The Silver Arrow

by Ian Todd

  “Stella…ma missus…yer maw?” he’d exclaimed in shock, at another revelation he hidnae known aboot.

  “Aye,” the wee jakey hid confirmed.

  “Er…how auld ur ye, son?”

  “Sixteen…Da,” the wee basturt hid replied, staunin there in a filthy Rangers top, hinging fae that skeletal frame ae his.

  Happy hid recently bumped intae Tam Mitchell, an ex-counterpart ae his, who’d loyally manned the desk across in Possil fur years, bit who’d been put oot tae pasture efter making the mistake ae alerting the Marine Division boys across in Partick that a shooting hid been reported up in Hillend Road in High Possil oan Hogmanay a few years back. How wis poor Tam supposed tae hiv known that the shooting hid involved wan ae Glesga’s biggest gangsters and his shag-piece, posh social worker, who also happened tae be a prison governor’s wife? By the time Tam’s inspector, Duggie Duggan, hid arrived oan the scene, the Marine crew hid been aw o’er the place, taking control ae the investigation oan the ground. Within two months ae his fatal mistake, poor Tam hid been oot oan that puckered arsehole ae his withoot so much as a thank ye fur yer loyal service. Fur the past couple ae years, Tam hid been working as an underground car park attendant oan the night shift at the George Street end ae the Montrose Street multi-storey car park. Fae a position ae power, respect and authority as the desk sergeant in wan ae the busiest polis coonters in the city, Tam spent the nocturnal, night time hours ae whit hid been left ae his life, sitting in a wee glass box, lifting his heid up in anticipation every time he heard a passing car changing doon in tae first gear as it attempted tae tackle the big hill tae take it up and o’er oan tae Cathedral Street. Harry hid been the only bizzy amongst the three mourners in attendance at Tam’s state-funded pauper’s funeral, ten days earlier, efter he’d noticed Tam’s death announcement in The Evening Times’s births and deaths column. The last time he’d spoken tae Tam wis when he’d been parking his good, ex-repossessed Austin Princess car oan the groond flair ae the car park. Tam hid warned Harry tae try and stay in the force as long as he could as there wis fuck aw ootside in civvy street fur the likes ae them. It wis clear that loyalty coonted fur nothing and that nowan wanted tae employ an ex-polis desk sergeant wae an ever expanding paunch, except fur the multi-storey car park companies, who treated everywan as if they wur monkeys, given the wages they paid. Stella hid a lot tae answer fur, bit wherever she wis noo, she certainly wisnae gieing a bloody toss. It wis only him and a lonely future noo…minus that wee dream caravan doon near Butlins.

  “Hellorerr, Happy. Cheer up, it might never happen, eh?” Jake McAlpine quipped pleasantly, plapping a pint ae Tennents doon oan the table in front ae himsel, in time wae the sound ae that arse ae his landing oan the fake bamboo chair opposite.

  He wis rapidly joined by Ben McCalumn.

  “Whit the fuc…” Happy stammered, startled.

  “Cheers,” McCalumn said tae the other two, cracking a smile, as he took a sip ae his eighty bob.

  “Right, Ah don’t know whit the hell’s gaun oan here, bit ye better get tae fuck or Ah’m gonnae scream fur the polis,” Happy snarled, still in the throes ae his startlement by the unexpected intrusion.

  “Aye, well, Happy, Ah widnae dae that. Ye widnae want tae miss oot oan a wee unexpected bonus, noo wid ye?” McAlpine chided him, withdrawing a broon envelope fae the inside ae his jaicket, while making sure that the sergeant clocked the haungun resting in a holster strapped tae the side ae his chest.

  “Whit’s that?” Happy yelped, drawing himsel back intae his seat and looking aboot in panic, while pointing tae the envelope sitting oan the table between him and the two Neds.

  “It’s nae use looking aboot, Happy, it’s jist us in here at this time ae the day,” McAlpine purred soothingly.

  “We jist want a wee chat, so we dae,” McCalumn added, getting rewarded wae a dirty look fae his partner.

  “Look, Ah don’t know whit the fuck youse ur daeing aw the way across here in the south side, bit ye shouldnae be talking tae me. Ah’m, er, aff duty, so Ah am,” Happy Harry’s voice quavered.

  “Aw, Harry, shut the fuck up. We’re no daeing any herm. Aw we want is a wee quiet word wae ye. There’s nae herm in that, is there?”

  “Ah telt ye…fuck aff,” the sergeant hissed, looking aboot as the sound ae talking and laughter filtered o’er the coonter fae the staff door that separated the lounge fae the bar.

  “Oh, by the way, this is fur you, so it is,” McAlpine said, nodding tae the envelope.

  “Whit is it?”

  “Hiv a look.”

  “No till Ah know whit the fuck it is.”

  “Well, the only way tae find that oot is tae pick the thing up, noo, isn’t it?” McCalumn growled, drawing another dirty look fae McAlpine.

  “Ah…Ah hope that’s no whit Ah think it is,” Happy warned them, picking up the heavy, thick envelope.

  He drew in his breath when the flap opened and he saw the wad ae crisp notes.

  “There’s two hunner and fifty quid there, so there is,” Jake McAlpine informed him, nodding.

  “Two hunner and fifty?” Happy whistled, mair tae himsel, than tae the Neds.

  “Two hunner and fifty crispy smackers,” McCalumn confirmed, letting the amount penetrate the sergeant’s skull.

  The desk sergeant wis scared tae speak. Whit he saw sitting in the palm ae that haun ae his wis three, maybe four years in the nick fur somewan like him…or a wee two berth caravan doon in Ayr, wae the site fees covered fur the next four or five years and wae some change fur a pint left o’er.

  “So, whit’s aw this tae dae wae me then?” he croaked, his mooth as dry as the sole ae an Arab’s sandal.

  “A wee favour.”

  “A f…favour? Whit kind ae favour?” he demanded, eyes narrowing, voice snapping back in tae suspicion mode.

  “Nothing much…jist a wee bit ae information. Two minutes work fur somewan ae your capabilities…that’s it.”

  “Ah’m sorry, no can do. Ye’re talking tae the wrang guy, so ye ur,” the sergeant growled painfully, his sphincter muscle rapidly expanding as Jake McAlpine slipped his haun in tae the front ae his jaicket.

  “Hail Mary, Mother ae God, furgive me fur Ah hiv sinned,” Happy muttered under his breath, squeezing they eyes ae his shut tight, feeling his arse relax when the blast ae the gun gaun aff in that face ae his never transpired.

  He opened his eyes. Another envelope wis sitting oan the Ned side ae the table in front ae the wan he’d jist hid in his haun a minute earlier.

  “There’s another two fifty in that envelope fur ye wance ye come up wae the goods,” McAlpine informed him, taking a sip ae his pint fur the first time since he’d sat doon.

  Silence.

  “Whit ur ye efter?” Happy finally croaked, licking his dry lips, hypnotised by the second envelope.

  “A shot ae a wee book fur five minutes.”

  “A whit…a book? Whit kind ae book?”

  “Wan ae they wee black notebooks that youse bizzies use tae write yer notes in efter arresting some poor basturt,” McCalumn replied.

  “Ma service notebook? Christ the last time Ah used that wis tae make up ma wife’s shoapping list, so it wis,” the desk sergeant replied, confused.

  “Naw, no yours…somewan else’s.”

  “Somewan else’s? Like who?”

  “The Stalker’s,” McAlpine replied.

  “Paddy McPhee’s…The Inspectors? Ur youse fucking mad or whit?” he yelped. “How the hell am Ah supposed tae get ma hauns oan something like that, fur Christ’s sake?”

  “How many dae youse normally go through in a year?” McAlpine asked quietly, ignoring the emotional ootburst.

  “Probably tons wae the amount ae prefabricated lies that get written up in them,” McCalumn sneered.

  “Ah…Ah don’t know. It aw depends oan how many arrests ye make and how complex the crime is when ye arrive oan the scene.”

  “Look, aw we want is a wee shot ae that notebook ae his fur fi
ve minutes. It’s in oor interest, as well as yours, that he disnae know that it’s gone walkies fur a wee while. Ye’ll get it back within five tae ten minutes tops, so ye will.”

  “Ah cannae…it’s jist too risky…Ah’ll end up getting the sack…or worse, the jail,” The Sarge stammered, shaking his heid emphatically, before adding, “Ye’ve wasted yer time approaching me. Ah’m no yer man.”

  Silence.

  “We need the notebook he wis using between March and June ae this year,” McAlpine persisted, ignoring the bleating.

  “No January or February or July and August,” McCalumn reminded him.

  Silence.

  Happy Harry’s brain hid gone intae overdrive. He wanted tae shake his heid tae slow that brain ae his doon, bit he didnae want the pair sitting across fae him tae get the impression he wis knocking them back…yet. He knew where aw the completed pavement pounders’ service notebooks in the station wur kept, because he hid the key ae the locker and they wur under his supervision. It wis him that signed the new wans oot and recorded the auld wans coming back in before they wur locked away fur possible use in future trials. The only problem wis, he hid everywan’s except Paddy McPhee’s. The inspector kept his, either in the drawer ae his desk or in that filing cabinet ae his, which wis always under lock and key. He tried tae remember whit shifts The Stalker wid be oan o’er the next week. The new rotas started oan a Thursday. The only problem wae depending oan the rota wis that The Stalker didnae really keep tae his shifts. He wis always coming and gaun, turning up when he wis least expected…another sad loser who didnae hiv any life ootside work.

  “Whit dae ye want it fur?” he asked, trying tae buy himsel some time while he tried tae figure oot whether it could be done or no.

  “We need a wee bit ae information.”

  “And?”

  “And, will ye dae it or no?” McCalumn demanded tae know, as baith Neds picked up an envelope each and started tae put them back in their jaickets.

  “Wait…look, it’s no as easy as it might seem tae youse. There’s, er, high risks here. How dae Ah know Ah’ll get it back fae youse straight efter ye’ve hid a wee gander at it,” he whimpered, wiping his brow wae a filthy hanky he’d retrieved fae his trooser pocket.

  “Ye don’t, bit unlike some ae the basturts ye work wae, ma word is ma bond, so it is,” Jake McAlpine replied, as the other Ned visibly winced.

  “Five minutes?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “It’ll cost ye mair than two fifty up front,” Happy Harry declared, haudin his breath.

  “How much?” McAlpine asked him, staring straight intae the greedy frightened eyes sitting across the table fae him.

  “Five hunner jist noo and the same efter Ah get ye a shot ae the notebook,” he replied, gulping.

  McAlpine nodded tae McCalumn, who instantly put his haun back intae his jaicket and pulled oot the envelope whose contents wid’ve frightened a bookie.

  “We’ll gie ye five hunner the noo, and another two fifty when we get access tae the notebook,” McAlpine informed him, making it clear by the tone ae his voice that the financial limit hid been reached.

  McCalumn coonted oot his two hunner and fifty quid in crisp ten pound notes, transferring the additional amount intae the first envelope, before Jake McAlpine slid the bulging packet across the table tae Happy Harry again.

  “Timescale?” the desk sergeant asked, quaking in his boots, scared tae pick up the envelope in case the guys fae Candid Camera jumped up fae under the bar coonter.

  “Next week,” McCalumn replied at the exact same time as McAlpine said, “A month max.”

  “Which is it? Ah’ll only be able tae get ma hauns oan it if Ah get a chance. Ah couldnae gie ye any set time when that could be.”

  “Four weeks,” McAlpine confirmed.

  “Okay…Ah…Ah might jist manage that. How dae Ah contact youse?”

  “Simon Epstein. Jist leave a message at Carpet Capers saying ye’ve goat the package and it’ll be passed oan. Ye don’t hiv tae leave yer name. Where kin we pick it up?”

  “Fast Track Dave’s, the bookies oan Springburn Road, jist across fae the cop shoap oan the opposite side ae the road fae The Boundary Bar. It’ll probably be roond aboot three in the efternoon. Ah’ll be oan ma tea break. Ah’ll only be able tae gie five, maybe ten minutes’ notice that Ah’ve goat it. If ye cannae get there oan time, it’s no ma responsibility. Ye kin hiv the notebook fur as long as it takes me tae nip across tae put oan a line. When Ah leave Fast Track’s, Ah’ll expect tae hiv that notebook back oan ma person,” The Desk Sergeant warned them.

  “That sounds fair enough tae me,” McAlpine agreed, nodding.

  Happy Harry looked aboot. The lounge wis still empty, apart fae them. He reached across tae pick up the fat envelope. As he wis withdrawing it tae his side ae the table, the palm ae Ben McCalumn’s haun and fingers tightened oan the back ae his.

  “Seeing as ye’ve upped the price, we’re upping the demand. The Stalker blagged a book aff ae Tony Gucci the night he wis lifted oan suspicion ae the Tam Simpson murder across in High Possil a few years back. Make sure ye bring that wae ye tae Fast Track’s as well, if ye want that extra two hunner and fifty…and that book won’t be gaun back wae ye,” McCalumn said, looking him straight in the eye.

  “A…a book? Whit fucking book?”

  “It’s a wee paperback called The Art ae War. It’s aboot some Jap General fae way back in the day.”

  “Look, its gonnae be difficult enough as it is. Ah cannae guarantee he’ll still hiv it. Ah’ll try, bit Ah cannae promise,” he replied, feeling McCalumn’s haun relax, allowing him tae stuff the thick bulging envelope intae his inside jaicket pocket.

  The two Neds abruptly stood up and disappeared oot ae the lounge door oan tae the street. Happy Harry lifted up baith hauns and looked at them. They wur shaking like a schoolboy’s who’d jist been caught wae they fingers ae his in his sister’s pants, hinging oot oan a washing line. He reached across and lifted up McCalumn’s eighty bob.

  “Nae use letting it go tae waste,” he murmured tae himsel, putting the glass up tae his lips as his other haun reached across fur McAlpine’s pint ae lager.

  “Ma word is ma bond? Whit fucking Brooke Bond advert did ye pilfer that wan oot ae, ya burst bawbag, ye?” Ben guffawed, as he drapped doon tae second before turning right oot ae Alison Street and heided towards the Gorbals and the toon centre.

  “Ah telt ye, the reason Simon asked me tae dae aw the talking and no you wis because he wanted somewan wae a bit ae subtly aboot them,” Jake reminded him, grinning at the driver, as he pushed the play button oan the tape deck, allowing the baith ae them tae join in oan the chorus ae ‘Band Oan The Run’ as an ambulance and a squad car whizzed past them, blue lights flashing and bells clanging, back in the direction ae where they’d jist come fae.

  “Ah hope that stupid basturt hisnae jist gone and shat in his pants at the thought ae spending aw that pilfered money,” Ben shouted, turning up the volume as Jake laughed.

  “Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.

  With the second General Election this year only a few weeks away, opinion polls show Labour in the lead, with Harold Wilson looking set to gain an overall majority…

  The hunt for The Silver Arrow has gone international, Superintendent John Bower, head of the Police Traffic Division in the city, informed a packed press conference in Central HQ today. Superintendent Bower said that two police inspectors were currently in Germany talking to executives of Mercedes Benz after establishing that there are only thought to be a limited number of the 1930s Mercedes Benz Silver Arrow Racing cars now in existence. Superintendent Bower refused to be drawn on when he thought the driver, dubbed The Silver Arrow by the Glasgow public, would be arrested. So far, seven men, six in Scotland and one in Sunderland, all vintage car enthusiasts, have been arrested and later released by police forces across the country…

  Two teenagers, ag
ed sixteen and seventeen have been ordered to be detained during Her Majesties Pleasure at the High Court in Glasgow today after both were found guilty of stabbing sixteen-year-old Thomas Lyons to death in Sauchiehall Street in…

  There was a run on bread today in the city, after fears of a bread strike by the city’s bakers proved false. Women throughout the city descended on local bakeries and corner shops in an attempt to stock up. A spokesman for Watson’s, the makers of Mothers’ Choice plain and pan loaves, denied that they had instigated the rumours to increase sales of their popular priced white bread…

  A lorry carrying twenty tons of Kerrs Pink potatoes crashed in to a lamppost on Royston Road this afternoon, scattering potatoes for several hundred yards…

  Castle Street in the Townhead ground to a halt during rush hour traffic tonight after an articulated lorry crashed through the temporary barriers on the M8 above and was left overhanging traffic below, causing major disruption to those traveling home…

  A thirty-eight-year-old former boxer was fined twenty pounds at Glasgow Central District Court after punching his girlfriend and breaking her nose on a night out in July of this year. Thomas ‘Mad Tam’ Macadam denied the charge…

  And finally, a small group of well dressed women, thought to be mainly middle class, picketed the City Chambers in George Square today to protest against violence towards women…”

  Chapter Nine

  Senga wis glad he wis late and chuffed that she’d goat a windae seat upstairs, insteid ae being dispatched doonstairs tae the dungeon seats. Wan ae the few irritating traits that Rory hid wis that he wis always oan time. She took aff her coat and folded it o’er the chair beside her. He’d turned up at the flat oan Sunday night, bit Senga hid been up at her ma’s gieing aw the wummin a session oan food handling before gieing them a haun tae make up the sandwiches fur some auld dear’s funeral wake in the Springburn Halls the next day. Rory hid asked Lizzie if Senga wis okay and hid then preceded tae quiz her oan whit wis gaun oan. Lizzie, being a worse liar than Senga, hid confused the situation even further by muttering a heap ae rubbish aboot how Senga needed time tae sort her heid oot. Rather than jist tell him he’d need tae speak tae her, Lizzie hid sat wringing her hauns as Rory broke doon in tears oan the couch telling her how much he loved Senga. Oan Monday, she’d literally bumped intae him in the corridor when she wis dashing alang tae the reception tae meet a fleet ae ambulances that wur oan their way in efter a gas explosion in a tenement doon in the Carlton hid flattened hauf the building, trapping some ae the families inside.