by A D Evans
He was desperate to get this man to join forces with him, and offered him a fantastic deal. The deal he put together was equal to the one that big Willie his right hand man received.
He came to know his new associate quite well over the next few years. He had agreed to the deal after Paul had pursued him for about two weeks, and had never let up on his obsession with employing him as part of his organisation.
The enforcer had performed well in any jobs he had been asked to perform, and he became aware that for the proper amount of money he would have cut out his own mother’s heart. He would also have fed it to the seagulls on the Clyde if required. He had just hired a man without a conscience, and nothing he had to do would bother him. After the shooting of their rival drug dealers in Campsie, he asked Willie if he wanted to meet up later to get an Indian curry.
Willie had obviously been one of the shooters that day, but for all his mouthing and bravado, inside he had felt a sick at murdering three people; he did not have a curry on the way home or later!
Big Willie did not like Steff. He felt that you would never be able to trust anybody who had the mercenary abilities attributed to him. He put up with him without complaint because his boss thought he man was an asset to the gang. He hated it when they went out for their fun days together and admitted to himself that maybe he was a bit jealous. Paul thought so much of the icicle, as he called Steff, privately.
‘He is one cold bastard,’ he muttered. ‘All fuckin' kung fu and gung ho. fuck him and his martial arts! I hope I can get something on the wee prick. I would love to have the pleasure of putting a bullet in his wee weedy heed. Then I would go for a big fuckin Indian curry. I would really fuckin' enjoy it’ Smiled the big man to himself.
Paul and his companion were in the middle of a poker game. They were well up, thanks to his associate’s expertise with the pasteboards. The hand was ending, Steff and another guy were the only two left in the game. They went another couple of gambits, but the guy was running out off money.
‘Okay. I've no cash left, so I’ll have to call you,’ said the guy
Steff turned his cards over. He showed a 9, 10, J, Q, K. all in diamonds.
‘Fuck it, I thought I had you there’ the man was sitting with an 8, 9, 10, J.Q. all in spades.
‘No luck my friend; I thought I was beaten that time’ he said with a slight smile
‘Ach well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles’ said the other guy.
The two gangsters took their leave of the school, with promises to return at another time in the near future.
‘What do you say we head up to wee Jeanie’s in Knightswood? Her wee man Johnny is on the night shift. You know she always makes us welcome. She'll probably send for her wee pal Bev; she’s a right wee raver’ Steff nodded his assent to the suggestion.
Having made their decision the two men jumped into a taxi for the journey to Knightswood.
‘There's a late night chemist just round the corner from her so we can get our anti-maintenance protection there’
‘Okay that sounds fine by me,’
As they were heading for wee Jeanie’s, Paul was feeling slightly guilty again about his girlfriend Marion.
‘Ach what she doesn't know cant t hurt her’ He decided.
The taxi was heading along Alderman Road, when his mobile phone rang. He went into his pocket and looked at the two phones he carried. One was for business and the other number was only given to his grandparents, Marion, and Willie. It was his Gran, and she was crying so hard that he could hardly understand what the message was. At last she calmed down enough to tell him. His grandfather had been taken to hospital with a suspected heart attack. He was stunned for a moment. ‘Which hospital’ he enquired?
‘The Western Infirmary’ was the tearful reply.
‘Are you there just now?’
His grandmother confirmed that she was, and she was phoning from the emergency department.
‘I'll be with you in ten minutes, hang on Gran’
He quickly explained the situation to his friend.
‘Sorry mate, I’ll have to drop you here and go to the Western’
‘No problem, phone me when your clear’
With that, Steff left the taxi and Paul redirected the driver to the hospital.
TWENTYFIVE
He was at her side in the stated ten minutes. They sat holding hands and drinking coffee from the vending machine. His Gran stood up as a doctor approached and asked if she was Mrs Lynch, she nodded her reply. The doctor asked her to sit down. The doctor tried as gently as he could to tell her the sad news that her husband of over sixty years had passed away without regaining consciousness. They just sat there stunned. Marina kept saying that it was maybe a mistake. Perhaps there was another Louie Lynch had been brought in? Yes, that was it, and this was all a mistake. Paul although devastated finally convinced his grandmother that her husband was dead; his beloved grand mother went to pieces. Screaming and crying so uncontrollably that a nurse on duty sent for a doctor who administered a sedative to the grief stricken woman. Paul called a taxi and took his Gran home with him to his house. When they reached the house, she collapsed in a heap on his bed. The sedative was doing its job, and she slipped into a deep sleep. He poured himself a stiff whisky, and the tears started to flow. He thought of how the man who was now dead had taught him so much in his lifetime. He remembered the time his grandfather tried to teach him how to cast a salmon fly. His first cast caught on the top branch of a tree; how his granddad had laughed at his embarrassment. He had taken him and Frankie Sutherland to their first Celtic game at Parkhead. The ground was not in the excellent condition it's in today, and it was rough and ready. Every other fan seemed to have an obligatory carryout to drink during the game. They had been so excited they thought they were going to burst. The game had been against Hearts of Midlothian who were a good side. He tried hard to remember who scored the goals but could not do so, but he knew that Celtic romped home 3-1 winners, and they had a fish tea in the Gallowgate on the way home. He would have to contact Frankie, as Louie considered him like a grandson.
He had the unpleasant task of phoning his sister Ann- Marie to tell her the terrible news. Davie answered the phone, and he asked to speak to his sister. She came on the phone knowing something was wrong.
‘It's granddad’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry hen to tell you but he died an hour or two ago’
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then the scream. The sound of it was primeval in its tone, like a high-pitched moan. Davie came on the line.
‘Paul I think she's fainted; I’ll have to hang up just now’
With that the connection was cut and the line went dead. Half an hour passed and the phone rang, he answered and recognised his sister's voice.
‘Hello hen, how are you?’
‘I've calmed down a wee bit now. What happened?’
He explained the circumstances, she said her and Davie would come up right away.
‘Good, I could be doing with you here right now. The tears were starting again, he choked them back whispering.
‘Hurry hen, I’m hurting real bad’
‘I'll be there just as quick as I can son, hang in there’
With that, she hung up, and then sat quietly watching the clock.
She was two years younger than him, but at times of trouble she was always so much more mature. His sister had always been able to cope with what life threw at her. When their parents had died it was she that had gotten through to him. She told him they had to get on with their lives, and to make sure that the people responsible for their parent’s demise lived to regret their actions. He loved his sister unconditional; he never showed the soft side of his nature to anyone, but her and his grandparents. Only she knew about his inner fears and doubts, and she shared his secrets; knew that he was not the hard case that others saw. Others saw the face, the famous ‘West of Scotland macho image’. The image that was as false as the faces required to operate it effe
ctively.
They arrived about half an hour after their phone call.
‘I'm glad your here hen, I just don't know what to do’
‘Calm down and I will sort it all out in the morning. Try and get a sleep, because we've a lot of running about to do in the morning’
He had another few drinks then went to bed
The next few days were a blur of activity. He had tried to get Frankie, but the number was unobtainable. The undertakers had done their job well, and the funeral went off without any problems. His grandmother was too ill to attend, but his aunt Jean was over from Canada. She and her husband Tom had emigrated there in the late seventies. They owned and ran a Chain- of taverns in Nova Scotia, and through this business had become very wealthy. The family were not in regular contact with them. Whenever their company opened a new tavern or sold one at a massive profit Aunt Jean would phone to tell everyone in Glasgow about how well she and her husband were doing.
Paul hoped that when the funeral was over it would be the last time he would have to listen to her boasting.
When they had finally buried his grandfather, it was a very cold day. It had been snowing non-stop since the previous evening, and dark snow-filled clouds blackened the sky to an almost night like appearance .He had walked undetected along the street to the unmarked police car, and knocked on the window. The two undercover cops had swivelled their heads to see who had the cheek to annoy them. One of the cops wound down a window.
‘What the fuck are you two doing here today? Do you think were maybe going to have a wee couple of joints during the service?’
The police officer stared at him nervously.
‘As you guys know, I have never hurt the polis in my life, but on this day I might just make an exception. Now get to fuck out of here and jail some poor wee motorist for road-tax evasion or something. If you are still sitting here when the cortège leaves, you will take what you get. Okay?’
‘One more thing, tell your poxy boss Chief Inspector Charles Ritchie that I’m getting just a wee bit sick of the sight of you two. If he wants trouble I will give him all he can handle, and then some more. Got that plod? Now fuck off before I forget I’m a gentleman’
The two officers did not answer him, but within minutes of the threat they started up their car and left the area.
The funeral was to take place at their local Chapel at the top end of Maryhill. The Chapel looked splendid, and there were flowers everywhere. The bright shimmer from the snow outside seemed to light the stained glass windows with a godly grace. Gold and blue banners adorned the walls, and they swayed gently in the breeze from the open door as the mourners took their seats.
The requiem mass had been said by an old friend of his grandfather’s, Father John McKinnon, The priest looked magnificent in his purple and blue monastic robe with the broad gold cassock on top. It was a beautiful service, and all the good things said about Louie were true. He had been a good husband, father, and grandfather. As the mass progressed, Paul felt overwhelmed by the aroma of the flowers and the incense that the priest was burning. He wanted to cry, scream “Stop!” He felt unable to carry on, and at one point thought he was going to faint. He started to think what the turnout would be like when it came to his funeral. The only people attending would be the scum that he associated with in his criminal activities. Why was he the way he was? Is it because of what happened to his parents, or was he just an evil bastard? He knew inside that he was not simply evil. He was in fact frightened, and sickened on many occasions. The problem was that once you had a reputation you had to maintain it, at all costs. You could not be seen to be soft or hesitant in any way. He exhaled a deep mournful sigh, and once more felt sick. He sometimes hated what he had become, because he had always thought that being hard earned you respect. Today he was learning what true respect was. Respect did not come from fear, but from love. The people who were attending his grandfathers funeral were not there for any other reason except to pay their last respects to someone they loved. The respect was given not because his grandfather was a hard man, but because his grandfather was a real man.
Paul prayed silently to his late beloved grandfather for peace from his torment.
‘Grandfather you will now know the truth about your grandson. The one you loved without question, and I know you will be shocked to learn his true character. Please granddad help show me how to change from this pathetic person into a real man like you. Amen.’
The Chapel service ended with communion, and he thought he was going to choke on the consecrated host as it stuck in the back of his throat. Not even the drink of wine would shift the gagging sensation that was threatening to overwhelm him. He managed to pull himself together and see the end of the service, then follow the funeral cortège that was headed for Saint Kentigerns Cemetery up in Cadder.
As he and his sister stood at the graveside, the cold wind blew loose snow in their faces. You could taste the freshness in the snowflakes, and the warm tears were salty in the corner of their mouths.Just for a moment he thought he saw his late father at the back of the crowd. ‘This grief is worse than drink for making you imagine things’ he thought to himself.
‘Oh dear Granddad, I'll miss you’ he said as the coffin was lowered into the newly excavated grave. When the short burial service was over they all went to the co-op tearooms for a drink and a bite to eat. The rooms were not exactly the Ritz, but they were comfortable enough to serve the purpose they were intended for. The walls were of dark oak panelling and the subdued lighting gave the place a rather Gothic feel. Overall, it was peaceful and comforting place to be.
The meal was the traditional soup, followed by steak pie potatoes and vegetables.
Tom was there, and arrogantly holding court. He was saying how in Canada the catering was so much better than in Scotland. Paul slid up beside him and told him clearly that if he did not shut his mouth the next catering would be for his own funeral. The end to a perfect family relationship he sighed as he headed home to check on the progress of his beloved grandmother.
TWENTYSIX
Ann-Marie and Davie moved in with Gran for a few days. Aunt Jean and Tom were going to stay for another two weeks and had booked into a large hotel in the centre of the city. Since his quiet word with Tom, Jean had hardly broken breath to him, this suited Paul as he had no time for their airs and graces.
‘Don't forget your old arse, if you get a new one’ His old boxing instructor had said to him.
He didn't really know what the saying meant when he was an up and coming young scrapper, but he now understood what message old Alex had been trying to pass on to him.
A week went passed; him and his sister became increasingly worried about their Gran. She was not eating, or drinking properly, and the previous night, they had heard her talking in the bedroom. Ann-Marie went into the room but there was nobody else was there. Gran continued to talk to an empty armchair. She was answering and asking questions as if there was a two-way conversation-taking place.
This freaked him out, and he wanted to call a doctor. He went in and spoke to her, she told him she was speaking to his grandfather. The doctor came, and examined her thoroughly advised that she could still be in shock, and to leave matters until the following day. The doctor said he would return in the morning. He left after giving her a small sedative tablet. She eventually fell asleep, and Paul his sister and brother-in-law sat in the kitchen drinking tea. Davie said to him,
‘According to my beliefs, it is possible that the conversation gran has with her husband is real’
He stared at his brother-in-law as if he was some kind of idiot.
‘What the fuck are you talking about? You fuckin' bam. You want to start drinking again because all this tee- total rubbish has melted your brain’
Davie went on to explain that he was now a member of a spiritualist church and that it was quite a common occurrence for people who had lost a loved one suddenly to experience what their gran had.
‘Don't talk
shite; how the fuck can you talk to dead people?’
‘I swear it Paul, I've heard it with my own ears. Saw it with my own eyes’
‘Well your needing your ears syringed and new glasses you bammy bastard,’ was his sarcastic reply
At this stage in the discussion Ann-Marie butted in,
‘Right that’s enough of this talk. I warned you not to start your spiritualist stuff here, but keep it for them that believe in it’
‘Sorry I just got a wee bit carried away; sorry I’ll never mention it again’
‘Aye O.K. just drop the subject’ he replied.
The following morning his sister had taken her Gran a cup of tea at nine o'clock. She knocked on the door then entered the room to find her gran sitting in the easy chair with a smile on her face, and her eyes closed. The old woman had been dead for several hours, and when her granddaughter touched her she was stone cold and rigid.
The screaming brought everyone running from their beds. Paul just stood staring, before sinking to the floor in desolation.
‘Oh no, not you as well gran’ he cried in anguish
The post-mortem showed that she had died from natural causes, but it should have read, broken-heart.
The family went through the same procedure as a few days previous. Undertakers, Requiem mass funeral. A return to the same newly dug graveside. The brother and sister were in a trance like state, and Davie was left to do a lot of the running about. Paul respected him for this, despite his new spiritualist beliefs. After it was all over and everyone including their rich relations had gone home. Paul, Ann-Marie and Davie were left with the task of breaking up their grandparent’s home. The house would be sold, and the money would of course go to the eldest remaining male. The contents were the hardest part to sort out. The trio set about it with sore hearts; the smell of the kitchen reminded them so much of their childhood. They had never stayed in the house, but the aroma of the place was that of a woman who produced her own baking and cooking all her life. The sound of the wind chimes that they had bought her as a present from Blackpool. The feel of her apron, the one she had worn since they were kids. Many a skinned knee had been kissed better while they cuddled into the soft fabric of the garment. They both had so many memories, most of them good. They cleared all the personal items, and sent the rest of the things to Saint Vincent De Paul, to be used to help others.