by Ian Todd
“Aye, ye’re looking a wee bit peely-wally the day, so ye ur, Duggie,” Billy Liar hid subtly opened up wae, sounding unusually jolly, as Daddy sat, looking aboot, sniffing the air and peering at the leather soles ae his boots every noo and again, jist in case he’d brought something in wae him fae the mongrel-infested street ootside.
He’d wanted tae tell Daddy tae stoap fucking exaggerating, bit hidnae been feeling too well, so hid let it rest fur the time being.
“Aye, ma guts ur a bit dodgy this morning,” he’d replied, trying bit failing tae catch the sweaty, escaped droplet ae sweat fae freefalling aff ae the tip ae his nose oan tae that tie ae his, as a wave ae nausea attempted tae take him hostage.
“Hiv ye tried taking an Asket powder, Duggie?” Daddy hid asked indifferently, clearly no gieing a fuck, bit gaun through the concerned motions, as wis expected in a situation such as this. “Cures everything, including lumbago, that stuff, so it dis.”
“Ach, it’s jist a wee bit ae trapped wind, so it is, Daddy,” he’d replied, scared tae raise his voice above a whisper, in case he shat himsel. “So, ye’ve come a–calling. Anything in particular that Ah should’ve prepared fur?”
“Aye, whit’s the score wae that wee strumpeting WPC ae yours, Duggie?”
“Eh?”
“Ye heard me.”
“Ach, it’s nothing. Aw Ah wanted tae dae wis transfer her oot tae Yoker, seeing as Jings hid mentioned tae me that he wis looking fur wan. Ah thought she’d be perfect, so Ah did. When Ah informed her, she bloody-well threw a wobbly oan me.”
“By trying tae commit suicide?” Daddy hid asked him, eyebrows lifted, exaggerating the fact that he clearly didnae get it, the prick.
“It wisnae like that,” he’d retorted. “Ye know whit some ae these wee fluffies ur like…probably her time ae the month or something.”
“Or maybe she sussed oot whit ye wur up tae,” Billy Fuck-face Liar hid come back wae, obviously enjoying being let oot ae Central fur mair than five minutes.
“Look, is this whit aw this is aboot? A personnel issue? Should youse no be talking tae Teddy Bare doon in Pitt Street?”
“Don’t get bloody lippy wae me, Duggie. Wan ae yer wee WPCs tried tae top hersel because ye humped then dumped her. Whit Ah want tae know is, wis it because she sussed oot that ye wur passing her oan tae Jings or wis there a definite request fur a WPC oot in Yoker?” Daddy hid demanded tae know, still peering doon at the heel ae his left boot, jist in case he’d missed something the first time.
“Naw, it bloody well wisnae, because that wisnae ma intention. Christ, Jings hid tae twist ma erm tae let her go in the first place. If ye don’t believe me, ask him yersel,” The Inspector hid replied hotly, voice full ae hurt, before changing tact fae villain tae misunderstood victim. “No that Ah want tae cast it up, bit it wis me that wis daeing youse the favour by taking her up here in the first place…fur a probationary period ae six months, ye said.”
“Aye, well, don’t worry aboot Jings. He’s oor next stoap, so he is,” Billy Liar hid informed him.
“Look, Duggie, things ur changing, so they ur. It’s no like the auld days, so it’s no. No that we’d admit it, bit aw this wummin’s lib shite is starting tae make inroads, so it is. We hiv tae be mair circumspect these days.”
“Circumspect?”
“Careful,” Billy Liar hid replied oan behauf ae the superintendent, who’d awready sat back in his chair, observing him closely.
“Ur ye sure ye’re awright, Duggie?” Daddy hid suddenly asked him, leaning forward and peering at him, sounding genuine behind that frown ae his.
“Ma guts ur gieing me git, so they ur. It wis ma wee daughter’s engagement bash last night…probably a bad pint.”
“Try an…”
“Take an Asket Powder? Aye, Ah heard ye the first time.”
“Cures everything, so it dis,”
“Anyway, wis there anything else?” he’d asked, swooning, fighting a faint wae a determination that Dirty Harry Callaghan wid’ve been proud ae, as he sat there, sweating like a swine oan heat.
“Coke,” Billy hid announced, they eyes ae his lighting up like two wee pen torches at the bottom ae a miser’s purse.
“Coke?”
“As in cocaine,” Daddy hid admonished him, clearly no amused at his naivety.
“Coke? Cocaine? Whit the fuck’s coke cocaine when it’s at hame then?”
“It’s predicted tae be the number wan gear in the toon efter cannabis resin. Seemingly, London is awash wae the stuff, so it is.”
“Aye, bit whit is it?”
“White powder, wae the consistency ae fine Saxa Salt. The filthy basturts snort it up intae their nostrils using a ten-pound note. Gies ye an instant high right aff the cuff, so it dis.” Daddy hid volunteered. “We reckon that that’s whit the shooter lifted oot ae the inside ae the jaicket ae The Driving Instructor, efter he wis shot deid at point blank range in the wee lane beside The Black Bull picture hoose oot in Kirkintilloch last year. Makes right randy basturts go like the clappers, so it dis.”
“Aye, bit whit’s this goat tae dae wae us up here in Possil then?”
“We think it might be being controlled oot ae Possil, so we dae.”
“Possil?” he’d exclaimed, puzzled, wondering whether tae be alarmed and still wondering whit the fuck this coke wis, other than a mixer fur a wee glass ae voddy.
“Mickey Sherlock’s flying squad boys ambushed a Ford Cortina oan the underpass, doon oan Coocaddens, yesterday efternoon.”
“Aye, Ah awready knew aboot that. Ah read the article in this morning’s Echo as well. That wis a good photo ae Mickey’s boys chasing efter Herbie Maxwell in his Jesus sandals, up the slip road, wae their guns withdrawn. It wis Dave McGovern that telt me that it wis Herbie that hid been run o’er by the scaffy wagon, efter trying tae escape up oan tae the M8 motorway.”
“They said the daft basturt could’ve survived if it wisnae fur wan ae the two wee steps hinging doon at the bucket end ae the wagon. It wis the pavement side wan that took his heid clean aff as it went o’er the tap ae him. If he’d only lain where he wis, insteid ae trying tae sit up. The poor driver wis kept in overnight up at The Royal, efter Big Tony Tramp bawled the silly basturt oot,” Billy hid cursed, shaking his heid.
“Anyway,” Daddy hid coughed, reminding them he wis still there, as he lit up a fag, tossing his packet across tae the inspector.
“Oh, aye. They hid eight ounces ae coke in a sealed bag in wan ae they wee leather doctor’s bags, so they did. That’s hauf a pound in oor weight.”
“And the driver?”
“Billy McCrae. Used tae work as a Co-op milkman, or he did, until a few years or so ago, across in Springburn. He wis the wan that goat stabbed through the lung a few years back by some wee Ned up in the Balgrayhill Flats. Claims he started operating as a private taxi operator aboot six months ago, even though he isnae licensed. Says some guy wearing sandals and who looked like Catweasel, who he’d never met before, suddenly appeared up at that door ae his and paid him a fiver up front tae go doon tae the wee pedestrian ferry opposite Betty’s Bar two days later and pick up some guy and taxi him up here tae his hoose in Possil.”
“And that guy wis Herbie himsel?”
“That’s whit McCrae claimed. ‘Pick me up at wan o’clock sharp, Wednesday,’ Herbie telt him.”
“Everywan knows Herbie Maxwell. He’s wan ae the biggest hash dealers oan this side ae the Clyde. McCrae’s obviously a lying basturt.”
“Aye, bit despite letting Big Tony and Jackie Wilson loose oan the basturt, he’s still maintaining he wis jist daeing a private taxi run,” Billy Liar hid admitted.
“Springburn? Hiv ye spoken tae Paddy?”
“Aye. He says there disnae appear tae be an obvious connection between McCrae and The Mankys, at least, no that he’s aware ae. Bumper and The Bushwhacker also agreed that there wisnae any obvious history there either.”
“Mickey Sherlock?”
“McCrae i
snae oan anywan’s radar, so he isnae.”
“Ah’m still no sure whit aw this his tae dae wae me up here,” he’d replied, haudin up his haun in front ae Billy Liar’s face tae stoap the wee gnaff butting-in. “This place might appear tae be hoatching wae disorder tae youse doon in Central, bit we’re in control, so we ur. Drunkenness and breach ae the peace gets stamped oan as soon as it appears. Hoose breaking hisnae risen in two years. It’s still too high, bit we’re working oan that. Assaults wae deadly weapons ur static due tae the pavement pounders coming doon oan the wee street Neds like tons ae bricks. Car thefts hiv dwindled tae single weekly figures and there isnae a pub lock-in doon oan Saracen Street that Ah don’t know aboot. Black Pat and that crew ae his hiv been warned aboot punting rotten meat locally and apart fae wan recent incident where wan ae ma young pavement pounders wis waylaid and knocked fuck oot ae, which is still under investigation by the way, we’re actually quite proud ae oor arresting figures, so we ur.”
“Nowan’s doubting the success rate ae you and yer officers, Duggie. Everywan admires whit ye’re daeing up here, so they dae. However, whit this his tae dae wae, is that we’re talking aboot a shitload ae money here, so we ur. We’re no talking aboot yer wee manky-arsed Neds, hinging aboot doon oan Saracen Cross, selling hauf quarters ae hash tae keep themsels supplied. This stuff is fur the toffs, the money people, so it is. Although this is only speculation, Mickey thinks that it might be getting cut up in Possil, before wider distribution. That wee eight-ounce bag ae powder fae yesterday wid’ve been cut up, wae Johnston’s Baby Powder mixed through it, before being re-bagged tae four or even five times its worth in weight in the clubs in the city centre, so it wid’ve,” Daddy hid grunted, smiling at the inspector’s confused expression.
“They’re selling it at twenty quid a gram in the toon, so they ur. That’s aboot five tae six lines tae a gram,” Billy Liar hid chipped in wae.
“How many grams tae an ounce?” he’d asked them.
“Twenty eight.”
“Fucking hell!” he’d exclaimed. “That’s eight hunner and ninety six grams at 20 quid a punt!”
“Eighteen grand…gie or take a bob or two efter it’s been cut up,” Billy hid reminded him. “So ye see, there’s money tae be made,” Billy hid continued, leaving his statement hinging in the air, as the inspector’s brain kicked in tae whizzing mode.
“Reps fae two ae the biggest discotheque organisations fae London and three fae Manchester ur up here as we speak, checking oot the availability ae flair space tae open up mega discos, so they ur. There’s been wan new disco opening up in the toon centre every week since March. It disnae sound a lot, bit when ye take aw the bigger lounges in the pubs being changed in tae consideration, then ye kin see where the market is. Coke and music go haun in haun.”
“So, where’s Wan-bob Broon in aw this then?” he’d asked.
“Oh, he’s in there, bit somewan else is daeing aw the legwork. Pat Molloy, The Big Man, flew in tae Glesga Airport last Tuesday morning fae Marbella, before flying oot again later that same night.”
“So, wis he confronted?”
“Oan whit?” Billy hid replied, shrugging they shoulders ae his.
Silence.
“So, whit dae ye want fae me then?” he’d gasped desperately, seriously praying fur the first time in five years that he widnae shite himsel in front ae his boss and that wee poisonous hatchet-man ae his, sitting there, clearly willing that possibility tae take place before they heided aff oot tae see Jings in Yoker.
“Look, Duggie, efter ye’ve been hame and gone tae bed, Ah want ye tae get back here and see whit the fuck is happening oot there in Coke Land,” Daddy hid insisted wae a wave ae his white, pudgy haun at the yellowing painted wall. “There could be promotions in here aw roond if we play oor cards right.”
And wae that, the pair fae Central hid stood up, putting oan their caps as they heided fur the door and the reception desk beyond. How he’d managed tae get tae the lavvy withoot embarrassing himsel again, he’d never know. Skanky Smith hid stood oan guard ootside the door, making sure he hid peace and quiet, while he sat and groaned wae the pain in his bowels feeling as if some basturt wis jumping up and doon oan them, wearing red hot tackity boots oan their feet.”
“And whit the fuck dae you want?” he’d snarled at that Elvis wan, who’d been allowed tae hing aboot at the front desk, while he’d been shiting oot they poor lungs ae his.
“Er, there’s been an outbreak ae food poisoning, the, er, source being the food consumed at yer, er, daughter’s engagement party last night, er, sir,” Elvis hid gulped, as the penny finally drapped in the inspector’s heid. “Ah, er, Ah’ll need tae interview ye…if ye’re fit enough, that is,” Elvis hid said apologetically, as a big dollop ae sweat suddenly took a run and jumped aff the end ae the inspector’s beak.
Chapter Forty Seven
Sharon stretched her neck forward a few inches across the tap ae her chipped kitchen sink, tae get a better peek at whit wis gaun oan across the road. An auld tractor, wae a trailer hitched up oan the back ae it, hid stoapped in front ae Helen’s grave. She watched as Squinty Alex jumped doon fae his bucket seat, before stretching in tae the back ae the trailer. Squinty Alex hid been married tae poor auld Nan McWhirter, wan ae the aulder wummin, who’d passed away a few weeks or so earlier. Although she could be a bit ae a drama queen, and hid been well-known fur blowing hot and cauld when it came tae getting that arse ae hers oot tae the warrant sales, she’d been a real kind soul behind aw that hot air and bluster. She took a wee sip ae her tea, smacking they lips ae hers, satisfied that it hid cooled doon tae the required temperature. She watched Alex lift up a wee roond bouquet ae flowers and stroll across tae Helen’s grave, stoapping momentarily wae that heid ae his bowed in whit looked like silent prayer, before gently placing it doon in front ae the gravestane and returning tae his tractor. It wis a lovely gesture. Although he wis a gravedigger, Alex hid tae go across tae The Glesga Crematorium, up in Lambhill, wan day a week, tae assist wae getting shot ae the surplus ashes fae the busy ovens. He wis always there, rain or shine, except fur when it wis windy. Auld Nan hidnae let him in the hoose oan a Wednesday, his Lambhill day, wearing his overalls and shirt, which he’d hid tae change in wan ae the auld brick wash hooses doon in the back court. Despite being telt no tae by the Corporation and the local undertakers, mourners still appeared at funerals wae bunches ae flowers. Alex always took a pile ae the freshest wans hame wae him. Ever since Helen and Issie’s eighteen year auld son Joe, hid been buried across in his cemetery, they’d been added tae Nan and Alex’s list ae friends who’d been buried there and wur noo recipients ae Alex’s kindness. Helen hid been good tae Nan and Alex. She’d led the charge in three warrant sales that hid the McWhirter name stamped oan the warrant. In every single case, Helen, wae the backing ae the local wummin, hid managed tae reverse the sales and send the Sheriff officers away tae think again. She wondered if Alex wid dae the same fur her when her time came? She’d hid a few words wae the auld buzzard in the past, that hid left him staunin there reeling, she remembered, smiling tae hersel and taking a puff ae her last fag. She knew she’d hiv tae get oot ae that dressing gown and up aff ae that arse ae hers, tae go doon tae the shoaps oan Springburn Road. The starkness ae her bare cupboards wis starting tae annoy that man ae hers. She could cope withoot food, bit life withoot a fag wis a different baw game aw thegither. Efter being released oan bail oan her return tae The Sheriff Court, she hidnae set fit ootside the hoose. The lassies hid been up tae see whit wis happening a few times, bit she’d persuaded them that she needed space.
“So, a week in the jail wisnae space enough then?” Betty hid challenged her, as the rest ae them sat twiddling their thumbs.