The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “Why me?” he groaned oot loud.

  He’d nipped back across tae Jonah’s oan the Friday night…the night efter the stabbing. He’d heard that it hid been Joe McManus that hid been chibbed…murdered. McManus wis an ex-member ae The Mankys. He’d been oot ae the game fur ages, oan account ae being turned intae a cabbage efter getting a hiding fae The Simpsons the year before. Harper awready knew that The Simpsons hid decided tae put Gucci and his crowd oot ae the game...everywan in Possil knew that. That’s why he thought Gucci wid jump at the chance ae getting his hauns oan the ring. There wis good money tae be had fur something as good as that in these times ae strife. He probably widnae hiv gone near Jonah’s if Joe McManus hid still been actively running aroond wae aw that crowd, bit because McManus hidnae been oan the go fur ages, Harper reckoned that the stabbing widnae hiv been as much ae a shock tae them as it wid’ve been if McManus wis still in their wee club. He’d heard that McManus and Tony Gucci hid hid a big falling oot before he wis turned doo-lally. Harper hid been confident that there widnae be any likelihood ae any bother taking place. When he’d arrived, Gucci wisnae anywhere tae be seen. He’d nodded tae a few ae The Mankys, efter ordering himsel a pint and hid been sitting at the bar enjoying it, when his arse hid flipped. He’d jist swallowed the last drap ae lager fae the glass when Frisky Frank McKenna hid walked in through the door. Frisky hid clocked Harper straight away and hid gied him a funny look. Hivving jist aboot shat himsel, Harper hid fucked aff oot the door and heided across tae Burns’s oan the other side ae Springburn Road. He’d jist put his pint up tae his lips, when wan ae The Mankys, Simon Epstein, hid walked in and hid gone straight across and sat in wan ae the wee booths. The Manky hidnae ordered a drink at the bar, so his purpose there couldnae hiv been a social wan. No only that, bit sitting in the booth, supping a pint each, wur Jo Jo Robson and Toby Simpson. Harper hidnae known whit wis being said, bit there hid been raised voices. Toby and Jo Jo hid suddenly stood up and stomped oot ae the door, leaving The Manky sitting staring at the hauf empty pints oan the table in front ae him.

  Harper suddenly stoapped pacing and sprang across tae the toilet bowl and threw up. Why the fuck wis his name being mentioned in the same breath as Tam Simpson, Tony Gucci and Joe McManus? It hid been the mention ae Joe McManus’s name that hid gied him the jits. How much did they Simpson’s really know? He knew he wis a deid man walking if it goat oot that he’d clocked Joe McManus being murdered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Digger Day Three

  They wur running late, Johnboy thought tae himsel as he completed the last ae his press-ups fur the day. He wondered if they wur daeing it deliberately tae noise him and Silent up. He looked forward tae his mug ae tea and stale bun, wae the sticky topping oan it that looked as if some clatty basturt hid run their wet tongue across the tap ae it. The buns wur no exactly ae The City Bakeries’ calibre, bit they filled a hole. He wis looking forward tae getting his mattress in so he could hiv something saft tae lounge aboot oan fur the next nine hours. It hid been a long day. Because it wis the weekend, there hid been nae hammering coming fae the pallet shoap across the way. He’d struggled tae get tae sleep wae aw that quietness. Apart fae the hum coming fae the pipes, it hid been a different stillness during the day tae whit he enjoyed throughoot the night. He liked lying in the dark, wae jist the light in the corridor shining through the spyhole and the bottom ae the door, sitting wrapped up in his blanket, sorting things oot in that heid ae his. Even though he’d been anticipating it happening, he hidnae been aware ae the lost sense ae time creeping up oan him. He wis awready starting tae furget whit day it wis or how long he’d been there, which usually happened when ye wur in the digger fur mair than a few days at a time. It hid been the silence fae the pallet shoap that hid brought him back tae whit day it wis. The borstal boys didnae go tae work oan the weekend. Insteid, their recreation took place in the efternoons before everywan goat their tea early so the screws could finish their shifts at hauf four oan Saturday and Sundays. Some people didnae cope too well wae being locked up fae four o’clock oan the Saturday straight through tae the Sunday morning. When it wis then repeated oan the Sunday efternoon again, ye’d see aw the drooping faces trooping back tae their cells, looking miserable. Johnboy wis different. He could hardly wait tae get back tae his cell tae get tore intae his JT Edson books. He wisnae a big fan ae Dusty Fog, although quite liked the Ysabel Kid. Somewan wance telt him that the author, who wis English, hid never sat astride a horse. His curiosity hid gotten the better ae him and he’d wanted tae check how somewan who’d never spoken tae a real cowboy could write cowboy books. The fact that ye could read a book in a day at the weekend also appealed tae him, especially if ye didnae troop doon tae the recreation hall in the efternoon. In the digger, nothing happened, changed or grabbed yer attention other than the silence. While aw the boys in the wings wur lying back in their wanking pits fae four o’clock oanwards, the digger boys wur still hinging aboot tae aboot hauf eight, waiting tae get their hauns oan their mattresses, which wur jist sitting there, tantalisingly close, a few inches away fae them, oan the other side ae the studded cell doors. The morning hid been fine enough. He’d been semi-comatose, drapping in and oot ae sleep, bit efter getting his grub at hauf twelve, time hid stood still. Efter getting fed up daeing double the amount ae exercises that he’d allotted himsel and avoiding the urge tae start pacing up and doon, he’d sat wae his back against the door, setting himsel the challenge ae trying tae work oot the size ae his cell. He knew it wis bigger than the normal sized cells he’d been used tae in the past. He remembered wan ae the Garngad uglies mentioning that yer ordinary sized cells wur aboot eight feet by five. He wisnae too sure where he’d come up wae that wan. The wan that he wis sitting in wis mair like the big court holding cells that they crammed everywan in doon in Central, back in Glesga. Tae while away the time, he’d gone back intae his problem solving mode which consisted ae staring intae space and allowing his imagination tae take o’er. He’d tried the obvious ae lying doon lengthways and sideways, bit could only come up wae the size in body lengths. He’d tried tae remember how tall they’d said he wis when he’d arrived at the reception earlier in the year, when he wis getting processed, bit couldnae remember his precise size. Whit he required wis feet and inches. He’d nearly gied up a couple ae times, bit that wis jist the digger talking. That’s whit wis meant tae happen. Accuracy wis important or it wisnae a challenge. It wis nae good cheating yersel. He’d lain oan his back, feet up oan the pipes, staring at the rusted, blocked oot windae guard before ending up back sitting wae his arse oan the flair and that back ae his against the door, contemplating the task in haun wae his brain trying tae convince him tae gie up. He knew fine well that he’d come up wae the solution eventually. It wis jist a matter ae being patient…and then it hid hit him.

  In 1969, the year before he’d been due tae be released fae his approved school, wance he turned fifteen, Tony Gucci, Joe McManus and himsel hid fucked aff up tae the Highlands, tae catch up wae another pal ae theirs, Paul McBride. Johnboy hid been twiddling his thumbs in Oakbank, up in Aberdeen, efter being transferred fae Thistle Park, oot in Paisley. The stupid basturts hid decided that, as Oakbank wis the furthest approved school fae Glesga, it wid curtail his absconding habits. Tony and Joe hid awready been released fae the closed block in Rossie Farm a few months earlier. Paul wis supposed tae hiv been officially released fae St Ninian’s approved school that summer, bit before the time fur that hid come, he’d gone and hid a nervous breakdoon. Johnboy wisnae too sure how Paul hid managed tae wangle it, bit efter being in a looney-bin fur a wee while, the hospital hid shifted him up tae the Highlands tae recuperate. Because he’d only been a few months away fae his fifteenth birthday, the bosses running the funny farm hid telt Paul that he could heid back tae Glesga a free man oan his birthday, if he could stay oot ae trouble fur a few months. The reason fur Paul’s breakdoon hid been tae dae wae a wee incident that hid happened when The Mankys hid aw been oan the run thegithe
r earlier that same year.

  Mad Mick Murphy hid been wan ae Pat Molloy’s henchmen. Him and his two brothers hid kept Horseman Thief Pouter doos, or pigeons tae the uninformed, under lock and key, up in the loft, above their tap flair flat in Ronald Street in the Toonheid. They’d also hid a big doo cabin behind the billboards up the tap end ae Parly Road that according tae them, hid become surplus tae requirements. Whit hid the Murphy shitehooses gone and done? They’d flogged the cabin tae The Mankys withoot telling them that where the cabin wis situated, wis bang in the middle ae where the bulldozers wur gonnae start demolishing the Toonheid. At the time, Johnboy and the others couldnae believe their luck and hid gone aboot stealing everything that wisnae nailed doon tae pay the purchase price fur the cabin dookit. They’d only been gied aboot two weeks tae pay it aff. Johnboy couldnae remember noo how much it hid cost them, bit it hid been a lot at the time. When they’d found oot a day or two later that they’d been ripped aff, Johnboy and his pals hid decided tae break intae the Murphys’ loft and steal their big Horseman Thief Pouters and aw their other good doos as well, tae pay fur the cabin. It hid taken The Mankys another three years tae find oot that Mad Mick Murphy hid ordered two ae his gofers, Horsey John and Tiny, the managers ae the local stables, tae burn doon the cabin in revenge fur them stealing aw their good doos. Whit nowan hid known at the time wis that wan ae The Mankys, ten-year-auld Skull Kelly, hid been kipping in the cabin wae wan ae the local dugs, Elvis, and baith hid burned tae death. Three years later, The Mankys hid decided tae shoot Mad Mick Murphy as a comeback. When they’d first gone intae Mick’s hoose, Mick hid been staunin, pished as a fart, wae a bottle ae whisky in his haun, wae nae cap oan it. He’d also been trying tae light up a fag wae his Zippo. When he’d clocked Paul McBride pointing a loaded gun at him, Mick hid challenged Paul tae go aheid and pull the trigger. At the same time, Mick hid poured whisky aw o’er himsel, screaming at Paul tae get oan wae it. Unfortunately fur Mick, and fortunately fur The Mankys, Mick hid tripped o’er his wee spindly coffee table, wae the picture ae Suzy Wong oan it, at the same time as his Zippo hid sparked intae life. Mick hid gone up in a blue light. Everywan hid fucked aff, apart fae Paul, who’d stood there, rooted tae the spot while Mick wis bouncing aff the walls, engulfed in flames and screaming the place doon. Johnboy hid ran back and dragged Paul oot ae the hoose. It hid been seeing Mick gaun up in smoke and thinking ae whit Skull must’ve gone through, that hid sent Paul o’er the edge, wance he wis recaptured the following week and sent back tae St Ninian’s. At the end ae the day, efter being accused ae kidnapping some Lord’s daughter, Paul hid decided no tae go back tae Glesga wance his liberation date arrived. He’d met a local lassie called Morven by then and continued tae live wae an auld couple, who looked efter him right good and proper, oan whit they called a wee croft.

  The original Mankys hid been up north tae see Paul a couple ae times efter Johnboy wis released fae Oakbank in Aberdeen oan his fifteenth birthday. The first time wis jist efter Silent hid shot Bootsy Bell, wan ae The Simpson’s crew, doon in Waterloo Street in the toon centre. Silent and Snappy hid been walking alang, minding their ain business when a car, driven by Jo Jo Robson, hid mounted the pavement before screeching tae a halt. Bootsy hid jumped oot wae a baseball bat in his haun. Wan minute he’d been threatening tae pan in their heids and the next thing he’d been running fur his life efter Silent pulled oot a wee Iver Johnson shooter and let them hiv it. Jo Jo hid dived back intae the front passenger seat, as the windaes ae the car exploded intae a thousand pieces roond aboot him. Bootsy hid managed tae pick himsel up fae the ground and tae run, limping, leaving a trail ae blood in his wake, before diving through wan ae the broken windaes in the back passenger seat before Jo Jo sped aff, nearly knocking doon a group ae Hibs supporters, who’d jist arrived in the toon fur the match wae Rangers. When Shaun Murphy, who wis running the show oan behauf ae The big Man in the toon, hid heard aboot it, he’d gone ballistic. He’d sent that brother ae his, Danny, and Peter The Plant up tae Springburn tae find oot which ae The Mankys hid been involved. Of course, The Mankys hid denied aw knowledge ae being involved. Charlie Hastie hid advised them tae get tae fuck oot ae the toon until the dust settled. Tony, Silent, Joe and himsel hid decided tae heed that good advice and tae go and visit Paul. It hid been when they wur up at Paul’s, that Johnboy hid learned how tae measure withoot a measuring tape. Paul, and the other Mankys hid pished themsels silly when Innes, the auld boy that Paul lived wae, hid spent a hauf an hour showing Johnboy how tae work oot measurements.

  “Johnboy, don’t listen to them,” Morven, Paul’s girlfriend hid said encouragingly o’er the hoots fae the rest ae them, who’d been staunin there, taking the pish oot ae him.

  “You’re never too old to learn, Johnboy, and don’t you ever forget that,” Whitey, auld Innes’s wife hid chipped in.

  “Aye, Ah kin see that coming in handy up in Springburn, Johnboy, ya knob-end, ye,” Joe hid scoffed.

  “Ignore the ignoramuses, Johnboy. One day you’ll be glad you knew how to do this and it will come in handy. You wait and see, Laddie,” Innes hid said, fae inside the cloud ae pipe smoke that he wis permanently engulfed in.

  Johnboy tried tae remember whit Innes hid telt him aboot the background tae the story. Seemingly, there hid been some auld King...Edward, George, or Charles... some English knob, who’d fuck-aw tae dae wae his time bit sit aboot thinking up things tae fill in his day...exactly the same as whit Johnboy wis daeing in the digger. Whit the others hidnae known, apart fae Paul, wis that auld Innes wis a bloody genius. Wance the others hid pissed aff and gone fur a run tae the big waterfalls where Paul hid taken them the first time they’d visited, Innes hid explained tae Johnboy how the Romans used tae measure things using barleycorn. Fur some reason, this lazy basturt ae a King hid goat his lackeys tae measure his feet, which came in at thirty six barleycorns. Noo, thirty six barley corns measured twelve inches in modern measurements, or as the auld king declared, three barleycorns made up an inch so his plates ae meat wur a size twelve. It wis efter this that everywan’s feet wur measured using barleycorn sizes. Johnboy looked doon at his feet. He took a size ten, which wis two barleycorns short ae the King’s feet, which meant his feet wur eleven and a third inches long. Where the fuck wis a pencil when he needed wan, he thought tae himsel, staunin up wae his back tae the cell door wall. He went forward, placing wan fit in front ae the other. By the time he goat close tae the pipes he’d coonted ten steps, wae aboot approximately seven inches tae spare before he reached the wall. He went back tae the wall beside the cell door and repeated the process sideways. Eight steps plus aboot five inches this time. He reckoned the cell wis ten feet by eight feet.

  “Take that, ya diddies, ye,” he shouted oot loud tae Tony, Paul, Silent and Joe.

  No only wis he fair chuffed wae himsel, bit he heard the bun boy and the screw arriving at Silent’s next door.

  “Aboot bloody time,” Johnboy muttered, stepping oot ae his cell in the bare buff and slinging doon his clothes and shoes before picking up his pyjamas, mattress, blanket and pillow.

  “Stoap bloody whinging, Taylor,” the screw shouted in his lug, as Johnboy turned roond and took the sticky bun and plastic mug ae tea aff the stretched oot hauns ae the tea boy, before the door wis slammed shut.

  Johnboy quickly made up his bed and picked his bun and mug ae tea aff the flair by the door. He took a sip, before biting intae the bun. He felt something solid, bit saft, in the middle ae it. He spat oot whit he thought wis a moothful ae hard dough oan tae his blanket and looked doon. There wis something sticking oot ae the lump ae wet dough. It wis a pass-note. He picked up the wee rolled-up piece ae damp paper and carefully unrolled it.

  ‘Joe McManus goat stabbed tae death in Gourlay Street oan Thursday night. Ah’ll try and find oot mair the morra. Freckles.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tom Bryce, sub editor ae The Glesga Echo, sat deep in thought, hardly noticing the bustle ae activity that wis gaun oan through the glass wa
ll in front ae him in the newsroom. He wis well pissed aff, so he wis. He knew that Lord Frank Owen, the owner ae the biggest selling daily in the west ae Scotland...in fact...the whole ae Scotland...used the paper fur his ain political ends. He understood that...that wis politics...bit the lead story in that morning’s paper hid said fuck-aw ae importance, yet hid managed tae make the front page. It wis unbelievable. Tom hid been in the office the night before, working oan the front page. Three members ae the IRA hid jist blown themselves up in a place called Magherafelt, across in Northern Ireland, when the bomb they wur carrying hid exploded and the three ae them hid been killed. The story hid been aw ready tae go tae press when the phone hid rang. It hid been the editor’s secretary fae up oan the tap flair.

  “Mr Bryce? Yes, Mr McGovern would like a word with you, right away, please,” she’d purred pleasantly doon the line.

  “Bit, er, kin it no wait a while? Ah’m jist ready tae okay the morra’s front page. Everywan is waiting fur the go-aheid,” he’d snapped, irritated at the sudden interruption.