by Todd, Ian
“If Ah wis you, Ah’d try and dae another mock-up in wan ae the auld tenements that ur getting demolished, up in your auld patch, Tony,” Erchie hid suggested when he wis leaving.
“Wid that no attract attention?”
“No if it’s during the day when they’re taking the buildings doon. The noise is deafening. The only thing ye’d need tae make sure is that ye’re a good distance fae where the demolition is happening. Ye widnae want a workman tae come up the stairs and trip yer wire, wid ye?”
The lobby in the tenement building they’d used oan Glebe Street hid been longer and slightly wider than Tam’s. It hid also hid an extra door in it. Simon hid gone away and come back wae an auld abandoned chest ae drawers that fitted the width ae the lobby perfectly. Using that as Tam’s toilet door, they’d adjusted it by bringing it forward so that the length ae the lobby wis bang oan. Snappy and Pat hid disappeared and returned wae a pile ae bricks tae act as the wee table wae the lamp sitting oan it. Oan the first trial, the shot hid blown a big hole oan the right-haun side ae the front door frame, the opposite side fae where Tam’s door swung open. It wisnae lost oan anywan that if it hid been in Tam’s, then he wid’ve survived. The Poacher’s Retreat hid also bounced aff the back ae the chest ae drawers wae the kick ae the discharge. Snappy and Simon hid argued o’er whether Snappy hid moved the block that the shotgun cartridge wis sitting oan when he’d tossed a length ae door facing oan tae the wire. The problem they faced wis that nowan could come at the fishing line fae the front wance it wis drawn horizontally across the width ae the lobby, without getting shot. Efter a couple ae fags and hauf a dozen arguments, a solution hid been found. Snappy hid ripped a length ae linoleum up aff the flair and tacked a length ae it across the width ae the lobby fae waist-height up. Before that, he’d picked up a wee bit ae ceiling plaster that wis lying in the corner and using it as chalk, hid drawn a nice ootline, including a smiling face, ae the shape ae a body fae the waist up oan the black tar side ae the lino. Simon hid clocked an auld tyre lying doon in whit hid been the back court ae the tenement and hid brought it up oan tae the landing. Pat hid awready screwed curtain wire hooks alang baith sides ae the skirting boards in the lobby and Tony hid run the fishing line through them. Efter spending ages taking measurements and positioning the bricks, everything hid at last been ready tae roll. Another argument hid erupted when Simon and Snappy couldnae agree oan which wan ae them wis tae hiv the honour ae rolling the tyre in through the front door, underneath the lino, towards the trip wire. Tony hid decided fur them and hid goat Pat tae dae it. Wae everywan staunin behind the chest ae drawers, except fur Pat, who wis facing them fae the ootside landing, bent o’er wae the tyre between his legs, Tony hid counted doon fae three. Pat hid pushed the tyre forward, before quickly disappearing oot ae sight.
“Take two!” Snappy hid shouted.
The tyre hid wobbled and fallen oan tae its side, jist short ae the wire.
“Ye’ve goat tae roll the fucking thing, Pat, ya eejit, ye,” Simon hid shouted.
“Ah did. It hid trouble getting o’er the doorstep, ya fud ye,” Pat hid snarled back.
“Look, let me hiv a go,” Snappy hid growled, making oot tae go forward.
“Stay where ye ur, Snappy!” Tony hid screamed at him.
He hidnae wanted anywan messing aboot by climbing o’er the wire which wis aboot ten inches aff the ground.
“Right, here we go,” Pat hid shouted, as he drew back further oan the landing and let the tyre roll again.
“Take thirty three!” Snappy hid shouted sarcastically.
Aw eyes hid been transfixed oan the baldy tyre as it came rolling, bumping o’er the door step towards them. As soon as it connected wae the wire, the gun hid blown a hole the size ae a rugby baw in the linoleum straight through the chest ae the chalked figure that Snappy hid drawn oan the lino. There hid also been a smattering ae scatter holes roond the shoulders, neck and heid. The Poacher’s Retreat hid still jumped up, clattering aff wan ae the closed lobby doors that time. Tony wisnae too bothered aboot that. He wis intending tae screw the block oan tae the lamp table oan the Friday morning.
“Whit dae ye think, Tony?” Pat hid asked him, as Snappy and Simon restarted their argument aboot who wis getting tae roll the tyre next.
“Ah’m no sure. Ah still think we’re too far back. The problem wae the Retreat is that it disnae hiv a longer barrel tae contain the packing before it leaves the cartridge,” Tony hid said, frowning.
“If ye move the lamp table forward up at Tam’s, he might clock that it’s been moved. He’s a sly fucker. Anything oot ae the ordinary, and he’ll stoap in his tracks, so he will.”
“Aye, Ah know. Right, let’s try and shift the brick lamp table forward a wee bit tae see if we kin reducing the scatter ae the packing.”
The efternoon hid gone well. They’d tried a few mair scenarios until Tony wis satisfied that it wis as good as they wur gonnae get it. He looked across at the entrance tae Graham Portoy’s offices as Pat turned up the radio when Maggie May came oan. He wondered how Paul wis getting oan and whit his thoughts wid be when he goat his Christmas card up at auld Innes and Whitey’s croft in the Highlands. When Tony and Johnboy hid gone up north, tae keep Pat company when he’d gone tae pick up a couple ae pads ae gold rings, Paul hid turned up wae the Poacher’s Retreat as a wee present fur them. While Pat hid gone aff and done the business, Paul hid taken Tony and Johnboy oot tae a forest jist ootside Inverness and gied them a wee demonstration.
“Ye never know...it might come in handy someday,” Paul hid said.
“Ah doubt, it. Ye should see the arsenal they mad basturts ur building up,” Johnboy hid said.
“Aye, well, as Ah said, who knows whit might happen in the future. Right, bit listen up. If ye ever dae intend tae use it, send me a card saying that the poacher isnae retreating. That way, Ah kin make sure Ah get rid ae the other two that ur stashed away oan the croft. Ye don’t hiv tae write anything else…Ah’ll know whit ye mean.”
“Ye don’t think it could be traced back tae ye, Paul?” Johnboy hid asked him.
“Naw, there’s nowan aboot up here oan any the estates who’s gonnae own up tae owning wan ae these lethal fuckers,” he’d said, smiling.
“Here we go, and no before time,” Pat growled, straightening up in his seat, as the electric organ ae Atomic Rooster’s ‘Devil’s Answer’ filled the inside ae the car.
Harper dodged in and oot ae the traffic, crossing the street towards the car.
“How did it go, Harper?”
“Fine. The only thing he really insisted oan knowing wis where Ah wis getting the cash tae pay him, seeing as Ah wis signing oan the burroo.”
“And?”
“Ah telt him the truth that Ah wis getting the reward fur returning The Princess’s Ring tae The Glesga Echo,” Harper replied, wae a nervous grin.
“Good answer,” Tony said, as Pat turned oot intae the traffic, jist as two bizzies crossed the street towards them.
Chapter Fifty Six
The Rat wis nervous. Even though he’d haunded o’er the two grand tae Wan-bob Broon, and hid received assurances fae The Big Man that they’d leave him tae get oan wae his life, there wis still wan caveat left. Wan-bob hid telt him that there wid be a package…a letter…left fur him at The Glesga Echo Office first thing oan the Friday morning. Wan-bob hid been evasive aboot its contents, in that he’d telt The Rat tae shut the fuck up and listen carefully tae whit he wis saying. He’d tried tae assure him that it wis a thank ye fur the sterling work he’d done fur The Big Man o’er the ring. He’d also made it clear that, under nae circumstances, wis the content ae the package tae be printed in Friday morning’s edition ae the paper or released before twelve o’clock that day. He’d been adamant aboot that and hid warned him that failure tae stick tae that wid mean he’d end up haudin up wan ae the multi-storey blocks ae flats that wur springing up aw o’er the city. He didnae know whether he wis coming or gaun, although the Calamine lotion wis daeing the
trick wae that rash ae his.
“Lord Frank will see you now, Mr Elliot. Just go right in,” the P.A. purred, putting the telephone back oan its cradle.
“Sammy, ye’re back...wae the special delivery, Ah take it?” Hamish McGovern asked, wan eyebrow raised.
“Aye, here ye go, Lord Frank,” The Rat said, sliding the padded envelope across the table tae the seated publisher.
He watched Lord Frank snatch up the envelope, tear it open and extract the ring. The Rat caught the dazzle ae the wintry sun bouncing aff ae it as Lord Frank held it up tae the light streaming in the windae. The publisher fished oot an eye-glass fae his jaicket pocket and stuck it in his eye socket, as he held the ring close tae his face.
“Ah...excellent, excellent. Well done, Mr Elliot, well done. You’ve made a miserable man extremely happy. Now then, what can I give you as a reward, Mr Elliot?”
The Rat looked across at Hamish who looked back at him wae a deid-pan expression oan that kisser ae his.
“Er, a permanent post as a hack, back oan the paper, wid be much appreciated, Lord Frank,” he replied.
Silence.
“Ye mean, wae The Echo, Sammy?” Hamish asked him, surprise in his voice.
“Why no? Ah think Ah’ve earned it, so Ah hiv,” he replied, looking at Lord Frank.
“Oh, no-one is suggesting you haven’t earned it, Mr Elliot. We...Hamish and I...thought that a job with a little less pressure would be more appropriate to your er, health and wellbeing.”
“Oh? So, whit did youse hiv in mind then?” The Rat asked, clearly shocked and disappointed.
“I’ve taken over The Dunoon Gazetteer, which is in need of an experienced journalist to take over as its editor. It would be a big promotion for…er, someone like you, Mr Elliot.”
“Bit Ah’m an investigative journalist, wae aw respect, Lord Frank. Farming somewan like me oot tae cover stories ae drunken American sailors widnae be ma cup ae tea, Ah don’t think,” The Rat replied, trying tae suppress the sound ae pleading that wis leaking fae that mooth ae his.
“Sammy, listen tae ye. Ye’re no a well man, fur God’s sake. Investigative journalism is a young man’s game these days. Surely, somewan wae yer experience kin see that?” Hamish said tae him gently.
“Hamish, wae aw due respect, Ah work hard, take a few risks here and there, bit Ah always get the story, so Ah dae. Aw Ah’m asking, pleading fur, is another bite ae the cherry. Ah won’t let yersel and Lord Frank doon. Ah’ll keep it clean, aw the way, fae noo oan, so Ah will...Ah promise.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lord Frank murmured, pursing his lips and looking across at Hamish.
“Look, as well as working oan getting The Princess’s Ring back fur ye, Ah’ve been investigating a big story. This will send the circulation up through the roof...it’s hot aff the press, so it is,” The Rat pleaded, looking fae wan tae the other.
“Whit is it?” Hamish asked.
“Ah cannae say, bit ye’ll hiv the full article the morra at exactly eleven o’clock, jist in time fur the lunchtime news, so ye will,”
“What do you think, Hamish?” Lord Frank asked his editor.
“And ye think that it’s big enough fur the lunchtime news tae pick up oan, Sammy?”
“And the national evening news as well,” The Rat lied, no hivving a clue whether there wis a story or no.
“Right, well, depending on what you come up with…and if it is as big as you say, Mr Elliot…welcome back to the staff of The Glasgow Echo,” Lord Frank beamed.
Chapter Fifty Seven
The Stalker sat slumped in the driver’s seat next tae Bumper, looking across at Jonah’s lounge oan Springburn Road. They wur parked up ootside the public halls in Millarbank Street. There must’ve been a five-a-side fitba session oan the go in the hall as they could hear the shouting and the thud ae the baw smashing against the inside walls ae the games hall.
“How many times hiv we sat here like a pair ae clowns, no knowing whit the fuck we’re looking fur?” The Stalker asked his partner.
“Ah think the last time wis a couple ae weeks ago, jist efter the McManus boy goat chibbed ootside the bingo hall roond the corner...remember? That wis the night we goat a grip ae Frisky Frank. It seems like a lifetime ago noo.”
“Ah’m no talking aboot the last couple ae weeks, Fin. Ah’m talking aboot the last couple ae years. How many times hiv we sat here like the two stooges, twiddling oor thumbs, waiting fur something tae happen?”
“It’s three.”
“Whit is?”
“The stooges...there wur three ae them.”
“The problem as Ah see it, is that, this is the problem. If we sit back and watch nothing happening, then aw the thieving will take place roond aboot us while we sit in inertia, kidding oorsels oan that we’re oan tap ae things, when we’re no.”
“Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Paddy. Ye’re no still upset aboot yer meeting wae Mickey Sherlock, ur ye? Ah telt ye, ye wur wasting yer time, so Ah did. That’s why Ah decided no tae go wae ye.”
“Aw he went oan aboot wis how they wur gonnae nab the big boys wae their hijacked booze. Meanwhile, there’s a ticking bomb aboot tae go aff up here or across in Possil and nowan gies a toss because it’s no high profile enough fur them.”
“Maybe they know something that we don’t.”
“Like whit?”
“Like, maybe we need tae be furgetting aboot aw the big boys and concentrating oan the sweetie shoap stuff.”
“They don’t come any bigger than Pat Molloy or Tam Simpson,” The Stalker mumbled, ignoring his partner. “Put them away and the whole place wid flat-line and be wide open fur some smart young Turk tae try and move in and take o’er. Kin ye imagine the battles we’d get involved in?” The Stalker sighed, ignoring the radio asking them where their present position wis.
“If life is gonnae keep repeating itsel, why bother wae Molloy and The Simpsons? It’s aw the same tae us, whether it’s them or somewan else. Don’t gie yersel an ulcer…it’s nae worth it. Let some other eejit take the strain.”
“Aye, Ah suppose ye’re right, bit it gets oan ma tits every time Ah think ae that bloody Atalian, Gucci, strolling through life, while the rest ae us hiv tae work fur a living. It’s jist no fair, so it isnae. It wid be nice if we could aw lie back and watch the money rolling in like him. Mark ma words, Fin, that thug’s gonnae make a name fur himsel wan day, so he is, and it’ll aw be because we let him.”
“So, tae change the subject, whit did ye mean when ye said that Simon Epstein led ye a merry dance last night?”
“Ah wis stalking the bampot aw night. Ah lost him a few times, bit then caught sight ae a flashing sock disappearing intae wan ae the lanes.”
“Aye?”
“When Ah sneaked roond fae the far side, the dirty basturt wis humping a bird up against the wash-hoose wall.”
“A knee trembler? Anywan we know?”
“Aye, Willie Mason, the coalman’s daughter…the wee barmaid wae the big paps who Ah’ve fancied fur ages. And tae think she disnae even gie me the time ae day. Whit is it wae these animals, eh? They stroll aboot, flashing their cash, and then get tae shag aw the nice birds that the rest ae us only dream aboot when we’re bashing the auld bishop,” The Stalker moaned, looking at the radio.
“Ach, that’s wan ae the doon sides ae being a bizzy in a place like Springburn...everywan hates us, bit cannae dae withoot us,” Fin sighed.
“Sergeant tango wan four, ur ye there? Over,” the radio crackled.
“Wan four. Over,” The Stalker said intae the moothpiece.
“There’s a possible siege situation in full flow up in the Balgrayhill flats. Over.”
“Whit’s the current situation? Over,” The Stalker asked, starting up the ignition and switching oan the blue lights.
“Yer pal, who Biscuit put in the hospital wae a cracked skull, efter trying tae slit his wife’s throat, is at it again. Over.”
“Bit Ah thought he wis in hospital wae a fractured skull
. Over.”
“He wis. He signed himsel oot. Over.”
“And the lassie…his wife? Over.”
“Oh, she managed tae escape. It’s aw the local wummin who’ve turned up mob-haunded, trying tae get at him. Over.”
“We’re oan oor way. Send in the back-up and tell them we’ll be there in two minutes. Over and oot.”
“Back-up? Whit back-up wid that be then? Over and oot.”
Chapter Fifty Eight
Digger Day Thirteen – Last Night
It hid been a good day aw roond. Johnboy hid sang himsel through the day, wae every Creedence, Beatles, Stones and The Who songs he knew, except fur a few wee intermissions tae dae his keep-fit routine and scoff the gruel when it arrived. Oan the wan haun he’d been disappointed when the hammering across in the pallet shoap hid stoapped fur the day, as it hid been gieing him a bit ae bass in the background, behind his vocals. Oan the positive side, it hid meant he wis closer tae that front gate and freedom. The screws wurnae happy. They’d been up tae their auld noise-up tactics. No only hid the basturts put his mattress oot ae action, bit when he’d gone tae grab his blanket, pillow and pyjamas earlier, some sick basturt hid pished aw o’er them as well. Efter discovering they wur soaking wet, he’d coonted tae five…slowly. The surge ae rage that hid shot through him hid been difficult tae keep in check. He’d jist drapped his bedding back on tae the pishy-smelling mattress and looked at McVey and Beattie, the smirking pair ae basturts, who’d been clearly finding it difficult no tae pish themsels wae pleasure at his discovery. Efter a wee pause that hid gied him time tae collect himsel, he’d jist stripped aff tae the bare buff and strolled back intae his cell. He hid tae admit, that in the noise-up division, they’d played their cards jist right. He hidnae even attempted tae figure oot the pleasure tae be had fae pishing oan somewan’s bedding and jist accepted it as wan ae the hazards ae daeing time in Polmont’s digger. He’d awready carried oot his last day’s programme and, as far as he wis concerned, everything wis still oan track. The plan hid been nae tae sleep during this, his last day, tae ensure he goat a bit ae kip oan his last night. He knew the pish-pot brigade wid up the ante, bit they’d left it too late. The day hid started aff quite the thing. The AG and Napoleon The Boar hid turned up, as per usual, clearly sick as parrots that it wis his last day ae being tormented.