The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Fin, good polis work is aw aboot protecting aw the community, whether it’s fae car thefts, hoosebreakings, muggings or the wee neds running aroond trying tae stab each other, as well as…” he’d reminded Bumper fur the umpteenth time that day.

  “Warrant sales?”

  “…warrant sales. It’s no easy being a Sheriff’s officer. They poor basturts don’t get tae carry a baton tae defend themsels fae aw they hairys trying tae attack them as they’re gaun aboot their job.”

  “Ah thought you and Biscuit hated daeing the warrant sales?”

  “We dae, bit that’s no the point. It’s aboot serving aw the community,” he’d retorted. "If ye want tae join the gang member squad, put in fur a transfer!”

  The Stalker couldnae help smiling tae himsel. Sometimes it wis like working alangside wan ae they wee fresh-faced snottery types who’d jist arrived fae the polis training college and wis keen tae get oot there and get tore in tae the street gang members. Bumper hid never changed since he’d met him.

  The Stalker stood still, listening. He thought he’d heard something move oan the other side ae the wall. He crept forward and lifted himsel up by the fingertips and peered o’er the tap it. False alarm...it wis auld Jackie, wan ae the local homeless mongrel dugs, hivving his supper in a midden. The Stalker looked aboot. Aw the windaes ae the tenements wur in darkness, apart fae an odd wan here and there. He wis staunin in the back lane that started at Millarbank Street, behind The Public Halls, and ran up tae the railway line beside Keppoch Street, in between Keppochhill Road and Gourlay Street. He’d heard a rumour that The Mankys hid suspended their thieving activity because ae trouble between them and The Simpsons, although he found that hard tae believe. The Simpsons wur scary, bit no enough tae put that bunch ae sticky-fingered toe-rags aff ae wetting their beaks, especially at this time ae the year. Whether they’d suspended their activities or no, he knew that they must’ve hid aw their blagged goods stashed away somewhere, jist waiting tae be shifted and transported tae waiting customers, who’d be looking fur cut-price Christmas presents. If they wurnae shifting the gear during the day, then they hid tae be daeing it at night, he reasoned. Bumper wis wrang. It wis by hinging aboot, stalking, watching, getting doon and dirty and intae the back lanes and closes, that they’d find the answers tae whit wis gaun oan, he telt himsel. He stepped further back intae the shadows. He wis watching the youngest ae Willie Mason’s daughters, the wan who served behind the bar in Burns’s, gieing they nice tits ae hers a wash wae a cloth, at the kitchen sink, across in the corner hoose, where Keppoch Street joined Keppochhill Road. Something caught his eye. He scanned further up the building tae the windaes above where the lassie wis and noticed that a stream ae steam wis pouring oot ae wan ae the waste pipes underneath a kitchen windae. That reminded him that his breath could probably be seen by Miss Bare Tits, so he pulled his black polis issue scarf up o’er his mooth and went back tae watching the action at the kitchen windae before calling it a night and heiding up the road and hame.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Goat casually strolled across tae Marcia, intentionally blocking oot her line ae vision ae the car number plates and haunded o’er the envelope containing the money. Pat Molloy, The Big Man, meanwhile, surreptitiously slipped intae the back seat ae the Merc. He heard Marcia saying thanks and the heels ae her shoes clipping aff the tar as she briskly walked back tae the Cortina, glad tae be away fae whitever wis gaun oan. The two weans in the back stuck their two fingers up at The Big Man oan the way past. Fur somewan who wisnae supposed tae be attracting undue attention, her U-turn in the forecourt ae the petrol station wid’ve goat her top marks in wan ae Greasy Jake’s car-jacking courses. He’d upset her when he’d tried it oan efter gieing the weans a few bob tae go aff and play oan the wan-ermed bandits oan the ferry. Even though he wisnae back in Scotland yet, he wis still glad tae be back in the country. Getting through the port at St Helier hid been a dawdle, especially wae the two weans knocking fuck oot ae each other at the security gates, which hidnae been pre-planned. He’d been away fur jist o’er a year, firstly tae get a hernia operation in France and then tae recuperate in a wee place called Marbella in Spain. It hidnae taken him long tae see the investment potential in Marbella and efter getting Wan-bob across, they’d spent a good bit ae time buying up land and discreetly meeting up wae some ae the London boys who wur keen tae invest in future business ideas that they’d come up wae during his recuperation. Like him, they could see the potential ae the place. He’d even gied a lot ae thought tae staying there permanently, bit the message the day before fae Wan-bob, who’d nipped back across tae attend a nephew’s funeral, hid been tae get his arse hame pronto.

  The Goat slid intae the driving seat ae the Merc and turned the key in the ignition.

  “Nice and easy, Goat...we don’t want Mr Plod tae know that Ah’m back. Here, sling this in that yella waste bin, o’er there oan the way past, before we hit the motorway,” he said, haunin o’er the broon paper bag wae his fake passport in it.

  There wis nae point in bringing heat doon oan himsel if they wur stoapped. He slipped aff his shoes, leaned back and shut his eyes. Jist thirteen months away and the plate ae bountiful at hame hid cracks appearing aw o’er it. He’d left Shaun in charge, wae strict instructions tae keep things ticking o’er. Any hint ae bother and Shaun wis supposed tae hiv gied him a shout. Charlie Hastie hid been left in charge ae the casino and bookies. Shaun’s brother, Danny, hid been left in charge ae the pubs and clubs and Peter The Plant hid been left tae look efter property including Big Bella McPhail’s brothel up in the West End. The scrap yards wur in safe hauns wae Greasy Jake. Jake ran the place wae a heavy haun, bit his crew wur loyal tae him. The Big Man took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Jist before starting aff oan the journey, the Spanish quack hid telt him that he hid tae watch his stress levels, eat properly and get tae bed at a decent time. He’d hauf considered telling the prick tae fuck aff when he clocked his bill, bit hid changed his mind, thinking he’d maybe come in handy someday if there wis something really wrang wae him. He hidnae intended tae stay away as long as he hid, bit he’d hid tae get his hernia done. Being stuck in a hospital in Glesga, anaesthetised and oot fur the coont, hidnae been an option worthy ae his consideration. They basturts fae Possil and Milton wur desperadoes and wur well-known fur getting tae people when they wur lying vulnerable in their hospital sick beds.

  “So, whit’s the score then, Goat?”

  “There isnae much tae tell ye that ye probably don’t awready know, Pat. Wan-bob says the big mistake wis in us nae responding promptly when The Simpsons started nibbling aroond the edges up in Springburn and across in the West End. He says that when Shaun didnae nip them in the bud, nowan should’ve been surprised when they started tae pop up in the toon centre. There’s been a few wee skirmishes between Spotty Hector and Chic Shand wae a couple ae Bootsy Bell’s boys in the toon centre...nothing too serious yet. That carry-oan wae that shitey wee manky mob letting fly wae a pistol doon in Waterloo Street at the tail end ae last year is still causing problems. Tam and Toby still think ye’re protecting them, despite Shaun telling them that we urnae getting involved.”

  “And whit wis Shaun daeing when aw this bother wae Spotty Hector wis gaun oan?”

  “Prancing aboot like a big girl’s blouse, letting everywan know that it wis him running the show noo. Wan-bob’s fucking furious, so he is.”

  “Is he noo?” The Big Man muttered tae himsel, looking oot the passenger side windae at a speeding cop car whizzing past oan the other side ae the motorway wae its lights flashing.

  “Since he’s been back, Wan-bob his tried tae speak tae Shaun a few times, bit his ended up getting a moothful and being telt tae butt oot. Shaun’s brother, Danny, and Peter The Plant backed Shaun up, as tae be expected. We hardly see Greasy Jake these days, seeing as him and Shaun hiv never goat oan. Ye know whit Wan-bob’s like? He wis straight in there no long efter he stepped aff the plane. If anywan wis gonn
ae challenge Shaun, it wis always guaranteed tae be him. Shaun telt him tae his face that you awready knew whit the score wis and that ye’d deal wae The Simpsons when ye wur good and ready. Ye could tell he wis raging at Shaun, bit gie him his due, he held back. Efter the confrontation, Ah heard Wan-bob sherricking Charlie Hastie fur no getting a message across tae you or him in Spain aboot whit wis happening.”

  “And The Simpsons?”

  “Wan-bob said the two key areas we need tae respond tae as a priority, ur the properties across in Woodside and the farming stuff. Toby Simpson put the squeeze oan Ali and Mohammed Sing, the factors fae George’s Cross,” The Goat said, glancing at The Big Man in his mirror before continuing. “Seemingly, the brothers went bleating tae Shaun, asking fur a meeting wae yersel. He telt them it wis fuck-aw tae dae wae us. He reminded them that they’d awready goat their chance tae come in wae us eighteen months back and hid refused, so they’d hiv tae deal wae The Simpsons oan their lonesome. Fae whit Ah’ve heard, Shaun’s plan wis tae make them sweat so we’d get better terms. The upshot ae aw that wis that The Simpsons ur noo equal partners wae the Sings. Charlie Hastie and Greasy Jake hid tae haud Wan-bob back fae driving up tae Possil tae hiv it oot wae The Simpsons. There’s definitely rumblings in the ranks, so there is. The latest is that Toby met wae Woodside Accommodation last Thursday and left that bald prick, Montieth, wae a sore face, efter stoating it aff the office wall. He’s goat a few wee cuts and bruises oan his kisser because tae get tae the wall, his face hid tae go through a glass photo frame ae the Queen first.”

  “And the farming?”

  “Two things that may or may no be related. The first is that we goat a van load ae frozen chickens blagged yesterday efternoon and the second is that McPherson, the chicken farmer oot near Helensburgh, his refused tae sell at the price we offered him. Oor wagon hid tae come back wae nothing in it. That’s a first, so it is.”

  “Whit company goat the chickens blagged?”

  “Rob Roy’s, oot in Kirkintilloch. The driver stoapped fur fags in Colston. When he came oot, the van hid disappeared.”

  “And the driver?”

  “He’d jist started working casual earlier in the week fur the Christmas period. He seems genuine enough.”

  “Whit hiv Ah telt they eejits? Don’t bloody send oot any wagons or vans intae Springburn withoot hivving two drivers at this time ae the year. It’s well-known that Gucci’s manky mob supply hauf ae their customers in Springburn wae free fucking chickens at Christmas. That bunch ae sticky-fingered arses hiv nae bloody respect fur who they steal aff ae.”

  “Well, we’re no that sure that it wis them that wur involved in this wan. The Simpsons ur really putting a squeeze oan their movements and Wan-bob says that they’ve been battening doon the hatches. Mind you, it hisnae stoapped the manky basturts fae retaliating whenever they get the chance. Toby’s still raging aboot getting lifted fur the Provi-cheque men robberies across in Possil, so he is,” The Goat said, smiling. “Fae whit Wan-bob’s picked up aff ae Charlie Hastie, The Mankys ur still oot and aboot in Springburn, bit ur staying close tae hame. He disnae think they’re taking in much dosh nooadays. They’re the obvious wans tae blame fur the van being blagged up in Colston, bit Wan-bob thinks there could be a connection wae Possil via Blaster McKay’s Milton crowd. It’s well-known that they’re still aw up The Simpsons’ arses.”

  “Whit aboot McPherson, the farmer, then?”

  “As Ah said, he says he goat a better offer.”

  “Did he noo? And who fae?”

  “He says it wis fae somewan else in the toon. Wan-bob’s money is oan Blaster McKay. The greedy basturt wis being evasive as fuck, bit the description sounded awfully like Blaster.”

  “Aye?”

  “Big prick wae a Pancho Villa moustache,” The Goat replied, looking in the windscreen mirror, wanting tae see The Big Man’s reaction tae that wan.

  The Big Man kept his composure. He knew The Goat wid be taking everything in. He wanted tae lean across and batter fuck oot ae the big lump fur aw the bad news he wis passing oan, bit managed tae contain himsel. Blaster McKay wis a scrap dealer who’d goat too big, too quickly, and The Big Man hid hid tae sort him oot aboot ten years earlier. He’d a decent enough sized scrap yard across where the new industrial estate wis noo, up in Lambhill. Blaster hid been building up a nice wee operation until he started dipping his toes in the water and daeing wee jobs across in Partick. When his wagons wur spotted in Finnieston, dismantling an auld crane, that hid been the straw that hid broken the camel’s back. The Big Man and Greasy Jake hid paid him a visit. He’d heided up tae Blaster’s yard wae a couple ae van loads ae troops, followed by Greasy Jake twenty minutes later wae a big low-loader in tow. Greasy hid started loading aw Blaster’s heavy machinery oan tae the back ae it, while Blaster wis getting his erms and legs broken in the yard in front ae aw his ain boys. Unfortunately, Blaster’s wife hid been in the office daeing paper work at the time and hid witnessed whit wis gaun oan oot in the yard. She’d hid tae be gied a few slaps aboot the chops tae get her tae shut the fuck up. He could still hear that voice ae hers shrieking doon through the years. It wis a surprise tae learn that Blaster hid noo branched oot intae the Christmas poultry business. Blaster hid made a nice wee nest fur himsel up in Milton by keeping his heid well under the radar. The Big Man hid continued tae keep tabs oan him o’er the years, jist tae make sure he wisnae getting itchy feet. He must be feeling pretty confident if he wis encroaching oan The Big Man’s business interests.

  “And this stabbing ae young Joe McManus?”

  “Toby Simpson did the damage. Jo Jo Robson and Frisky Frank wur in attendance.”

  “Ye’re sure?”

  “Alex The Manager says he clocked them fae Springburn Road when he wis oot putting money in the night safe. He also says that he clocked another Possil eejit, whose name he cannae remember, jist across the road while the stabbing wis taking place, although he didnae think the guy wis wae them. Whoever it wis, wis hunched doon behind Terry Swan’s wee Mk 2 escort.”

  “And Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves? Dae they know Alex clocked whit happened?”

  “Ah don’t think so. Alex knows no tae say a word tae anywan in the lounge. As Ah’ve jist said, Gucci’s been keeping his heid doon and refusing point blank tae talk tae The Simpsons, despite Shaun putting oot feelers oan behauf ae The Simpson’s tae hiv a sit doon.”

  “His he noo?” The Big Man murmured, feeling his heart beat quicken.

  “Young Gucci’s still trying tae get in touch wae ye, bit Shaun’s been body-swerving him efter the carry oan doon in Waterloo Street.”

  “So, who knows that Ah’m back?”

  “Apart fae masel, there’s only Wan-bob and Charlie Hastie. It wis Wan-bob who goat us the cottage. They’ll be there when we arrive.”

  “So, whit’s Gucci efter then?”

  “Jist the usual, trying tae involve us in his wee problem wae The Simpsons.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Stalker yawned and opened his windae tae let oot the smoke. Bumper sat oan the passenger seat beside him, eating a packet ae crisps wae a bottle ae Irn Bru clamped between his thighs. A lit fag wis sticking oot between the fingers ae the haun that wis haudin the crisp packet. They wur sitting in a Black Maria van, across the road fae Gucci’s hidey-hole in Petershill Road, no saying a word tae each other. The only sound tae be heard, apart fae the noises coming fae the cars and bus engines heiding alang Petershill Road, wis the chomping sound ae Bumper’s teeth, demolishing his crisps. The Stalker wis still well pissed aff wae Bobby Mack, fur evicting him oot ae the interview wae Gucci oan Saturday. The fact that Chic Thompson, his ain inspector, hid gone alang wae Bobby, hid made it worse.

  “So, why ur we playing alang wae aw this shite, Chic? That thug through there is jist bloody-well laughing at us, so he is,” he’d howled at The Inspector.

  “Because Bobby is right and Ah agree wae him, Paddy. You sitting there, slinging Gucci daggers wae they eyes ae your
s, will only inflame the situation further. He’s awready put in three complaints against ye and two against Fin fur yer heavy haundedness when ye’ve been accosting him in the street, gaun aboot his business.”

  “Illegal business!”

  “Lawful business. Ah never saw any evidence ae wrangdoing efter Fin pulled ye aff him in October.”

  “Staunin there, telling me Ah’m a pathetic wanker, well-known fur peeping through wee lassies’ bedroom windaes when they’re getting undressed, is malicious rumour-mongering against a public official and constitutes a breach ae the peace in ma books,” he’d snarled back.

  “Naw, being baited by a wide boy in front ae his mates, who, as witnesses, ootnumbered yersel and Fin, three tae two, is a breach ae common sense, so it is. Christ almighty, you and Fin ur supposed tae be auld hauns, demonstrating leadership tae some ae the younger wans coming intae the service. Squaring up tae Gucci and that manky mob, in the middle ae the street, like an auld stag, isnae leadership.”

  “The fucker punched me. Whit wis Ah supposed tae dae? Pull doon ma troosers and let the him kick me oan ma bare arse?”

  “Paddy, ye’re nae gonnae be part ae Bobby’s interview, so gie it a rest. Ye’re no helping ma aching piles either, so ye’re no,” The Inspector hid growled, gieing Bobby the nod tae take Happy Harry, the desk sergeant, in wae him as back up.

  The Stalker turned and looked at Bumper in disgust. As well as the sound ae chomping, the front ae Bumper’s shirt, tie and jaicket wur covered in crisp crumbs.

  ”Whit?” Bumper asked.

  The Stalker ignored the question and went back intae contemplation mode ae looking across at Gucci’s closemooth. Gucci hidnae changed wan iota since he wis a wee whipper-snapper. Back then, aw the wummin in the Toonheid used tae grab him by the lugs and press his heid between their paps. It wis probably tae dae wae his Atalian background. Even noo, he still hid that dark sophisticated suntanned look aboot him that aw the wummin seemed tae go fur. He wis always immaculately dressed and that Colgate toothpaste smile ae his melted aw the local young lassies like an ice cream pokey-hat left oot in the efternoon sun. He couldnae believe that wee Chinky thing he wis hinging oot ae couldnae see the vicious, psycho killer behind that holiday poster smile ae his. There wis nae justice in the world. Why wur wummin so fascinated by these basturts, he wondered? Gucci hid the Tally blue-black hair and stood aboot five feet ten in his socks. His build wis deceptive though. Behind the flashy clothes that he wore, wis a trunk and erms that wur made ae hard steel. When he threw a punch, it wis meant tae deck whoever wis oan the receiving end. The Stalker should know as he’d been oan the receiving end ae it mair than a few times o’er the years. Baith The Stalker and Bumper hid made up their minds a few years back, that they'd aim their fists at they pearly white teeth ae his, whenever they goat in a tussle wae him.