotted him ducking doon behind the wee Ford Escort parked across the street. He hidnae been too sure who it wis that wis oan the receiving end ae the doing, bit he knew it wis bad when he clocked Toby Simpson plunge whit looked like a big bayonet intae the guy that wis being set upon. It hid aw been o’er in an instant. Wance the car hid screeched away, Harper hid stood up and hid quickly walked back the way he’d come, doon oan tae Springburn Road, tae the sound ae a wummin’s voice screaming fae the bingo hall. He’d turned left and hid quickly walked up the road tae Hawthorn Street and caught a bus hame tae Possil. He hidnae come across another soul oan Gourlay Street, so he didnae think anywan wid’ve clocked him. He’d never telt a soul whit he’d clocked and that wis the way it wis gonnae stay. It wis none ae his business whit they Simpson’s wur up tae, especially efter whit hid happened tae his brother-in-law, Hawkeye Campbell. Harper felt his stomach churn and his arse twitch as he leaped up aff the concrete bed and scurried across the cell, loosening aff his belt oan route before shiting in the steel toilet bowl in the corner. He couldnae control his shaking. The Simpson basturts hid nailed his brother-in-law, Hawkeye, tae a door efter torturing him. Wance he finished shiting, he paced the flair. He felt the walls closing in oan him. He’d done a few stints in the jail o’er the years and knew fine well that he widnae cope wae being locked up again. That wis wan ae the reasons that he’d decided tae work oan his lonesome. There wid be nowan tae fuck things up fur him, the way the last bampot hid done in the big hoose in Coltpark Avenue up in Bishopbriggs. He trusted his ain instincts, which hid goat him by...until noo.