by Todd, Ian
The Rat knew he wis oan tae something when he saw the eyes oan the three faces in front ae him slightly twitch at the mention ae Petershill Road. It wisnae that obvious, and widnae staun up in court, bit there wis a definite flicker or slight shift in the focus ae the cauld eyes that hid been staring across at him when he mentioned it. He’d been aroond long enough tae know that he’d hit the bull’s-eye, bit he wisnae sure why. He allowed his sphincter tae relax a bit.
“And the ring, Sammy?”
“Whit aboot it?”
“Hiv ye heard anything aboot where it could be? Any word oan the street oan its whereaboots?”
“Nothing, Pat…no even a squeak.”
“Right, Ah want ye tae keep oan the case ae Harper. He’s oor man. As soon as ye track him doon, get the word back tae me via Bob here...day or night. Hiv ye goat that?”
“Aye, nae problem, Pat.”
“Right, Bob, drap Sammy back aff in the toon,” The Big Man said, taking a deep puff ae his cigar and sitting back comfortably in his ermchair.
Efter being blindfolded and tossed aboot in the back ae the van fur three quarters ae an hour, The Rat wis back in his bedsit, jist in time tae catch the start ae Jimmy Saville drooling o’er the young lassies and announcing that this wis the Christmas Top Ae The Pops Special 1971. He wis still trying tae figure oot whit the significance ae Petershill Road wis as he stirred his good Heinz’s chicken soup. The whole atmosphere in the room hid changed when he’d mentioned it, or hid it been at the mention ae the ned wearing the luminous socks?
Chapter Thirty Four
“Reverend, is there something wrong?” Lady Polmont asked.
“Oh, er, no, not at all, Lady Polmont. The turkey is beautiful and the Brussels sprouts are cooked to perfection,” The Reverend replied, as the concerned faces ae the great and the good looked towards him, while seated aroond Lady Polmont’s dinner table in Polmont House.
“Well, please do not be afraid to say, Reverend. I thought I caught your face turning a whiter shade of pale,” she replied.
“Ah believe that’s a song title ae a famous song, Lady Polmont.”
“What is?”
“A Whiter Shade ae Pale. I believe some pop group hid a hit wae it in the pop charts, back in the 1960s,” The Provost replied.
“Really?” Lady Polmont said, hoping that inviting John Robertson, the local butcher and recently appointed provost, wisnae too distressing fur her guests, efter the death ae Sir Malcolm, the previous holder ae the post.
The Reverend felt like throwing up. He wis only hauf listening tae whit Mrs Bingham, vice chairman ae the borstal visiting committee wis saying oan his left...something aboot rosehips. He wisnae sure if she wis referring tae the plant or the syrup. It hid jist dawned oan him whit he’d stupidly done. The boy...Taylor...hid been unaware ae the stabbing incident involving his friend. Drat! How could he hiv been so stupid? Unless the prison staff hid informed the boy...which wis doubtful...how wis he tae know? The oppressiveness ae the place that he’d felt when he’d entered the solitary block, alang wae the obvious reluctance ae Taylor tae engage wae him, hid made it difficult fur him tae communicate. He tried tae remember whit exactly it wis that he’d said noo. He’d jist assumed that the boy awready knew aboot the stabbing as he hidnae shown surprise when he’d mentioned it...or hid he? The role reversal, where he’d ended up sitting facing and looking up at Taylor, who’d been staunin throughoot their conversation, looking doon oan him, hid unnerved him. It hid happened so quickly, but hid it been opportunistic oan the part ae Taylor...an experienced offender? When he’d sat in the cell, there hid been nae hint ae aggression, only a bemused curiosity oan the part ae the inmate. Whit he’d perceived as hurt, sadness and concern fur his friend when he’d raised the stabbing incident, he noo realised hid probably been anger towards him, firstly fur bringing him the bad news and secondly, maist likely towards the system as a whole. He tried tae rationalise the advice that he’d received fae Sandy Mackay, the senior social worker, who’d tried tae persuade him tae avoid visiting Taylor in the first place. He looked doon the table at Lady Polmont and at the faces eating aroond the table. He truly believed that Lady Polmont felt a genuine concern fur the welfare ae the prisoners in Polmont, but whit exactly wis she...they...actually achieving? When young offenders wur sentenced tae borstal, it wis called borstal training. Whit evidence wis there that young men, maistly fae the inner city slum areas ae Glesga, wur actually being trained or rehabilitated in these institutions? Hid his time in applying his faith tae those maist in need been in vain? If he wis tae ask himsel, in aw honesty, whit he’d actually achieved in the three years that he’d been daeing missionary work in Polmont, wid he be satisfied wae his reply? The very fact that he wis avoiding the answer oan this day, ae aw days, no only challenged the validity and justification ae his presence before the people sitting aroond this table, bit ae those who lived and worked in the institution itsel. Wis he there under false pretences? He felt as if a sledgehammer hid landed oan his heid and heart. His wife ae twenty seven years hid died four years previously. They’d hid nae children. Her death hid hit him extremely hard. When the Bishop, who knew ae his time working wae prisoners efter the war in Germany, hid suggested that he apply fur the Polmont parish, he’d at first dismissed the suggestion oot ae haun. Efter four months ae being accosted daily by elderly spinsters wae apple tarts and baked pies, which hid been piling up in his kitchen uneaten, he’d made up his mind. The Bishop hid welcomed his change ae heart. The post hid still been vacant. He’d found oot later that there hidnae been a single application fur the posting, despite it hivving been widely advertised in Scotland and in the missions abroad. He’d believed the Bishop when he’d informed him that he wis the right missionary fur the job as the person wis expected tae be dynamic, God-fearing and humble towards his fellow beings.
“You’ve got all these qualities in spades, Christopher. You’re dynamic, sensitive and God fearing,” the Bishop hid beamed at him.
His thoughts turned back tae Taylor. Wid The Reverend’s supposed dynamism hiv been picked up oan by somewan like him? He knew that practically aw the inmates belonged tae wan denomination or the other, bit very few actually practiced their faith. He admitted tae himsel that he wis envious ae the numbers attending mass each Sunday. The Catholic boys, despite their lack ae Christianity towards their peers, did pay homage tae their religious roots by at least turning up each Sunday. He’d coonted thirty three boys in attendance at Father Martin’s service the previous Sunday. He wisnae too sure how honest Taylor hid been wae him. When he’d asked Taylor whit Christmas meant tae him, he’d hid tae look into the boy’s eyes tae see if he wis pulling his leg or not.
“It’s jist another day tae me, so it is,” he’d replied.
“And Baby Jesus?”
Silence.
“Family? What about your Family? Most families celebrate Christmas together and even though they may not realise it at the time, they’re actually celebrating the most significant event that has ever happened in this world.”
“Well, seeing as Ah’ve never really spent Christmas at hame, at least, no that Ah kin remember, that is, Ah couldnae tell ye either way. Ah’d imagine the only time ye’d hear Jesus Christ’s name being mentioned oan Christmas day in oor hoose, wid be when that ma ae mine wis shouting at ma da fur making an arse ae something.”
It wisnae whit Taylor hid said that hid surprised him, bit the matter-ae-fact way in which he’d said it...aff the cuff.
“So, your family doesn’t celebrate Christmas then?” he’d asked him.
“Ah never said that. Ah said Ah hidnae spent Christmas at hame fur donkey’s years.”
“So, where did you spend your Christmases then?”
“In the jail, approved schools, remand homes...that kind ae thing.”
“But, they must have celebrated Christmas...surely?”
“Who?”
“The institutions and the staff that ran them...the types of food that would h
ave been served up to you, such as Brussels sprouts, mashed turnip, chicken and Christmas pudding. Did any of that mean anything to you?”
“It meant a change fae hivving tae clean other people’s boots...being gied the crappiest jobs in the place. Whit it never done wis stoap us fae being subjected tae petty rules or being ordered aboot and telt when tae eat, sleep, wash or go fur a slash.”
“But, surely being put in these places for wrong-doing meant that discipline had to be observed and that part of being there was to follow the rules?” he’d made the mistake ae asking.
“Reverend, Ah never asked ye tae come in here tae pay me a wee visit. As far as Ah’m concerned, ye’re an uninvited guest. It wid never enter ma heid tae come roond tae yer hoose and start tae slag ye aff, especially you being a stranger, jist because Ah don’t like whit Ah hear or believe whit comes oot ae yer mooth, so it widnae. If Ah remember right, it wis you that came tae me, so if ye don’t like whit ye’re hearing, well...” Taylor hid said, leaving the question ae whit The Reverend should dae next hinging in the air.
It hidnae been said threateningly, bit Taylor hid made his point...loud and clear. The Reverend hid found himsel oan the back foot, apologising profusely. He hidnae been too sure if it hid perhaps been because ae the novelty ae actually hivving a real conversation wae wan ae the less needy inmates...at long last, that hid caused him tae challenge Taylor. Of course, Taylor hid been right. Who’d invited him in?
“Oh, er, well, I must go. It’s been lovely having this conversation with you, Taylor. I’ll leave you in peace. Perhaps we can have a chat another day,” he’d said, wanting tae bite aff his tongue at the hollowness ae the words that wur echoing aroond the bare cell.
And wae that, he’d stood up, picked up his chair and walked oot ae the cell. Taylor hidnae uttered a word, although he’d felt those blue eyes oan his back as he exited the cell.
“Of course, I blame the birds myself, Reverend.”
“What?”
“The birds, Reverend. I was just saying that something should be done about the birds eating all the rosehips. Surely someone could do something, don’t you think? Are you sure that you’re feeling alright, Reverend?” Mrs Bingham asked, looking at him wae concern.
Chapter Thirty Five
“Right, so whit hiv youse come up wae?” Tony asked them.
“The flair’s aw yours, Snappy,” Pat said, smiling, volunteering oan his behauf.
“Fuck aff. Look. Simon looks as if he’s jist aboot tae pish himsel,” Snappy said, as everywan turned tae look at Simon.
“Ah’m saying fuck-aw until Ah hear whit Snappy his found oot, which is probably sweet FA,” Simon retorted.
“Fur Christ’s sake, will wan ae youse spill the beans?” Tony growled.
“Tony, fuck aff. Whit the hell hiv ye been daeing aw week, eh?” Snappy demanded, as Pat mimicked whit Snappy hid jist said in a wee lassie’s voice.
“Fuck’s sake, Pat, that sounds jist like him. How the hell did ye manage tae dae that?”
“It’s easy, he sounds like ma wee sister when she’s jist pished her pants,” Pat said tae laughter.
“Hiv we come up wae anything or no?” Tony demanded again.
“Tam Simpson meets Blaster Mackay in the Balmore Inn every Tuesday and Thursday night aboot nine o’clock. Blaster disnae hing aboot either. He’s in and oot in aboot hauf an hour. No long efter that, Tam heids hame in his big fancy wheels, driven by Jo Jo Robson plus Mad Malky’s usually sitting in the passenger seat,” Snappy eventually volunteered.
“That maw ae his runs the wee bag-wash shoap oan Saracen Street, bit he disnae seem tae pop in tae see her regularly, so there isnae any set times he’s in and oot, where we could nip him when he’s in tae pick up his shite catchers,” Pat chipped in.
“Right, here’s a wee juicy wan that might, or might no help us oot. Ah picked up that he might be dipping that wick ae his in some fancy posh bit ae stuff who’s married,” Simon announced, looking aboot, bit failing tae get the anticipated roond ae applause. “And wait fur it…it’s a social worker, wid ye believe?”
“Is he nae awready married?”
“Of course he’s married,” Simon snorted. “Whit the fuck his that goat tae dae wae anything?”
“So, dis that mean he’s perching oan her in some wee quiet, oot ae the way location then, Simon?” Tony asked hopefully.
“That wife ae his is mental, so she is. She’s as bad as her brother-in-law. Pure psycho material, fae whit Ah’ve heard. Her and Tam hiv been known tae hiv a square-go wae each other in the pub in front ae everywan. If he’s shagging some floozy and she catches him, he’ll need mair than a social worker tae sort him oot,” Snappy drawled, as everywan laughed.
“Ah find it hard tae believe that some social worker wid allow somewan like Tam Simpson tae hump her. Is there no some kind ae law against that...like sleeping wae the enemy or something?” Ben asked.
“He’s shagging her, no hivving a kip wae her, Ben,” Snapper said.
“Aw Ah know is whit Blind Bill telt me. He said that Tam let it slip wan night in the Balmore Inn, when he wis trying tae impress Blaster Mackay, efter Blaster wis boasting that he wis perching oan a social club manager. He wisnae sure where the social worker works or whit kind ae car she drives. That’s aw Ah could get oot ae him. He wis nervous as fuck telling me whit he did. He kept looking aboot tae make sure nae fucker wis lugging in. He says he never really sees Tam Simpson nooadays. It’s always Toby or wan ae the others that comes tae collect their weekly dunt fae him, whether his boys hiv hid a good week or no,” Simon chipped in.
“He wis looking aboot trying tae clock if anywan wis lugging in? Ah thought the basturt wis as blind as a bat?” Snappy asked, looking across at Simon.
“He is, bit he disnae act like wan. He telt me he’s been offered aw sorts ae things like a white stick and a dug tae help him up the road by the blind asylum people, bit he prefers tae stagger aboot oan his tod. He says he likes the new buses wae the fancy electric doors oan them. He says it means he kin hear the doors opening and shutting. He says it widnae be the first time that he’s stepped aff the back ae the platform and landed oan that arse ae his in the middle ae Saracen Street while the bus wis still moving.”
“That’s whit Ah cannae understaun aboot people like Blind Bill. Wae the size ae the team he’s goat, why the fuck wid ye pay oot weekly backhaunders tae somewan like The Simpsons, eh?” Pat mused oot loud, looking aroond at the faces.
“They’re aw pickpockets and purse thieves. Aw that crowd ur no intae anything heavy. At the first whiff ae trouble, they aw shite themsels. Jist like us, eh?” Simon said tae sniggers.
“Ah heard that Tam goes across tae The White City every week tae watch the greyhounds. We could maybe get him there, bit remember whit The Big Man said aboot daeing it in public?” Snappy reminded them.
“Right, that’s no aw, either. We’ve goat another problem. Harper Harris his done a runner,” Pat announced.
“Eh? Ur ye sure aboot that?” Tony cursed, scowling.
“Sure Ah’m sure. Ah widnae say it if Ah wisnae.”
“Youse ur aw fucking useless, so youse ur. Aw Ah asked ye tae dae wis tae find Harper Harris and tae get a bit ae info oan Tam Simpson’s movements. How bloody hard kin that be, eh?”
“Tony, you try wandering aboot Possil wae aw they wanking Simpsons and their bears oan the go. It’s no as if we kin jist walk aboot the pubs asking whit Tam Simpson’s next move is or where we kin find Harper Harris, so it isnae,” Snappy snapped.
“Aye, and then there’s dodging aw they wee psychopathic stabbers who’re aw wandering aboot the streets, looking fur some poor innocent tae stab. It’s awright getting things fixed oot wae The Peg o’er here in Springburn, bit it disnae cut any ice wae that Possil Fleet bunch ae shitehooses, so it disnae,” Simon said tae nods.
“Look, we don’t hiv much time, so we don’t. Wan ae us is gonnae end up copping whit Joe copped, unless we get oor skates oan. They Simpsons
won’t be fucking aboot, the way that we obviously ur. They’ll be in and oot and before we know it, wan or mair ae us will be joining Joe doon in the mortuary,” Tony impressed upon them.
“Tony, we’ve aw been oot and aboot fur days noo. Ah agree wae Pat...Harper’s definitely lying low,” Snappy said.
“Whit aboot that sister ae his? The wan that wis hitched tae Hawkeye Campbell before The Simpsons nailed him tae that door, eh?”
“If she knows where he is, she’s no telling us, though she did tell us that she’d awready telt The Simpsons, the bizzies and some wee horrible rat ae a guy who she hidnae seen before, that she hidnae seen him in weeks,” Simon chipped in.
“Dae ye believe her?”
“Of course Ah don’t believe her...she comes fae Possil, so she dis. They’re aw lying tits o’er there, especially the wummin,” Simon replied.
“Naw, ya daftie, whit he’s asking ye is, dae ye believe her when she said that the bizzies and The Simpsons ur oan her brother’s trail as well?” Pat asked him.
“There wisnae any reason fur her tae lie...aboot that anyway, wis there?” Simon replied.
“Whit dae ye think, Tony?” Ben asked.
“Ah’m no sure. And who’s this other guy she wis talking aboot?” Tony asked.
“She never said. She might be trying tae put us aff his scent though, by bringing another face intae the picture,” Simon replied.
“Naw, hauf the toon, or at least, hauf ae Possil ur probably trying tae track him doon. If the bizzies ur involved, we need tae get oor hauns oan him fast. He awready knows Ah’ve goat the ring.”
“Wid ye no be better getting shot ae it then?” Simon asked.
“Fuck aff, Simon. That thing’s worth a fortune, so it is. Ah could get shot ae it the day, nae questions asked, so Ah could,” Pat bragged.