by A D Evans
The Maryhill gang had a good laugh that night, and about three hours later, they were all waiting for taxis to go home.
Paul said to them,
‘Thanks boys for a great night, now go home and get a good rest. There’s a big day ahead tomorrow, and I'll need you all bright eyed and bushy tailed’.
‘That reminds me of a joke,’ said big Willie.
‘Fuck off big yin. We’ve heard enough of your shitey proddy patter for one night,’ he joked as he closed the front-door with a laugh.
EIGHTEEN
Canntannis collectors were doing well. They had managed to recover 95% of the money owed to them for the week, and they still had Saturday mornings run to complete so were confident of making it to the magic 100% collection. Their boss would be very happy.
Since Canntannis young cousin had been shot dead, the gang had noticed that any punishments to late payers or shirkers had progressively become more violent and perverted. He had made one guy eat dog shit and when the guy had spewed his guts up, he had made him eat that too. The guy was only a day late in paying his final twenty quid to a sixty quid loan.
Their boss was becoming one sicko bastard was the conclusion of his gang members.
After the Saturday collection was completed, the men relaxed in the top flat house in Abercrombie Street. They played cards and waited for the signal to move the money. Between the drugs and the loan-sharking collections, they had close to £120,000. Not bad for a weeks work they reckoned. The call came at last and the correct password was given to them they were only then told where to take the money. Since the start of the war with the Maryhill mob, the money went to a different location every week. Last week it had been Balloch, before that Paisley, and this week it was to be Fintry in the Campsie hills.
Their orders were to go to Kirkintilloch and drive to the Regent Centre car park. Go up to the roof level where they would see a red transit van with a large TAZ motif on the side of it and when the van left the car park they were to follow it to the drop off point.
The men drove to the designated spot, identified the vehicle they were expecting and when it moved away they followed. The van headed for the Stirling Road out towards Kilsyth, then turned left towards Milton of Campsie and Lennoxtown. They drove for many miles climbing ever higher into the Campsie hills twisting and turning until at last they came to an isolated farmhouse. The house seemed to be deserted, but as the men left their car, they saw the curtain move to the side. It was the last thing they were ever to see in this life, because two heavy calibre automatic rifles tore the life from their frail human frames and left their blood splattered disembowelled bodies lying in the mud of the farmyard.
‘What a fuckin weapon’ screamed big Willie?
‘I wish there was more of the Tallie bastards to shoot’
‘Hey watch it! You’re talking about my old Motherland,’ said Paul with a grin.
The weapons had been received from a source in Northern Ireland only twelve hours before the hit. The consignment of arms had been paid for in drugs.
‘It’s fuckin handy having a wee war right on your doorstep. But I don't fancy trying to take any territory off them mad Irish bastards if this kind of hardware that’s so easily available,’ laughed big Willie,
The truth of the matter was that the arms had not been so easy to acquire.
It was a long drawn out procedure to obtain the much sought after lethal weapons. An Irish farmer who was a friend of one of his employees had set up the whole thing. Paul had helped the farmer two years ago when the farmer had been on a visit to Glasgow for a football match he had been mugged in a car park. The farmer also had his car stolen. The car had been returned intact, as had his money and other valuables. He was extremely grateful, and very impressed. The farmer said that he was in Paul’s debt, and would pay it back in any way he could.
When he had approached the farmer the man immediately went into action, and the arms were dispatched to Scotland in a cattle truck. There were certain rules to be followed concerning the weapons. They obviously belonged to a terrorist organisation, and although Paul had paid dearly for them, it was expected that if possible they would be returned after use.
Another stipulation was that should the men be caught using the weapons they would be expected to keep their mouths shut or alternatively face the dire consequences given out to a tout.
He agreed to these terms, and the following day some of the fiercest weapons of destruction were in his calculating, uncompromising hands.
Big Willie went to the farmhouse and brought out his Polaroid camera.
‘Smile’ he shouted in the direction of the three dead men.
Colour pictures were taken of the bodies as they lay in their grotesque death postures. They were taken to an already prepared twelve-foot pit full of quicklime there to be interred for eternity.
NINETEEN
Antonio Canttani was going wild. Where were his men with the cash? He had phoned them at the house they were supposed to be holed up in, but when he received no reply, he had driven there as quickly as possible. There was no sign of a struggle, and he began to wonder whether the bastards had the guts to rip him off? No way! ‘If they haven't run where the fuck are they?’ He sat down to get his thoughts together. There was a knock at the door. Antonio answered the door himself with a drawn pistol in his hand but hidden behind his back. A leather-clad biker stood at the door with an envelope in his hand.
‘Mr. Canttani? He enquired, and receiving an affirmative to his answer, he said ‘I have an urgent delivery for you’
The man continued to say that it was to be delivered only to Mr. Canttani, and after he identified himself, the man asked for a signature. When the signing was, complete the biker handed over the letter and left muttering under his breath about ‘no fuckin’ tip’
He looked at the envelope, and was slightly wary of the contents. It was to thin to be a bomb or to hold any explosive device so he opened the envelope with a quick tearing motion and a series of pictures fell on the floor. The mob boss was stunned when he realised the contents of the communication, because the three men lying dead were all members of his firm. How would he explain this to his family? How did that bastard Lynch do it? How did he get them to leave the house? He himself had told them that under no circumstances were they to leave the house without receiving confirmation of the password he had instructed them explicitly not to move unless they heard the phrase he had chosen. The password had been ‘Come home to roost’. He had only made it up impulsively two minutes before he phoned them this morning in preparation for the call to move the cash.
‘Nobody but me knew it, only the men in the house and myself’
‘The phone in the villa! It’s bugged! I'll bet you that bastard Lynch has my private phone bugged too! The bastard, this time I will kill him and the slower and more painful the better’ On his way home Canttani purchased a new mobile phone for security reasons.
Over on the north side of Glasgow the Maryhill mob was having a debriefing.
‘Well boys, all in all it was a great piece of work, and everyone involved played their part exactly as planned. There were no mistakes, no hesitating at the kill. Well done boys. You can be sure that the bonus payable for this mornings work will be enough to put your children, and half the children in your street through college.
Paul went on to say that, another hit was planned, and there would be an exotic holiday on offer to all who participated if everything went according to plan. Now it was still top secret but they would be informed of its contents in good time.
When the men left the unit, and it was just him and Willie, they went through the new plan carefully looking in the first instance for any flaws and secondly to see if they could make any improvements. Two hours later the duo were satisfied that the plan was sound and feasible.
‘Let the war continue, long live the king. Fuck Canttani!’ said Willie
TWENTY
The delivery driver pulled up to
the large house and pressed the intercom button on the side of the gate. The buzzer was answered by a male voice. He was told to drive to the side door when the gate opened. The driver obeyed instructions, and headed for the side entrance. A man appeared from behind a van that was parked near the side door. He paid the driver and took delivery of the meal, but as the driver was about to leave he noticed that the meal was being taken to the garage and not into the house. A small bead of sweat glinted brightly on the his forehead, and the man who had taken the delivery appeared again at the entrance of the garage. The driver made pretence of talking into his mobile phone, and started reversing whilst still talking .There was a loud bang as the rear end of his car came into violent contact with a large tree. The driver appeared to lose control of the vehicle and it slid slowly sideways down the gradient of the landscaped pathway. It came to a halt half on the path and half in the small pond at the base of the slope.
The man who had taken the delivery came running over shouting and swearing. He was calling the driver for all the useless bastards on this earth, as the driver got out of his car and surveyed the situation.
‘I'll have to get a tow truck to pull that fuckin out. This is all a need on the fuckin busiest night of the fuckin week. My mobiles not working can a use your phone?’ he requested.
The guy was going ballistic, and if he hadn't been held back by a couple of other men from the garage, he would have hit the driver.
‘Cool down big man, accidents fuckin happen you know,’ said the driver. The driver started to roll and light a cigarette.
One of the other men who had come on the scene from the direction of the garage told him to take his pollution elsewhere. The driver muttered something under his breath and sauntered towards the open electric gate where he leaned against the gatepost watching as they tried to extract his car from the pond. They had backed the van up and looped a chain- over the towing bracket; they were now attempting to attach it to his car.
The man glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. It was a good job nobody had noticed it, because a delivery driver with a ten grand watch took a bit of believing. A small mistake on his part, however it could have been very costly. When the attention of the vehicle rescuers was suitably diverted, the man quietly made his exit.
The driver glanced again at the offending watch as he strode quickly but casually away from the villa.
Antonio his two brothers and three of his nephews were still trying to extract the car from its watery grave when suddenly they were sent to their own. A dull crumping noise followed by a loud explosion ripped the car and anyone near it to shreds.
‘That was a fuckin’ hot curry. It would blow your fuckin' head off’ smirked the delivery driver,
The Canntannis died as they had lived. Violently.
TWENTYONE
There were few tears shed for them except by members of their own family, in the east end pubs braggarts would be spinning their tales about the time they had stood up to them and of how the Canntannis had backed down. ‘They knew not to mess with me’ would be the ending to their lying story.
One mob in Glasgow who could have bragged about sorting the Canntannis kept very tight lipped about the whole affair.
Headlines in the Daily Record stated that the explosion was caused by two rival gangs fighting for the right to supply drugs to the east end of the city. The police were never going to get anybody for it, and they knew that. Unofficially they were not bothered when gangs were killing each other; their only problem was that as gang members were killed another up and coming hopeful took their place. The Glasgow Police performed miracles with their limited resources, and all in all performed a remarkably good job under the circumstances.
Now that the problem of the Canttanis was resolved, it was back to business as usual for Paul and his associates as he liked to call them nowadays. The death of the gangster family meant that there was a void in the drugs trade market that he and his mob were more than willing to fill. However, there were more than drugs issues to be sorted out and organised. There was the money lending and prostitution side of the business, and these last two items had never been tried before by the Maryhill Mafia as they were called in whispers.
Paul went into his usual planning routine and as things started to formulate in his head, he would speak to Willie about it. As everyone was aware, big Willie was a wee bit slow on an intellectual level. However, he possessed a great deal of common sense, and could see and imagine situations as at their worst scenario. He would then work things out as a contingency plan; he was also a past master at spotting any flaws in their cunningly conceived plans. He was worth his weight in gold in so many different departments, and it was in fact his plan that had been used in the bombing of the east-enders
TWENTYTWO
The whole Maryhill gang were called to a meeting at a hotel in Bothwell. The location was not too far away, but it was ideal in its facilities. The hotel was extremely well decorated, and the rooms were large and airy with tasteful shades of silver and blue curtains, dark blue carpets that were about three inches thick; the decor was finished off with Chesterfield suites in navy blue. The room did not look like your typical hotel accommodation; it was very welcoming and comfortable.
‘The first thing I want done is an electronic sweep of these rooms, so get Hugh over here right now’
When their electronics man had checked the place over, and given it the all clear. The gang could let their guard down a little. Hugh the electronics wizard was on a retainer to the Maryhill mob, and depended a lot on work from them to sustain his small business. He owned premises in Garscube Road that sold electrical appliances, but when he received a call from the gang, all his other business was put on the back burner. He was a very happy man to have his contract, and he guarded it jealously.
‘I wish we could go back to the old days, because all this electric stuff gives me the eebie jeebies,’ muttered Willie.
‘That’s progress for you big man, and a necessary evil’ said Paul with a smile.
For the next three days, the men formulated their plan for the future. If they could control half of Glasgow what was to stop them controlling 100% of the ‘Dear Green Place’?
The resounding answer from the company was unanimous; they all to a man agreed that nothing or nobody could stop them becoming the masters of the city.
As the men relaxed with each other in the privacy of the penthouse suite inevitably, the subject came round to previous jobs. What had gone wrong? What had been perfect? What had been sad or funny?
Ronnie Deacon had been invited along to take part in the relaxation period. He had decided to take Paul up on his offer of early retirement with a pension, but some of the men discussed with him what had been planned for the future of the gang. He was very interested and wanted to know all the details. He wished them all well with their plan, and also said that he was a little jealous as he would miss out on the massive bonuses that were being talked about. Paul assured him that on top of his three hundred pounds a week pension; there would be an annual Christmas payment. He went on to say that from time to time they could use him maybe as a driver or courier, and if he agreed to this, he would receive another wage on top of his pension. He thanked his boss and told him that if there was ever anything he could do to help the gang he need only ask and he could consider it done.
The men continued with their drinking. Because of the company they were in the tongues of the Maryhill gang were a bit more loose than normal. If the men had been sober, they may have noticed the fact that Ronnie was not drinking much, but was listening intently and asking many questions. There was however one very cautious man in the company. Big Willie. He had other reasons for staying sober he wanted to keep an eye on Ronnie, because their old colleague was not usually sober when free booze was on offer.
He watched him closely, and not just because of any questions he was asking. However when he had noticed that he was not drinking very much a strange feeling went through him
; like his boss he had a sixth sense for trouble. At the same time Ronnie was re-charging everyone else's glass as if there were no tomorrow. All that he had found out recently began to take shape.
He had made it his business to check up on his injured gang member’s progress after his encounter with Mr. Black and Decker, and found that he was spending all his spare time in his local pub. He also was drinking at an alarming rate, and it had been whispered to him that he was doing a bit of mouthing off about Paul and the gang in general. He had said to a guy in the pub who had befriended him (on Willies orders) that if he didn't get what he deserved then he would do something about it. His new friend tried to persuade him to reveal what he was going to do, but he remained tight-lipped and refused to say any more. He just kept repeating that he would get his share. Willie found out that he was spending about fifty or sixty quid at a time in the pub. He had not worked for six months, and given that he had his unofficial pension from the organisation he was still spending more than he had coming in.
Willie had people in place in several of the larger banks call centres, and with one phone call could find out details of account holders. When his call and inquiry was complete there would be an envelope with a bonus on its way to the call centre operator.
He checked him out, as he did with all members of the gang. The gang did not know that this six monthly practice went on, but the boss had agreed to it as a sound way of monitoring his associates who had bank accounts. He found that Ronnie had very little cash in his account but £5,000 had been deposited four months ago. He was sure of it now, and there was definitely something wrong. He could smell it, especially when the person who had transferred the money had the surname of Connelly and the first initial ‘K’ for Kenneth. If this name was the one he assumed it was, then the gang had plenty trouble ahead. He knew that there was a difference having suspicion and proving it, but he would try to do the later.