Elvis The Sani Man

by Ian Todd

  “Aye, well, Ah’ll catch up wae ye, Teddy. Must go,” Elvis sang, herding his wife and daughter towards the glass door and the street beyond. “Nice wan, Lisa Marie,” he scowled at her.

  “Whit?”

  “Aye, see ye, Lesley,” Priscilla shouted.

  “You better well win and no let us doon,” Lisa Marie growled, nipping through the double doors first, aheid ae her ma and da.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  “Whit’s wrang wae your face?” Charlie Hastie asked Dave McGovern, wan ae The Gruesome Twosome, as he plapped his arse doon oan a seat oan the bottom deck ae a trolleybus in The Transport Museum.

  “Nothing.”

  “Ah’ll no ask ye again.”

  “Ah telt ye, it’s nothing. Ah thought Ah recognised somewan driving past, doon oan Argyll Street as Ah wis let in the side door.”

  “Who?”

  “A lassie…wan ae the wee WPCs fae the station. She lives no far fae here, oan Lawrence Street.”

  “Did she see ye?”

  “Ah doubt it. She drove past withoot looking up Bunhoose Road.”

  “She wisnae tailing ye, wis she?”

  “Her? Nae fucking chance,” he scoffed, puffing oot his chest.

  “Okay, never mind. So, whit’s the score then?”

  “Ah wis gonnae ask you the same question,” The Sarge replied, taking oot his fags and matches fae his jaicket pocket.

  “Dave, don’t get fucking lippy wae me or you’ll be ending up in the same hole as that boss ae yers,” Charlie Hastie warned the sergeant, who stiffened at the tone ae the voice. “And kin ye no see? There’s nae smoking oan the bottom deck.”

  “Whit is it ye want tae know?” The Sarge asked, putting his fags and matches back in tae his pocket.

  “Black Pat McVeigh and Blind Bill Campbell?”

  “Duggie Dougan’s putting the squeeze oan them, so he is.”

  “Ah know that. Whit Ah don’t know, is why.”

  “He’s up tae his eyebrows, or at least, that brother-in-law ae his is. The brother-in-law owns that BMW dealership up oan the Kirkintilloch Road, jist efter Colston. He’s also oan aw sorts ae boards and committees, as well as being the chairman ae Briggsmyre Golf Course…”

  “Okay, Ah get the picture.”

  “It’s the club that’s the problem,” The Sarge replied, ignoring the interruption. “That greedy basturt, alang wae two other directors or whitever they call these cunts who run golf clubs, hiv embezzled fourteen grand oot ae the place. The brother-in-law hid a heart attack while perching oan his secretary, wid ye believe? Anyway, it aw came tae light while he wis recovering in hospital.”

  “So, whit his that goat tae dae wae Duggie Dougan?”

  “His wife. She wants the inspector tae save her brother fae being charged and jailed. She said the jail wid kill him,” The Sarge replied, shrugging they shoulders ae his and reaching fur his fags, before remembering he couldnae smoke.

  “Dis that prick ae a boss ae yours realise whit he’s getting in tae here?”

  “Eh?”

  “Gamekeeper turning poacher?”

  “It’s only until he kin recover his brother-in-law’s cut ae the repayment, so it is. We’re talking a month or two at the maist.”

  “Dave, these ur oor people.”

  “Black Pat and Blind Bill?”

  “Ye’re obviously no getting the picture here. We allow them, and others, tae operate fur a wee…how wid ye put it…a wee weekly subscription.”

  “Everywan knows the amount they’re raking in, so they dae, especially that blind grippy basturt, Campbell. We’re no trying tae step oan anywan’s toes, so we’re no. This is only temporary.”

  “Dave, no only ur you and that glaikit eejit that ye run aboot wae, Shane Priestly, in danger ae disappearing, bit that fucking prick ae a boss ae yours is tae. Noo, Ah’m no gonnae fuck aboot here. This is a serious turn ae events that his tae stoap. If it disnae, somewan is gonnae get hurt and Ah kin assure ye, it won’t be wan ae us.”

  “Charlie, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, and please don’t take this the wrang way, bit the inspector is way oot there, so he is,” The Sarge admitted, swishing his haun towards the dust coated bus windae. “No only is this brother-in-law thing happening, bit he’s been perching oan a wee WPC fur the past few months and she’s started tae become clingy and demanding. He tried tae get shot ae her tae wan ae the other inspectors oot in Yoker. When she found oot that he wis passing her oan tae wan ae his mates, she tried tae top hersel, so she did.”

  “Youse basturts make me sick, so youse dae. Whit the fuck his any ae this goat tae dae wae us, eh?”

  “Charlie…”

  “Shut the fuck up, ya spineless piece ae shit. You’re gonnae go back tae that prick ae a boss ae yers and tell him tae wind that fucking neck ae his in before he loses the heid that it’s attached tae. We’re the gangsters aboot here, no him and that jumped-up, stalking, monkey prick, across in Springburn. You tell Dougan that Black Pat and Blind Bill Campbell won’t be haunin o’er wan mair cent. If he disnae like it, then he kin go and fuck himsel.”

  “Charlie…please, Ah’m sorry, bit he’s no in the mood jist noo,”

  “He’s no in the mood? The next time Ah speak tae you, ye’ll be oan yer knees wae yer hauns tied behind yer back, in front ae a hole, ya useless basturt, ye. Don’t tempt us wae this wan noo, Dave. Wan-bob won’t be as accommodating as me. Get that basturt tae back aff before it’s too late.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Collette switched aff her heidlights and engine and let the car roll tae a stoap at the junction ae Auld Dumbarton Road and Bunhoose Road. Her heart wis pounding. She’d spotted Dave McGovern, wan ae The Gruesome Twosome, drive past her oan the left when she wis sitting at the traffic lights at the junction ae Sauchiehall Street, where it joins Argyll Street, no that she wis particularly interested in coming across that sexist pig. He hidnae spotted her as he drove straight oan through the lights at his side ae the road. By the time her lights hid changed, he wis jist passing The Art Gallery. It hid been the car turning left intae Bunhoose Road that hid drawn her attention. Normally this widnae hiv bothered her, bit the fact that Dave McGovern wis up aheid meant that it could be him no trying tae draw attention tae himsel because he’d spotted her. She looked at the clock dial oan her dashboard. Twenty-five past ten. She kept her face forward as she passed The Art Gallery oan her right. She allowed the car tae slow by itsel by taking her fit aff ae the accelerator. The car that hid turned left hid parked up in the row oan the opposite side ae the road fae the Transport Museum. She’d jist clocked a flash ae a brake light pinging as she’d come up tae the junction. She slowly sped up, withoot thrashing the accelerator. Wis that a brake light coming oan because somewan hid accidently touched the brake pedal as they wur turning roond tae see if she’d spotted him? She turned left at Partick Cross oan tae Benalder Street and then doon oan tae Auld Dumbarton Road, doubling back oan hersel. She looked doon Bunhoose Road. It wis deserted. The orange glow fae the street lights complimented the big solid red sandstone ae The Transport Museum. She drummed the fingers ae baith hauns oan the steering wheel. She wisnae too sure whit she should dae noo. She wid’ve been hame drinking a cup ae tea by noo, she reminded hersel, if she hidnae made her wee detour. Where hid McGovern gone tae? The museum wis aw locked up, wae nae lights coming fae any ae the big, ornate, barred windaes. Auld Dumbarton Road, where she wis noo sitting, wis deserted, apart fae the van behind her and whit looked like a private taxi, sitting oan the other side ae the road, facing the toon centre.

  “Aye, aye, Skulk One. Would that be company now? Over,” the radio crackled quietly.

  “Aye, that’ll be right, Laddie. Over.”

  “And a good looker too. Over.”

  “I wonder what she’s up to, Skulk Two. Over.”

  “Do we have a confirmed ID, Skulk One? Over.”

  “That’s a negatory. Over.”

  Silence.

  “Do you want me to approa
ch and ask for directions? Over.”

  “That’s a negatory, Skulk Two. Both Skulk Three and myself are both sitting not four feet away from her. We’ve ran her plates and chust received an ID. She’s twenty-four year old miss Collette James of forty three Lawrence Street, Hillhead…a police officer stationed up in Possilpark. Over.”

  “Possil? So, there is a connection. Over.”

  “Aye, well, Laddie, you chust keep your eyes on that museum door on Bunhouse Road, Skulk Two. Over,” his radio crackled, as he heard Skulk Wan saying something in the background.

  “These radios are something else…when are we going to get some for ourselves, Skulk One? Over.”

  “They’ll never replace a good pair of eyes and a keen nose, Laddie, so keep your eyes on that door down there in Bunhouse Road for Black Dog. We can’t afford to lose him tonight. Over and out.”

  The car that hid turned aff ae Sauchiehall Street, wae the brake light, wis still sitting parked up. It wis too far doon the street fur Collette tae see if anywan wis sitting in it. He must be meeting somewan, she telt hersel. Why wid he turn left in tae Bunhoose Road and then left again at the junction where she wis sitting or doubling back oan himsel alang Auld Dumbarton Road? That wisnae normal behaviour, even fur a sergeant. Also, this wis Partick. He hidnae any business tae be daeing polis work in another division. It hid tae be a meeting, or else he wis sitting waiting until he knew she’d be at hame. She lifted her handbag up aff the fitwell oan the passenger side and looked in it. Her luck wis in. She lifted oot the Curly Wurly and sat back tae wait. If he wis sitting in the car, then he’d need tae either dae a U-turn or come up past her. She wisnae too sure whit she’d say if he clocked her and demanded tae know whit the fuck she wis daeing, sitting parked up oan a dark road oan her lonesome behind the Transport Museum.

  The meeting in the new trendy French wine bar and restaurant, La Parisian, in West Nile Street, wae Senga Jackson, the nurse who’d come up fae casualty tae see her when she’d been in The Royal, hid been a wee bit awkward tae start wae. She hidnae known the place existed and wid probably hiv walked right past it, as it looked really expensive. They’d jist been served a glass ae wine each at a windae seat when Kim Sui, the famous young Chinese designer fae DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE doon oan Buchanan Street, hid stepped oot ae a big, black, shiny BMW, wae a gorgeous looking guy in tow, who she’d initially assumed wis wan ae her model hunks. It hid been the driver that hid initially drawn her attention and caused her tae make a mental note ae the licence plates. A scary-looking, bald-heided side ae a mountain, trying, bit failing, tae impersonate a human being, hid nimbly jumped oot ae the car and held open the back passenger door fur her. She’d been jist aboot tae pass a comment tae Senga aboot the good-looking, Atalian-looking model, when Kim Sui, wearing a beautiful, slim pencil-skirted dress wae three buttons fastening it at her neck, wae Chinky silk flower patterns oan it, hid spotted the nurse sitting opposite her and gied her a wave.

  “Oh, dae ye know, Kim Sui, the clothes designer?” she’d jist blurted oot, surprise in that voice ae hers, when aw ae a sudden, the glam couple wur staunin at their table.

  “Senga, what a lovely surprise to see you,” Kim Sui hid gushed, leaning forward and gieing Senga a peck oan each cheek.

  “Hello, Kim Sui, Tony,” The nurse hid said in greeting tae Kim and Tony Gucci, wan ae the maist notorious up-and-coming young gangsters in the city.

  “Whit, ye’ve been allowed oot?” Gucci hid asked the nurse affectionately, smiling easily.

  “Ach, Ah’m jist oot hivving a wee quiet chat wae ma new friend here, Collette. Collette, this is Kim and Tony.”

  “Hello, Collette, pleased to meet you,” the designer hid said smiling.

  “How ye daeing?” the gangster hid asked politely, gieing Collette a wance-o’er that felt like a full body x-ray, hivving clearly sussed oot that she wis a bizzy behind that make-up ae hers.

  “Look, we’re going for something to eat. Would you both like to join us?” Kim Sui hid asked.

  “Ah’ve awready eaten. Whit aboot you, Collette?” The Nurse hid asked her.

  “Naw, me too,” she’d replied, cursing inside.

  She wid’ve loved tae hiv been able tae sit and hiv a meal wae them, especially in the company ae Gucci. She’d read his backgroond file when she’d been stationed doon in Central…everywan hid, since The Stalker up in Springburn hid become the spider in the centre ae the web that wis the Free Johnboy Taylor Campaign. The powers that be hid been forced tae eventually put restrictions oan access tae Gucci’s file due tae the sensitivity ae the evidence and the pavement pounders oan the beat, like her, wanting tae know mair aboot the wee team he led. It wis this team, The Mankys, that hid wiped oot aw the street drugs dealers in Springburn, Burmulloch and Balornock o’er the past year tae eighteen months, while Gucci and a few others hid been inside daeing time fur extortion and violence against a Chinese family who ran a restaurant alang in Finnieston. It wis also wan ae his gang members, Johnboy Taylor, who wis currently in the jail. Taylor, or rather his supporters, wur pleading that crucial evidence hid been withheld that could prove his innocence. Seemingly, some auld gangster hid blurted oot a deathbed confession tae The Stalker, claiming that Taylor wis innocent ae being the gunman in a bank robbery up oan Maryhill Road, back in November 1972, when two polismen hid been shot. The Stalker hid fatally, and some wid say foolishly, recorded the confession in his wee service notebook.

  “Well, if you’re still here when we finish, we can have a glass of wine together. It was nice to meet you, Collette,” Kim Sui hid said, as she and the handsome gangster made their way tae the restaurant section.

  “Wow!” she’d exclaimed.

  “Whit?” Senga hid asked, taking a sip ae her wine, her eyes smiling. “And before ye ask, Ah wisnae aware that they’d turn up the night.”

  “So, how dae ye know, Kim Sui…and…him?”

  “Ah’ve known Tony Gucci since Ah wis a wean in the Toonheid. Ah’ve known Kim Sui since she started gaun oot wae Tony when she wis aboot fourteen or fifteen.”

  “So, he’s a good friend then?”

  “Ah suppose he is, although Ah don’t see him much these days…probably too busy oot murdering people and trying tae take o’er the city,” she’d replied, as the baith ae them smiled. “Ah see a fair bit ae Kim Sui though. Her and a few ae ma other pals like tae get thegither, tae chew the cud o’er a wee glass ae wine and slag aff aw these sexist men we hiv tae deal wae in oor work every day ae the week. So, back tae you. How ur you coping? Ur ye back tae work yet?”

  “Aye, Ah’m back…at least in body.”

  “And yer, er, boss…the inspector?”

  “Oh, he’s still there treating me, and everywan else, like shit, so he is. Ah’ve decided, by the way, tae put in fur a transfer.”

  “Oh brilliant, Collette. Well done, you.”

  “Aye, Ah’m no gonnae hing aboot. The first week Ah wis back, he never even spoke tae me, tae ask me how Ah wis daeing. In fact, he slung me a total deafy, so he did. That wis despite me trying tae arrange a meeting wae the auld basturt.”

  “Oh? So, how auld is he?”

  “Ah’m no sure…probably late thirties, early forties. Why?”

  “Aye, he jist seems…well, a bit too auld fur somewan your age tae be gaun oot wae.”

  “Ah’ve always been attracted tae aulder guys.”

  “Aye, bit somewan who’s forty?”

  “It takes aw sorts, Ah suppose.”

  “Is there any mair like you then?”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “Young WPCs, seeing married aulder guys, like inspectors in the force?”

  “Noo, where the hell did that come fae?”

  “Ach, Ah wis jist wondering, that’s aw. And anyway, ye mentioned up in the ward that there wur other inspectors chasing efter some ae the younger WPCs, so ye did.”

  “Senga, Ah said a lot ae things up in that ward. Probably things Ah shouldnae hiv, if Ah wis tae think aboot it.” />
  “Well, is there?” Senga hid demanded tae know, laughing.

  “Why, dae ye fancy wan yersel like?”

  “Aye, that’ll be right,” Senga hid said, screwing her face up.

  “Anyhow, fuck him. He’s no in ma life anymair. Cheers,” she’d said, as they’d clinked each other’s glasses.

  “You’re looking better since Ah last saw ye. How’s the neck?”

  “Fine. The rope burns hiv practically disappeared, so they hiv.”

  “Good.”

  “Y’know, efter everything Ah’d been through and efter slinging me a deafy that first week that Ah wis back at work, the basturt hid the cheek tae turn up at ma door…late at night, so he did.”

  “Oh, Collette,” Senga hid groaned, taking her hauns in hers.

  “Ah know Ah should’ve telt him tae piss aff, bit Ah wis feeling really doon and lonely. At least he hid the decency tae chap oan ma door and no use the spare key Ah’d gied him.”

  “Oh, Collette. Aye, ye wur doon and who could blame ye, bit ye’re vulnerable jist noo. He wid’ve known that fine well.”

  “Aye, Ah know. Ah’ll need tae get that key back aff ae him.”

  “So, how ur ye feeling…Ah mean, really feeling?”

  “Some days Ah’m okay and then the next Ah feel like…well, ye saw the state Ah wis in up at The Royal. Oh, don’t get me wrang. Ah cannae see me trying tae top masel again. When Ah goat hame, Ah received such a welcome fae Mr Hopkins, ma cat, that Ah realised Ah wis glad that Ah hidnae succeeded. They’ve taken me away fae ma normal duties and assigned me tae work wae an Elvis Presley impersonator, wid ye believe?” she said, laughing.

  “Elvis Presley? Whit? Is he no deid or something,” The Nurse hid asked, joining in wae the laughter.

  “Apparently no. He’s supposedly alive somewhere in a big mansion in America.”

  “Collette, Ah think ye should speak tae somewan aboot how ye’re feeling.”

  “Ah’m speaking tae you.”

  “Naw, Ah mean wae somewan that understands whit’ll be gaun oan inside that heid ae yers. Somewan who his experience ae supporting wummin like us.”