The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “That irritating humming noise. What is it?” he’d opened up wae.

  “Whit noise?”

  “It sounds like some sort of engine.”

  “Oh, that? I think it’s the central heating boiler pumping the water through the pipes. The only time Ah’ve ever heard it wis oan ma first day in here...until noo.”

  “What? Is this going twenty four seven?” he’d asked.

  “Ah think so, bit ye get used tae it and then ye don’t hear it anymair.”

  “Er, I’m so sorry about your friend, Smith,” he’d said.

  “Ur ye?”

  “Yes, you must be terribly concerned,” he’d replied, glad that his tactic appeared tae be working.

  “So, whit wis it that actually happened…tae Silent then?” Taylor hid asked politely.

  “Well, I’m not too sure what occurred that led to the stabbing, but I’ve been assured this morning that he’ll pull through and hopefully make a full recovery...you’ll be glad to know.”

  “So, dae they know who done it then?”

  “Oh, the investigation is still continuing with everyone who was present in the pallet shop at the time. I’m sure the police will eventually find out who the culprit was,” The Reverend hid said supportively.

  He couldnae be sure, but he thought that the prisoner’s face hid turned even whiter than it hid been when he’d first appeared in the cell, if that wis possible. The boy hid seemed tae be holding it together pretty well, even though it hid been clear that he’d been trying tae conceal his emotions.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Harper knew he wis taking a risk, bit he hid tae get oot ae the hoose. He unzipped the hooded army surplus jaicket that he’d bought oot ae the Army and Navy shoap doon in the High Street jist before he’d gone underground. He nipped back up the stairs fae the basement and peeked oot ae the windaes at the front ae the hoose before daeing the same at the back. He’d broken intae the hoose in Coltpark Avenue, up in Bishopbriggs, a few days earlier, efter wandering aboot Petershill Road fur hauf the day, waiting tae see if he could catch a haud ae Tony Gucci. He’d clocked the two Springburn sergeants sitting in the Black Maria at the corner ae Bedlay Street. He hidnae been sure if it wis him that they wur efter, bit he’d decided that he wisnae gonnae hing aboot tae find oot. He’d waited in wan ae the closes oan Springburn Road and hid then nipped oot, jist before the forty five bus tae Colston arrived. He’d been doon tae his last two bob, efter haunin o’er wan and a tanner tae the bus conductor. He knew it wis probably jist his imagination, bit he’d felt as if everywan oan the tap deck wis eyeing him up as they passed the polis station oan the left, heiding towards Bishopbriggs.

  That sister ae his hid nearly hid a heart attack when he’d turned up at her door that morning. Things wurnae looking good at aw.

  “Harper? Oh ma God! Whit the hell ur ye daeing here?” Jean hid wailed, fear in they eyes ae hers.

  “Ah’ve jist come tae wish yersel and the weans a Merry Christmas, so Ah hiv.”

  “Whit, at five o’clock in the morning?”

  “Is that the time? Oh, sorry, Ah didnae realise that it wis that early,” he’d lied.

  “Did anywan see ye arrive?” she’d demanded, scurrying across tae peek oot through the side ae wan ae her curtains, tae see if there wis any movement, her eyes straining through the freezing mist and the orange glow ae the street lights doon oan Stonyhurst Street below.

  “Apart fae a couple ae scabby auld mongrel dugs letting rip at me, naw. Why?”

  “Harper, they’ve been turning the whole ae Possil upside doon, trying tae find ye, so they hiv. Christ, if ye’re caught in ma hoose, we’ll aw be done fur,” she’d screeched in a low voice, running baith her hauns through her hair as she hauf ran through tae the hall tae put the chain oan the lock ae the ootside door.

  “Jean, who’s been looking fur me? Whit ur ye oan aboot?”

  “Look, Harper, Ah don’t know whit ye’ve done, bit whitever it is, haun yersel intae the polis. They’ll protect ye, so they will.”

  “So, the polis hiv been looking fur me then?” he’d asked, feigning surprise.

  “There’s the polis, they Simpson wans, a couple ae young wans and a wee horrible smelly man that looks like a rat. Ah nearly cut his toes in hauf efter he tried tae jam ma front door wae that fit ae his.”

  “Young wans? Whit young wans?”

  “Christ, Harper, Ah don’t know,” she’d replied, throwing her hauns up in the air, dismissively. “Ah hivnae clocked them before. Wan ae them wis wearing lime green socks and the other wan looked really shifty. In fact, the two ae them looked shifty as hell.”

  “Whit did they say?”

  “The same as the rest ae them.”

  “Like whit?”

  “Like, tell that brother ae yers tae get in touch and that it’s important.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Christ, Harper, Ah’ve jist telt ye...them aw.”

  “So, the young crew…the wan wae the socks…he didnae call himsel Simon by any chance, did he?”

  “Naw, Ah don’t think so. Aw he said wis that some guy called Tony wanted tae speak tae ye urgently.”

  “He did, did he? Hmm,” Harper hid murmured, his brain shifting up a gear.

  “Look, Harper, efter whit happened tae Hawkeye, Ah cannae take much mair ae this, so Ah cannae…Ah’m still under the doctor.”

  “And The Simpsons? Wis it The Simpsons themsels or some ae their heavy squad?”

  “Jo Jo Robson and another wee ugly wan. Look, Harper, ur ye wanting tae tell me whit the hell is gaun oan? In fact, don’t bother, Ah’ve changed ma mind. Ah don’t want tae know.”

  “There’s nothing gaun oan, Jean. Ah owe a wee bit ae money here and there and Ah’m waiting tae collect a wee bit ae money that Ah’m owed tae pay aff The Simpsons…that aw,” he’d lied. “Ah’m a wee bit late wae ma repayments, bit it’ll aw be fine wance Ah collect whit Ah’m owed.”

  “That’s whit Hawkeye said.”

  Silence.

  “Look, hiv ye hid something tae eat?” she’d eventually asked.

  “Naw.”

  “Right, Ah’ll make ye a fry-up before the weans waken up,” she’d said, trying tae calm hersel doon.

  He hidnae hung aboot at Jean’s. Whit hid seemed a good idea in the early hours ae the morning hid started tae make him nervous as time hid gone oan. Every time he’d heard somewan oan the stairwell or a door slamming up the closemooth, he’d jist aboot jumped oot ae his skin. Wance he’d sat and watched the weans opening up the presents that he’d brought them fae his safe hoose and Jean hid made up a wee food parcel fur him, he’d heided aff. He’d gone straight back up tae Bishopbriggs, via the railway line, following the same path that he’d used earlier. The only dodgy part ae the journey hid been when he’d hid tae leave the line underneath the bridge oan Colston Road that separated Milton fae Bishopbriggs. Wance he’d climbed up oan tae the main road ae the bridge, he’d quickly nipped alang and turned left oan tae the Kirkintilloch Road at the traffic lights. Coltpark Avenue wis the second oan the left, aboot a hunner yards alang fae the traffic lights. There hidnae been much traffic oan the road at that time ae the morning, bit that hidnae stoapped him fae nearly getting run o’er by a big fat flashy fucker in a fancy Roller who’d jumped a red light. There, sitting behind the wheel, puffing away oan a Winston Churchill cigar, careening left intae Colston Road fae Springburn Road, as if he owned the place, hid been Fast Track Dave. Harper hid jist aboot shat himsel as the Roller’s brakes wur slammed oan hard and Fast Track managed tae swerve oot ae his way, the front driver’s side wheel mounting the pavement oan the other side ae the road. He didnae think Fast Track hid recognised him underneath his woollen tammy and the scarf that he’d hid wrapped roond hauf ae his face…at least, he didnae clock recognition fae the beady eyes and that angry snarling face, shouting wordlessly fae behind the blue tinted glass, as it careened away fae him. He’d made it back tae the hoose in wan piece although that arse
ae his hid been aboot in tatters.

  He opened up his food parcel. Jean hid done him proud. Hauf a loaf ae plain breid, a tin ae Spam, a packet ae Jacob’s cream crackers, a bit ae red cheese, two caramel log biscuits...his favourites...a couple ae packets ae digestives and a jam jar full ae milk. That should keep him gaun, he thought tae himsel, as he switched oan the telly that he’d taken doon intae the basement fae the living room upstairs a couple ae days earlier, and settled doon tae watch Basil Brush.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  “Bit, Pat, it’s Christmas Day. Ye widnae expect me tae be oot and aboot the day, wid ye? There’s nowan aboot. Aw the pubs ur shut. Ah thought aw youse wid be sitting doon, tucking intae something nice,” The Rat snivelled, looking aboot the bare kitchen and failing tae find anything that shouted oot ‘Christmas’ tae him.

  “Sammy, shut the fuck up. Kin ye no see that Pat’s trying tae think?” Wan-bob snarled at him.

  The Rat fell silent. The Big Man wis sitting across fae where he wis staunin, in the same ermchair, in the same pyjamas and dressing gown, smoking whit looked like the same cigar, as when he’d been there a few days earlier. The Rat felt a twinge coming fae his bandaged haun. It hidnae been throbbing up until he’d been dragged oot ae his bedsit an hour earlier, jist as he wis settling doon tae watch Rolf Harris dae the roonds ae the wards in wan ae the weans’s hospitals, doon in Carshalton in London. The Rat hid investigated a Lord who wis intae shagging young boys back in the sixties and knew the area well. He’d jist boiled a tin ae good Heinz’s chicken soup when the knock oan his door hid telt him that a re-run ae The Looney Tunes wis aboot tae commence.

  “Right, Sammy, ye’re wanted. Get that rat’s arse ae yours intae the back ae the van, as in pronto,” Wan-bob hid cursed, sniffing the air in disgust.

  “The smell’s ma good Heinz’s chicken soup. Ah wis jist aboot tae scoff it. Dae ye want some, Bob?” he’d asked, trying tae keep oan the good side ae the gorilla that wis staunin in front ae him.

  “Ye heard the man! Get yer arse intae gear. Ah want tae see they horrible wee legs ae yers scurrying, so get a move oan, ya rodent, ye,” The Goat hid snarled, gieing him a slap oan the side ae his lug.

  “Dae ye mind if Ah switch aff the ring under ma soup?” he’d made the mistake ae asking.

  “Ur ye still here then?” Wan-bob hid scowled at him, as The Rat sprung intae action and ran across and switched the cooker aff, before grabbing his raincoat and scurrying oot ae the door.

  “Whit dae ye think, Bob?” The Big Man asked him, ignoring The Rat.

  “Ah think Ah smell a Rat, so Ah dae,” Wan-bob sniffed.

  “Ye widnae be trying tae pull a flanker noo, wid ye, Sammy?” The Big Man asked, taking a puff ae his cigar.

  “Pat, how could ye think that? Oan ma sister’s weans’ lives, Ah swear that never entered ma brain,” he pleaded, feeling his sphincter stretching back and forth in time wae his throbbing fingers.

  “Ah think this bampot is trying tae play us aff against each other. Everywan knows ye cannae hiv two masters. Ye hiv tae end up choosing at the end ae the day,” The Goat said.

  “Pat, Ah swear, Ah spoke tae Tom Bryce doon at The Echo offices last night. Ah telt him that there wisnae any developments oan the ring front...honest,” he pleaded.

  “So, why hiv ye been avoiding Bob here?”

  “Pat, Ah swear, Ah hivnae. Ah’ve been oot and aboot fae morning tae night. Ah’ve been crisscrossing the city, trying tae cross reference the info Ah’ve been picking up...honest tae God.”

  “Right...fae the beginning then. And don’t fur wan second leave anything oot. If Ah find oot that ye’ve been haudin back, they’ll find ye wae yer throat cut, back in the sewers, wae nae hauns, feet or face tae yer name.”

  “Please, Pat, Ah swear tae God…this is where Ah’ve goat tae so far,” he whined fearfully. “Ah managed tae get the lowdoon oan Harris fae wan ae The Gruesome Twosome up in Possil...thirty quid it cost me. Harris his a string ae convictions the length ae yer erm. Ah even managed tae get a mug shot ae him. Aw his convictions hiv been fur hoosebreaking, although it’s been a few years since he’s been up in court. He used tae be intae screwing big hooses fur classy stuff like candelabras, paintings and, wait fur it...jewellery. Fae whit Ah picked up fae some ae the wasters in the pubs oan Saracen Street, he’s been dealing in whit Ah suppose youse wid call shite...kettles, cameras, radios...that kind ae stuff. A gem that Ah did pick up though, wis that he completed two years ae an apprenticeship as a locksmith wae Chubb before he goat done fur hoosebreaking,” The Rat spluttered, looking at the three ugly mugs in front ae him and hoping tae impress them wae his investigative talent.

  “So?” Wan-bob asked.

  “Is it no obvious?” he stupidly replied.

  “It wis that obvious, none ae us goat it, ya prick, ye. Spit it oot. This isnae ‘Open The Box,’ wae Michael Miles,” The Goat shouted, gieing The Rat a threatening look fur trying tae make oot they wur haufwits.

  “Oh, er, right...sorry. The hoose that wis broken intae across in the West End hid its back door lock picked,” The Rat replied, keeping his face straight, bit getting some comfort fae the effect he’d hid oan the faces in front ae him.

  “Carry oan,” The Big Man said encouragingly.

  “And another thing...Harris lives in a tap flair flat in Mansion Street, which is bang in the middle ae the nice wee come-and-go triangle ae Saracen Cross, Hawthorn Street and Bilsland Drive. Ah don’t know if it wis intentional oan his part, bit it gies him easy access fur nipping in and oot ae the area, withoot being spotted. Ah’ve spent the last two days freezing ma hee-haws aff, hinging aboot the closemooths, waiting fur him tae turn up, bit it’s a hard place tae keep tabs oan anywan.”

  “And?” The Big Man asked, looking across at him.

  “And nothing...at least, nothing ae him.”

  “Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”

  “It means that, while he hisnae been back himsel, Ah’ve clocked the polis, some ae The Simpsons’ henchmen and a couple ae young boys, aw sniffing aboot looking fur him…and Ah’m no talking aboot choir boys either.”

  “Dae we know who they ur?”

  “Ah lost them the first day, bit managed tae pick them up the next, efter Harris’s sister telt me she wis gonnae get the polis oan tae me if Ah didnae stoap accosting her oan the street or coming up roond aboot her door. They looked like tickets and hid the swaggers tae go wae it. Ah followed them across the Cowlairs fitba pitches intae Springburn. How they never clocked me, Ah’ll never know. Ah lost them wance they goat in amongst the hooses, bit picked them up again at the far end ae Keppochhill Road. They disappeared intae a lounge oan Springburn Road called The Jonah’s Tavern. Dae youse know it?”

  “Whit did the boys look like?” Wan-bob asked, ignoring the question.

  “Hmm, Ah don’t know, jist like any ae the other young thugs that ye see, wandering aboot Glesga, acting like tickets.”

  “Wur they big, tall, fat, thin, black hair, nae hair? Fur Christ’s sake, they must’ve hid some striking feature or something,” Wan-bob growled, clearly getting irritated.

  “Ah’m sorry, Bob…Ah didnae want tae get too close tae them. They didnae look that friendly fae where Ah wis tailing them. They wur smartly dressed and...oh, aye...wan ae them hid oan bright green luminous socks.”

  “The Carpet Blagger,” Wan-bob said, nodding tae The Big Man.

  “Which ae The Simpsons wis up at Harris’s door, Sammy?” The Big Man asked him.

  “Jo Jo Robson visited twice oan the wan day. Another day, he came back wae somewan else, bit Ah never managed tae find oot who that wis, other than he looked even meaner than Robson did.”

  “Carry oan, Sammy, ye’re daeing fine,” The Big Man said, nodding across tae him.

  “There isnae really much else tae say. It looks as if Harris his disappeared. Ah tracked him doon tae a pub called The Auld Hoose oan Keppochhill Road.”

  “The wan jist across fae Pinkston Drive?”


  “The very wan. He wis there at shutting time in the efternoon. The last known sighting ae him wis when he wis seen hinging aboot across oan Petershill Road fur a couple ae hours that same efternoon. Ah’ve goat two different confirmed sightings fae sources that wid swear it wis him. Efter that…well, the trail went cauld, as Tonto used tae say tae Kemo Sahbee.”