by Ian Todd
“Aye, Ah heard that wee gnome, Elvis The Pelvis, turned up across in Saracen wae that wee poliswummin in tow that Duggie Dougan’s being hinging oot ae, so Ah did,” Willie wis saying, as Collette felt her cheeks burn and Elvis’s shiny black diamond eyes looked at her, wide open in shock and embarrassment.
“Ach, who telt ye that wan, Willie? See the bloody shite that gets spouted aboot here. It wid get ye hung, so it wid,” wan ae the polis replied dismissively.
“Aye, well, if youse want tae deny it, that’s your problem, bit we aw know fine well that they inspectors, especially shitehooses like Duggie Dougan, always take the pick ae the crop, so they dae,” Willie laughed, as Collette denied the accusation aboot her and Duggie Dougan by shaking her heid at Elvis’s accusing eyes. “Look, Ah hiv tae get gaun. That wis ma last drap-aff, so it wis. Get yersels a couple ae pints oan me when youse ur aff duty, boys,” Willie said, lifting his wallet oot ae his back pocket, before haunin o’er some crisp notes tae the passenger who wis noo back in the vehicle.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Wan-bob sighed wistfully fur the umpteenth time. He’d miss looking doon fae this, his favourite wee roosting post, up oan the third flair oan the corner ae Lancefield Street and The Broomielaw. The panoramic view wis spectacular. He knew his perching days wur numbered. Aw anywan needed tae dae wis tae hiv a wee squint at the skyline alang The Broomielaw, tae see fur themsels that the twentieth century hid at last, caught up wae everywan. He wondered where him and the team wid end up, as the wee passenger ferry disgorged its dozen or so passengers oan tae The Broomielaw, opposite Betty’s Bar. Greasy Jake hid telt him a few days earlier that the ferry hid only a few mair weeks tae go, before it wis scrapped and gone furever. He wis surprised at his sentimentality. It jist went tae show that, despite appearances, like everywan else, he wis jist a big saftie underneath that craggy, lined face ae his. Life hid been good tae him and Marge. They hid three lovely daughters and a clutch ae grandweans, aw lassies again. It hid taken him a wee while tae get o’er the disappointment ae no hivving any boys ae his ain, bit the fruits ae the job hid mair than made up fur that deficiency back in the fifties and early sixties. It hid been a time ae fast change, so it hid. When he looked aboot and clocked aw they guys wae the stooped shoulders, heidin back and forward, like a trail ae worker ants, picking up a thin broon envelope full ae peanuts oan a Friday, he thanked his lucky stars. He’d known fae an early age that he widnae be working fur anywan else bit himsel. Although The Big Man, Pat Molloy, hid been at the centre ae things since the forties, it hid always been up tae everywan else roond aboot him tae make sure that the business set-up wis in order. It hidnae been like working fur a company. The scope fur advancement, while sometimes challenging, hid always been excellent. It wis the kind ae job where everywan wis free tae dae as they pleased, jist so long as the centre ae the enterprise wis well-fed and watered. Other than a wee ulcer a few years earlier, he’d always enjoyed good health. Although the job could be demanding at times, it wis never stressful. The key tae success wis discipline. Whether it came fae the boys roond aboot him and Charlie or the wider business challenges, like coming doon oan somewan like a ton ae bricks, keeping yer heid when everywan else wis running aboot like heidless chickens wis the key. There wis never any favourites. Everywan wis treated according tae their position in the grand scheme ae things. Fur some, that meant wealth and respect. Fur others? Well, the car-crushing machine, noo staunin idle in Greasy Jake’s yard across the road, took care ae any hard-ons who fancied their chances. It still never ceased tae amaze him how many ae they young tickets, and a few ae the aulder seasoned hauns tae, wur willing tae risk everything fur a shot at the big time. At the end ae the day, wance him or Charlie made their decision, they quickly moved oan tae the next wee challenge. His gaze took him across tae Mavisbank Quay oan the other side ae the water. Despite being deserted, the sun wis reflecting aff ae the glass ae a moving wagon that wis slowly making its way alang towards the auld Plantation Quay. At least he hid a lot ae happy memories tae take wae him. The maist recent wan, and his all-time favourite, wis the view oot the windae at hauf eleven oan Christmas eve the previous year. He wondered if it hid been a fluke or hid Tony Gucci awready known that the view he wis noo looking oot at wis wan ae the few pleasures he goat these days. Tony Gucci and The Mankys. It wis good tae know that there wis still wee pockets ae apprentice craftsmen running aboot, who appeared tae appreciate the discipline required ae an auld school education. He hid a lot ae time fur the young wans who conducted themselves impeccably while in hot pursuit ae achieving the rich rewards a life ae crime could gie them. These wur the young Turks that valued substance above style, who strived tae emulate the achievements ae The Big Man or people like The McGregors across the water. Tae actually believe that ye could survive and progress in the shark-infested waters ae the toon, in amongst the big boys, meant ye hid a lot tae prove oan how special ye wur, compared wae the other wee bawbags running aboot, thinking they wur the best thing since sliced breid. It wis aw aboot attitude and being able tae keep staunin, while everywan else aroond ye wur drapping like flies. The Mankys, led by Tony Gucci, the Tally fae the Toonheid, wur the closest tae hame and hid the ear ae The Big Man, despite him living it up in Spain. Two ae Wan-bob’s best boys, Chic Shand and Spotty Hector, hid been wasted by a McGregor enforcer called Harding Lennox in October ae the previous year. Fae where Wan-bob wis noo staunin, he could see the lane where the dastardly deed hid been done. No satisfied wae shooting them in the heid, Harding hid then gone oan tae douse their car wae petrol and set the fucking thing alight. Everywan across the water in Govan could’ve watched the spectacle fae a safe distance. It hid been his darkest hour since taking o’er the leadership oan behauf ae The Big Man efter he’d decided tae remain in Spain. When him and Charlie Hastie hid finally gied The Mankys the nod tae get shot ae Harding, their delivery hid been spectacular. Tony Gucci hid previously gied The Big Man the choice ae a quiet disappearing act or a spectacular send-aff. The Big Man hid gone fur the spectacular package, efter him and Gucci hid met doon at The People’s Palace, the week efter Gucci and some ae The Mankys hid been liberated fae Dumfries Young Offenders, efter being sentenced tae three years each. Wance the decision tae retaliate hid been taken, Gucci hidnae fucked aboot. Charlie Hastie hid received a message the night before tae pass oan tae him that he wis tae take up a position at the windae overlooking the Clyde at eleven o’clock the next morning. It hid been wan ae the regular punters fae Betty’s Bar that hid alerted him, efter he’d rushed in tae the pub and shouted fur somewan tae call the polis. Ten minutes later and wae a growing crowd ae spectators, three ae Glesga’s finest hid commandeered the wee ferry and hid gone in hot pursuit ae Harding’s lifeless, naked body, which hid been nailed tae a big wooden cross that hid been blagged fae the St George’s Tron Church in Buchanan Street, a week earlier. Unfortunately fur the bizzies, and in full view ae the cameras, they hidnae managed tae pull the cross, wae the body nailed tae it, up on board the boat, due tae the weight ae the rubber tyres underneath it, which hid been screwed oan tae the underside ae the oak cross, tae keep Harding afloat. It hid been a brilliant piece ae vaudeville, particularly since it hid taken the authorities eight days tae identify the body due tae the teeth ae the victim hivving been pulled oot by a set ae pliers and the flesh oan the face hivving being burnt back tae the bone by an acetylene torch. Tae add tae the drama, they’d chopped Harding’s hauns aff at the wrists. While the papers and news programmes hid hid a field day, the message hid been loud and clear. Don’t fuck wae The Big Man. Harding Lennox’s days ae being the main enforcer fur The McGregor Clan wur o’er. Although it couldnae hiv been unexpected, it must’ve hurt them tae see the crucifixion picture splashed across the front page ae aw the morning and evening papers. Wan-bob hid proof by the bucket load that Harding hid been running a wee coke line aff ae wan ae the scrap boats oan The Big Man’s side ae the river wae a wee Chinky called Wee Pie. The McGregors knew fine well that there wis nothing they could dae
aboot it. The damning evidence hid been overwhelming. They’d goat aff lightly. Wae casualties oan baith sides ae the Clyde, an unspoken truce hid been declared. Nowan hid wanted a war. That wid’ve hurt everywan. Despite some noise, the dust hid been allowed tae settle. He shuddered thinking whit The Mankys wid’ve done tae Wee Pie. It hid been him that hid been responsible fur Gucci and some ae his manky crew ending up daeing time. He watched a tugboat sailing past, leaving a silvery trail in its wake. He’d miss the smells, smog and congested traffic that wis The Broomielaw, he telt himsel again, looking west towards Partick, alang the cobbled road surface that still hid the auld tram lines embedded in it. Sitting in a swanky office somewhere in the toon centre, made ae glass and prefabricated, cheap Chinese marble, wisnae his idea ae fun. He preferred the black, soot-coated brickwork or dirty sandstane buildings that wur still tumbling doon like naebody’s business aw across the city. He remembered how it hid started in dribs and drabs in the mid tae late fifties and still the demolition companies, some belonging tae him and The Big Man, wur racing tae catch up wae the demand. It hid been a legal licence tae print money, so it hid. They’d anticipated a slow-doon by the end ae the sixties, bit the city fathers, wae their greasy palms being crossed wae wads ae sticky greenbacks every other month, hid kept the fires burning while the likes ae Pat Molloy and The McGregors across the calm water in front ae him, goat rich beyond their wildest dreams. Who wid’ve anticipated where they’d end up efter they battered and smashed their way up fae the tenements through the soot and grime ae the forties and fifties? Pat, him and Charlie speculated aboot it aw the time when they goat thegither, wondering whether it wis harder nooadays tae climb up the ladder fae the street, than it wis back in their day.
“Different times,” Pat hid mused, the last time the subject hid come up when him and Charlie hid nipped across tae Marbella fur a week a while back. “Ye’re mair liable tae be shot in the back ae the heid fur a packet ae fags than whit happened in oor day.”
The Big Man wis right. Wae the abolishment ae the death penalty ten years earlier and the pressure tae impress, the young wans nooadays displayed a viciousness that wid’ve been beyond comprehension back in the auld days.
“Right, where ur we?” he asked, turning at the sound ae the door opening.
“According tae McGovern, it wis jist a wee misunderstanding, so it wis,” Peter The Plant replied, sitting doon and crossing his legs. “That fucking sergeant is bloody useless, so he is. We should’ve wasted that plank ae wood long ago.”
“Aye, Ah kin see how daeing that wid resolve the current problem,” Charlie Hastie tutted dismissively.
“If you think ae whit him and that gruesome pal ae his ur walking aboot wae inside they heids ae theirs? Enough tae get ye bloody hung, so it is,” Peter pressed, as the other two gied each other a wee glance.
“So, as Ah asked, where ur we noo?” Wan-bob repeated.
“Well, as Ah’ve awready said, McGovern telt me that the wee poliswummin wis assigned tae The Sani Man tae keep her oot ae Duggie Dougan’s way. Seemingly, the dirty basturt’s been perching oan her fur a while noo, bit she’d become demanding, wanting him tae leave that wife ae his. He tried tae palm her aff tae wan ae his pals oot in Yoker, bit insteid ae gaun quietly, the stupid wee cow went hame and tried tae hing hersel,” Peter said, as they aw smiled.
“Serves the basturt right, so it dis,” Wan-bob sniffed.
“Aye, she’s hauf his age if she’s a day, so she is. No that bad looking either if ye’re intae wee blondes in uniforms.”
“Kin we use her, Peter?”
“McGovern said that since the inspector tried tae dump her, she’s gone loco,” he replied, spinning a finger roond that left lug ae his.
“See? That’s whit happens if ye mix wummin and business. It’ll always come back tae bite ye in the auld gin-gangs, so it will. And when it dis, it’s bloody-well painful as well,” Charlie reminded them.
“Ah hope they stupid basturts realise that she’s lucky tae be alive. Streaky John says that if she appears oan the scene again while he’s in the middle ae something, he’s gonnae gut her oot, so he is.”
“And this Elvis Presley eejit…where’s he in aw this?’ Wan-bob asked.
“Good question,” Peter replied, lighting up a fag.
“Tell me whit happened last night, Peter?” Wan-bob asked him.
“As Ah’ve awready telt Charlie, Willie Commotion wis in the middle ae transferring some merchandise across tae Buffalo Bill and Spinner Christie when a patrol car arrived oan the scene unannounced. Seemingly, somewan hid reported that there wis a break-in taking place in the wee newsagent’s next door.”
“And?”
“And the call came fae a phone box. Coincidently, there wis a phone box sitting jist across the road at The Barracks. No only that, bit there wis a locked-up, wee Corporation van, sitting jist in front ae it. Willie said that fae where they wur hinging aboot oan the pavement, haunin o’er the meat, ye could only see the tap ae the telephone box.”
“So, the van could’ve been acting as a smother while some basturt wis making the call then?”
“The caller, who happened tae be female, by the way, telt the desk sergeant that the break-in wis happening as she spoke and that they wur walking aff wae aw the fags oot ae the broken front windae.”
“Whit dae ye think, Charlie?” Wan-bob asked him, grabbing a pew.
“Whit dae Ah think? Ah think this is getting oot-ae-haun and we need tae dae something aboot it. That’s whit Ah think,” he scowled, lighting up a fag.
“Aye, bit whit’s the easiest way ae resolving the situation withoot things getting oot-ae-haun then?”
“Black Pat’s daeing his dinger, so he is. The Gruesome Twosome wur roond demanding Duggie Dougan’s money again.”
“Did he haun it o’er?”
“Aye. Ah could hardly get a word in edgeways. He wis braying like wan ae his stuck horses, so he wis.”
“So, the solution is?” Wan-bob asked them again.
“We’ve goat a number ae options. The first wan is, we kin hiv a wee word wae this Roy Orbison…”
“Elvis Presley…”
“…Elvis Presley wan, although the feeling is, he won’t be intimidated unless we really go tae toon oan him. The problem there, is that they’ll jist replace the stupid knob wae somewan else, so they will,” Charlie replied. “Another option wid be tae put the frighteners oan the wee lassie cop tae back aff, bit that won’t stoap Duggie Dougan still wanting his money, tae pay aff his brother-in-law’s debt every month.”
Silence.
“So, ye’re saying that if we take care ae the brother-in-law’s debt, then Duggie will back aff then?”
“Aye, something like that,” Peter The Plant replied, as Charlie smiled.
“Right, okay. Try and make it look like an accident, bit if aw else fails, jist get it done and dusted. Ah want this shite resolved as soon as possible. Things hiv a habit ae gaun aw pear-shaped in the toon if they’re left tae fester. And keep that Black Pat and Willie Commotion away fae me. The last time Ah wis confronted wae that pair ae pricks, Ah lost the will tae live, so Ah did,” Wan-bob scowled, as Charlie and Peter laughed.
“Whit if the inspector still comes back tae collect the money wance we resolve his brother-in-law’s debt situation?” Charlie asked, as Wan-bob turned back tae the scenery across The Clyde.
Silence.
“If that happens, then we’ll need tae seriously consider bringing up wan ae oor distant cousins fae doon south. Let’s see how we get oan wae the brother-in-law first, eh? There’s nae use worrying aboot things that hivnae happened yet.”
Chapter Forty
The inspector looked across at the cooncillor and that happy man ae hers. It wis aw jist so fake, so it wis. Nowan could look that happy and be genuine, especially married tae the likes ae her, he assured himsel, struggling tae keep his ain face pleasantly neutral, withoot it coming across as a scowl. That man ae hers wis probably oan the wacky-bac
cy, he telt himsel. He hid tae be, tae be married tae that witch. He’d well warned that Marge ae his no tae embarrass him, and whit hid she gone and done? Her and that sister-in-law ae hers hid baith practically curtsied tae the cooncillor and that druggy man ae hers, in front ae everywan, at the entrance tae the hall, so they hid. The fact that Barbara Allan hid awready been introduced tae Marge previously and Mrs Purple hid still stood accepting an accolade as if she wis bloody royalty, spoke volumes ae how she viewed the Dougans, so it did. Calypso? Whit kind ae name wis that, he sneered tae himsel again. How wis he, a true blue-nosed ‘Queen and Country’ man himsel, expected tae introduce his daughter’s faither-in-law tae his colleagues, should they ever come across any ae them oan their travels? He wis right glad that that auld maw ae his wisnae aboot these days tae witness the state the country wis in. Why could he no hiv been a Dave, Henry or a bloody Tommy, fur Christ’s sake? And him a bloody Justice ae the Peace, as well as a recipient ae a CBE fae Her Majesty hersel? Something jist wisnae right if that’s how far they’d aw come efter two world wars. If he wisnae staunin at his daughter Celia’s official engagement party, he wid’ve gied Willie Munro, that brother-in-law ae his, a right good slap aboot the kisser, so he wid’ve.
“So, whit part ae Africa ur ye fae, Calypso?” Willie hid asked the dope-smoking Justice ae the Peace.
“Actually, I’m from Trinidad in the Caribbean, Mr Munro,” The Steel Drummer hid replied pleasantly.
“Oh, so is that South Africa then?”
It hid been the first time he’d met the boy. Apart fae the Bay City Roller ootfit tae match whit his daughter wis wearing, he didnae look too strange, considering who his parents wur and the fact that his innocent daughter wis up the stick at sixteen. The Cooncillor widnae hiv been proud ae that wan, he smiled tae himsel, although he didnae find it funny. He looked across at that glaikit son ae theirs. His name wis Seymour. The name might’ve seemed okay at the time ae his birth, bit noo, it jist seemed a bit pretentious in amongst aw this crowd. He’d always envisioned that he’d be proud the day his only daughter announced that she wis getting married…staunin there, a successful solicitor wae a smart doctor’s son hinging aff ae that erm ae hers…insteid ae the pair ae them sitting there, looking overwhelmed, nervously clinging tae each other, as baith sets ae parents tried their hardest tae outwardly appear nonchalant aboot the whole proceedings gaun oan roond aboot them.