by Todd, Ian
“Four boys escaped during the concert,” The Heidmaster hid announced grimly.
“Dae we know who they ur?” Alvin Jack, the administrator, hid asked, looking white aboot the gills.
“Aye. Gucci, McManus, Taylor and Smith,” he’d replied, staring o’er at Fanny accusingly.
“The wee basturts! Ah bloody-well knew they wur up tae something. Wait until Ah get ma hauns oan the basturts,” Mr Burns hid snarled.
Efter she’d been hinging aboot fur aboot hauf an hour, Mr Bick hid come o’er tae her and suggested she should heid hame, as there wis nothing she could dae that night that wisnae awready being done. She’d gone back tae her office tae get her bag, only tae remember wance she goat there, that she’d left it in the car. Oan her way tae her office, she’d come across Mr Burns at the reception, staunin beside a box ae snooker baws oan the desk, haudin up a white snooker baw in wan haun and whit looked like a big mushroom in the other, looking fae wan tae the other.
“Ah cannae fucking believe this!” he’d howled at the wee polis constable, who’d been staunin in front ae him wae a smirk oan that face ae his.
When she’d gone tae where she thought she’d left her car, there hid jist been an empty space. She’d looked aboot. The snow hid been billowing aw aroond her. There wur other staff cars parked between where she wis staunin and the gate at the bottom ae the drive and she remembered being a bit annoyed at the thought ae somewan shifting her car withoot asking her permission, tae allow the VIPs tae park nearer the reception door. Oan her way doon the drive, looking fur her car, she hid been passed by several cars, arriving wae school staff in them. She’d thought that they must’ve been called in tae help wae the search. When she’d goat tae the bottom ae the drive and there wis still nae sign ae her car, she’d re-traced her steps slowly back tae the reception. The snow hid been getting heavier and the cauld wind hid become a freezing blast. As soon as she’d entered the building, she’d heard the screams and angry voices. She’d gone through the security doors and alang the corridor towards the boardroom area tae where the noise wis coming fae. She’d jist aboot fainted at the sight that hid confronted her. There must’ve been aboot twenty staff lined up, roughly ten oan each side and facing each other, as they struck boys’ heids wae the batons they wur wielding. The boys wur being kicked and punched, running through a gauntlet ae staff, between the bottom ae the stairs leading tae the dormitories upstairs and the secure cell opposite them. She’d noticed wan ae the boys who’d been applying the make-up at the concert slip oan tae the flair, only tae be clubbed back up oan tae his feet and thrown forward intae another set ae baton-wielding erms. Wan ae the boys, O’Hara…the wan they called Baby Huey…hid tried tae hit back in self-defence, bit hid been kicked and clubbed tae the ground. Three other boys hid tripped o’er him when they’d come hurling forward aff the stairs as he lay oan the floor groaning, blood pouring oot ae his heid.
“Get in there, ya basturt, ye,” Mr Burns hid shouted, hitting Flanagan, the wan they called Minky, oan the back ae the heid wae his baton, before the boy disappeared oot ae sight intae the cell.
It wis then that Mr Bick, the deputy heidmaster, hid noticed her staunin there wae her haun up tae her mooth. He’d haunded his baton o’er tae Mr Wilson and come rushing o’er tae her.
“Fanny…Miss Flaw…whit ur ye daeing here? Ah thought ye’d gaun hame?” he’d panted.
“I had, but I think someone has stolen my car, Mr Bick,” she’d manage tae stammer. “What on earth is going on here?”
“Never ye mind that, lass. We’re back in charge noo. Let’s jist go alang tae the reception and Ah’ll send somewan alang tae gie ye a run hame in a minute.”
She couldnae remember who it hid been that hid drapped her aff at her flat. She hid said nothing and nothing hid been said tae her oan the journey. She didnae need tae be back at work until Monday the sixth ae January. That wid gie her plenty ae time tae decide her future. It wis clear that her rehabilitation programme wis deid in the water. She glanced at the clock again and wondered where The Mankys wur as Canned Heat started tae sing aboot gaun oan the road again.
“Oh my God, the lunatics have taken over the asylum,” she sobbed oot loud, as she leaned o’er and switched aff the radio.
Chapter Twenty One
Johnboy opened up the shutter, letting the light stream intae the room. Paul wis kneeling o’er at the fireplace, putting a fire thegither. Tony, Joe and Silent wur still lying sleeping oan the mattress, covered in a mountain ae auld coats.
“Ye should’ve seen it, Paul. It wis a real professional show wae real acting. Ah wis sorry tae miss the ending. It wis bloody funny as fuck,” Johnboy wis saying, clearly happy tae be back in the Toonheid.
“Johnboy, it wis shite wae shite acting,” Joe volunteered fae the mattress.
“Tony, tell him,” Johnboy retorted, looking o’er at the mattress tae where he thought Tony wis.
“Ah’ve seen aw the films at the pictures. Somehow Ah don’t think it wis supposed tae be a comedy, bit it wis that bad, it wis good.”
“See!” Johnboy said triumphantly tae Joe.
“Fur fuck’s sake, Johnboy…whit the hell happened tae yer front teeth? Ah never noticed the gap last night,” Paul asked him, grinning.
“A mad German butcher whipped it oot.”
“So, will ye always speak wae a whistle efter every word then?”
“If ye think it’s bad noo, ye should’ve heard him jist efter it wis done. Every word hid a dribble attached tae it,” Tony said, getting up and heiding through tae the kitchen sink fur a slash.
“There ye go, boys. That’s whit Ah call a fire, so it is,” Paul declared, as the torn-up flair lino burst intae flames.
Johnboy stood looking oot ae the windae. It felt good tae be back hame, even if it wis snowing ootside. They wur holed-up, oan the second flair ae an empty tenement, jist opposite Sherbet’s wee grocers shoap oan McAslin Street. People ae aw shapes and sizes wur streaming in and oot, maist wae The Glesga Echo tucked up under their erms. A Barr’s lorry hid jist pulled up and the driver disappeared intae the shoap. The van boy wae him wis dragging oot wooden crates full ae empty bottles and wis stacking them at the back end ae the wagon. The driver re-appeared and wis lifting doon full crates and looking at his wee order book every noo and again, before walking roond and selecting the various flavours fae different parts ae the stack nearest tae the cabin. Johnboy wondered if he’d be able tae make it doon the stairs in time tae nip across and blag a crate before they’d finished delivering their order, bit decided nae tae bother. They wur close tae Montrose Street and the last thing he wanted wis tae bump intae his ma oot fur her tipped singles and morning paper. He looked at the tenement building opposite them. Hauf the hooses wur lying empty. Ye could tell the empty wans. Some ae them hid been left wae their windaes open a few inches at the tap or the bottom, even though it wis winter. Johnboy turned roond and surveyed the scene in the living room. There wur two mattresses lying oan the flair in the alcove, pointing lengthways towards him. There wur two erm chairs, wan oan either side ae the fireplace and a plank ae wood sitting oan tap ae two wooden Barr’s Irn Bru crates facing the fire. There wur three red tartan cushions sitting oan the plank. Oan the left ae the fireplace wall, there wis a shelved alcove where Paul hid stacked their grub, which consisted ae a box ae crisps, four packets ae McVities Gypsy Creams, a Crawford’s tin ae mixed biscuits, a box ae MB chocolate bars and a box ae Penny Dainties. Tae get a bottle ae ginger, anywan who wis sitting oan the plank hid tae staun up before lifting oot a bottle ae Irn Bru fae wan ae the crates under it. Johnboy didnae know how Paul hid managed it, bit the crates hid a good mix in them. There wis yer usual Irn Bru, alang wae American Cream Soda, Limeade, Orange and American Cola. He turned and looked back oot ae the windae at the sound ae the empty bottles rattling in the crates as they wur being slung up oan tae the lorry. This pair hid it doon tae a T, he thought tae himsel. The lorry wis never left oan its ain. If the driver wis in the shoap
, the van boy wis ootside. When the boy disappeared in wae the sack-barrow loaded wae ginger, the driver wis hinging aboot ootside, stacking crates here and there. It wid need tae be a grab and run case wae this pair.
“So whit’s the plans then?” Joe asked efter Tony returned, zipping up his fly and plapping his arse doon oan tae the plank.
“We’ll need tae lie low fur a few days. The bizzies will be aw o’er the place noo that we’re oot and oan the go.”
“Whit ur we gonnae dae aboot these uniforms then?” Johnboy asked, looking aboot at the dark blue jaickets, similar tae the wans that the navy sailors wore.
“We’ll need tae go snow-dropping tae get a change,” Joe said.
“Furget that. Nowan will hiv their laundry hinging oot oan washing lines at this time ae year. Nothing wid dry,” Paul said.
“We could always tan wan ae the nippy bag-wash shoaps. They keep the denims and dungarees separate fae the other washing in the shoap. When Ah used tae take ma da’s there, they always kept them oan a shelf, jist behind the coonter as ye go in the door,” Johnboy volunteered.
“Whit dae ye think, Paul?” Tony asked.
“Well, we’ve goat Shitey Sadie’s jist opposite The McAslin Bar or Jemima Skid’s place oan Glebe Street. Take yer pick.”
“We kin hiv a look and see who’s goat the maist denims oan display and take it fae there,” Johnboy suggested.
“Right, that’s settled then. We’ll go and get a change ae gear later oan the night. In the meantime, who’s fur a game ae Bella?” Paul asked, lifting doon a packet ae Gypsy Creams and pulling oot a pack ae playing cards.
Chapter Twenty Two
Inspector Colin McGregor sat looking at the two sergeants in front ae him. If anywan could get the job done quickly, it wid be this pair. Wan ae The Big Man’s boys hid telt him recently that he’d heard that they didnae get oan, bit Colin hidnae picked up any evidence ae that. He wis aware that there wis a bit ae rivalry between them oan who could lock up the maist neds though. Normally, rivalry between officers within the same patch widnae be tolerated, as it wis important fur the local pavement pounders tae work as part ae a team, bit it seemed tae work well in their case. Their arrest and clear-up rate, so far, wis wan ae the best in the city, even though their methodology hid raised a few eyebrows in certain quarters. He’d been oot-manoeuvred and oot-voted oan his replacements fur Liam Thompson and Big Jim Stewart, the last pair ae sergeants he’d lost nearly three years earlier. It hid been a difficult time fur everywan, especially fur him. He’d jist managed tae haud oan tae the Toonheid by the skin ae his teeth. There hid been talk at the time that he wis getting put oot tae pasture up in Bishopbriggs, amongst aw the lawyers and TV presenter crowd. The previous inspector, Joe McInally, hid been retired aff wae a bare pension. It wis well-known in the toon that there wis slim pickings tae be hid up there in The Briggs. He’d heard that poor Joe hid ended up as a night watchman oan wan ae they fancy office-building sites up near St George’s Cross. Colin’s appeal tae stay in the Toonheid hid gone straight tae the tap. He remembered the parting shot fae Sean Smith, who wis a chief inspector at the time, efter he’d successfully pleaded his case.
“Ye’ve jist scraped by, by the skid marks oan they pants ae yers, Colin, so let that be a lesson tae ye. There’s a lot mair than jist you and me who get affected by failure oan the ground, ye know. If ye cannae staun the heat, then ye need tae get oot ae the kitchen. Ah know ye acted swiftly tae deal wae that last pair ae eejits, bit at the end ae the day, it wis oan your watch that they fucked up and it wis ma baws that wur hinging oot oan the line. Ah’ve spoken tae the other inspectors and a few ae them hiv spoken up fur ye. There wullnae be a second chance the next time. In the meantime, Ah’ll look aboot tae see whit we’ve goat oan the sergeant front and Ah’ll get back tae ye wae who Ah want up in the Toonheid.”
Jist a few hid spoken up fur him? That hid hurt. Granted, he wis the only blue-nose in amongst them, bit still….he’d always been as loyal tae Sean as any ae The Irish Brigade. It wis unprecedented fur a local inspector no tae be involved in picking the sergeants fur his area. He’d found oot later that it hid been Daddy Jackson, sitting in his fiefdom ae Anderson and Partick, and that snivelling wee basturt, Mickey Sherlock, who ran aboot in The Flying Squad, playing at being The Lone Ranger, who’d put the boot in. It hid taken aboot fifteen months before they’d finally settled oan the two permanent sergeants fur the area. The longest time he’d hid a sergeant during that period hid been Jings Johnston, bit that hid only been a temporary appointment while Jings wis waiting tae move oot tae Yoker as the new inspector. Jings wis wan ae the good guys. He’d telt Colin that the word hid gone oot and nowan wanted tae work wae Colin because ae the trouble between Pat Molloy, The Big Man and the local pavement pounders. The war between Molloy and The Irish Brigade hid continued unabated, even though Molloy hid been allowed tae recover his expenses at the expense ae the Linen Bank at the tap ae Parly Road, no long efter his doos hid gaun walkies. Since then, each side tried tae avoid wan another, particularly oan Friday and Saturday nights when the bevvy wis flowing. A few ae his local PCs hid ended up wae sore faces o’er the years because they’d jumped intae situations withoot first finding oot whit the score wis beforehaun. The situation wis noo at boiling point and there wis pressure oan The Irish Brigade tae jist get in there and finish Molloy aff wance and fur aw. A month and a day efter Jings hid moved oot tae Yoker, two permanent sergeants hid arrived, wan week apart fae each other. Colin looked across at his inheritance. It hidnae taken the locals long tae attach a haundle tae the baith ae them either. Finbar O’Callaghan wis known as ‘Fin’ tae his colleagues and ‘Bumper’ tae the wee local neds oan account ae the fact that no long efter his arrival, he’d run o’er two wee thieves wae the squad car, who he’d been chasing alang St James’s Road at the Dobbies Loan end. Wan ae the boys hid ended up wae a broken erm while the other wan hid suffered a broken ankle. He’d heard that the broken ankle came aboot because Bumper hid reversed back o’er the victim as he wis lying spread-eagled oan the pavement, efter being hit the first time.
“They won’t be in such a fucking hurry the next time Ah shout at them tae stoap,” Bumper hid been quoted as saying later.
The other caped crusader wis Paddy McPhee, known as ‘Paddy’ tae his colleagues and ‘The Stalker’ tae the locals. Oot ae the pair ae them, The Stalker wis the maist hated and the maist feared. He wis well-known fur stalking whoever he wis efter. He’d sit in the back ae a closemooth aw night, if need be, waiting fur his quarry tae appear. When the hapless victim wid eventually turn up, McPhee wid jump oot and either garrotte him wae his erms or club him o’er the napper wae his baton. He never gied anywan a chance tae gie themsels up. He’d been through three batons since he’d been transferred intae the Toonheid. Although there hidnae been any doubt that he wis good at his job, it hidnae taken long fur complaints aboot his tactics, particularly fae the local wummin, tae start streaming in. The thought ae a night stalker, even if it wis a plod, creeping aboot the back courts and closes at night hid obviously gied the local wummin folk the heebie-jeebies.
“Right, boys, we’ve goat a wee bit ae trouble brewing and it his tae be nipped in the bud, pronto,” he said, looking across at the pair ae them.
“Oh, aye?” Bumper said, showing an interest fur the first time since he’d come in and plapped that arse ae his doon oan the chair.
“Aye, the boys ur back in town.”
“Boys? Whit boys wid that be then, Colin?” The Stalker asked nonchalantly.
“Yer pals, Gucci, McManus, Taylor and the manky mute, Smith.”
“Aw thegither?”
“No only aw thegither, bit they’ve hooked up wae yer other runner fae the area, Paul McBride.”
“Ah nearly goat a haud ae that basturt earlier in the week. He jist managed tae wriggle away fae me in a closemooth up in St Mungo Street. Ah thought Ah hid the slippery basturt. Ah wis jist aboot tae pounce bit the flairboard that Ah wis staunin oan creake
d at the very last second. It wis enough tae spook him and he took aff like a bloody hungry whippet jist before Ah made ma move. Ah wis left wae hauf ae his jumper in ma haun,” The Stalker scowled, disgust and disappointment in his voice.
“How dae ye know they’re here, Colin? Hiv they been seen?”
“There wis a riot last night in Thistle Park, oot in Paisley. Seemingly, Bob Hatchet, the chief superintendent ae Paisley and his wife wur up at the school attending a Christmas concert when it aw kicked aff. By aw accounts, Bob jist managed tae get his wife oot ae the place in the nick ae time and apparently, the staff wur lucky as well. They managed tae quell the riot by drafting in extra staff and using truncheons tae beat the ringleaders back. Oor four managed tae get away by climbing oot ae a windae and stealing a car belonging tae a female member ae staff. Seemingly, the poor wee soul is so traumatised that she’s hid tae go aff oan the sick. The ringleaders, seven ae them, wur aw shipped up tae the closed block in Rossie Farm late last night efter receiving hospital treatment in Paisley RI.”