by Ian Todd
Chapter Forty Eight
Wan-bob Broon lifted his haun up aff ae the Formica and gied the wee lassie behind the coonter a nod wae that heid ae his tae let her know that she could start the order by bringing their pot ae tea across tae him, jist as the door ae The City Café opened, letting in the noise ae the buses and lorries rumbling past, between them and The Royal, across the road.
“Ye’re late,” he sniffed, as his right-haun man, Charlie Hastie, took aff his jaicket before sitting doon.
“So’s Christmas, bit ye don’t hear me bloody moaning aboot it, dae ye?” Charlie growled.
“Ah hate basturts that keep me waiting, so Ah dae. It shouts oot tae aw they wee tickets that Ah’ve goat nothing better tae dae wae ma time other than tae be sitting back waiting fur them tae show up, so it dis.”
“That’s wan way ae looking at it, Ah suppose.”
“Whit? Is there another like?”
“Aye. It might be because everywan else is so fucking snowed under wae yer demands that they don’t hiv time tae wipe their ain arses, never mind yours,” Charlie retorted, as they smiled at each other and the wee waitress wae the lovely eyes covered the teapot wae a nice, neutral, Partick Thistle tea cosy.
“So, whit’s the damage then?” Wan-bob asked, pouring the milk intae the mugs.
“Duggie Dougan’s let The Gruesome Twosome aff ae their leashes, so he his,” Charlie replied, pouring the tea intae the first mug. “As expected, everything his been shut doon, including Blind Bill’s boys doon in the toon centre. A Black Maria did the roonds ae aw the bus stoaps in the city centre yesterday efternoon, lifting the known purse thieves and pickpockets. Any ae the basturts getting caught begging ur being lifted and charged wae loitering wae intent.”
Silence.
“It’s whit wis expected,” Charlie reminded him, taking a sip ae the hot liquid.
“And Black Pat?”
“Peter The Plant hid tae put a gun tae that foreheid ae his tae finally convince him that he needed a two-week holiday doon oan that farm ae his, oot in Milton ae Campsie. That wis efter pistol-whipping the stupid basturt fur being too negative. Pat hid been bleating that it wis okay fur us, bit his customers widnae fuck aboot and wid get their meat supplies fae elsewhere.”
“He’s goat a point.”
“Aye, bit Ah’m sure he’ll survive.”
“Aye, bit we cannae let this drag oan noo, Charlie. People will be watching, especially they basturts across oan the other side ae the Clyde. Ye know whit like that bunch ae mercenary fuckers ur.”
“Right, here’s a good wan fur ye. Ye’ll like this. While Peter wis trying tae convince Black Pat that he needed a holiday, the basturt wis whining like a hungry whippet oan heat, so he wis, coming up wae every excuse under the sun fur why he couldnae go away oan his holidays.”
“Aye, ye said.”
“Aye, well, the icing oan the cake excuse is that phobia ae his.”
“Phobia?”
“Aye, he claimed tae hiv Hippophobia, so he did,” Charlie said, straight-faced.
“Whit the fuck’s Hippophobia?” Wan-bob asked, biting.
“An allergy and fear ae horses.”
“Whit?”
“That’s whit the stupid basturt tried tae palm Peter aff wae.”
“Bit the basturt butchers them every week, efter aw the stables and riding schools up and doon the country get shot ae their auld knackered horses oot tae that farm ae his,” Wan-bob exclaimed.
“That Peter the Plant is jist as fucking daft. He thought Black Pat wis trying tae claim he wis allergic tae Hippos, so he did, and couldnae fucking figure oot whit that hid tae dae wae anything,” Charlie said, as the pair ae them sat cackling away uncontrollably fur a full minute.
“That Black Pat fucking cracks me up, so he dis,” Wan-bob said, taking a sip ae his tea.
“Aye, well, Mockit Michael fae Patrick and Willie Commotion, o’er in Maryhill, baith goat lifted this morning in separate raids, so they did. A few ae Willie’s boys goat picked up as well. Aw their meat’s been impounded and sent aff tae get checked oot. Seemingly, Willie wis carted intae the back ae the van in a straight-jaicket efter he threw a wobbly. Streaky John McGinnis goat remanded fur eight days withoot plea or declaration this morning fur assaulting that wee poliswummin and The Sani Man up in Black Pat’s distribution shed oan Saracen Street a few weeks ago. The Sani Man wis involved in the raid.”
“Whit sani man?”
“Ah telt ye at the time. The wan that thinks he’s Elvis. Him and some wee thing in a uniform jumped oot oan Streaky John while he wis getting a delivery.”
“Wur they hurt?”
“Ah don’t think so. Ah think Streaky John gied them a few slaps aboot the chops though. It wis the female bizzy that saved Elvis’s arse. If she wisnae there, he’d hiv ended up through the mincer,” Charlie said, as they baith chuckled. “Dave McGovern said that seemingly they goat some fright though.”
“Aye, Lady Luck wis obviously wae them that night, so she wis,” Wan-bob acknowledged, jist as their well-fired rolls and square sausage arrived at their table.
“So, whit dae ye think then?”
“We’ll gie it two weeks and see whit happens.”
“Dave McGovern telt Peter The Plant that Dougan still wants his money.”
“He’ll still get his cut fae the normal things wance the dust settles.”
“That’s no whit he’s oan aboot. He says that it’s compensation.”
“Compensation?”
“Fur that brother-in-law ae his.”
“As far as Ah’m concerned, he disnae need tae be putting the squeeze oan Black Pat and his boys noo. That brother-in-law won’t hiv tae pay any money back,” Wan-bob replied, biting intae his roll efter drooning the sausage wae broon HP sauce. “And anyway, Ah thought he didnae like his brother-in-law?”
“He didnae, bit he says that it’s compensation fur his sister’s loss ae earnings.”
“Loss ae earnings? That basturt’s starting tae get oan ma tits, so he his. You tell Peter the Plant tae warn that basturt tae tell that boss ae his that ma patience is running thin. Compensation? Who the fuck dis he think he’s dealing wae, eh?” Wan-bob growled, taking another bite. “And the coke?”
“Well, that’s well gone noo, bit shouldnae interrupt anything, long-term. Everywan knows the risks. Shame aboot Herbie Maxwell though.”
“Whit aboot the driver?”
“Billy McCrae? Ach, he disnae work fur us, so he’s no oor problem.”
“That’s no whit Ah meant.”
“He’s been charged wae intent tae supply and operating a taxi withoot a licence. Enquiries ur continuing. That Graham Portoy goat him oot oan bail five minutes efter he appeared up in court at ten o’clock this morning, so he did.”
“And the implications?”
“None. Ah spoke tae wan ae The Mankys jist before Ah heided doon here. It won’t affect the shipments.”
“Good. That stuff’s a nice wee earner, so it is. The Big Man his awready said he wants that income protected at aw costs. Whit else ur they up tae?”
“Who? The Mankys? Ach, jist the usual ducking and diving. They’ve set up a private taxi company. They’ve thirteen cars oan the road, so they hiv. They’ve installed a phone intae auld Peggy McLone’s youngest daughters hoose…the wan wae the five weans who’s man goat killed at his work a few months ago. Seemingly her and the weans hiv been living oan a loaf a breid between them a day. They’re paying her cash in haun, so they ur, so that’s turned her life roond. She even goat a colour telly delivered fae Peter The Runner tae keep the weans fae wrecking the hoose while she’s taking calls. The Tally hisnae fucked aboot since he goat oot ae the jail. They must be delivering aboot ten pound ae hash straight tae people’s doors every week.”
“It’s a good idea, when ye think ae it…the taxis, Ah mean. It’s a good cover fur deliveries, so it is.”
“Aye and they’re covering their petrol costs by charging the punters the
fare,” Charlie said, laughing.
“Maybe we should start delivering pizzas or something up in Springburn,” Wan-bob suggested, as the baith ae them looked at each other and smiled. “Whit dae ye think?”
“Whit?”
“Starting delivering pizzas up tae people’s doors…Ah mean, wid there be a market fur something like that?”
“Why no? We could get a crowd ae snappers tae start drapping aff leaflets roond people’s doors.”
“Fuck, they manky-arsed bandits will go aff their fucking heids, so they will.”
“Good,” Charlie replied, as they baith laughed again. “Ah’ll get The Goat on tae it straight away.”
“Right, next?”
“Oor corrupt inspector pal up in Possil? Whit happens if he disnae come tae his senses?”
“We’re no at that stage yet. Let’s leave oor options open and see whit happens o’er the next week or so. Jist tell Peter that Black Pat his tae stay well away fae the toon until we tell him that he kin come back. Ah don’t want that fucking eejit rocking the boat any mair than he is awready.”
“They rolls ur bloody stoating, so they ur. Ah’m hivving another wan. Whit aboot yersel?”
“Don’t mind if Ah dae. Get her tae refill that teapot while she’s at it, Charlie,” Wan-bob replied, eyeing up the two wee nurses who’d jist walked through the door, still chattering tae each other, wrapped up in their capes. “Oh, and another thing…find oot everything ye kin aboot this Elvis, The Sani Man. Where he lives, whether he’s married, his any snappers. We might hiv tae intervene if he ends up in court tae gie evidence against that haufwit, Streaky John.”
Chapter Forty Nine
“Oh, it’s yersels, boys,” Sharon said, sounding disappointed, staunin aside, while haudin the door open fur them.
“Awright, Mrs C?” Tony Gucci and Simon Epstein beamed oan their way past.
“Why don’t ye make yersels at hame,” Sharon drawled, heiding towards the kitchen, as the two boys took o’er her tidy living room, wae wan sitting in her favourite ermchair and the other sitting oan the erm ae her couch.
“Ah hope that isnae a wee bit ae sarcasm Ah detect there, Sharon. If it is, we won’t be back,” Simon cracked, tossing a twenty packet a B & H oan tae that wee coffee table ae hers.
“Ach, ye’re a good boy, Simon. Ah wis jist aboot tae nip doon fur a packet when Ah heard the door.”
“Whit? In yer pyjamas…at this time ae the day?” Tony quipped, looking at his wristwatch.
“They’re Pearl’s fur when she’s at hame. It makes me feel close tae her, so it dis.”
“So, how is she daeing up there amongst the gentry then?”
“Pearl? How wid Ah know? Ah’m only her mother. The last time she graced me wae a letter, she wis daeing fine.”
“Oh, in case Ah furget, ye better put this somewhere safe,” Tony said, pulling a thick envelope oot ae his inside pocket and tossing it oan tae the coffee table.
“So, how’s Johnboy then?”
“How wid we know? The ungrateful basturt disnae want tae know us noo. Well, he disnae want tae know Tony here.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised, looking across at the Atalian.
“Don’t listen tae Sad Sack there,” Tony laughed. “None ae us hiv any contact wae him noo. It’s better that we keep well oot ae the picture, so it is. We get the latest fae the lassies.”
“And how’s Senga? Ah hivnae seen her since she came up fur the last envelope a month ago. That’s another wan who tends tae furget that she’s goat a poor wee ma a few closes alang the road there. Aye, youse might sit there and grin, bit wait until it’s your turn,” Sharon harrumphed before disappearing, returning a minute later wae a tray wae three mugs oan it.
“Tony clocked her wae a new pal in some fancy wine bar the other week there,” Simon said.
“A wine bar? Christ, in ma day, if ye wur seen near a bottle ae wine aw the neighbours wid be talking aboot ye, so they wid.”
“It wisnae that type ae wine, Sharon. Ah don’t think they sell Lanny or LD in a French Café.”
“Oh, it’s a cafe that sells plonk, is it? Aye, things hiv definitely changed since ma day.”
“So, how’s business then?” Tony asked her innocently, before adding, “And whit’s happened tae the chocolate biscuits?”
“So, youse hiv heard then?” she replied, ignoring the hint fur a biscuit.
“Heard? Christ, hauf the toon’s complaining aboot sore stomachs and hivving the runs, so they ur. The smell ae shite coming up this closemooth nearly knocked us doon, so it did,” Simon replied, as him and Tony laughed.
“It’s isnae any laughing matter, so it’s no. Ah’ve jist been let oot oan forty quid bail. Ah don’t know whit we’re gonnae dae noo. Aw oor customers hiv cancelled their orders.”
“Well, let’s be honest, Sharon. Ye cannae blame them, especially in the trade youse ur in.”
“Ah’m no, bit it’s the basturt who’s responsible that’s upsetting me,” she scowled, before bursting intae tears.
“Ach, Sharon, wance the dust settles, ye’ll bounce back…youse aw will,” Simon cooed.
“Ah wish it wis that simple,” she sobbed, before gaun oan tae tell them whit hid happened.
“Aye, bit ye said so yersel, Sharon. It’s his word against yours,” Tony reminded her. “Ah know who Ah’d believe.”
“Whit a state everywan’s in. Fur the first time in oor lives, we’d started tae make a go ae something that widnae mean we’d aw end up getting the jail…Ach, ye know whit Ah mean?” she sniffled, as the pair ae them lifted their eyebrows at that last remark and smiled.
“It’s jist no fair. Me and Soiled Sally slogged oor guts oot in the jail tae get food hygiene certificates when we wur oot in Cornton Vale. Senga wid nip up every noo and again tae gie us wee reminder lectures oan food hygiene tae.”
“So, whit’s she saying aboot it then?”
“Who? Senga? Ach, her heid’s away up in the clouds, campaigning tae get Johnboy set free and trying tae get the polis tae dae something aboot that poor wee nurse that goat run o’er up in Stobhill a while back…which is fair enough. When her ma, Ann, telt her whit hid happened tae us, Senga telt her no tae expect her tae get involved in another campaign, as we’d need tae join the queue. Mind you, Ah think she wis jist kidding,” Sharon added, lighting up a fag. “Ah wis jist sitting watching Squinty Alex gaun aboot the graveyard across the road, laying flowers at the graves ae aw oor auld pals, including Helen’s. Ah’m right glad poor Helen’s no here tae see whit’s happened tae that boy ae hers. She’ll be turning in her grave, so she will.”
“Aye, well, jist tae change the subject ever so slightly, Sharon. Whit ur youse gonnae dae noo?” Simon asked, steering her away fae another bubbling session.
“Us? Nothing. Who’d want tae buy a sanny aff ae us, never mind let us near their wedding or funeral food efter we poisoned a bloody polis inspector and oor local cooncillor? It’s no the best ae reputations tae hiv, gaun oot and aboot trying tae drum up business, is it? Ah tried tae apologise tae that Mrs Purple High and Mighty wan, when we bumped intae her in the toon, bit she gied us a right body-swerve, so she did. And let’s be honest, boys, who could blame her? Seemingly, she wis wan ae the wans that goat kept in fur two nights up in Stobhill, so she must’ve been wan ae the mair serious cases. Whit?” she suddenly asked them.
“Dae you want tae tell her or will Ah?” Simon asked Tony.
“Tell me whit?” she demanded, looking fae wan tae the other.
“Well, seeing as you’re the wan that claims tae be a businessman, Ah’ll leave it up tae you, Rio,” Tony replied, as they baith smirked at each other.
“If youse pair hiv something ye think Ah should know aboot, then Ah’m aw ears.”
“Aye, me and Tony wur jist chewing the cud oan the way up here, Sharon. Why don’t ye open another business?”
“Bit, we’ve awready goat a business…or we hid. It wis called Springburn’s Larder.”
&
nbsp; “Naw, that’s yer auld business. That’s the wan that poisoned aw yer loyal customers who’ve noo heided fur the hills. Remember?” Simon reminded her pleasantly.
Silence.
“Ah’m no sure Ah’m following ye,” she confessed, swishing the hair back fae her eyes, as she blew oot a stream ae smoke.
“Jist set up another business. Easy,” Tony said.
“Daeing whit?”
“Fur Christ’s sake, Sharon. Ur ye sure youse ever ran a business?”
“Look, Ah’m sorry, bit Ah jist cannae follow where this conversation is leading tae.”
“It’s leading tae another catering business.”
“Whit aboot Springburn’s Larder?”
“Furget Springburn’s Larder. That’s aw finished wae noo. Ye said yersel. Move oan. Open up under a different name,” Simon challenged her.
“Ah cannae dae that. Everywan knows we’ve aw been charged wae poisoning hauf ae Springburn, so they dae. Who’s gonnae eat oor stuff noo?”
“Aye, well, that’s where we’ll maybe be able tae help ye oot,” Simon replied, looking across at Tony and smiling.
“How much capital dae ye currently hiv, Sharon?” Tony asked her.
“Capital? Whit’s capital?”
“Money in haun.”
“Ah’m no sure. Wee Mary telt us that we hid jist o’er five hunner in the bank. Why?”
“Because, we…Simon…his identified a wee niche in the catering market that youse wid be brilliant at filling, so youse wid.”
“Eh?” she asked, looking across at Simon, as she reached fur her fag packet again, baffled.
“Ah’ve been covering the flairs ae aw the big office blocks in the toon the past wee while at knock-doon prices. They’re aw full ae hungry office workers, so they ur.”
“So?”
“So, there isnae anywhere tae grab a biscuit or a sandwich at break or lunchtime, so there’s no.”
“Ah still don’t get it,” she admitted.
“That’s where you come in,” Tony said, butting in. “Simon knows aw the manager boys. He’ll get youse in during the morning wae baskets ae sandwiches tae flog tae the hungry.”
Silence.