Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (40 page)

  “Ah’m aware ae that possibility, yer honour.  Alternatively, ye could jist quash the charges and let ma client, Mrs Taylor, get hame tae her family and friends, where she rightly belongs,” Harry Portoy said, pointing tae Jimmy and aw the lassies, wae a sweep ae his haun.

  Aw eyes swivelled towards the bench.

  “And why in heaven’s name wid Ah dae a daft thing like that noo?” JP asked incredulously, spreading his erms tae aw those who’d made the effort tae be present ringside.

  Aw eyes swivelled back tae Harry Portoy.

  “Because it his come tae the defence’s attention that there is a danger that ma client, who’s staunin o’er there, is aboot tae suffer a serious miscarriage ae justice in this kanga...er…court, the day.”

  “Based oan whit?  Ye jist heard The Fiscal say that yer client wis done, bang tae rights,” JP snapped at him.

  “If Ah’d ever taken instructions and advice fae prosecutors, in the way you dae in here, Ah’d never hiv goat masel a client in ma life.   Ah’m sorry, bit Ah don’t hiv the same faith in the word ae the Crown Procurator Fiscal’s Office that you
obviously dae.”

  Aw eyes in the courtroom swung back tae JP, who wis staring at Miss Metcalfe, looking fur a bit ae advice and direction, bit she hid her heid doon, doodling oan a piece ae paper, trying no tae get noticed by anywan.

  “So, yer issue is?”

  “Ah’ve jist telt ye.  Oan the basis that there’s gonnae be a miscarriage ae justice here.”

  “Oan whose say so?”

  “Oan ma say so and oor witness.”

  “Who?  This Mrs, whitever her name is?”

  “Aye…Mrs Paterson.”

  “Bit, oan whit basis ur ye trying tae make oot that there is any dodgy dealings here then?”

  “Oan the basis that ma client is being fitted up wae the knowledge, understaunin and collusion ae this court.”

  “And ye kin prove this?” JP croaked, joining the rest ae the parrots who wur looking sick and anxious, while everywan else in the court, including the court ushers, aw hid big cheesy grins spread across their coupons.

  “Of course Ah kin.”

  “And why dae ye need mair time fur yer client tae prepare her case then?”

  “Because Ah wid need a bit mair time tae arrange ma witness tae be here tae prove oor charge in open court, yer honour.”

  “This is aw, er, erm, very unusual, so it is.”

  “It happens aw the time in a real court…yer honour.”

  “Ah’d need mair information than whit ye’ve jist come oot wae.  How dae Ah know ye’re no jist stalling fur time?  Wasting taxpayers’ money, eh?”

  “Ah could gie ye a wee sample ae oor evidence tae see fur yersel, yer honour.”

“Miss Metcalfe?  Miss Metcalfe?” JP howled, wondering whit the fuck tae dae next.

  Miss Metcalfe nodded.

  “Right, where is it then?”

  Harry Portoy slowly and deliberately walked across the open space between Helen in the dock and JP at the other end.  Every pair ae eyes in the room followed him.  He stoapped in front ae JP up oan that perch ae his, stuck his haun intae his inside pocket, took something oot and passed it up tae JP.  He then turned and walked back and stood beside Helen at the dock.  Aw eyes wur oan JP.  He sat motionless, although even a blind man could see the blood draining fae his face.  He shook his heid as though there wis a fly in his ear and his shoulders slumped.  He looked up at Harry and Helen at the far end ae the room.

  “Ah, er, Ah, er…oan the basis ae the new evidence that his come tae light…aw charges against Taylor ur dismissed.”

  “Mrs Taylor, tae you,” Jimmy, Helen’s man, managed tae shout, as the place erupted in cheers and haun-clapping.

  Marilyn Monroe, Sandra Dee and Jayne Mansfield aw jumped up tae face the five scowling sick parrots in uniform, gieing them the two fingered salute wae each haun.

  JP stood up, crestfallen and wae his shoulders slumped forward, before he stumbled through the wee door at the side ae his bench.

  “Right, Pat, tell us again then,” Sally demanded, plapping her arse doon oan tae the grass in the exercise yard, in the sunshine, efter agreeing tae write letters hame fur a few ae the wummin walking roond in the circle.

  “Ah’ve awready telt youse,” Big Pat said, playing hard tae get.

  “C’mone…again!” they aw pleaded.

 
“Naw!”

 
“Pat, stoap playing hard tae get, ya shameless hussy, ye!”

  “Right, okay.  Jist wan mair time.”

  “Yeah!” they aw shouted gleefully, their clapping drawing attention tae them, as Hairy Chops stood glaring wae The Twitcher underneath the barbed wire topped fence.

  “Right, Ah wis jist walking o’er tae the gate yesterday, haudin Helen’s haun, when Ah heard that Martha Hairy Chop Face wan shout oot,

‘Paterson, get o’er here, ye’re wanted.’ 

  Ah must admit, Ah wis a wee bit worried because Ah thought Ah’d done something wrang.  Hairy Face widnae tell me whit the score wis.  Ah followed that fat arse ae hers doon and aroond aw sorts ae corridors till we came tae a room at the end ae wan. 

  ‘In ye go.  If ye need me, Ah’ll be ootside,’ Hairy face said...as if, eh? 

  Anyway, Ah knew right away who wan ae them wis as soon as Ah clocked him.  Helen hid him doon tae a T.  The other wan looked a bit mair shifty and Ah could tell he wis as nervous as a stoat oan heat.  Ah jist went in and plapped that arse ae mine doon oan tae the chair and sat back, wondering whit the hell wis gaun oan.  Coco pulled oot a twenty packet ae Woodbines and a box ae Swan Vestas and telt me tae help masel.

  ‘Ur ye Mrs Patricia Paterson?’ The Clown asked me.

  ‘Aye,’ Ah replied, swiftly lighting up a fag, no being too sure how long this wee bonus fag break wid last and wanting tae take full advantage. 

  ‘Ah wonder if ye widnae mind helping me in ma endeavours regarding ma client, Mrs Helen Taylor,’ he asked. 

  ‘Ah don’t see how Ah kin help, bit if Ah kin, Ah will.’ 

  ‘Ah believe ye know a Mr John Patrick Donnelly.  Wid that be right?’ 

  ‘Ah’m good wae names, bit that wan disnae tug ma bell, so it disnae,’ Ah telt him, eyeing up that packet ae Woodbines. 

  ‘Ye might know him as JP Donnelly.  He’s a cooncillor and a Justice ae the Peace in the city.’ 

  ‘Oh, ye mean JP?  Oh, aye, Ah know him.  A right wee sleekit weasel that wan.  Ah kin tell ye a tale or two aboot him, so Ah kin.’ 

  ‘Well, it’s funny ye should say that, Mrs Paterson, bit that’s exactly whit Ah hoped ye wid say.’ 

  ‘Fine and dandy wae me, so it is,’ Ah replied, helping masel tae another fag.

  ‘Before we begin, ma name is Harry Portoy, and Ah’m representing Mrs Helen
Taylor at Glesga Central the morra.  And this gentlemen here is Tommy Print.  He’s assisting me wae ma enquiries.’

  ‘Jist call me Slipper, hen…everywan else dis,’ the ugly wee nervous crater chipped in, that Adams apple ae his gaun up and doon like a yo-yo.

  ‘How ur ye daeing, son?’ Ah asked him, patting him oan his knee, trying tae calm him doon.

  ‘Aye, no bad, hen.’

  ‘So, Mrs Paterson...’

  ‘Call me Pat.’

  ‘Er, right, Pat.  Kin ye tell us how ye know Mr Donnelly?’

  ‘JP?  He’s wan ae ma regular clients, so he is,’ Ah said, looking him straight between they auld watery eyes ae his.

  ‘Clients?’

  ‘Aye, he usually comes o’er tae ma hoose fur a, fur a...y’know?’ Ah said, gieing the pair ae them a wee wink.

  ‘Ye mean fur his auld Nat King Cole?’ that wee cheeky Slippery wan chipped in, his nerves clearly back between the cheeks ae his arse.

  ‘Couldnae hiv put it better masel, son,’ Ah beamed back, taking a liking tae him awready.

  ‘And dis this happen, er, regularly?’ the wan in the broon pinstriped clown ootfit asked.

‘Well, occasionally it could be every other week, bit maist ae the time, it’s weekly.  He used tae get really upset if Ah didnae get back tae him tae let him know if Ah wis gonnae be away or no.  He’d write wee notes and shove them through ma letterbox, pleading wae me tae contact him.  Ah always goat oan tae him in case any ae ma weans picked them up.’

  ‘And these wee notes?  Ah don’t suppose ye wid still hiv any ae them, by any chance, wid ye?’

  ‘Oh, aye…Ah keep aw ma love letters.  It reminds me that Ah’m still wanted.’

  ‘And dae ye charge fur these, er, services?’

  ‘Five pounds…plus.’

  ‘Plus?’

  ‘Aye, it’s an extra two quid oan tap if he requires a wee bit extra.’

  ‘And dis JP ever get...er, extras?’

  ‘Oh, aye. He’s a right wee greedy
gannet that wan, so he is.’

  ‘Er, could ye explain whit the extras consist ae?’

  ‘Well, let’s see. He likes getting his arse skelped wae that bare haun ae mine, if he’s being naughty, which he usually always is.’

  ‘Really?’ Cheeky Arse butted in, interrupting ma flow.

  ‘Oh, aye.  And then Ah hiv tae put oan his nappy efter applying a big dollop ae calamine lotion tae they red raw cheeks ae his, before stuffing a dummy tit in tae that dribbling gub ae his efter aw that naughtiness.’

  Silence.

  ‘Ah’m telling youse, It wid bloody surprise ye whit some ae you men ur like, ye know,’ Ah telt the pair ae them, who wur baith sitting there wae their mooths hinging open catching flies, while Ah took advantage and lit up another wee fag.

  ‘And, apart fae the wee love notes, wid ye, er, hiv any other evidence ae yer association wae Mr Donnelly then?’

  ‘Helen telt ye, didn’t she?

 
Silence.

  “Aboot a…certain wee autograph, by any chance?’ Ah beamed at them.

  ‘Aye, she did,’ The Slipper wan admitted, a big grin covering that coupon ae his.

  ‘Ah bloody-well knew it! As soon as Ah clocked the baith ae youse, Ah thought tae masel that this might’ve hid something tae dae wae ye wanting tae speak tae me,’ Ah hooted, slapping that haun ae mine aff ae Coco’s knee, laughing.

  ‘Er, obviously, it may or may no be ae help, bit Ah’d like tae leave aw oor options open,’ he came back wae, wance he’d composed himsel efter ma wee slapping session oan that bony knee ae his.

  ‘Don’t ye worry aboot that, Mr Coco...,er, Ah mean, Portoy.  Ah telt Helen that Ah’d help her in any way Ah kin.  So, youse will be wanting a wee swatch then?’

  ‘If it’s, er, awright wae yersel, we widnae mind…aye,’ Coco replied, quickly slipping oan a pair ae auld glasses held thegither wae Sellotape.

  ‘Nae problem,’ Ah said, staunin up and slipping aff that cardigan ae mine.

  ‘Fur Christ’s sake,’ the wee cheeky wan, Slippery, gasped, eyes jist aboot popping oot ae that heid ae his.

  ‘Quite impressive, if Ah don’t mind saying so masel, eh?” Ah said, showing them that back and shoulders ae mine.

  ‘And, er, ur they, er, aw o’er yer body then?’ Coco The Clown wanted tae know.

  ‘Oh, aye.’

  ‘So, how many hiv ye goat?’ Cheeky Arse butted in, obviously well impressed, so he wis.’

  ‘God knows.  Probably a couple ae hunner or so…maybe mair.’

  ‘Don’t take offence, hen, bit ye should join the circus.  They’d flock fae miles tae see ye, so they wid.’

  ‘And, er, JP’s wan?’ the lawyer, Coco The Clown, reminded me.

  ‘Oh right, sorry,’ Ah said, apologising, sitting back doon and hitching that skirt ae mine up aroond ma arse before tugging they drawers aside wae ma fingers. By the look ae them, Ah thought the baith ae them wur gonnae faint oan me, right there and then, so Ah did.

  ‘In the name ae Jesus and Mary!’ ma wee cheeky monkey pal gasped, letting oot a whistle.

  ‘Er, well, whit kin Ah say then, Mrs Paterson?  That’s quite a…er...fine wee collection ae autographs, ye hiv there, If ye don’t mind me saying so,’ Coco murmured, trying tae remain calm, bit looking a bit flustered roond the auld gills.

  ‘Collection? Christ, Ah never thought aboot them being a collection before, bit noo that ye mention it,’ Ah beamed, fair chuffed, lighting up a fag.

‘Er, ye might want tae sit back up in yer chair and we’ll continue wae the interview,’ Coco continued, wiping that brow ae his wae an auld red polka dot hanky that hid obviously seen better days.

  ‘Oh, aye, sorry,’ Ah said, pulling ma skirt back doon tae hide that modesty ae mine.”

“Oh ma God, stoap it, stoap it!” Wee Morag howled, as aw the lassies fell back oan the grass, howling in laughter.

  “Carry oan, Pat,” Sally gasped, wiping the tears fae her eyes as the wummin calmed themsels.

  “Ur ye sure?” Big Pat asked them, grinning, as Sally waved her haun tae continue oan behauf ae them aw. “Right where wis Ah?  Oh, aye…back tae Coco.

  ‘Er, Ah wis wondering…Ah don’t know if Ah awready said, bit Mr Print here is a professional photographer.  Er…Ah wonder if it wid it be possible fur him, tae…er…tae take a wee snap-shot ae Mr Donnelly’s signature, jist in case we…er…need it, by any chance?’