Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  “Mammydaddymammydaddy!”

  “Goat ye, ya wee basturt, ye!” Crisscross hid shouted triumphantly.

  “It wisnae me…honest, sir,” the toe-rag hid wailed.

  At the same time as Crisscross hid disappeared, The Sarge hid leapt oot ae the passenger seat and hid ran across tae where Big Jim wis rolling aboot oan the deck wae wan ae the toe-rags.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Liam, gie’s a haun here,” Big Jim hid shouted, trying tae keep a grip oan the hissing bundle ae snapping teeth, flying legs and flailing erms. The Sarge hid let fly and caught the bundle oan the side ae its guts wae his left boot, sending it rolling sideways. Big Jim hid awready left the back door ae the Black Maria open when him and Jinty hid parked up. The baith ae them hid quickly grabbed the curled-up body by the erms and legs and slung it intae the back before slamming the door shut.

  “Ah’m getting too auld fur this caper, Liam. These wee fucking fuckers aboot here ur bloody fucking feral, so they ur,” Big Jim hid panted.

  “Aye, Ah know, Jim,” The Sarge hid replied, wiping the palms ae his hauns doon the sides ae each trooser leg.

  “Jinty and Crisscross heided intae the backs behind the pub. Ah’ll take the van and park o’er there,” Big Jim hid wheezed. “Bring o’er the squad car and we’ll see where they’ve goat tae.”

  “This is like Sauchiehall Street during the Christmas shoapping,” The Sarge hid said tae Big Jim, looking up at aw the hooses wae their lights oan, aw shapes, sizes and ages hinging oot ae their windaes, looking doon at them.

  “Aye, windaes full ae fucking dummies,” Big Jim hid muttered, plapping his arse doon oan tae the driver’s seat ae the van.

  “By the way, Central radioed tae say they’ve sent a squad car doon tae the shoap oan St James Road.” The Sarge hid said, before heiding aff towards the closemooths, pushing through the crowd that hid gathered tae watch the entertainment, efter the pub hid emptied.

  “Crisscross, ur ye there?” The Sarge shouted in the dark, as the beams fae the torches zig-zagged across the back court.

  “Ah’m o’er here, Sarge!” Crisscross shouted and wis instantly lit up.

  He wis sitting oan tap ae wan ae the toe-rags, who wis lying face doon, while Jinty wis sitting oan a creaking midgie bin, smoking a fag.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Jinty, whit happened tae yer heid?” The Sarge asked.

  “Wan ae the basturts goat me,” replied Jinty, as a trickle ae blood seeped intae the collar ae his blue shirt.

  “Ur ye awright?” Big Jim asked his partner, bending o’er tae take a closer look wae the torch.

  “Aye, bit Ah’ve goat a lump the size ae a double yoker sticking oot ae ma napper and it’s tender as hell.”

  “Right, staun up and Ah’ll help ye oot tae the car,” Big Jim said, helping him tae his feet.

  “Right, Crisscross, get that wee manky shite up and oot tae the van. Well done!” The Sarge said.

  “How is he?” The Sarge asked Big Jim when he goat back tae the car.

  “Smoking like a chimney and he cannae get his hat oan. Check oot the size ae that lump. It wid need tae be some size ae a fanny oan a chicken tae squeeze wan ae them oot.”

  “Aye, ye’ve goat a stoater there, Jinty,” The Sarge remarked, peering closely at the bloodstained heid.

  “Crisscross, ye better take Jinty up tae The Royal and get that checked oot. Me and Liam will deal wae these two wee fannies.”

  “Nae bother, Jim.”

  “And Crisscross, ye kin turn aff that flashing blue light.”

  “Pinkston Road?” Big Jim asked.

  “Aye, let’s see whit these wee basturts hiv tae say fur themselves, and make sure ye go o’er every bloody pothole that ye kin find oan the road.”

  Big Jim turned the Black Maria aroond and heided back doon McAslin Street tae St James Road, stoaping oan route tae pick up the stolen swag that wis scattered across the road. A squad car wis sitting ootside the tobacconists. The van drew up alangside and The Sarge let his windae doon.

  “Awright, Jack?” he asked.

  “Aye, Liam, we’re jist waiting fur the owner and a joiner.”

  “It’s unbelievable that some ae these shoapkeepers hivnae installed alarms aboot here,” The Sarge said, glancing o’er at the broken windae.

  “Blame the insurance companies. They let them away wae murder,” Big Jim chimed in fae the driver’s seat.

  “Dae we know who dunnit?” Jack’s partner, Tommy, asked.

  “We’ve goat two ae the wee basturts in the back here,” Big Jim replied.

  “Aye, they took a lump oot ae Jinty and Crisscross is taking him up tae The Royal as we speak. He’ll probably need a stitch or two,” The Sarge added.

  “The wee fuckers!” Jack growled, opening his car door, bit The Sarge stoapped him.

  “Naw, naw, Jack, you stay where ye ur, son. We’re aff up tae the Stinky Ocean tae hiv a wee chat wae them,” The Sarge informed them.

  “Ur ye sure? Ah kin leave Tommy here fur a wee bit and come up wae ye,” Jack volunteered.

  “Naw, naw, ye better stay here in case The Inspector turns up. We’ll catch ye later and let ye know whit’s happening.”

  “Nae bother. Gie the wee shitehooses wan fur us while ye’re at it,” Jack shouted as Big Jim put the van intae gear and heided through the traffic lights intae Dobbies loan, turning right intae Kyle Street and alang Baird Street tae the bascule bridge o’er the canal that connected Pinkston Road tae the tap end ae Glebe Street.

  Paul sat bouncing aboot in the back ae the van, trying tae spit oot aw the fire-ash fae his mooth. Joe lay oan the flair where he’d been dumped, still clutching his guts. They could hear everything that hid been said since the van left McAslin Street, bit neither ae them hid said a word tae each other. The inside ae the van smelled strongly ae shite, cats pish, fireplace ash and wis painted a dirty yellow. There wur auld blood splashes oan different parts ae the insides and the door hid a bloody smudge that looked as though it hid been made by somewan’s heid or the side ae their face bouncing aff ae it.

  “Ur ye okay, Joe?” Paul whispered.

  “Aye, apart fae ma guts where that basturt booted me. Whit aboot yersel?”

  “Ah’m fine, other than Ah smell like an altar boy at a tom cat’s wedding.”

  “How dae ye think the bizzies goat there so soon?”

  “Ah don’t know, bit it wis definitely an ambush. They knew we wur heiding their way.”

  “Whit happened tae Tony and that Johnboy wan?”

  “Tony heided through the first close. Ah followed Johnboy wae that skelly-eyed basturt, Crisscross, up ma arse. Ah saw Tony disappear o’er the dyke first, bit it wis too crowded wae me behind Johnboy and Squinty Eyes jist behind me. When Ah saw Ah wisnae gonnae make it, Ah jist curled up intae a baw, hoping he’d miss me. The stupid basturt tripped o’er me bit still managed tae get his legs wrapped roond ma heid.”

  “Aye, the lucky basturts, eh?” Joe whispered miserably.

  “Whit’s the score noo?” asked Paul.

  “They’re taking us up tae the Stinky Ocean tae gie us a hiding. Ah kin smell it even o’er the cats pish.”

  “Listen, we’ll say we saw the other two running aff wae the stuff and we chased efter them tae take it aff ae them,” Paul said.

  “And we don’t know who they ur and ye kept oan running because ye panicked when ye saw me getting jumped,” Joe continued.

  “Did ye hear whit they wur saying aboot wan ae the bizzies being taken up tae The Royal?” Paul whispered even mair quietly.

  “Aye, whit’s aw that aboot?”

  “That skelly basturt came running up behind me, aw batons blazing, and scudded that shitey Jobby wan oan the tap ae his napper,” Paul whispered.

  “So, whit the fuck his that tae dae wae us then?” asked Joe.

  “They think it wis us.”

  “Oh fuck!”

  Chapter Five

  “Whit time dae ye call this then?” Johnboy’s ma shouted at him.<
br />
  “Look at the state ae ye,” his da said, as the baith ae them glared at Johnboy.

  “Where the hell hiv ye been tae this time ae night, eh? It’s eleven o’clock and ye’ve goat school the morra.”

  “Ah’ve been oot.”

  “Ah know ye’ve been oot, bit where hiv ye been?” his ma demanded.

  “Playing wae ma pals.”

  “D’ye see whit Ah’ve tae put up wae? Dae ye?” she shouted, snarling at Jimmy.

  “Hiv ye hid yer tea?” his da asked him.

  “Naw.”

  “Right, get o’er there and eat yer cauld mince and totties. They’re oan a plate oan tap ae the sink.”

  “Is that it?” Helen demanded, hauns held up in front ae her, exasperated.

  “Whit?”

  “Get o’er there and get yer tea? Get yer tea? So, that’s it, is it?”

  “Aye, and when ye’re finished, straight tae bed,” his da said, looking at his ma oot ae the corner ae his eyes.

  “Go and get yer tea and then get tae bed?” she repeated in disbelief, raising her voice and eyebrows.

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Helen, whit ur ye wanting me tae dae?” he shot back as Johnboy used a spoon tae scoop the mince fae his plate oan tae a slice ae breid tae make a mince and tottie piece.

  “Well, ye might want tae skelp his arse or even better, take a belt tae it,” she retorted.

  “Aye, that’ll teach him,” his da said sarcastically as he tucked The Evening Times under his erm and heided tae the cludgie. “Don’t wait up fur me, darling, Ah might be a while.”

  “See the trouble ye’re causing?” she snarled, looking o’er at Johnboy while he sensibly kept his trap shut, apart fae opening it tae take another bite ae his mince and tottie piece. “Fae noo oan, Ah’ll be dishing oot the justice aroond here, so ye better start bucking up yer ideas, pretty pronto, or ye’re gonnae suffer the consequences. Believe you me, Johnboy, if ye think Ah’m kidding, you jist try me.”

  Johnboy finished scoffing his piece and walked gingerly towards the door, keeping oot ae erms reach.

  “Did ye hear whit Ah jist said?” she snarled threateningly.

  “Aye.”

  “Aye, whit?”

  “Aye, Ah heard whit ye said, Ma,” Johnboy said, as he managed tae get oot through the door wae the hair oan his heid still intact.

  “Jimmy, Ah cannae believe you sometimes,” Helen said as they lay in the darkness an hour later.

  “Whit?”

  “Don’t you start. Ah get enough ae that fae him. You know whit Ah’m talking aboot.”

  “Johnboy?”

  “Aye, who else ur we talking aboot?”

  “Helen, he’s hame and he’s in his bed.”

  “Aye, bit that’s no the point.”

  “So, whit is the point?”

  “The point is that Ah’m here oan ma ain aw day wae the three lassies and Johnboy and he’s running rings roond me and ye’re no daeing anything aboot it.”

  “So, whit dae ye want me tae dae? It seems tae me the problem is you.”

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Jimmy, Ah cannae believe ye jist said that,” Helen sniffed, turning o’er and propping herself up oan her elbow.

  “Whit did Ah say noo?”

  “It’s okay fur you…being oot ae the hoose aw day at yer work. At least ye get a break fae it aw.”

  “Aye, Ah’m sorry. Ah didnae mean it the way it sounded.”

  “Aye, Ah know, bit ye’ll need tae take him in haun or he’s gonnae end up like Charlie.”

  “Naw, that’s wan thing aboot Johnboy...he’s nae a fighter, that wan.”

  “Naw, bit it’s whit he’s getting up tae and who he’s wae efter school that’s the problem.”

  “Helen, stoap getting yersel intae a tizzy. Ah’ll speak tae him when Ah get back oan Friday.”

  “Aye, bit Ah want him kept in. You didnae hiv tae face Batty Smith. Ah’ve never been able tae look him in the eye since Charlie put wan oan him. It’s bloody embarrassing, seeing as Ah work as a cleaner in the school.”

  “Batty disnae haud that against ye or ye wid’ve been oot oan yer arse a long time ago. Ah think ye’re exaggerating the problem,” Jimmy said as he yawned, turned o’er and put his erm roond her hip.

  Chapter Six

  “Right, ye know where ye’re gaun?” Helen asked Johnboy, wetting her finger in her mooth before picking a dried snotter aff ae his cheek wae her fingernail.

  “Aw, Ma!” Johnboy howled, feeling the skin being torn aff his face withoot the use ae anaesthetic.

  “Hiv ye goat yer bus tokens?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And ye’ll remember tae ask the receptionist tae gie ye tokens fur yer fare hame?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye know tae get the number eleven or an eleven A oan Parly Road?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye get aff at the second stoap oan Garngad Road?”

  “Aye.”

  “Barr Street is the second street alang oan the right, jist before ye hit Royston Road.”

  “Aye.”

  “Jist beside The Baby Rock School.”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye’ve goat the envelope wae the form in it?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye’ll be straight back hame efter school later?”

  “Aye.”

  “And hiv Ah goat two heids?”

  “Whit?”

  “Never mind.”

  Johnboy swithered whether tae heid roond by St James’s Road oan the way tae the bus stoap or no. He wondered if the bizzies wid still be hinging aboot the shoap and wis worried aboot whit wid happen if they recognised him fae the previous night. They might be in hiding, waiting tae clock if anywan who’d done it wid be back? It wis too risky, he thought and decided he’d jist go in by Sherbet’s and get himsel a liquorice sherbet fur the bus.

  “Awright, Sherbet?” Johnboy greeted him.

  “Awright, wee man. Whit kin Ah dae ye oot ae?”

  “Ah’ll hiv a sherbet, Sherbet.”

  “Noo, if it wis anywan else who’d said that, Ah’d think they wur taking the pish.”

  “Naw, naw, it’s the wee yellow packet wae the liquorice sticking oot the tap ae it,” Johnboy said.

  “Ur ye sure ye don’t want a wee bit ae Madeira cake?” Sherbet asked slyly, eyes narrowing.

  Johnboy could feel his arse twitch, especially when Sherbet’s brother, Abdul, came oot ae Madeira Cake Avenue and stood leaning oan Johnboy’s side ae the coonter, looking at him, eyeing him up withoot saying a word. There wis nowan else in the shoap.

  “Naw, Ah’ve only goat enough fur a sherbet, Sherbet.”

  Oh shite, hid he jist said whit he thought he jist said?

  “Ah think wee Johnboy here is at it and is taking the pish oot ae us, Sherbet,” Abdul said, the whites ae his eyeballs peeking oot through they slitted eyelids ae his.

  “Who wur the big boys Ah saw ye hinging aboot wae last night?” Sherbet wanted tae know.

  “Whit boys?”

  “The wee retards that wur seen munching intae a Madeira cake.”

  “Ah spoke tae some boys who Ah hardly know who wur hinging aboot, bit Ah didnae see them eating a Madeira cake,” Johnboy replied, wondering whit a retard wis.

  “Well, if ye see them again, tell them they owe us three fingers…each,” Abdul hissed.

  “That’ll be thrupence,” Sherbet demanded, snapping his fingers and magically producing the packet oot ae naewhere oan tae the coonter.

  Johnboy wis dying tae ask him how he did that bit thought he’d better no push his luck.

  Efter escaping unscathed fae Sherbet’s, it wis jist a case ae nipping through the closemooth beside the shoap, doon the back stairs, o’er the wall, oot oan tae Parly Road and the bus stoap wis jist opposite. Johnboy wis dying tae nip back across the road and hiv a wee peek aroond the corner tae see whit wis happening, bit the bus hid jist arrived. He nipped up the stair like a whippet oan heat a
nd took a seat at the front right haun side tae gie him a good view. The bus took aff bit stoapped deid, twenty feet further oan at the traffic lights. The bus took aff again slowly and jist when he wis aboot tae hiv a good gander at whit wis happening at the tobacconist’s, the clippie arrived.

  “Fares please!”

  “Er, hing oan the noo, will ye?” he mumbled, ignoring her.

  “Fares pleasssse!” she insisted, tapping him between they shoulder blades ae his.

  “Jist a minute,” he retorted, ignoring her.

  “Naw, you ‘jist a minute’ yersel.”

  He wis forced tae turn roond, jist as the bus went through the lights, so he missed seeing whit wis happening at the shoap. He wis right though...the clippie’s voice matched her coupon. She wis the spitting image ae the auld ma who sat in the rocking chair in the film ‘Psycho’, so she wis.

  “Where ur ye gaun then?” snarled Cruella de Vil.

  If the Dalmatians hid clocked this wan they wid’ve demanded tae be taken back tae be skinned, he thought tae himsel.

  “Ah’m oan school business,” he declared, sitting up straight, trying tae sound as if he wis oan an important scientific exercise, because his ma hid telt him no tae tell anywan where he wis aff tae.

  “Naw, Ah meant, where ur ye getting aff, ya bampot, ye?”

  “Oh, right, er, The Baby Rock.”

  “That’ll be a tanner.”

  “Right, let’s see,” he said, as he produced his wee plastic tokens oot ae his pocket and looked at them.

  There wis a red wan worth tuppence, a broon wan worth thrupence and a cream wan worth tuppence ha’penny.

  “Aw that cheek and carry oan and ye don’t even hiv real money,” The Wicked Witch Ae The West snorted, tapping her fit and letting oot a hurumph every five seconds wae they toothless gums ae hers.

  “That wae that and that wae that,” he said oot loud. “Naw, that wae that and...”

  “Hoi, Ritchie Rich, Ah’ve no goat aw day, ye know. Ah’ve goat real passengers waiting fur me tae take real money aff ae them, so Ah hiv.”

  He wis dying tae tell her tae go and torment some poor lion oot at Glesga Zoo, bit he wis too feart, so he jist held oot his haun tae her wae the tokens oan display. Withoot another bit ae cheek oot ae her, she swiped them aff his palm, rolled oot a ticket, threw it at him and started tae walk away.