Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (41 page)

  ‘Ah snap-shot?’ Ah asked, as Cheeky Arse bend doon and held up a fancy camera, gieing me a wee friendly wink. ‘Look, Ah promised Helen that if she ever needed ma help, she only needed tae ask, bit jist so long as ye keep that face ae mine oot ae it.  Ah widnae want it tae effect ma livelihood, if ye know whit Ah mean?  And Ah’m okay wae Helen getting a copy fur future use, bit other than that, that’s it,’ Ah warned the pair ae them.

  ‘Oh, Ah’m sure we kin assure ye ae yer anonymity, Mrs Paterson…can’t we, Slipper?’

  ‘Aye, bit mair’s the pity.  Ah could make a bloody fortune efter the day wae a photo like that.’

  Ah’m telling ye, girls.  Ah felt like wan ae they glamour models ye see in they fancy glossy mags, so Ah did,” Big Pat beamed tae the lassies.

  “And whit wis it that wee cheeky wan came oot wae, jist before he took the snap-shot, Pat?” Wee Morag asked, getting aw excited.

  “Whit?”

  “Aw c’mone, Pat!” aw the wummin demanded.

  “Whit?”

  “Pat!” a frustrated chorus screamed at her, as Pat grinned back at them.

  “Ye mean, ‘ Fur Christ sake, Harry…it looks like some basturt’s skelped a poor wee kitten wae an axe!’” Big Pat said, straight-faced, before joining in wae the screeches ae laughter that wur rebounding roond the yard, as she leaned back and lifted up her legs, gieing them aw a quick flash.

  “Sit doon, Sammy,” The Big Man said, haunin him a pint ae heavy.

  “Cheers, Pat,” The Rat said nervously.

  “So, she goat aff wae it, did she?”

  “Walked right oot the door…straight intae Freedom Street, so she did.”

  “So, whit noo?”

  “Ah’ve tae meet aw the maws the morra efternoon.”

  “And ye think they’ll help ye wae the story then?”

  “Why?  Hiv ye heard something Ah hivnae?”

  “Naw, naw, Ah wis jist asking.”

  “So, where dis that leave you, Pat?”

  “Well, Ah’ve jist negotiated a wee deal wae that Irish Brigade.  They’ve agreed tae leave me in peace, at least fur the time being.  Ah’ve been able tae get a wee bit ae compensation, tae ease away ma grief.”

  “Ach, well, that’s good then, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, thanks tae yersel.”

  “Ach, Ah didnae dae that much,” The Rat gulped, wondering whit wis coming next.

  “They say the pen’s mightier than the sword.  Ah never believed that until noo.”

  “Ach, well, as ye said yersel, Pat, they’ll probably be back.”

  “Aye, well, Ah’ll be ready fur the basturts.  In the meantime, here ye go.  Ye did an excellent job, so ye did,” The Big Man said, haunin The Rat a thick broon envelope.

  “Christ’s sake, Pat…ye shouldnae hiv,” The Rat exclaimed, surprised, peering intae the envelope and no believing his luck

  “Aye, there’s a wee bonus in there as well.  Ye’ve earned it.”

  Helen didnae hiv much time fur celebrations at the courthoose.  She hid tae get alang tae The Corporation wae Jimmy tae see Mr Anderson, who she’d met before.  When JP hid announced that she wis aff Scot-free, she’d turned and gied Harry a big hug.  She’d been able tae feel his body shaking and trembling.  She’d no been too sure if it hid been wae aw the excitement ae being back in court or if he’d still been suffering withdrawal symptoms.

  “Thanks, Harry.  Ye’ve saved ma life and ma family’s,” she’d wept.

  “Ye saved yer ain life by being the person ye are, Helen.  Don’t change.  Always staun up fur yersel.  Listen, yer family and friends ur waiting fur ye and Ah know ye hiv tae get doon tae The Corporation.  Here, take this, in case Ah furget,” he’d said.

  “Whit is it?” she’d asked, looking at the two envelopes that Harry hid passed tae her.

  “The broon envelope is fur ye tae haun tae The Corporation when ye get there.  It’s a lawyer’s letter.  The other wan is a copy ae the same letter, plus a wee memento fae a dear friend.”

  “Ah don’t know whit tae say, Harry.”

  “Take it, and oan ye go.  They’re aw waiting.”

  Helen hid been swamped by her family and the lassies and hid telt them that they could aw celebrate wae a wee party roond at Montrose Street later, bit that in the meantime, she and Jimmy wid hiv tae heid fur The Corporation.  She’d turned roond tae introduce Jimmy tae Harry, bit the
lawyer hid disappeared.  That wis the last time she ever saw Harry Portoy.

  “Ah jist cannae bloody believe that that fucking cow goat aff wae it,” The Sarge stormed.

  “Aw the boys ur talking aboot it, wondering whit the fuck that jakey lawyer haunded across tae JP,” Big Jim said.

  “Aye, well, we’ll maybe never know,” Colin McGregor said tae the two sergeants, who wur pacing up and doon his office.

  “There’s nae fucking justice left, that’s aw Ah kin say,” The Sarge stormed.

  “Listen, lads, sit doon.  Ah’ve goat something important tae inform youse ae.”

  The two sergeants stoapped and looked at Colin.  Something in his tone made them stoap their pacing and whining.

  “Whit?” they baith chimed.

  “Sit doon.”

  “Ah hope it’s bloody good news, Colin.  The boys could be daeing wae a bit ae cheering up aboot here.”

  “Well, funny ye should say that, Liam.  There’s gonnae be a wee bit ae a shake up and you two ur part ae it.”

  “Eh?” they chorused.

  “Aye, it’s a sort ae a promotion…withoot the badge tae go wae it...yet.”

  “Bit…” they baith said at wance, looking at each other wae puzzled expressions oan they coupons ae theirs.

  “Aye, we’ve been looking at how best tae match yer particular skills, tae where we feel they could be better used…fur the benefit ae the communities we serve, ye understaun.”

  “We?” The Sarge croaked.

  “Aye, we feel yer skills hiv been under-utilised fur quite some time noo and the time his come fur that recognition tae be rectified.”

  “Whit, we’re getting promoted?” Big Jim asked, relieved, sitting up straight in his seat and straightening his tie.

  “There’s a new mobile unit being set up, which his carte blanche tae cover the whole ae the city, targeting aw the wee neds in the gangs.  Basically, we load the van up wae guys wae big sticks who jump oot and club the basturts o’er the heid when we catch them fighting.  Efter splitting a few heids open, we then sling them in the clink.”

  “So, whit his that goat tae dae wae us?” The Sarge asked.

  “It’s been decided tae move the baith ae ye oan tae pastures new, lads.  Liam, ye’re oan the gang bus and Jim, they need a man wae experience and authority tae take charge ae the desk o’er in the Marine.  Youse two hiv been picked, above a lot ae other good, experienced people, tae take o’er they coveted slots.  Congratulations tae the baith ae youse.”

  “Er, hing oan, Colin.  Let me get this straight.  Ur you telling me that Ah’ve jist been promoted sideways tae become a bloody turnkey across in Partick?” Big Jim gasped, slumping doon in his seat wae a look ae bewilderment.  “Bit…bit…they need me up in the Toonheid, Colin.  Look at the arrests we made this morning, wae they wee manky toe-rag fuckers.”

  “Ah’m sorry, boys.  This has come fae upstairs.  Ye start yer new shifts first thing oan Monday morning.”

  “We’re here tae see Mr Anderson.”

  “Who’s wanting him?”

  “Mr & Mrs Taylor.”

  “Hiv ye goat an appointment?”

  “Believe you me, hen, we widnae be here if we didnae,” Jimmy said.

  “Oh, and by the way, gie him this,” Helen said, haunin o’er the broon envelope.

  Helen and Jimmy stood listening tae the exchange fae behind the glass partition.

  “There’s a Mr and Mrs Taylor tae see ye, Mr Anderson.”

  “Eh?”

  “A Mr and Mrs Taylor?”

  “It’s impossible.  She’s jist been sent doon fur three months.”

  “Well, it looks like the same Helen Taylor that tried tae punch ye this time last year.  She’s probably done a runner.  Dae ye want me tae call the polis?”

  “Er, erm...”

  “Oh, and she asked me tae gie ye this.”

  Jimmy and Helen heard the envelope being ripped open.

  “Fur fuck’s sake!”

  “So, dae ye want me tae bring them through?”

  “Did ye tell them Ah wis here?”

  “Naw.”

  “Right, tell them Ah’m no in and that the letter summoning them doon here the day wis a mistake and wis meant fur another Mr and Mrs Taylor.”

  “Really?”

  “Margaret, fur Christ’s sake…gonnae jist dae whit ye’re telt.”

  “Let’s go, Jimmy,” Helen said, heiding fur the door oan tae
George Street.

  The party wis in full swing.  Tam Alexander wis sitting oan a stool in the corner, gieing it big licks oan the accordion.  Marilyn Monroe, Sandra Dee and Jayne Mansfield wur daeing The Gay Gordons in the lobby wae three ae the boys fae behind the bar in The Grafton.  Jimmy wis telling a group ae the menfolk aboot his new wagon and how nipping doon tae England wis a doddle noo.

  “It’s a Leyland.  They’ve introduced whit they call a self-dampening seat.  Whit that means is, that yer arse goes wae the flow when ye go o’er aw the bumps.  It means ye don’t hiv tae haud oan tae the steering wheel tae keep yer balance and that arse ae yers disnae feel like ye’ve been in the saddle aw day when ye get oot fur a pish.”

  Aw the neighbours wur there.  Everywan hid brought alang booze and food.  Helen walked across tae Johnboy, who wis sitting at the kitchen table nibbling crisps.

  “Ur ye okay, Johnboy?”

  “Poor auld Jessie goat killed doon at the lights beside the surgery the day,” he whimpered.

  “Did ye tell yer da?”

  “Aye.”

  “Whit did he say?”

  “He telt me how lorries jack-knife and that there’s nothing the driver kin dae aboot it.”

  “Johnboy, Ah want ye in the hoose o’er the next few days.  So, Ah don’t want ye gaun oot ae here withoot first okaying it wae me.  You and me ur gonnae hiv a long painful talk the morra.  In the meantime, enjoy everywan making an arse ae themsels.  Okay?”

  “Aye, Ma.”

Chapter Forty Nine

  Sunday

  Helen sat waiting fur Johnboy tae come back wae The Sunday Echo.  She’d telt him tae nip roond tae Sherbet’s and that he hid tae come straight back.  She’d gied him five minutes and no a minute mair.  She thought aboot her reaction when she’d found oot that he’d been wandering the streets fur a week withoot Jimmy or the lassies knowing where the hell he wis.  When she’d arrived back hame tae the hoose wae Jimmy and found him sitting there, eating a piece and jam, she’d wanted tae run across and cuddle him, before slapping the hell oot ae him.  There hid been too many people aboot, so she’d held her hersel back.  Jimmy and the lassies thought it wis the following Friday that he wis being released fae Larchgrove.  Thank God they hidnae telt her he wis missing when she’d been in the jail, she thought tae hersel.  She’d sat doon wae him wance the place hid been tidied the day before.  He’d telt her that he’d been staying wae his pals and furgoat tae come hame.  Christ, imagine if something hid happened tae him.  Her temper hid dampened doon as a result ae the party, plus she’d a bit ae a hangover, so he’d goat aff lightly.  He wis tae be kept in o’er the next few weeks.  Efter school, she wanted him hame as soon as the bell went aff…no ifs or buts.  He wis oan his final warning.  Any mair trouble and it wid be a stick that she’d use oan him.  When she’d found oot that aw his pals hid goat lifted oan the Friday morning by the polis, she suspected that that hid been the real reason behind his sudden reappearance.  She wisnae too bothered aboot his pals being lifted.  It wid gie her time tae stamp oan him.  Jimmy said that he’d been in a terrible state o’er that horse ae his.  He’d said that Jessie wis him and his pals’ favourite.  Efter the meeting wae The Rat the day before, aw the wummin hid agreed that they’d chip in a wee donation tae get a wreath fur the poor cart driver who’d died.  Mary Gucci hid said that she’d sign aw the boys names oan it, including the wee boy that hid died in the fire.  She thought the boys wid appreciate this being done oan their behauf.  Johnboy hidnae mentioned the cart driver, so Helen assumed that he wisnae aware ae the seriousness ae the accident, which wis probably fur the better.  Efter aw, he wis only ten years auld.

  The meeting wae The Rat hid gone well.  Efter a bit ae suspicious silence fae the wummin folk, he’d telt them whit he wis planning tae write aboot.  Wae Helen’s encouragement, they’d telt him aboot the grief the boys hid been getting aff the local polis aw summer, particularly fae the two sergeants.  Efter the meeting, wance he’d scurried aff tae write up his story, they’d aw been in agreement that despite the good write up he’d gied them aboot the riot up in John Street previously, they still widnae trust him as far as they could fling him.  Her thoughts wur interrupted and she smiled when she heard Hopalong Cassidy tearing up the stairs, two at a time.

  “Here ye go, Ma,” Johnboy
panted, keeping oot ae slapping range.

  “Right, go and gie yer da a shout and tell him Ah’ve goat the paper.”

  Helen laid it oan the table and spread it oot.  The main story oan the front page wis aboot the bank robbery that hid taken place up oan Parly Road oan Friday morning.  Although the bank widnae confirm it, the paper said that the robbers hid goat aff wae jist o’er three thousand pounds, bit that the workers ae the firms affected, wid still get their wages, even though they’d hiv tae wait until the Monday.  She turned the page. There wis a photo ae the horse and cart wae the lorry that hid jack-knifed oan St James Road oan Friday morning.  By the time she wis hauf way through the paper, Jimmy hid arrived in his underpants and string vest.

  “Whit dis it say then?”

  “Nothing.  No a peep, so far.”

  “Ye’ve probably missed it.  Oot ae ma way,” he said, taking the paper and turning the pages.

  “Anything?”

  “Naw.”

  “Gie’s it here,” Helen said, starting at the front page again, and slowly turning each page.

  “That’s funny…the way ye spoke, Ah thought it wis gonnae be oan the front page or something,” Jimmy said, scratching his right buttock.

  “Oh Christ!”

  “Whit?” Jimmy asked, leaning o’er Helen.

  “There!” Helen pointed tae a wee postage stamp-sized article at the bottom ae page ten.

  “Polis fished the body ae an elderly man oot ae the River Clyde in the Broomielaw oan Friday night.  It is believed tae be that ae Mr Harry Portoy, wan ae Glesga’s maist controversial criminal lawyers ae the nineteen fifties.  It is believed that Mr Portoy hid fallen oan hard times recently and wis staying in The Tontine Hotel, a centre fur those suffering fae alcohol problems.  Acting Lieutenant Sally Cross, Salvation Army Officer in charge ae the hotel, said last night that ‘Mr Portoy wis a lovely man, bit who, unfortunately, hid succumbed tae the demon drink in latter years.’  Inspector Mickey Sherlock ae Glesga Central Polis said there wis nae suspicious circumstances.  Mr Portoy’s family hiv been informed,” Jimmy read oot aloud.

  “They evil monsters hiv goat tae him…the basturts!”

  “Ye cannae say that, Helen.  Ye admitted it yersel. The man hid a drink problem.”

  “Ah’m telling ye, Jimmy, Ah know whit Ah’m talking aboot,” Helen said, her eyes filling up wae tears.

   “Well, Ah don’t suppose we’ll ever find oot noo, will we?”