Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  “Is he always as happy as that or is he jist glad tae see us?” Johnboy asked Tiny.

  “Ah’d be careful wae him, if Ah wis you,” Tiny warned. “He thinks it wis wan ae youse who shat in the back ae that closemooth across the road, the other week there, and nearly killed him. He goat eight stitches oan the back ae his napper and a cracked rib and spine because ae wan ae youse clatty basturts.”

  “Why the fuck wid he think it wis us?” Tony demanded indignantly.

  “Cause you and carrot-heid there wur clocked flitting aboot fae close tae close, following that wee fat wan who ye beat up in the close beside The McAslin.”

  “We never beat up anywan,” Skull denied.

  “Ah’ll need aboot an hour tae get the money,” Tiny said. “So, come back here wae the trannys then and Ah’ll hiv the dosh ready.”

  “Aye, well, when ye’re at it, make sure Shaun tells Horsey John that we’ll need a horse and cart oan Tuesday, wae feed thrown in. And it’ll be five bob fur cash,” Tony said as Tiny walked across the yard.

  “And, if we’re paying good honest money, we don’t want wan ae they auld flea-bitten fuckers that couldnae pull a pram either,” wis Skull’s parting shot as Tiny disappeared through the stable door.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “Liam, is Big Jim aboot?” Colin, the inspector, asked.

  “Aye, he’s jist getting ready.”

  “Well, gie him a shout and the baith ae ye come up tae the boardroom.”

  “The boardroom? Er, aye, okay.”

  “And Liam, Ah mean the noo and no the morra or the next day.”

  “Aye, nae bother, Colin. We’ll jist be wae ye. Er, is everything okay?”

  The Inspector didnae answer as he disappeared through the door.

  Big Jim wis tying up his bootlaces in the locker room when he looked up tae see who wis blocking oot the light.

  “Ah’ve jist hid Colin inviting us up tae the boardroom oan the second flair.”

  “Us? Whit the fuck hiv we done?”

  “So, ye’ve no picked up any gossip then?”

  “Hiv Ah fuck. Why wid anywan want tae speak tae us up there? Ah’ve been in and oot ae here fur the past nine years and Ah’ve never even been oan the second flair. Ah widnae know where tae go.”

  “Well, ye’re gonnae find oot noo. He wants us up there pronto, as in right noo.”

  “There hisnae been any mair false complaints that Ah don’t know aboot, his there?”

  “Jim, Ah’m as puzzled as you ur. We’ll jist hiv tae wait and see whit’s cooking. The main thing is…no matter whit they ask ye, deny everything.”

  “Ah’ve goat fuck aw tae deny, apart fae the odd wee sweetener here and there, which everywan’s entitled tae.”

  “So, keep yer knickers oan and we’ll go and find oot whit’s gaun oan then. It’s probably jist tae inform us that they goat it wrang aboot gieing they medals tae Jobby and Crisscross.”

  “Dae ye think so?”

  “Whit else could it be? And anyway, it’s nae use us guessing. We’ll find oot soon enough,” The Sarge said, wondering again whit they’d been caught oot oan.

  “The second door oan the right, boys. Mind and chap oan the door and wait before ye go in,” said Peggy, the wee blonde thing, that everywan in the stations aw o’er Glesga hid been trying tae dip their wick intae since she started working in Central four years earlier.

  Liam hid heard that wan ae they skinny-arsed college boys fae forensics, who wis based o’er in Alison Street, hid somehow managed tae get intae they pants ae hers a couple ae years before, at wan ae the Christmas parties o’er at the polis social club in the Gorbals.

  “Lucky wee basturt pumped her aw night,” Billy Liar, who wis his sergeant at the time, hid telt him.

  Efter an agonising long minute ae silent tension, Colin opened the door fae the inside.

  “In ye come, boys, and take a seat doon there,” he said, nodding towards the two seats at the bottom end ae the table.

  Wance they wur seated, a heavy silence hung in the air. Big Jim wis fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, looking guilty as sin and as miserable tae boot.

  “Ye wanted tae speak tae us, Colin?” The Sarge asked tae break the ice.

  Sean Smith, the chief inspector, looked up fae the papers he wis reading and frowned, looked at The Sarge fur a couple ae seconds and then went back tae his reading. Nowan spoke. There wur six ae them there, no including The Chief Inspector, aw looking doon the table at them. A clock oan the wall wis that loud, it sounded as if it wis a wee drummer fae the apprentice boys’ flute band, marking time.

  “Nice tae see youse, lads,” The Chief finally said, flipping the folder shut. “Ah take it ye know everywan here?”

  The Sarge looked at them aw. Apart fae Colin and The Chief, there wis Billy Liar…Bridgeton, Pat Curry…Gorbals, Mickey Sherlock…Flying Squad, Daddy Jackson…Anderston and parts ae Partick and Ralph Toner fae the Criminal Inteligence Department…aw inspectors, aw Irish and aw right arse-holes if ye crossed them in any shape or form.

  “Aye, we aw know each other,” The Sarge replied, taking oan the job ae spokesman.

  “Tell us the story ae your success up there in the Toonheid, in dealing wae that wee thieving manky mob that’s been running rings roond youse,” The Chief asked pleasantly.

  “Ah don’t know how much Colin his telt youse, bit basically, they’ve been running aboot, breaking intae shoaps and hooses, blagging anything that isnae screwed doon,” The Sarge replied, shrugging.

  He looked across at Colin and thought he detected a wee fleeting warning, flashing across they grey eyes ae his.

  “And whit exactly hiv ye done tae suppress these unfortunate habits ae theirs?” The Chief continued.

  “Whit we’ve done is…we’ve managed tae work oot their shoap-screwing strategy and then kept wan step aheid ae them, tae fuck them up the arse every time they make a move.”

  “A strategy? Ah bloody well knew it,” growled Daddy Jackson, the first time any ae the inspectors hid spoken since Big Jim and The Sarge hid come intae the room.

  “Carry oan, Liam. Ye wur saying?” The Chief said politely, making The Sarge feel even mair uneasy than whit he’d been when he first entered the den.

  “We sussed oot that they wur daeing aw the screwing in a geographic circle. We knew that they’d been zig-zagging across the area fur a while, bit then we started tae monitor their activity, using a wee tobacconist’s oan St James Road as a starting point. Efter the tobacconist’s, they moved up oan tae Parly Road where they screwed Curley’s, the grocer’s. They then tanned a wee draper’s shoap up the tap end, near tae Castle Street, then shifted doon oan tae Stirling Road and hit Frankie McConnell’s Dairy. They then heided back across tae Parly Road at the St James Road end and started aw o’er again. The maist recent wans wur the fruit shoap doon fae the traffic lights at Dobbies Loan. Fae there, they hit Tony’s Fish and Chip shoap oan the opposite side ae the road fae Curley’s, and then they heided back doon tae Cathedral Street again, via Stirling Road, where they screwed the paper shoap beside Canning Lane which, as youse aw probably know, takes ye back o’er tae St James Road.”

  “How dae ye know it wis them?” asked Pat Curry.

  “Aw the shoaps hid their windaes tanned wae a pavement stank, except fur the fruit shoap oan Parly Road. We’re no sure whit they used fur that wan.”

  This last statement caused a wee murmur amongst the inspectors.

  “Whit did the forensic boys come up wae?” asked The Chief.

  “They thought they might’ve used a hammer, bit Ah’m no so sure aboot that.”

  “Why no?” asked Billy Liar.

  “Ah don’t know. It’s no how they operate and Ah’m jist no sure they’re that sophisticated.”

  This answer tae Billy Liar’s question caused an even bigger murmuring amongst them. The Sarge could sense the tension in the room heighten and Big Jim started tae fidget in his seat again. The Sarge wanted tae turn roond and gie Big Ji
m a bollicking. Fur Christ’s sake, he thought tae himsel, the dumb prick wisnae even contributing. He’d a bloody cheek…sitting there, shuffling aboot as if The Sarge hid answered a question wrang. The Sarge jist couldnae fathom oot whit he could’ve said that wis causing the stir at the far end ae the table.

  “Hiv ye been reading any ae the recent reports fae the other divisions, Liam?” Colin asked.

  “Ah don’t usually dae that till roond aboot mid-week. It gies me a chance tae catch up oan whit’s happening in the Toonheid first, if ye know whit Ah mean.”

  “Two shoaps goat tanned last night,” Daddy Jackson grumbled. “Wan ae them wis up wae me oan Dumbarton Road.”

  “And the other wan wis wae me, doon here in the Saltmarket,” added Billy Liar.

  “And witnesses say they saw wee toe-rags aroond aboot eleven or twelve years ae age, fucking aff wae the stolen gear,” continued Daddy.

  “Whit kind ae gear?” The Sarge asked.

  “Trannys,” Colin answered, chipping in fur the first time.

  “Trannys?”

  “Transistor radios, tae be precise,” The Chief said.

  “Ah don’t mean tae sound as if Ah’m no interested here, bit whit the fuck’s this goat tae dae wae me and Big Jim?” The Sarge demanded, as Colin’s eyes heided skywards.

  “Because the wan in ma patch wis done wae a bloody stank…that’s why,” snarled Billy Liar.

  “And the wan in Dumbarton Road?” asked The Sarge.

  “Don’t you bloody worry aboot Dumbarton Road, Thompson. We’re the wans who’re asking the questions here.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Ah didnae mean tae upset youse.”

  “Getting back tae the fruit shoap oan Parly Road,” said The Chief. “Ye said ye wurnae convinced aboot a hammer being used. Whit dae ye think it wis? How aboot you, Jim, whit’s your thoughts?”

  “Ah’m like Liam, Ah’m no sure,” Big Jim said limply, looking at Colin, who didnae look too impressed.

  “There wisnae any evidence tae suggest that it wis or wisnae a hammer. That’s jist a feeling Ah hid aboot it. It used tae be called instinct,” The Sarge chipped in.

  “So, as far as youse wur concerned, it could’ve been anything that wis used oan that windae?” asked Daddy.

  “Well, there wis nothing left at the scene tae suggest whit wis used,” The Sarge replied.

  “Whit happened tae the glass fae the windae?” asked Colin.

  “The glass? Jist the usual…the joiner boys wid’ve taken that away wae them when they finished patching up the hole.”

  “Ye see, the problem Ah hiv, Liam, is that ye’ve chased they wee basturts oot ae the Toonheid and exported them o’er tae us,” Billy said tae nods fae aroond the table.

  “Wae aw respect, Billy…fur wan thing, Ah don’t think ye’ve come up wae anything substantial here tae link oor wee manky toe-rags and fur another, we’re proud ae whit we’re daeing up in the Toonheid. That wee manky mob seriously assaulted wan ae ma boys and we’re daeing something aboot it. Noo, if that means they’re shifting their modus operandi somewhere else, then Ah cannae dae anything aboot that, unless Ah kin catch the wee basturts red-haunded or Ah kin get some mair personnel tae support us in oor endeavours,” Liam retorted, staunin up fur himsel and Big Jim.

  The sound ae the apprentice boy drummer started up again as nowan said a word fur whit seemed like ages. Big Jim wis definitely gonnae drap aff ae his chair oan tae that fat arse ae his at any moment, The Sarge convinced himsel.

  “Aye, well, Liam,” The Chief said quietly, so quietly that The Sarge hid tae strain his lugs tae hear whit the fuck he wis saying o’er the sound ae the drummer in the clock. “We hiv reason tae believe that yer wee toe-rags ur widening their horizons and becoming a wee bit mair extreme in their tactics. Where ur the connections, ye ask? Where is the proof, ye wonder? And why dae ye think we should be gieing you and yer boys oan the beat a wee pat oan the back insteid ae us sitting here gieing you and Big Jim a hard time? Well, let’s look at where we’re at and then youse kin maybe try and see oor position, eh? The two shoaps that goat tanned last night wur electrical shoaps. The wan in the Saltmarket wis tanned using a stank…we know that. The other shoap in Dumbarton Road wis also an electrical shoap, bit wisnae tanned using a stank even though the goods that wur stolen wur trannys. Whoever tanned the shoaps could’ve took a whole heap ae other stuff, bit trannys it wis. We hiv reason tae believe that the shoap windae in Dumbarton Road wis blown in by a shot, fired either fae a haungun or a rifle.”

  Baith Big Jim and The Sarge jist aboot fell aff ae their chairs oan tae their arses.

  “A gun?” they baith exclaimed at wance.

  “Well, as ye’ve pointed oot, Liam, the evidence ae linking yer wee group ae happy shoappers tae the two shoaps is only circumstantial. However, the thought ae they wee cowboys running aroond wae a haungun disnae bear thinking aboot noo, dis it?” The Chief Inspector asked him.

  “Ah… Ah don’t know whit tae say,” The Sarge replied, stunned.

  “Well, forensics ur trying tae trace where the bullets ur as we speak. They reckon there wis three used oan the windae in Dumbarton Road. We should hiv the full picture by twelve o’clock. In the meantime, this information disnae leave this room. Colin will brief youse later, bit ma advice tae youse is tae go oan the basis that yer wee manky toe-rags ur the wans who screwed baith shoaps. Ye need tae track doon where that gun is pronto and get it aff ae them, before they end up shooting themsels or worse, somewan gets a bullet in the heid. Hiv Ah made masel clear?” The Chief said, glaring at The Sarge and Big Jim.

  “Aye,” baith sergeants said in unison, staunin up and heiding fur the door, which Colin wis awready haudin open tae let them pass through.

  “Ah’ll see youse baith doon the stairs in ten minutes,” he said, as they walked through intae the corridor and alang tae where wee Peggy wis sitting, tapping away at her typewriter, sounding like the bursts fae a Gatling gun.

  “Hiv they gone bloody bonkers or whit?” The Sarge growled, as soon as Colin walked intae the mess room.

  “Hiv youse gone fucking bonkers, ya stupid pair ae twats, ye? Whit am Ah gonnae dae wae youse, eh?”

  “They don’t seriously believe that wee manky crowd hiv goat a gun, dae they?”

  “Liam, fuck knows whit ye’re oan, fur Christ’s sake. Whit is it wae you and guns? Remember whit happened the time that Taylor boy shot that poor wee lassie wae the big tits, eh? A week later and ye still couldnae find the fucking thing.”

  “That wisnae a gun, Colin. That wis an air rifle...jist a wee pea shooter.”

  “They’ve hid the forensic boys o’er oan Dumbarton Road since last night. Youse better pray that there wisnae a gun used oan that windae or the baith ae youse will be oot oan yer arses.”

  “Whit’s it goat tae dae wae us?” Big Jim whined.

  “Ye’ve been fucking aboot wae that wee crew fur far too long noo. They’re still running aboot taking the pish oot ae us.”

  “There isnae any crime associated wae them that’s goat proof attached tae it. We’ve put the lid oan them, despite whit they turnip-heids think,” The Sarge growled, using his thumb tae point upstairs.

  “Whit ye’ve done is chase the wee basturts oot ae the Toonheid oan tae somewan else’s patch. Ye’ve no put them oot ae action.”

  “They’re slippery wee fuckers, Colin. Gie’s a break, eh?”

  “Right, here’s whit youse ur gonnae dae, as a priority. We need tae establish if they’re running aroond wae a gun. Use aw yer contacts. There’ll be nae questions asked aboot yer methods, as long as it stays oot ae the papers. Hiv Ah made masel crystal clear?”

  “Aye,” they baith chorused.

  “Well, whit the fuck ur ye daeing, staunin there looking at me? Get oan wae it, fur Christ’s sake!”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  “Whit aboot the barbed wire then?” asked Skull, doubtfully.

  “Ah gie in. Whit aboot the barbed wire?”

  “Joe, who the fuck
’s talking tae you, ya bampot, ye? Ah’m only asking a question, ya hair-lipped fanny, ye.”

  “We’ll get up oan tae the wall itsel and step o’er it. We don’t want anywan tae notice that we’ve been and gone,” said Tony.

  They hid jist walked up North Wallace Street fae Parly Road. Johnboy clocked his granny at her windae and gied her a wave.

  “Ah bet she’s wondering why the fuck we’re carrying two wooden fish boxes each,” Johnboy laughed.

  When they goat tae the deid end at the tap ae the street, the briquette plant wis o’er tae their right. It wis a big black ugly creepy monster ae a place that hid gantries, chutes and conveyor belts coming oot and intae the building fae aw o’er the place. There wur a couple ae stationary lorries sitting in the loading bays. There wis steam and smoke coming oot ae the tap ae the building and it wis surrounded by a big wall wae aboot five strands ae barbed wire pegged oan tae posts aboot six feet apart aw the way roond the tap ae it. Johnboy wisnae too bothered aboot that. Whit bothered him mair wis whit ran between them and the plant.

  “Okay, try this wan then. How dae we get o’er the canal and back tae here wae the briquettes?” he asked.

  “Right, Joe, ye smart twat…answer that wan then,” Skull chipped in fur good measure.

  They followed Joe’s gaze as he looked up and doon the canal, known as The Nolly by everywan in the Toonheid. The canal itsel wis aboot thirty feet across. Oan either side ae it, auld boxes, hauf sunken prams, bald tyres, wrecked car shells and hauf sunken midgie bins, alang wae heaps ae other shite, floated and bobbed aboot aimlessly. The water itsel, wance it wis allowed tae flow unhindered, looked tae Johnboy tae be at least twenty feet across. Whit they hidnae noticed, wis the car roof, sitting submerged, haufway between them and the other side, which when pointed oot by Tony, could jist be seen, sitting jist under the water.

  “Hurry up, brainbox…we’ve no goat aw day,” Skull challenged.

  “Skull, they baws ae yours ur gonnae go fur a swim in a minute, wance Ah kick them oot fae under they scrawny legs ae yours, if ye don’t shut the fuck up and let me think.”