by Ian Todd
“Ye mean like me?”
“Ah don’t mean it that way. You look fabulous, bit ye’re vulnerable jist noo. Things will get better as time goes by, bit yer work situation sounds tae me as if it’s become worse.”
“Naw, Ah’m okay, really.”
“So, ye’re putting in fur a transfer?”
“Oh, aye…this week.”
“Look, here’s ma phone number if ye need tae talk tae somewan. If Ah’m no there, it’ll probably be ma flatmate, Lizzie, that ye’ll speak tae. She’s a nurse as well.”
Efter that, the pair ae them hid jist sat and hid a chat aboot normal things like clothes and music. She’d been a bit disappointed when Senga hid said that she’d need tae get hame as she hid tae be up at six o’clock in the morning tae start her shift at The Royal at seven. She wid’ve liked tae hiv been joined by Kim Sui and her gangster boyfriend. Everywan up at the station aw believed Gucci, and the rest ae The Mankys fur that matter, wur aw ruthless killers, which she hid nae reason tae disbelieve, gaun by whit wis in his criminal and intelligence file. He didnae look like wan…no if yer image ae a deranged killer wis somewan wae mad angry eyes and a seven o’clock beard oan a sweaty chin. Gucci looked nothing like that. The good-looking Atalian guy who’d stood there in an expensive dark suit, white shirt and tie, wis the opposite ae that, plus he wis absolutely gorgeous tae boot…as wis his girlfriend. The maître d’ ae the restaurant hid jist aboot tripped himsel up dashing across tae usher them in. She hidnae realised that the driving gorilla hid arrived back at the restaurant, probably oan account ae her hivving her back tae him. He wis sitting at a two-seated table near the door, oan his lonesome.
“Hello, Baby,” The Nurse hid said warmly in the passing.
“Aye, hello, Senga.”
“How’s yer ma’s ankle?”
“Fine, fine. She’s no tae walk aboot oan it,” he’d replied.
“Oh, well, gie her ma regards, eh?” The Nurse hid said, no introducing Collette, as they exited the front door.
It hid been Joseph ‘Baby Huey’ O’Hara. That cowardly shitehoose ae a lover ae hers, Bobby Mack, hid mentioned his name a few times efter they’d lain, him hivving a smoke, in her bed efter three minutes ae whit she supposed could be construed as passion. Baby Huey wis only twenty, bit wae o’er three hunner and fifty pounds behind him, hid been breaking limbs fur The Big Man, Pat Molloy, since he wis fourteen or fifteen. It wis said that he could clear a busy pub or club in under two minutes wance he started. Bobby hid telt her that in the toon, there wis associations, affiliations, connections and partnerships. Nothing wis ever as it appeared tae be. Very few professional teams operated independently apart fae The McGregors oan the south side ae the Clyde, and The Big Man, currently in semi-retirement in Spain and whose interests wur looked efter by Wan-bob Broon, a genial-looking granda, who wis a psychopathic killer and lived in a big hoose oot in Newton Mearns. According tae Bobby Mack, some people within the polis who wid know, estimated that he’d been responsible fur at least fifty murders doon through the years. The exception tae the independent rule seemed tae hiv been The Mankys. Some people said that it wis because The Big Man wis really Gucci’s da, although Gucci’s Mediterranean skin-tone totally contradicted that. Whitever it wis, Tony Gucci and The Mankys wur well-in wae the biggest and maist ruthless gangsters in the toon, even though they wur aw barely oot ae their teens. Again, according tae Bobby Mack, when Baby Huey hid started turning up, following in the footsteps ae Tony Gucci, there hid seemingly been a good bit ae consternation and confusion in the Serious Crime & Intelligence Division. Whit did that mean, they’d speculated? As far as she wis aware, at least up until she’d been shipped oot ae Central and up tae Possil, efter being dumped by that cowardly basturt, they still hidnae a clue whit wis gaun oan.
Efter drapping Senga aff in Barrington Avenue, jist aff Great Western Road, she’d heided fur hame. She noo viewed Senga Jackson, the nurse, who looked as if butter widnae melt in her mooth, in a new light, seeing as who she hid connections tae. She’d awready goat the suspicious feeling that Senga wis hinging back wae something…something she’d wanted tae ask her, before Kim Sui and the gangster hid appeared oan the scene. Anyway, whitever it wis, it wid hiv tae wait. A door oan the side ae The Transport Museum hid suddenly sprung open and the unmistakable shape ae Sergeant Dave McGovern exited, quickly looking fae left tae right as he hurried across the road tae his parked wheels. Efter starting up the vehicle, he did a U-turn before turning left oan tae Argyll Street in the direction ae Partick Cross as the taxi sitting across fae her started up his engine and entered Bunhoose Road. She sat and waited, watching the brake lights ae the taxi come oan as it too, turned left intae Argyle Street. Despite the need tae get hame quickly so she could go fur a pee, she held oan and waited. Ten minutes later, she jist aboot hid a heart attack. The unmistakable features ae Charlie Hastie, the number-two gangster in the toon, only being oot-ranked by Wan-bob Broon himsel, hid exited the same door, wae two henchmen, Danny Murphy and Peter The Plant, in tow. She threw hersel across oan tae the passenger seat as the heidlights ae the big powerful Mercedes lit up the insides ae her car, as it arrived at her T-junction, before turning left oan tae Auld Dumbarton Road and speeding towards the city centre. She wis jist aboot tae sit back up, when the van that wis sitting parked up behind her, started up its engine and front heidlights, before taking aff alang Dumbarton Road in pursuit ae the Mercedes. By the time she managed tae glance through her windscreen, the van wis too far alang the dark road fur her tae read the registration plates oan the back ae it.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The Stalker sat and stared in tae his lager. Efter initially quenching his thirst, by gulping doon practically hauf his pint in wan go, he’d sat and contemplated the situation in haun. He wis glad the club wis empty, apart fae a sergeant and two aff-duty pavement pounders, staunin chewing the cud while playing a game ae pool across oan the other side ae the room. The battle raging, maistly beyond his control, via the newspapers, tae stoap Taylor’s supporters getting access tae his wee pocket service notebook, hid started tae really wear him doon. It hid been gaun oan too long. He’d started tae get worried that he wis losing support fae his ain side. Some days, things wur fine enough if the case wisnae being mentioned oan the news or in the papers, or if it wis, it wis fae his side, directing another smear against Johnboy Taylor, wan ae Tony Gucci’s Mankys, who wis daeing fourteen years fur shooting big Liam Thompson and wan ae his PCs in a bank job up oan Maryhill in November 1972. Taylor wis serving the longest sentence ever handed doon tae a teenager in Scotland. Irrespective ae whether Taylor wis wrongly convicted or no, the crimes that skinny basturt hid committed in the past, alang wae his manky mates, mair than made up fur whitever time he wis noo currently serving. These do-good basturts campaigning fur so-called justice jist didnae hiv a bloody clue. How many ae them bleating fur his release hid actually met him? Taylor wis an animal that widnae gie maist ae them trying tae get him released the time ae day, if the table’s wur turned. And, as fur Michelle Hope, the leader ae the opposition campaign group, being a bizzy’s daughter tae boot? Beyond belief, so it wis. There hid been some famous country and western singer, Sarah May Todd, clearly thick as mince behind her made-up face, bubbling aboot the injustice ae Taylor’s so-called predicament oan the telly a few nights earlier. He could only speculate aboot who wis pulling her strings…and her knickers aff, behind the scenes. It hid been the money behind the basturt that hid been daeing the maist damage. Daddy wis pulling the hair oot ae that heid ae his, trying tae find oot where the fuck they wur getting it fae.
“It’s that greasy Atalian prick,” he’d retorted. “Him and they manky basturts ur throwing dosh at Taylor’s campaign team as if it wis gaun oot ae style. Whit’s happened aboot the tax boys?”
“Roddy Dodger’s hid his fraud squad boys crawling aw o’er their income streams and cannae find a penny unaccounted fur. Aw their adverts and publicity publications ur backed up either wae financial
receipts or match-funded donations in kind fae Ink Spot Printers Limited.”
The fraud boys hid raided Ink Spot tae troll through their books, looking fur any inconsistencies. They hidnae been in the premises mair than five minutes, before The Glesga Echo hid been oan tae them, accusing Central ae deliberately undermining and intimidating the Free Johnboy Taylor Campaign supporters. The procurator fiscal, Glenda Metcalfe, in charge ae the Crown’s side ae the case, responsible fur keeping his notebook away fae the opposition, hid goat aw the key players thegither and blasted the arse aff ae everywan ae them.
“Anyone caught undermining The Crown’s case will be dealt with in the most severe manner,” she’d warned, wae Daddy Jackson sitting oan her left, nodding like a spastic.
She clearly didnae understaun the forces stacked against them, he cursed tae himsel as he took a sip ae his pint. It wis Bob Hope’s daughter that wis killing them. A bizzy’s daughter, telling people that aw cops wur corrupt, wis a hard accusation tae rebut, withoot being accused ae bullying, if they went efter her. Whoever wis behind her wis a bloody genius. Somehow, they manky basturts hid managed tae get her oan board, despite Taylor cheating oan her and shagging that mate ae hers behind her back…the nurse…Senga Jackson. Efter it hid come oot that it wis Michelle Hope, Bob Hope’s daughter, leading the campaign, everywan at the station hid shunned the poor basturt. Nowan could understaun why Bob couldnae jist gie her rope a tug and reel her in. If he wis honest wae himsel, even he couldnae understaun why Bob hidnae mair leverage than he claimed. He thought aboot his career. Aw they years ae exemplary service, ending up being an inspector in a shithoose ae a place like Springburn, and fur whit? Why wis being a polisman in 1975 Glesga so fucking wrang? Who else wid put up wae the shite they hid tae put up wae? The stabbings, daily assaults, false accusations, while at the same time, the public demanding action oan the minute ae every hour ae every day demanding that they get their fingers oot ae their arses. It hid become a totally thankless task. It wisnae like the good auld days when wearing the uniform commanded respect fae no only the public, bit fae the bad guys as well. Animals like Gucci and that carpet blagging lieutenant ae his, Simon Epstein, didnae gie a shite who ye wur. As far as they wur concerned, anywan in a uniform wis deemed a shitehoose and scum tae be mocked and ignored as a non-person.
“Paddy, ya auld scabby shitehoose, ye. Ah wis telt this is where Ah’d find ye, so Ah wis,” Duggie Dougan shouted oan entering the lounge, plapping that arse ae his oan tae the bar stool beside him.
“Charley, two pints ae Tennents,” The Stalker said tae the barman. “So, whit dae Ah owe the pleasure, Duggie?”
“Ach, Ah’ve goat a wee bit ae business oot at the golf club tae dae wae that greedy basturt ae a brother-in-law ae mine.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, him and two ae the other committee members goat caught fiddling the books and Ah’ve been tasked by her indoors tae sort it oot. Cheers,” Duggie said, taking a fair skoof fae the pint glass. “Ahhh, Ah needed that, so Ah did.”
“So, is it the Bishopbriggs boys who’re investigating it?’
“Naw, luckily we’re no at that stage yet. They’ve been gied three months tae return the dosh, or the boys in blue will be called in.”
“How much ur we talking aboot? ”
“Fourteen grand.”
“Fucking hell,” The Stalker exclaimed, aboot choking oan his pint.
“Aye, Ah know, tell me. That wis ma reaction as well.”
“So, where ur ye gonnae find that kind ae money?”
“Well, he only needs tae find a third ae it as his contribution.”
“It’s still a lot though.”
“Aye, Ah’m hivving tae put the squeeze oan a few ae the local growlers.”
“Who?”
“Black Pat McVeigh and Blind Bill Campbell,” The Inspector replied, as The Stalker wance again jist aboot choked oan his pint.
“Whit?” the Possil inspector asked.
“Whit dae ye mean, whit? Ur ye aff yer heid? Wan-bob Broon will hiv bloody kittens if he finds oot wan ae us is putting a squeeze oan two ae his boys. They pay dues tae him, so they dae. How else wid they be allowed tae operate?”
“Fuck Wan-bob Broon. Ah’m no scared ae that piece ae shit. Ah’m a bloody Glesga polis inspector, so Ah am.”
“Duggie, Ah’m telling ye, don’t fucking mess wae that rattlesnake. Polis or no, that basturt will come back at ye.”
“How else am Ah gonnae come up wae that type ae money then? Ah hear whit ye’re saying, Paddy, bit it’ll only be fur a wee while. The stupid basturts hiv started tae cough up awready, so they hiv.”
“Ah’m telling ye Duggie, they won’t staun fur it. People like us putting the squeeze oan people like them is like a gamekeeper turning poacher, so it is. Ye cannae be baith, so ye cannae.”
“Ah hear whit ye’re saying, Paddy. Don’t you worry, son, this is only a wee short-term measure.”
“So, wur ye efter anything in particular?” The Stalker asked him, as the Possil inspector nodded tae the barman fur the same again.
“Naw, naw. Ah thought Ah’d jist come and see that ye’re awright. It’s at times like this that we aw need tae staun thegither, so it is.”
“Aye, well, you try telling that tae aw they ungrateful selfish basturts oot there,” The Stalker scowled, wae a wave ae his haun towards the windaes.
“Oh, in case Ah furget. That Rock’n’Roller wan, whitever the stupid basturt calls himsel?”
“Eh?”
“That Elvis wan.”
“Whit aboot him?”
“Ye’ll probably see him oot and aboot, so ye will.”
“So?”
“He’ll hiv wan ae ma WPCs in tow.”
“Duggie, whit the hell ur ye rambling oan aboot?”
“Ah’ve goat wummin trouble, so Ah hiv.”
“Ye’ve no been dipping yer wick where ye shouldnae hiv been again, hiv ye?”
“It’s these bloody young wans. They’re jist too clingy and emotional, so they ur.”
“Excuse me if Ah don’t feel sorry fur ye, seeing as whit Ah’ve goat oan ma plate,” The Stalker grumbled, smiling, as wan ae the boys at the pool table let oot a cheer and started running roond the pool table wae his pool cue above his heid.
“Aye, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit Ah feel uncomfortable wae this wan, so Ah dae. She tried tae bloody-well hing hersel when Ah tried tae get shot ae her, so she did. She’ll end up getting me hung, so she will,” The Inspector cursed.
Silence.
“Ah tried tae palm her aff wae Jings, who wis up fur it, by the way,” The Inspector continued, staring intae his glass.
“So, whit happened?”
“Fuck’s sake, Paddy, Ah’ve jist telt ye. The stupid wee cow bloody-well tried tae top hersel.”
“Ah wish a wummin wid threaten me wae that…in fact, Ah wish a wummin wid threaten me wae anything. The last time Ah goat ma Nat King wis the night Celtic won the European Cup, back in 1967, so it wis.”
“Anyway, will ye get yer boys tae keep their eyes oan them?”
“Who?”
“Elvis Presley and that walking nightmare ae mine’s! Fur, Christ sake, Paddy, will ye keep up?”
“Aye, aye, don’t worry,” he replied, looking at his fellow inspector. “Any movement across here and Ah’ll gie ye a shout.”
“She’s his liaison…nothing mair. Ah’ve telt her jist tae ferry him aboot, keep her eyes oan him and tae keep him oot ae trouble, especially fae sticking that beak ae his in tae things that shouldnae concern him.”
“She sounds as if she’s getting tae ye. It must be love,” The Stalker said, smiling.
“She’s a pain in the arse, that’s whit she is. The trouble these bloody wummin hiv caused since being allowed in tae the force. If that Marge ae mine finds oot aboot any ae this, Ah’ll hiv they hee-haws ae mine stuffed up ma arse, so Ah will.”
“How’s she daeing?”
“Marge? Ach, same aches and pains…d
ifferent day. She went and let that Celia ae mine get hersel up the stick, so she did.”
“Aye, Ah heard.”
“Aye, bit did ye hear who the wee spotty-arsed prick it wis that did the damage?”
“Naw, bit Ah hope he goat a swift boot in the baws.”
“Barbara Allan’s boy.”
“Fuck aff!”
“Ah’m telling ye. His name’s Seymour. Whit kind ae name is that? You think you’ve goat problems? If ye could even catch a glimpse ae that horizon ae mine, ye widnae get oot ae yer bed in the morning. If her and that dope-smoking man ae hers think fur wan minute that that fucking band ae his wae the diesel drums ur playing at the bash, then they’ve another think coming. That dandy-named boy ae theirs his humiliated me and Marge as it is, withoot them adding tae it.”
“Ye’ll hiv tae go caw-canny wae her being an in-law.”
“Don’t worry. She’s the reason Ah’m allowing Jerry Lee Lewis tae wander aboot, jist tae show her Ah’m a reasonable kind ae guy…plus, it means Ah’ve goat rid ae the reason Ah wake up in the night in a sweat, until Ah kin figure oot how tae get shot ae her permanently, withoot bringing the bloody ceiling doon oan ma heid.”
“So, where’s the bash?”
“Ah’ve booked the Auchinairn Public Hall.”
“And the catering?”
“Ah’m no sure. Ah hivnae goat that far because ae aw this stress. Why, dae ye know anywan?”
“Aye, bit they’re mental as fuck. Ah widnae let oan tae them that ye’re a bizzy at this stage or they’ll end up poisoning you and aw yer guests,” The Stalker warned him, as they baith chuckled. “Ah’ll find oot who the main contact is fur them and gie ye a shout.”
“Well, as long as they’re cheap. Ma arse is oot the door, so it is, wae this brother-in-law thing.”
“Don’t worry, the feedback is superb oan the quality ae the grub and the prices they charge. Jist don’t wear a uniform when ye meet them.”
“Brilliant. If Ah kin supply the pies, it’ll keep the price doon. That should take a wee bit ae pressure aff ma shoulders…and wallet. Listen, Paddy, don’t ye worry aboot this notepad carry-oan, son. Aw this will die a death and ye kin get back tae clearing the streets ae the scum that aw they bloody doo-gooders ur trying tae repopulate the streets wae again,” The Inspector said supportively.