Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2

by Todd, Ian

“Fur fuck’s sake, Paul! If ye don’t shoot the basturt the noo, wan ae us is gonnae get bloody-well hurt here,” Tony said quietly, as aw eyes followed Mick.

  The words wur jist oot ae Tony’s mooth, when Mick stumbled again. Johnboy wisnae sure if he walked intae the wee glass-topped, Suzy Wong coffee table that wis in front ae him that hid a stack ae Aleck The Humph’s Chevalier chips scattered across her diddies, or if he’d tripped oan the rug in front ae the electric fire. Whitever he did, he brought his hauns back up towards his chest tae steady himsel. If Johnboy ever thought ae fire, he thought ae orange and red flames. In Mad Mick Murphy’s case, there wis a sudden whoosh, followed by an awful bloodcurdling scream, as Mick suddenly wis engulfed in a blue and white flame. Everywan, taken by surprise, automatically jumped back in shock, as Mick started tae stumble aboot, screaming blue murder, trying tae get away fae the flames that hid swamped him fae heid tae toe. Tony, quickly followed by Joe, wur oot the door first, followed by Johnboy. They wur jist clambering up the wall in the back court, when fur some reason, Johnboy hesitated and looked behind him. He’d been sure that he’d heided oot ae the door before Paul, bit there wis nae sign ae Paul in front or behind him. Johnboy’s brain wis howling tae him tae get the hell oot ae there, while Mick’s screams could be heard aw o’er the back courts. Johnboy cursed tae himsel, as he drapped back doon fae the wall, ran back intae the closemooth and intae the hoose. Smoke wis belching oot ae the tap hauf ae the open door. When Johnboy entered the living room, Mick wis still crashing aff the walls and furniture, trying tae escape the flames. The room wis full ae thick black smoke that seemed tae be coming aff the burning curtains and the melting black plastic that covered Mick’s couch. Through the smoke, Johnboy could see that Paul wis still staunin where they’d left him, rooted tae the spot, staring at Mick bouncing aff ae the walls and furniture, screaming and waving his fiery erms aboot. Paul McCartney wis jist daeing the ‘doo, doo, be-doo-be-doo’ bit ae the song, before carrying oan wae the chorus, competing wae Mick and his awful screaming. Wae wan erm covering his mooth, Johnboy grabbed Paul fae the back and pulled him towards the door. The second he laid his hauns oan Paul’s shoulders, Paul sprung intae life and bolted, spluttering and coughing, through intae the lobby, wae Johnboy up his arse. They never caught up wae Tony and Joe until they goat back tae the den. Paul and Johnboy never uttered a word tae each other as they slowed tae a walk and entered the tap end ae the High Street. They turned up intae the Rottenrow, still coughing and spluttering, wae their eyes smarting fae the effects ae the smoke as they heided towards Montrose Street, in the direction ae the toon centre. They clocked the two fire engines in the distance, whizzing up the big hill oan Montrose Street before they turned right intae Cathedral Street, passing Allan Glen’s school, doon tae their right. It wis the same route as the fire engines hid taken the night the cabin, wae Skull and Elvis in it, hid gone up in flames. Johnboy wondered if it wis the same firemen fae three years earlier, as they hurriedly picked up their pace alang the cobbled road. Normally, they wid’ve entered the escape route, wan at a time, bit efter hinging aboot tae make sure The Stalker wisnae sniffing aboot, they nipped up Frankie Wilson’s close. When they reached the den, Tony and Joe hid awready changed oot ae aw their gear.

  “Get they clothes aff and get changed. Put everything intae the bag. Don’t furget yer gloves, shoes and socks. Hurry up,” Tony said, as Johnboy noticed the bag in the middle ae the room wae their clothes awready in it and wondered how the gun hid goat tae be sitting oan tap ae the bundle.

  When they’d changed, Tony picked up the bag and disappeared oot through the hole in the wall in the bedroom next door. While he wis away, none ae them spoke. Joe wis re-lighting the fire when Tony reappeared.

  “Right, that’s fine. Everything should be okay noo,” Tony said, reaching fur the bottle ae Irn Bru.

  “Whit did ye dae wae oor gear?” Johnboy asked him.

  “Ah slung it doon wan ae the big holes up where they’re building the multi-storey. Whit the fuck happened tae youse two?”

  “Nothing, we wur right behind youse wans,” Johnboy said.

  “Right, Paul, whit the fuck happened back there?” Tony asked, as aw eyes looked at Paul.

  “Ah don’t know. Ah jist fucking froze. It wis they eyes ae his staring at me. No matter how hard Ah tried, Ah couldnae get ma finger tae squeeze the trigger.”

  “Did ye no hear me telling ye tae pull the fucking thing?”

  “Ah heard everything ye said. Erchie The Basturt wis right. It is fucking hard tae dae away wae somewan who’s there in front ae ye, eye-balling ye, even if they ur challenging ye tae go aheid and dae it.”

  “Dae ye think the fire will kill him?” Johnboy asked.

  “Who knows. Ah hope so or we’re well and truly fucked,” Tony cursed.

  “There’s nae fucking way anywan could survive that,” Joe said, speaking up fur the first time since they’d arrived back.

  “It wis fucking horrible, so it wis,” Paul said, shaking fae heid tae toe.

  “Aye, well, noo we know whit poor Skull and Elvis hid tae put up wae then,” Tony said, putting them aw back intae silent mode.

  Chapter Forty Three

  “Ur they in position?” The Stalker asked Bumper, as he appeared oot ae wan ae the closes at the corner ae Grafton Square.

  “Aye, we better get a move oan,” Bumper replied, as they ran wae the four pavement pounders doon tae the closemooth oan John Street.

  It hid been an eventful night, The Stalker thought tae himsel. Earlier oan, roond aboot hauf ten or eleven, a call hid come in tae Central, informing them that a hoose wis oan fire up in Martyr Street. Hauf an hour later, the station hid erupted in cheers when news came through that Mad Mick Murphy, wan ae Pat Molloy’s henchmen, hid been in the hoose and hid gone up in smoke. Colin, the inspector, hid sent The Stalker up tae try and check oot the hoose before the forensic crowd arrived oan the scene.

  “Am Ah looking fur anything in particular?” The Stalker hid asked.

  “See if there’s any sign ae they Chevalier chips we’ve been looking fur and…a blue folder wae paperwork inside it. If ye come across the folder, the baith ae youse will get an instant promotion up the ladder tae inspector level…nae questions asked,” The Inspector hid said, efter a slight hesitation.

  By the time The Stalker hid left the burnt-oot living room and arrived at The Royal, they’d awready turned oan the fans in the corridors ae the casualty department. The smell ae burnt clothes and flesh hung heavily in the air.

  “Is it definitely Mick Murphy?” The Stalker hid asked Bumper, efter arriving at The Royal.

  “Aye, unless some fucker’s stolen his wallet and set himsel alight in Mick’s living room.”

  “Fucking hell! The place wis a right mess. Ye could see where he’d been banging aff the walls and the furniture, setting the place alight.”

  “Whit caused the fire? Dae we know?”

  “The fire boys think he might’ve done it himsel. There wis a Zippo lighter wae the cap opened and a whisky bottle withoot a cap oan it. They also found an unlit fag. Fuck knows how they know aw this stuff. Wan ae the fire boys said they come across this aw the time when they’re called oot tae hoose fires. It’s usually alkys setting themsels alight when they’ve fallen asleep, sitting oan their chairs in front ae the fire, pissed and unconscious. It’s usually worse if they’re sitting wae a glass ae spirits. They said they won’t hiv the full picture ae whit’s happened until the morra.”

  “Whit aboot the forensic boys?”

  “They’ll jist be finishing their tea break aboot noo, before heiding up there,” he’d said, looking at his watch.

  Bumper and The Stalker, wae the back-up squad in tow, reached the closemooth opposite the Band Ae Hope Hall oan John Street. They stoapped briefly at the closemooth tae hiv a confab.

  “Whit’s aw this aboot, Fin? Ah thought we wur supposed tae be the back-up fur the squad gaun through the door in McAslin Street,” Charlie Chase asked them. />
  “Charlie, shut the fuck up and dae whit we tell ye,” Bumper growled at him.

  “Right, Ah’m no convinced they’re gonnae come the street way. They’ll come up through the lane and o’er the wall beside the dipping yard. Ah’ll be oot the back and Ah’ll follow them up the stair, Fin. That way, Ah’ll be able tae nab any fly wan that manages tae get back oot the door and doon the stairs,” The Stalker said.

  “Fine, Paddy. See ye in a minute,” Bumper said, disappearing up the stairs wae his squad.

  The Stalker walked across tae the wall that separated the tenements in Grafton Square fae North Frederick Street and stood facing the back ae the tenements that wur aw in darkness. The backcourt, where he wis staunin, wis a good bit higher up than the North Frederick Street wans. Anywan jumping o’er the wall withoot a parachute wid probably kill themsels. Doon tae his right wis the Stow College Ae Hairdressing, surrounded by car parking spaces. Oan his left, he could jist make oot the roof ae the shed in the dipping yard. Somewan wance telt him that it wis owned by Pat Molloy, The Big Man. He kept his eyes peeled in that direction. There wis a lane that separated the tenements oan McAslin Street fae the Grafton Square wans. He reckoned that he’d see them as they came up and o’er the wall. They wid’ve then hid tae heid in his direction tae nip in the back close. He stood back intae the shadows beside a midden and waited. He wis quite chuffed wae himsel. Aw his creeping aboot hid paid aff. When they’d goat the sheet, highlighting where the empty hooses wur, fae The Corporation, it hidnae taken them long tae suss oot whit hoose The Mankys wur in. It wid’ve been easy enough jist tae storm the place, bit he wanted a clear sighting ae them first. He’d spent days hinging aboot in the sleet, rain and cauld, waiting. The big break hid come when he spotted Paul McBride. He wis the wan that worried him the maist. He’d watched McBride trying tae stalk him. He’d been flattered at first, bit it hid then become a pain in the arse. It hid meant that he wis never sure whether he wis being watched or no. He didnae like the feeling it gied him. He knew he’d nearly goat caught twice, hinging aboot the closemooth where they wur hiding. How McBride hidnae clocked him, he’d nae idea. He’d been lucky that time. That wis when he’d decided that it wis time tae move, even though he still hidnae figured oot how they wur getting in and oot. It hid been difficult tae persuade Fin tae haud back, bit he’d gied in eventually.

  “Ah’m telling ye, Fin…if we go charging in there and they’ve worked oot an alternative escape route, we’re fucked. Ah say we haud oor horses and wait and see. They’re no gaun anywhere, so whit’s the hurry, eh?”

  “The longer we leave it, the mair chance there is that they’ll fuck aff,” Bumper hid responded.

  “Trust me oan this wan,” he’d pleaded.

  “Right, we’ll gie it another few days,” Bumper hid finally agreed.

  They’d spent the past few days watching them come and go, oot ae Frankie Wilson’s closemooth at the bottom ae Grafton Street. He’d followed them tae the second hoose in John Street. He’d watched them fae a safe distance, taking auld mattresses up there at night. Him and Bumper hid sussed oot straight away that they wur setting up another den. It hid been interesting watching how they went aboot their business. He’d been shocked and delighted tae discover that they never exited oot ae wan four seven. At first, he’d jist assumed that him and Fin hid goat it wrang oan where they wur holed up, bit every time they clocked them disappearing intae Frankie Wilson’s close, the smoke fae the chimney in wan four seven started up. He wis impressed wae their caution. They always seemed tae hing aboot tae make sure the coast wis clear. He appreciated their footwork when they wur in pairs or aw thegither. Wan ae them always doubled back and watched whit wis gaun oan behind the backs ae the wans that hid jist left. The Stalker knew tae keep well clear. This wee bunch wurnae daft. They went wae their instinct. Fin wis convinced that they wur moving alang the lofts ae the tenements and then coming doon intae the stairwell ae Frankie Wilson’s closemooth. The Stalker wisnae so sure, bit he didnae want tae risk getting too close tae the building when they wur coming and gaun. Another reason tae keep a bit ae space between him and them wis that he’d read their briefs. He widnae want tae be cornered oan his ain up a close wae them, especially wae Gucci, McManus and McBride. They’d been building up a bit ae a reputation in the Toonheid since they wur snappers and wur well-known fur using extreme violence oan anybody, big or wee, auld or young, who dared tae cross them. The Taylor wan seemed a bit different and nowan he’d spoken tae could put their finger oan whit the attraction wis oan either side, other than tae confirm that Taylor needed watching. He looked at his watch. It wis five tae four. No long noo, he thought tae himsel.

  “Right, boys, get ready. Under nae circumstances dae any ae youse make a fucking move until Ah say so. Wait until they come through the door first. Wance they dae, Ah’ll boot the door shut behind them and we’ll ladle intae them. Paddy will be at their back, so watch ye don’t hit him when he comes charging through the door,” Bumper said, jostling them intae the kitchen at the back ae the den in John Street.

  “Ur ye sure we’ve done the right thing, getting rid ae oor long nightsticks, Fin?” Charlie Chase asked doubtfully.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Charlie. Ye hiv tae bloody trust me here. A big stick in this wee hoose widnae work. This will be close quarter swinging. Use yer standard issue batons. They won’t know whit’s hit them if we jist stick tae the plan. It wid only take Gucci or McManus tae get a nightstick aff ye and we’d be in deep shite. Jist dae as ye’re telt, and everything will be fine.”

  Johnboy thought the ceiling hid come doon aboot them. The whole building wis shaking.

  “Keep calm, it’ll take them a few minutes tae get through the door,” Paul casually said, lighting a candle as they scrambled up and oot fae under the auld coats that wur oan tap ae them.

  Johnboy looked across at the door. Tony wis staunin, looking intae the lobby. The candle oan the mantelpiece that Paul hid lit wis casting his shadow up against the wall beside him.

  “Hiv we goat everything?” Tony whispered, cool as fuck, as the smashing ae the door continued.

  “Aye, that’s us, Tony,” Joe whispered back, voice tense.

  “Right, let’s go,” Tony said, before briskly walking back across the room tae the fireplace, lifting up the wee cardboard box that wis sitting oan the mantle-piece and placing it oan tap ae the dying embers, before following the others through tae the next room.

  When Johnboy entered the lobby, wan ae their scaffolding poles suddenly gied way and collapsed wae a metal sounding clang oan tae the wooden flairboards. Johnboy could see two axe heids appearing and then disappearing back through wan ae the tap door panels as he quietly slipped past. They nipped through the hole and through oan tae the landing ae the next close and then up the stairs, two steps at a time. Johnboy hidnae heard the bizzies voices before then, bit he could clearly hear them screaming tae everywan tae staun away fae the door as he disappeared intae the tap flair hoose and through the next hole. The shouting wis getting louder and they heard whit sounded like the ootside door ae their den being ripped apart, as they nipped doon the stairs tae the first flair landing and intae the hoose that wid take them through tae Frank Wilson’s close. They’d jist crossed Grafton Street and wur heiding up the lane behind Grafton Square, when they heard the first explosion. Tony let oot a big laugh and Joe shouted “Yeehaah!” as they vaulted the wall beside the dipping yard.

  The wee box oan tap ae the fireplace that Tony hid placed in the embers wis full ae blank bullet cartridges, which Paul hid picked up oan his travels across at the railway yard, before they’d escaped fae Thistle Park. They wur always oan the lookoot fur them since they wur kids. They wurnae too sure whit they wur used fur. Joe hid said they put them in wee metal boxes beside the railway tracks tae warn the drivers no tae continue alang the track they wur heiding oan in emergencies. Johnboy wisnae too sure aboot that, bit whitever they wur used fur, aw the weans in the Toonheid loved them and always threw th
em oan tae bonfires before staunin back tae hear and watch them go aff. Johnboy hid jist landed oan the ground oan the other side ae the wall in the lane, when whit sounded like The Gunfight At The OK Corral kicked aff back in their wee den.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Fin. Ah thought ye said they basturts widnae hiv shooters?” Charlie Chase shouted in alarm, wrenching the radio aff ae John Fitzgerald’s lapel. “Alpha Charlie, Alpha Charlie, this is a Code Twenty Wan Red, repeat, Code Twenty Wan Red at wan four seven McAslin Street. Christ, they’re bloody fucking shooting everywan!”

  “Charlie, ya basturt, ye! Come back!” Bumper shouted, chasing efter them doon the stairs.

  The Mankys hid jist reached the back ae the closemooth in John Street, when a herd ae polis came charging doon the stairs and tumbled oot ae the front ae it, heiding up Grafton Square towards Grafton Street, wae Bumper running efter them, screaming like a banshee. The Mankys automatically skidded tae a halt before doubling backwards towards the wall that wid take them o’er tae the backs oan tae North Frederick Street, avoiding gaun o’er the midden nearest tae the hairdressing college. They aw knew that oan the other side ae that wis a forty fit drap intae the car park that they aw used tae play fitba in when they wur wee snappers. Johnboy clocked Tony and Paul disappearing o’er the wall first, followed closely by Joe. He’d jist lunged at the wall himsel, when he wis nabbed. He couldnae let oot a scream as wan haun wis covering his mooth, while the other wan hid him in an erm-lock roond his neck. He thought he wis gonnae suffocate as he wis dragged across the back court, through a closemooth and oot oan tae Grafton Square. When they goat oot intae the street, Bumper ran towards him and kicked him full in the guts. The erm roond Johnboy’s neck loosened its grip as he doubled up oan the ground, moaning and clutching his belly.

  “Whit the fuck happened?” he heard The Stalker howling.

  “The basturts set a trap fur us roond in wan four seven. The pavement pounders aw thought they wur being shot at.”