Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  “Ah want that gun, Pat.”

  “And Ah want the wee whistler that’s putting ma livelihood in jeopardy. Ah promise nothing will happen tae him...jist as long as him and his family move the fuck oot ae the Toonheid. Ah guarantee they’ll get a safe passage.”

  “Ah cannae dae that, Pat, and you know it.”

  “Then get tae fuck oot ae ma business and ma life and leave me alane, will ye?” The Big Man hid shouted.

  The Sarge hid jumped up, sending his chair o’er oan tae its back wae a clatter, as it skited across the wooden flair, causing Kirsty tae appear at the storeroom door.

  “Wan thing everywan is agreed aboot here, Pat, is that ye’re a right prick, so ye ur.”

  “Aye, well, Ah won’t tell ye in front ae that poor wee innocent lassie, staunin o’er there, whit they call ye in this pub every night.”

  “Right, Crisscross, let’s get tae fuck oot ae here before Ah dae something that’ll get me arrested.”

  “Aye, you dae that, Sergeant Shiny Buttons.”

  When Calum appeared at the tap ae the bar, he wis so busy concentrating oan his breathing that he missed Kirsty drawing a finger across her neck. By the time he reached The Big Man, who wis lying back oan his chair, erms folded across his chest wae his gub open, catching flies, it wis too late. The eyes popped open, followed by a yawn.

  “Aye, hellorerr, Pat, sorry fur disturbing yer wee siesta,” Calum said, daeing a series ae squats and lunges in front ae him.

  “It’s yersel, Calum. Whit hiv ye goat fur me the day?”

  “Shaun says The Capstan Club wis chock-a-block last night and he took forty quid aff the Chinese chefs fae the Far Flung Pu. They only hid twenty between them so he’s accepted an IOU. Wan-bob Broon said him and Charlie Hastie done the roonds as usual and collected everything apart fae the Finkelbaums’. He says they’ve offered their pair ae big weird looking poodles as collateral and they’ll manage tae square ye up next week.”

  “Whit the fuck am Ah supposed tae dae wae a couple ae giant, hungry poodles?” he growled, no expecting and no getting a reply.

  “Oh, aye, and Frankie says ‘Up The Duff’ hiv pulled oot and he’s hid tae heid aff doon tae Dunoon at short notice, tae attend his granny’s funeral.”

  “Mother ae fuck! Funeral? Funeral?”

  Silence.

  “Ah’m gonnae gie that sick basturt a fucking funeral he’ll remember fur the rest ae his short life, so Ah am. Ah cannae believe he’s let me doon again efter everything Ah’ve done fur him, the ungrateful selfish prick,” he growled.

  Calum hid, sensibly, awready stoapped daeing his squats and wis looking o’er at Kirsty, gulping.

  “Er, Ah goat the impression he might be away fur a wee while as he looked like a pack horse wae aw they bags and boxes ae files that he wis humphing doon the street,” Calum said supportively, while Kirsty spread her hauns wide and moothed “Duh” at him.

  “Ah’m gonnae kill that eejit when Ah get ma hauns oan him. Ah fucking warned him aboot how important this wis. Whit the hell am Ah gonnae dae noo?” The Big Man groaned, plapping his elbows oan tae his knees, using his fingers tae gently rub his temples in an attempt tae collect his thoughts.

  Calum eyeballed Kirsty wae a ‘dae something’ look.

  “It’s no the end ae the world, Pat. Something will turn up, won’t it, Calum?”

  “Oh, Ah don’t know aboot that. If Frankie cannae get anywan, then...” Calum’s voice trailed aff, efter getting a freezing look fae her.

  “Ah’m bloody goosed, that’s whit Ah am. Ah’m surrounded by eejits, bampots and body-swervers,” The Big Man cursed tae himsel.

  “Ah could maybe help ye oot, bit it will cost ye,” Kirsty said fae her stool.

  “Whit dae ye mean?” Calum and The Big Man asked in unison, looking o’er at her.

  “Well, ma brothers play in a band.”

  “So?” Calum and The Big Man chipped in thegither.

  “Well, they’re in big demand jist noo, bit they might dae me a wee favour.”

  “Kirsty, if ye didnae think Ah wis being fresh wae ye, Ah’d come o’er there and gie ye wan ae ma winching specials, that aw the birds in the toon go nuts o’er.”

  “Aye, well, Ah kin tell ye the noo, the price will be non-negotiable, so don’t even start.”

  “Anything, hen, anything.”

  “Ah cannae promise.”

  “So, whit’s the score then?”

  “They’ve jist broken up their last group and ur in negotiations tae start up another wan.”

  “Whit dis they’ve ‘jist broken up’ and ur ‘starting another wan’ mean?”

  “It means they’ve hid musical differences wae their lead singer and their bass player.”

  “So, whit the fuck dae they dae then, other than play spoons and an auld washing board?”

  Silence.

  “Right, okay, Ah’m sorry, Ah’m sorry, Ah shouldnae hiv said that. Kin ye no see Ah’m stressed and distressed aw at the same time?” he muttered, in whit sounded like an apology.

  “Wan plays guitar and the other wan plays the drums.”

  “So, how the fuck dis hauf a band help me oot then?”

  “Look, don’t start oan me. If ye want me tae help ye oot, Ah will. If no, then we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Kirsty, Kirsty, ye’re too sensitive, hen. Ah’ve always said that, hiven’t Ah, Calum?”

  “Aw the time,” Calum chipped in.

  “Look, Ah’m no being disrespectful, hen. Aw Ah’m asking is how the fuck kin hauf a band help me in ma time ae need?”

  “Wae ma two brothers and Calum’s sister, Sarah May, we’ve maybe goat oorsels a group.”

  “Sarah?” Calum said, squirming as he looked o’er at The Big Man.

  “Ach, we’re fucked!” The Big Man groaned.

  “How come?” Kirsty challenged him.

  “Dae ye mean, Sarah May Todd? Florence Nightingale? The lady wae the lamp, or in her case, the lady wae the pie? The wan that came in here wan night and scudded me oan the foreheid wae a mince pie in front ae aw ma customers before aboot turning withoot an explanation fur the said assault? That Sarah May?” he said, sitting back in his chair, fingers back oan they temples ae his.

  “Dae ye no think that the fact she’s training tae be a nurse might suggest she’s the furgiving, caring type?”

  “Kirsty, Ah don’t think ye fully understaun the situation here, hen. There’s no way she’ll help me oot. She bloody hates ma guts, so she dis.”

  “Ah don’t particularly like ye masel, bit it disnae stoap me helping ye oot tae gie yer wee maw and da a good anniversary night oot.”

  “Thanks fur that kind endorsement, Kirsty. Nae wonder that auld wummin, Harry Bertram, goat shot ae ye fae his salon. The way ye build up ma confidence in times ae trouble and strife is overwhelming, so it is,” he drawled sarcastically.

  “Ach, furget it then,” Kirsty said, gaun back tae her book ae big words.

  “Tell her the story, Calum.”

  “Er, well, there wis a wee misunderstauning between Pat and Frankie, who wis Sarah May’s manager at the time.”

  “And?”

  “Well, Sarah wis supposed tae sign up wae Bad Tidings, the record company o’er in Partick. The day she turned up tae sign oan the dotted line there wis nae sign ae Frankie.”

  “Well, there’s a surprise,” Kirsty said, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “So, because Frankie, who wis her manager and agent, wisnae aboot oan the day, Sarah May couldnae sign up due tae being underage, so she blamed Pat.”

  “Whit hid it tae dae wae Pat?” Kirsty asked, looking o’er at The Big Man.

  “Aye, well, ye see, masel and Frankie’d hid a wee disagreement at the time, o’er a business transaction and as a result ae sensitive negotiations, Frankie ended up in The Royal wae a broken knee.”

  “So, she blames ye fur messing up her chance ae the big time?”

  “Er, aye, Ah think that wid maybe hiv something tae dae w
ae it.”

  “Aye, right enough, come tae think ae it, she probably widnae dae ye any favours,” wis Kirsty’s parting shot as she goat up aff her stool and walked intae the store room tae make hersel a cup ae tea.

  “Calum, take ma advice, son. Don’t mess wae any ae these local dolly birds. If ye kin, get yersel a nice wee posh bit ae stuff fae Bishopbriggs or Kirkintilloch, where they’re nae used tae talking back tae their men.”

  “So, whit ur ye gonnae dae noo?” Calum asked, resuming his squats and lunges.

  “We’ll gie Kirsty five minutes and Ah’ll try ma charm oan her again tae see whit she kin dae fur me regarding the pie flinger.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  “C-o-a-l -B-r-i-q-u-e-t-t-e-s-s-s!”

  “W-a-n-a-n-d-a-t-a-n-n-e-r-f-u-r-a-d-o-z-e-n-n-n!”

  “C-h-e-a-p-a-s-f-u-c-k-k-k!”

  Tony and Johnboy could hear Skull and Joe fae the front ae the street. Every time they went by a closemooth, it wis like a megaphone throwing oot their voices shouting, “Coal briquettes!”

  Things hid been a bit slow. Fur a start, maist people usually goat their coal and briquettes oan a Saturday and secondly, which wis even worse, nowan hid any money.

  “Ah’ll take a dozen aff ye, son, bit Ah cannae pay ye tae ma man gets paid oan Friday,” wis the usual response.

  Joe hid stoapped blowing the bugle as well because aw the weans kept appearing fae far and wide, wae clothes they’d rifled fae their maws’ hooses or neighbours’ washing lines, thinking that the ragman hid arrived oan the scene, earlier than usual that week. When the weans saw that they didnae hiv any toys tae gie them in exchange fur aw the shite they wur turning up wae, they’d been gaun mental and chucking stanes at the boys and Jessie. Wan mad wummin hid chased Skull wae a mop, jist missing his heid because some ae the wee basturts hid nicked aw her good lace table cloths fae her washing line that she wis using fur her daughter’s wedding function later oan in the week.

  “So, whit ur the briquettes made oot ae?” Johnboy asked Tony fae where he wis sitting up oan tap ae the stack, scanning the windaes in the street fur customers.

  “Ah’m no sure. Ah think it’s aw the dross and coal dust they hiv lying aboot. They put some watery stuff in it and then bake it in big ovens. When it comes oot, it’s in the shape ae a wee square brick. Clever, eh?”

  “Aye, Ah’ve heard a lot ae the wummin, including that ma ae mine, prefer them tae coal.”

  They’d jist drapped aff three dozen tae Fat Fingered Finklebaum in the pawn shoap, two dozen tae the Fruit Bazaar and six dozen tae The McAslin Bar where The Big Man hid tried tae gie them a bob a dozen, bit Tony hid held his bottle and telt Johnboy and Skull tae put the briquettes back intae the boxes.

  They wur jist coming up tae the junction ae Taylor Street and McAslin Street where the hooses ran oot, when Joe and Skull appeared oot ae a closemooth and jumped up oan tae the cart. The next hooses wur further doon the street, where McAslin Street crossed o’er St James Road beside Rodger The Dodger’s scrap shoap.

  “Aye, we’re no shifting them as quick as Ah thought, even wae drapping the price,” Joe said, jist efter telling a couple ae weans tae piss aff and take their rags back hame wae them efter following the cart aw the way doon as far as Murray Street.

  “Aye, bit we’ll get there. It’s always this slow at the beginning ae the week.”

  “Look, there’s yer fat pal,” Skull said, motionning wae his chin, as Jessie crossed St James Road.

  Fatty Milne hid clocked them and nipped intae the wee sweetie shoap beside the school.

  “Aye, ye better run, Fatso!” Skull shouted as that fat arse ae his disappeared through the door.

  “At least Ah don’t share a play piece wae him,” Johnboy scoffed at Skull.

  “Haw, fucking haw,” came the reply.

  It wis a bit strange though, Johnboy thought tae himsel. He wis sure that he’d clocked the blob up in St Mungo Street aboot a hauf hour earlier. He’d fairly been waddling aboot. Unfortunately, efter the second sighting, Johnboy’d never gied him a second thought.

  “Right, we’ll need tae get change. Johnboy, nip across tae Sherbet’s and get three tipped singles. Take this ten bob note that The Big Man gied us and make sure he gies ye plenty ae thrupennies and tanner bits in the change,” said Tony, haunin Johnboy the note.

  “Aye, and make sure it’s Embassies and no any ae they Park Drives shite he papped oan tae us the last time. Ah’ll be checking them when ye come back.”

  “Joe, get them yersel if ye’re no happy,” Johnboy said, jumping doon and heiding o’er tae the shoap.

  “Awright, Sherbet?” Johnboy asked, o’er the sound ae Sherbet singing alang tae The Beatles asking somewan fur help.

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

  “Three tipped singles, and no they Park Drives.”

  “Ah didnae know ye’d started smoking,” he said, opening a packet ae five Park Drives.

  “Ah hivnae. They’re fur ma maw.”

  There wis a slight hesitation before Sherbet threw doon the packet ae cheap chats and started tae open a packet ae ten Embassies.

  “How is that maw ae yours anyway? Still raving and ranting and leading the charge against aw they Sheriff officers?”

  “Probably.”

  “Aye, Ah saw her up in Grafton Square a couple ae weeks ago at Mary MacDonald’s hoose sale. Bliddy bonkers she wis.”

  “Did ye?”

  “And where dis she get aw that rent-a-mob fae? Ma wife, Maisa’s been translating whit her and her pals hiv been up tae aroond aboot the closemooths tae aw the mothers. They wur fair impressed wae her.”

  “Wur they?”

  “Oh, aye. They wurnae too sure aboot people no paying their bills though, bit they wur impressed that yer maw went oot ae her way tae help another neighbour who wis in trouble. That’ll be ninepence.”

  “Ma ma asked if ye kin gie her plenty ae thrupennies and tanner bits in the change.”

  “No can do. Ah’m looking fur change masel,” he said, haunin o’er three hauf croons, a bob, a tanner and wan thrupenny bit.

  Jist then, Parvais came intae the shoap.

  “Hello Johnboy. How are you?”

  “Ah’m fine, Parvais. How aboot yersel?”

  “Very fine, thank you.”

  He then said something in Pakistani tae Sherbet, who pointed intae Madeira Cake Avenue.

  “Hiv tae go. See ye, Sherbet.”

  “Aye, see ye, Johnboy.”

  When Johnboy came oot ae the shoap, Jessie and the cart wur sitting parked up ootside the side entrance ae the school dining hut. Skull wis still trying tae get a decent sound oot ae the bugle, tae nae effect, and Jessie wis chomping, wae her nose in the sack ae feed at her feet.

  “Here ye go,” Johnboy said, flinging the wee white paper bag containing the fags at them. “He didnae hiv any loose change fur us.”

  “They better be Embassies, Johnboy, or ye’ll be gaun back wae them,” Skull scowled, sounding like Johnboy’s ma, as Joe and Tony held the fags up tae their eyes.

  “Oh, aye, here comes trouble in a string vest,” Joe said, as they aw turned tae look up towards Grafton Street.

  Calum The Runner hid appeared roond the corner and wis heiding towards them, running like a whippet.

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake…kin Ah no get any peace?” Tony groaned as Calum skidded tae a stoap beside the cart and then started tae dae push-ups aff ae the side ae it.

  “Aye, aye, boys. Whit’s up?”

  “Ye don’t fancy sixty dozen briquettes, by any chance, dae ye, Calum?”

  “Naw, bit Ah know The Big Man wid probably take them aff yer hauns.”

  “Aye, Ah bet he wid, the fucking thieving stoat. He’s awready tried and been telt tae fuck aff,” Skull replied.

  “Right, spit it oot, Calum. Whit ur ye efter?”

  “Shaun says he’s cleared the cabin and he’ll need twenty smackers up front first thing oan Saturday morning.”

&n
bsp; “Tell him tae fuck aff. We’ll decide when we take o’er the place, no him,” Skull growled.

  “He says he’ll leave yer doos in the cabin efter he locks it up oan Friday, bit they’ll need fed oan Saturday sharp, as he’s only goat enough feed fur them till this Thursday.”

  “Ah knew we shouldnae hiv dealt wae they bloody crooks, Tony. Ye wur well warned…Ah telt ye.”

  “Aw, put a cork in it, Skull. Calum, tell Shaun that Saturday’s nae good fur us as we’re busy. Tell him we’ll collect the keys oan Thursday night.”

  “Nice wan, Tony,” Calum said impressed. “He’s obviously trying tae catch youse oan the hop, cause he telt me tae also tell youse that if he disnae get the dosh oan time, ye’ll know whit the interest is.”

  “Aye, that’ll teach the pricks tae try and get wan o’er oan us, eh? Ah’d love tae see the looks oan the faces ae him and they ugly brothers ae his when ye tell him that,” Joe said, as they aw laughed, getting excited at the thought ae getting their grubby fingers oan the cabin.

  “So, whit else is happening, Calum?” Tony asked.

  “Ach, The Big Man is daeing his dinger cause every group he books fur his maw and da’s anniversary party keep pulling oot at the last minute.”

  “Where’s the party?”

  “Hiv ye no heard? It’s a private function in the pub a week oan Saturday. Ah think wan ae yer trannys is gonnae be the star prize in the Bingo. Everywan is talking aboot it, trying tae wangle an invite.”

  “Ah think ma ma and da ur gaun tae it, alang wae ma granny and granda,” Johnboy chipped in fae his perch oan tap ae the briquettes.

  “So, whit group did he get in the end?”

  “There isnae wan jist noo. He’s gaun crackers…Frankie MacDonald his fucked aff oot ae the toon tae Dunoon because the last three groups he’s booked ur too feart tae play in The McAslin.”

  “So, who’s aw gaun tae the party then?”

  “Everywan and their dug will be there. He’s even bringing in Tam the Bam fae The Grafton o’er in Cathedral Street tae manage the bar, jist tae make sure there’s nae dipping gaun oan at the till.”

  “Whit aboot yersel? Will you be aroond?”