Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (54 page)

  “How did ye know we’d been and gone then?”

  “Ah heard youse shouting oan me, bit by the time Ah goat tae the bottom ae the drive, youse wur offskie.  Ah knew which way youse wur heided though.”

  “Aye, it’s a bit ae a tight squeeze back here,” Joe said.

   “Is that a radio Ah kin see?” Johnboy asked, leaning forward between the two front seats.

  “Aye, dae ye want it oan?” Paul asked, as the sounds ae Tommy James and The Shondells’ ‘Mony, Mony’ came blasting oot ae it.

  They wur jist aboot tae leave the lights ae Paisley behind them.  Silent wis awready snoozing oan Johnboy’s right haun side when Joe pushed Johnboy tae make mair room fur himsel. 

  “Ah’m sitting oan something,” Joe said, producing a broon leather bag.

  “Whit’s in it?”  Tony asked fae the front, hauf-turning roond.

  “Folders wae papers in them.  It looks like files.  There’s fuck aw else in it.  Open yer windae, Tony.”

  Johnboy jist managed tae clock the name, Patrick McSwiggan, oan the tap ae wan ae the files as Joe wis haunin it o’er tae Tony.

  “Wait, that’s Patsy’s name oan that file.  Let me see it,” Johnboy yelped, grabbing the bag oot ae Tony’s haun as the wind fae the open windae blasted everywan in the car. “Let’s hing oan tae this.  Look, it says Miss F Flaw oan the side ae the bag.  Ah bet that’s aw oor files in there.”

  Johnboy sat wae the bag oan his knees, as they ran oot ae street lights and intae the darkness ae Paisley Road West, heiding towards the orange glow in the distance, wae everywan, except Silent, joining in wae Jimmy Cliff, howling aboot poor Mrs Broon getting a telegram fae Vietnam.              

Chapter Twenty

  Fanny glanced at the luminous dial beside her pillow.  It wis
two o’clock in the morning and the season ae goodwill wis upon everywan.  She’d jist switched the radio oan doon low.  She wisnae sure whit station or whit country in Europe the music wis coming fae other than it wis playing doon aw the UK chart pop songs fur nineteen sixty eight.  Although she wis feeling utterly miserable, she found hersel humming alang tae ‘Whit A Wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong and ‘Ah Say Ah Little Prayer’ by Aretha Franklin.  Mr Brush hid telt her at the staff meeting earlier in the day that she widnae furget her birthday in a hurry.  How right that statement hid turned oot tae be, she groaned.  She’d thought she’d known the depths that the staff could go tae, bit tonight hid totally turned her life upside doon.  Mr Bick, the deputy heidmaster, hid telt her tae take early leave and no tae come back until efter Christmas, although nae doubt, she wid need tae keep in contact wae the polis in Paisley meantime.  He said that the school wid pass her contact details oan at his end.  She’d wanted tae remind him that she wisnae employed by the school, bit the shock ae the evening’s events hid left her unable tae speak, so she’d jist nodded.  She started tae sob, surprised that she hid any mair tears left tae shed.  The concert itsel hid been a great success.  She’d sensed that something wis up though, jist before the curtain hid eventually closed.  She hidnae realised jist how long the clapping and cheering hid gone oan fur until she’d seen Mr Burns snarling at the big skinny boy fae Aberdeen tae shut the curtains.  A few seconds later, Mr Bick hid appeared backstage, alang wae Mr Burns and Mr Campbell.  Even when the lights hid been switched oan, she still hidnae been aware ae whit hid happened.  Aw the staff hid started tae hustle boys back upstairs tae their dormitories efter the usual ‘Thank ye’ speeches.  The VIP guests hid goat their teas and cake and wur then hurriedly, bit subtly, ushered oot ae the building intae the night, jist as a polis van and two squad cars arrived at the front ae the reception doors.  The Chief Superintendent hid hung back, while a polisman took his wife hame.  It wisnae until the heidmaster briefed everywan that Fanny found oot whit hid happened.

  “Four boys escaped during the concert,” The Heidmaster hid announced grimly.

  “Dae we know who they ur?” Alvin Jack, the administrator, hid asked, looking white aboot the gills.

  “Aye.  Gucci, McManus, Taylor and Smith,” he’d replied, staring o’er at Fanny accusingly.

  “The wee basturts!  Ah bloody-well knew they wur up tae something.  Wait until Ah get ma hauns oan the basturts,” Mr Burns hid snarled.

  Efter she’d been hinging aboot fur aboot hauf an hour, Mr Bick hid come o’er tae her and suggested she should heid hame, as there wis nothing she could dae that night that wisnae awready being done.  She’d gone back tae her office tae get her bag, only tae remember wance she goat there, that she’d left it in the car.  Oan her way tae her office, she’d come across Mr Burns at the reception, staunin beside a box ae snooker baws oan the desk, haudin up a white snooker baw in wan haun and whit looked like a big mushroom in the other, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “Ah cannae fucking believe this!” he’d howled at the wee polis constable, who’d been staunin in front ae him wae a smirk oan that face ae his.

  When she’d gone tae where she thought she’d left her car, there hid jist been an empty space.  She’d looked aboot.  The snow hid been billowing aw aroond her.  There wur other staff cars parked between where she wis staunin and the gate at the bottom ae the drive and she remembered being a bit annoyed at the thought ae somewan shifting her car withoot asking her permission, tae allow the VIPs tae park nearer the reception door.  Oan her way doon the drive, looking fur her car, she hid been passed by several cars, arriving wae school staff in them.  She’d thought that they must’ve been called in tae help wae the search.  When she’d goat tae the bottom ae the drive and there wis still nae sign ae her car, she’d re-traced her steps slowly back tae the reception.  The snow hid been getting heavier and the cauld wind hid become a freezing blast.  As soon as she’d entered the building, she’d heard the screams and angry voices.  She’d gone through the security doors and alang the corridor towards the boardroom area tae where the noise wis coming fae.  She’d jist aboot fainted at the sight that hid confronted her.  There must’ve been aboot twenty staff lined up, roughly ten oan each side and facing each other, as they struck boys’ heids wae the batons they wur wielding.  The boys wur being kicked and punched, running through a gauntlet ae staff, between the bottom ae the stairs leading tae the dormitories upstairs and the secure cell opposite them.  She’d noticed wan ae the boys who’d been applying the make-up at the concert slip oan tae the flair, only tae be clubbed back up oan tae his feet and thrown forward intae another set ae baton-wielding erms.  Wan ae the boys, O’Hara…the wan they called Baby Huey…hid tried tae hit back in self-defence, bit hid been kicked and clubbed tae the ground.  Three other boys hid tripped o’er him when they’d come hurling forward aff the stairs as he lay oan the floor groaning, blood pouring oot ae his heid.

  “Get in there, ya basturt, ye,” Mr Burns hid shouted, hitting Flanagan, the wan they called Minky, oan the back ae the heid wae his baton, before the boy disappeared oot ae sight intae the cell.

  It wis then that Mr Bick, the deputy heidmaster, hid noticed her staunin there wae her haun up tae her mooth.  He’d haunded his baton o’er tae Mr Wilson and come rushing o’er tae her.

  “Fanny…Miss Flaw…whit ur ye daeing here?  Ah thought ye’d gaun hame?” he’d panted.

  “I had, but I think someone has stolen my car, Mr Bick,” she’d manage tae stammer.  “What on earth is going on here?”

  “Never ye mind that, lass.  We’re back in charge noo.  Let’s jist go alang tae the reception and Ah’ll send somewan alang tae gie ye a run hame in a minute.”

  She couldnae remember who it hid been that hid drapped her aff at her flat.  She hid said nothing and nothing hid been said tae her oan the journey.  She didnae need tae be back at work until Monday the sixth ae January.  That wid gie her plenty ae time tae decide her future.  It wis clear that her rehabilitation programme wis deid in the water.  She glanced at the clock again and wondered where The Mankys wur as Canned Heat started tae sing aboot gaun oan the road again.

  “Oh my God, the lunatics have taken over the asylum,” she sobbed oot loud, as she leaned o’er and switched aff the radio.

Chapter Twenty One

  Johnboy opened up the shutter, letting the light stream intae the room.  Paul wis kneeling o’er at the fireplace, putting a fire thegither.  Tony, Joe and Silent wur still lying sleeping oan the mattress, covered in a mountain ae auld coats.

  “Ye should’ve seen it, Paul.  It wis a real professional show wae real acting.  Ah wis sorry tae miss the ending.  It wis bloody funny as fuck,” Johnboy wis saying, clearly happy tae be back in the Toonheid.

  “Johnboy, it wis shite wae shite acting,” Joe volunteered fae the mattress.

  “Tony, tell him,” Johnboy retorted, looking o’er at the mattress tae where he thought Tony wis.

  “Ah’ve seen aw the films at the pictures.  Somehow Ah don’t think it wis supposed tae be a comedy, bit it wis that bad, it wis good.”

  “See!” Johnboy said triumphantly tae Joe.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Johnboy…whit the hell happened tae yer front teeth?  Ah never noticed the gap last night,” Paul asked him, grinning.

  “A mad German butcher whipped it oot.”

  “So, will ye always speak wae a whistle efter every word then?”

  “If ye think it’s bad noo, ye should’ve heard him jist efter it wis done.  Every word hid a dribble attached tae it,” Tony said, getting up and heiding through tae the kitchen sink fur a slash.

  “There ye go, boys.  That’s whit Ah call a fire, so it is,” Paul declared, as the torn-up flair lino burst intae flames.

  Johnboy stood looking oot ae the windae.  It felt good tae be back hame, even if it wis snowing ootside. They wur holed-up, oan the second flair ae an empty tenement, jist opposite Sherbet’s wee grocers shoap oan McAslin Street.  People ae aw shapes and sizes wur streaming in and oot,
maist wae The Glesga Echo tucked up under their erms.  A Barr’s lorry hid jist pulled up and the driver disappeared intae the shoap.  The van boy wae him wis dragging oot wooden crates full ae empty bottles and wis stacking them at the back end ae the wagon.  The driver re-appeared and wis lifting doon full crates and looking at his wee order book every noo and again, before walking roond and selecting the various flavours fae different parts ae the stack nearest tae the cabin.  Johnboy wondered if he’d be able tae make it doon the stairs in time tae nip across and blag a crate before they’d finished delivering their order, bit decided nae tae bother.  They wur close tae Montrose Street and the last thing he wanted wis tae bump intae his ma oot fur her tipped singles and morning paper.  He looked at the tenement building opposite them.  Hauf the hooses wur lying empty.  Ye could tell the empty wans.  Some ae them hid been left wae their windaes open a few inches at the tap or the bottom, even though it wis winter.  Johnboy turned roond and surveyed the scene in the living room.  There wur two mattresses lying oan the flair in the alcove, pointing lengthways towards him.  There wur two erm chairs, wan oan either side ae the fireplace and a plank ae wood sitting oan tap ae two wooden Barr’s Irn Bru crates facing the fire.  There wur three red tartan cushions sitting oan the plank.  Oan the left ae the fireplace wall, there wis a shelved alcove where Paul hid stacked their grub, which consisted ae a box ae crisps, four packets ae McVities Gypsy Creams, a Crawford’s tin ae mixed biscuits, a box ae MB chocolate bars and a box ae Penny Dainties.  Tae get a bottle ae ginger, anywan who wis sitting oan the plank hid tae staun up before lifting oot a bottle ae Irn Bru fae wan ae the crates under it.  Johnboy didnae know how Paul hid managed it, bit the crates hid a good mix in them.  There wis yer usual Irn Bru, alang wae American Cream Soda, Limeade, Orange and American Cola.  He turned and looked back oot ae the windae at the sound ae the empty bottles rattling in the crates as they wur being slung up oan tae the lorry.  This pair hid it doon tae a T, he thought tae himsel.  The lorry wis never left oan its ain.  If the driver wis in the shoap, the van boy wis ootside.  When the boy disappeared in wae the sack-barrow loaded wae ginger, the driver wis hinging aboot ootside, stacking crates here and there.  It wid need tae be a grab and run case wae this pair.

  “So whit’s the plans then?” Joe asked efter Tony returned, zipping up his fly and plapping his arse doon oan tae the plank.

  “We’ll need tae lie low fur a few days.  The bizzies will be aw o’er the place noo that we’re oot and oan the go.”

  “Whit ur we gonnae dae aboot these uniforms then?” Johnboy asked, looking aboot at the dark blue jaickets, similar tae the wans that the navy sailors wore.

  “We’ll need tae go snow-dropping tae get a change,” Joe said.

  “Furget that.  Nowan will hiv their laundry hinging oot oan washing lines at this time ae year.  Nothing wid dry,” Paul said.

  “We could always tan wan ae the nippy bag-wash shoaps.  They keep the denims and dungarees separate fae the other washing in the shoap.  When Ah used tae take ma da’s there, they always kept them oan a shelf, jist behind the coonter as ye go in the door,” Johnboy volunteered.

  “Whit dae ye think, Paul?” Tony asked.

  “Well, we’ve goat Shitey Sadie’s jist opposite The McAslin Bar or Jemima Skid’s place oan Glebe Street.  Take yer pick.”

  “We kin hiv a look and see who’s goat the maist denims oan display and take it fae there,” Johnboy suggested.

  “Right, that’s settled then.  We’ll go and get a change ae gear later oan the night.  In the meantime, who’s fur a game ae Bella?” Paul asked, lifting doon a packet ae Gypsy Creams and pulling oot a pack ae playing cards.