The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4

by Todd, Ian

  “Right, Simon, this is the tricky bit. We need tae be very, very careful here,” he whispered.

  Tony pulled the plunger oot until the cut groove in the stem wis exposed. Gently using his middle finger and thumb, Simon pushed the wee brass safety disc that wis attached tae the copper wire intae the groove. Tony gently eased aff the tension ae the plunger until the stem wae the disk stuck in the groove, rested solidly oan tae the brass T-junction, preventing the plunger fae being fully inserted. Tony moved tae the side and pressed his gloved thumb against the wee disk tae stoap it popping oot as Simon looped the fishing line roond the copper wire attached tae it before tying a knot.

  “Right, Ah’m gonnae pull the line tae it’s maximum tension, Tony. Remember tae keep that finger ae yers pressed doon oan tae that disk,” he whispered, as Tony watched the tension ae the drooping fishing that wis level wae the hook oan the wall at the side ae Tam’s kitchen and the Poacher’s Retreat before it drapped doon vertically tae start its journey horizontally alang the length ae the skirting board towards the ootside landing door.

  Efter Simon wis happy he’d run the line where it wis meant tae go, he crawled oan his hauns and knees, checking each curtain hook and slipping the fishing line back in tae the wee curved loops ae two ae them. Efter a final check, Simon stood back, oot ae the firing line and nodded tae Tony. This wis the dangerous part. If the line wis too tight, then it wid set the Poachers Retreat aff, which it hid done up in the empty tenement in Glebe Street twice. If that happened, then Tam Simpson wid get a respite. If the line wis too slack, then Tam wid get aff wae opening the door withoot the fishing line pulling oot the wee disc and setting the cartridge aff. They only hid four inches ae slack tae play wae. Still haudin the disk in place, Tony stood up, looked across at Simon and then took his thumb away fae the disk. Tony could hear his heart thumping. He lifted up his haun and showed it tae

  Simon. There wis a slight shake.

  “If ye think that’s bad, ye should feel that pouting arse-hole ae mine,” Simon whispered, laughing quietly.

  “Right, aw we need tae dae noo, is get oot ae here withoot getting shot, so we dae,” Tony said.

  Simon went first, stepping o’er the trip-wire and opening the door aboot twelve inches, before squeezing through while Tony kept a finger oan the wee brass disc. Simon pulled the door o’er, keeping a haun oan it wance he wis ootside oan the landing. He knelt doon and shone his wee pen torch through Tam’s letter box. As soon as the torch wis switched oan, Tony switched aff the lamp. He felt himsel freeze. Despite trying tae move that leg ae his forward, he stood transfixed, staring at the narrow light beam ae the torch that wis illuminating the fishing line in the dark, barring his way tae the front door.

  “Whit’s wrang, Tony?” he heard Simon whisper through the letter box.

  Before he could answer that his feet wur glued tae the flair, the moment passed and he managed tae move his right leg forward, gingerly lifting his left leg o’er the trip-wire. He twisted his body roond before lifting his other leg o’er. Wance he wis oan the other side, he looked alang the lobby at the shotgun cartridge sitting silently…deadly…in the Poacher’s Retreat, pointing straight up at that face ae his, before he slipped oot the door and oan tae the landing. He felt a shiver run up the whole ae his body.

  By the time Tony and Simon hid reached the car and he’d slipped intae the front passenger seat beside Pat, Tony clocked Snappy and Harper exit the closemooth, efter getting Harper tae lock the door. Tony felt himsel relax. The door wis noo sealed, awaiting Tam Simpson’s early morning arrival.

  “Everything go okay?” Pat asked, looking at Tony.

  “Like clockwork.”

  “Hoi, turn that up. They’re playing oor song, Pat,” Simon said fae the back seat, as the tinkling ae the keyboard in the introduction tae ‘Riders on The Storm’ faded and Jim Morrison’s voice announced that there wis a killer oan the road.

  Simon hid awready started stripping oot ae his clothes and stuffing them intae a GPO sack. Pat started up the engine, turned up the volume and followed the brake lights ae the car in front, being driven by Jake, as he turned right oan tae Balmore Road.

  5.30. A.M.

  Blaster Mackay yawned as he took a sharp right oot ae Farmer Macpherson’s farmyard oan tae the dirt track that led back oan tae the Helensburgh road. He wis fair chuffed wae himsel, despite hivving hid tae be up and oot ae the hoose at hauf three that morning. Even though it wis past Christmas, the demand fur good quality chickens wis still strong and he’d goat this load fur a fraction aw whit it wid’ve cost him a week earlier. He’d been surprised tae receive the phone call the night before, bit auld McPherson hid telt him that he needed tae make room fur mair stock that wis getting delivered later that morning and if Blaster wanted them, he’d need tae move fast...reminding him that it wid be cash in haun.

  “Typical farmer,” Blaster hid cursed tae himsel, efter putting the phone doon.

  He could jist see the gate that led oan tae the main road in the distance, when a set ae heidlamps turned intae it. He assumed it wis the farmer’s new stock arriving.

  “If that knob thinks Ah’m reversing aw the way back tae the yard, then he’s goat another bloody think coming,” Blaster growled, as the oancoming heidlamps continued tae come towards him.

  He stoapped the wagon and jumped doon. He put his hauns up tae shade his eyes as a white transit van drew up.

  “Cut yer beam, man. Ah cannae see a bloody thing!” he shouted.

  “Blaster, how’s it gaun? Long time, no see,” a voice said, as the driver’s and passenger’s doors ae the white van opened and two sets ae feet appeared underneath them.

  “Who’s that?” Blaster shouted, lit up in the middle ae the track.

  “It’s me, Blaster...Bob. The Big Man wants a wee word wae ye,” Wan-bob said, stepping oot in front ae the heidlamp ae the white van, pointing a sawn-aff shotgun at him.

  6.30 AM.

  Johnboy followed the back ae the screw in front ae him, alang the corridor towards the reception. He’d hid whit must’ve been the maist uncomfortable sleep he’d hid since arriving at Polmont. If it wisnae his back and arse that hid been sticking tae the concrete bed, it hid been his erm and the side ae his thigh. He couldnae wrap himsel roond the pipes because he’d been in the bare buff and the pipes wur too hot fur his skin. The bones ae his hip and shoulder joints wur tender and sore.

  “Good kip, Taylor?” McVey hid asked him, letting him oot tae empty his chanty pot before tossing his prison garb across tae him.

  In the dug-box in the reception, they awready hid his civvy clothes hinging up oan the back ae the door. His jaicket, wae his Ben Sherman shirt underneath it and his suit troosers, wis oan the main hanger, while underneath, in a canvas bag, wis the rest ae his stuff. Efter refusing breakfast, he sat in the four feet by four feet dug-box, waiting tae be taken doon tae the train station. Efter whit seemed like a lifetime, the door wis yanked open.

  “Right, get yer arse across here, Taylor,” the reception screw barked fae behind the coonter.

  “Here ye go, ye’ll need tae sign fur aw this,” another wan said, emptying the contents ae a big broon envelope oan tae the coonter.

  His watch, a set ae keys and a pile ae cash, in notes, tumbled oot oan tae the worn, shiny surface.

  “According tae this here inventory, ye’ve goat an eighteen carat gold Rolex Oyster Perpetual Metropolitan watch, a set ae keys and seventy six pounds in cash. Coont it before ye sign fur it.”

  Johnboy took his time. He slipped oan his watch, bought because it wis made in 1955, the same year that he’d been born, aff ae Pat fur pennies. He lifted his and Silent’s auld hoose keys and drapped them in his jaicket pocket, before slowly coonting oot his dosh. He wisnae sure how much these jumped-up turnkeys goat paid weekly, bit he reckoned it wis a lot less than whit wis gaun through they fingers ae his. He looked up and saw the wan that hid barked at him wet his lips wae his tongue, staring at the notes, as Johnboy slowly folded the wad
in hauf and slipped it intae the back pocket ae his troosers, breaking the spell.

  “Right, Taylor, ye’re aboot tae be transferred tae Polmont train station under escort. Any funny stuff and ye’ll be dragged back here and put oan report and ye’ll end up losing mair remission. Ye’re no officially free until ye step oan that train. Hiv ye goat that?”

  Oan the way tae the car, wae the cauld icy wind cutting him in two, he heard his name being called. When he stoapped and turned roond, Creeping Jesus wis hurrying across the front ae the reception building towards him.

  “Taylor...Johnboy? Wait a minute. I’m so glad I managed to see you before you left. I just wanted to thank you,” he panted.

  “Me? Fur whit?”

  “For your advice.”

  “Ah never gied ye any advice.”

  “Yes, you did...about changing my approach in relation to the inmates in here. I’ve had breakfast and lunch most days, sitting in amongst the inmates in the dining halls the past few days.”

  “Good fur you. His it worked?”

  “Well, the first day I was ignored, but this morning, one of the boys asked me if I was going to eat my slice of bread and when I said I wasn’t, he gratefully took it off my plate and ate it, giving me a wink and a smile.”

  “Aye, well, it’ll probably take a wee bit ae time, so it will.”

  “Well, anyway, my discussions with you in the, er, digger...I believe that’s what you boys call it…” he said, smiling, “…has done me a power of good. Thank you.”

  “Hiv ye any advice fur me then, Reverend?” Johnboy asked him.

  “Me? Oh, somehow I don’t think so.”

  “See, ye ur learning,” Johnboy said, smiling, as he slid intae the back seat ae the car.

  7.10. A.M.

  “Fuck’s sake, Shaun, whit time dae ye call this then?” Toby Simpson growled as Bootsy Bell and him goat oot ae the car.

  “Aye, sorry, Toby, bit we hiv tae get inside before Montieth arrives at hauf seven. He’s never early, bit always oan time,” Shaun said, shrugging, as he locked his car and bounded up the steps tae the front door ae the Woodside Accommodation office.

  “So, ye said ye’ve goat the deal ae the century, Shaun?” Toby asked, as Shaun searched his pockets fur the front door keys.

  “Aye, bit it’s no as straightforward as Ah’d like,” Shaun replied, slipping the key in the lock and turning it.

  “How dae ye work than oot then?”

  “Because Ah’ll hiv tae be a sleeping partner fur the time being...at least until The Big Man makes his announcement,” Shaun replied, slipping a separate key intae the second keyhole.

  “Whit, Pat Molloy’s retiring? He’s set a date?” Toby asked, surprised, as he gied Bootsy a quick glance.

  “Sshhh, we’ll talk inside, so we will,” Shaun shushed him, reaching in through the door and switching the lights oan.

  “Well, ye know me, Shaun…we go back a long way. Any bother between us is long forgotten...at least, it is oan oor side,” Toby said, as Bootsy and him passed Shaun, who wis haudin the door open fur them, motioning them in aff the steps.

  “Jist go right through. Ah’ll need tae put these ootside lights aff and lock the door again. Ah won’t be a tick, so Ah won’t,” Shaun said, as Peter The Plant skelped Toby Simpson across the skull wae a baseball bat, and Charlie Hastie stuck the barrel ae a Walther P38 German luger intae Bootsy Bell’s mooth, knocking oot his two front teeth.

  7.25 A.M.

  The Rat wanted tae bound o’er the reception desk and gie Trisha, the bemused receptionist, a great big hug.

  “Yes, yes, yes...ya bloody beauty, ye!” he squealed wae delight, skimming o’er the scrawling haunwriting oan the sheets ae papers in his haun, as the broon envelope that hid contained them lay disregarded oan the polished flair ae The Glesga Echo reception oan Hope Street. “Thank ye, God!”

  7.40 A.M.

  At the train station, McVey and Beattie flanked Johnboy as he opened the door and stepped oan tae the carriage. He hidnae said a word tae them so far and wisnae intending tae either. McVey wis jist aboot tae shut the door behind him when Johnboy heard his name being shouted. Johnboy pushed the carriage door back, hard against that ruddy face ae McVey’s and stepped back doon oan tae the platform. Tony and Silent wur walking alang the platform toward him, decked oot in black Crombie coats and wae big grins spread across their coupons.

  “Right, listen up, er, Taylor, we’ve, er, tae make sure ye get oan this, er, train or we’ll hiv tae take ye back, so we, er, will,” Ruddy Chops said, nae sure ae himsel, as Beattie started shaking and turned white, clearly no wanting any trouble.

  “Hoi, Beetroot Face, shut the fuck up. We’re in charge oot here, no you or that spindly wee prick wae the bobbing Adam’s apple who’s staunin there beside ye, aboot tae pish himsel.”

  Johnboy looked McVey in the eyes. Twenty four hours earlier, he’d wanted tae murder him and his pal. Johnboy wis a bit taken aback and embarrassed by the fear oan display in front ae him. This wis the guy who wis in charge ae the Mufti-squad who gied poor basturts hidings in the digger, mob-haunded. He looked at Beattie. He looked like he wis gonnae faint. Johnboy looked doon. Beattie wis staunin in a green puddle ae pish, clearly displayed fur the other passengers tae clock oan the white frost oan the platform. The pair ae screws wur pathetic looking. He jist gied them a wee smile.

  “Right, Johnboy, let’s go,” Tony said, haunin o’er a coat he’d been carrying, folded o’er his erm, as Silent slapped Johnboy oan the back, smiling, as he pulled him towards the exit.

  8.05 A.M.

  “Springburn polis, how can Ah help ye? Could ye slow doon a wee bit, sir? Right, that’s better. Ye wur saying? Yer two cars wur nicked? Wan car? Aye, aye, so where dis the other wan come in then? Ah thought ye jist telt me there wis two cars blagged? Yours and a fellow nightshift worker? Right, goat ye. And where is the other driver then? He’s staunin beside ye…right, goat that. His he reported his car stolen as well? Look, sir, telling me that Ah’m a useless cunt isnae gonnae get us anywhere noo, is it?” Happy Harry, the desk sergeant, retorted indignantly.

  8.50 A.M.

  “Right, that’s me away, Martha. See ye later,” Tam Simpson shouted tae that wife ae his fae the lobby.

  “Whit time will ye be back at?”

  “When Ah’m good and ready,” he shouted back, slamming the front door behind him.

  8.55 A.M.

  “Right, Mr Portoy, sorry tae keep ye waiting. Let me get this straight noo. Yer secretary contacted the station here in Possil yesterday, saying that ye wur arriving wae a client this morning, who wished tae report a serious crime and that ye wanted Inspector Mack, fae the city’s murder squad, tae be present. Is that correct?”

  “It is, Inspector Dougan.”

  “And I take it that, seeing as Mr Harris is sitting wae ye, that Mr Harris is yer client. Wid that be a correct assumption oan ma part?”

  “It would, Inspector.”

  “Well...” Inspector Dougan said, scratching his heid and leaning back in his seat.

  “Wid Ah be right in assuming that this crime wid be in connection wae a…a murder, Mr Portoy, seeing as Ah’ve been asked tae attend?” Inspector Mack asked.

  “Yes, I believe that to be the case, Inspector,” the brief replied.

  “Well, if it’s okay wae yersel, Duggie, Ah’ll take it fae here. Ye kin write doon the statement and Ah’ll ask the questions.”

  “Fine wae me, Bobby,” Inspector Dougan said, taking a pen fae the tap pocket ae his uniform jaicket.

  “To ensure that you have a full and frank outline of what my client is reporting, I have already taken the liberty of preparing two copies of a clear and concise type-written statement, signed by my client. I believe that the details contained are sufficient to allow you to successfully progress your investigations of the case his statement pertains to, and I trust you’ll acknowledge that my client is voluntarily assisting you in this matter. I would also like to request that, give
n the contents, my client can be assured of police protection until such times as those implicated are under the custody of the city’s police force. Before I hand over the statements, Mr Harris wishes to say a few words to the background of his signed statement,” the brief said, as the two Inspectors looked across at Harper, who wis sitting there in a shirt and tie and wearing a new suit that hid come straight aff the peg fae Burton’s the tailors doon in Union Street the previous efternoon.

  “Oan the night ae Friday the 17th December, Ah wis jist walking up Gourlay Street, across in Springburn, when Ah heard the screeching ae tyres and saw three guys jump oot ae a red Ford Cortina and run across and assault a young guy who wis walking up the street oan the other side fae me, in front ae The Princes Bingo Hall. As well as kicking and punching him, Ah saw wan ae them pull oot whit looked like a bayonet and plunge it intae the young boy a couple ae times, before running back tae the car and speeding aff in the direction ae Carlisle Street.”