The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Tom Bryce, sub editor ae The Glesga Echo, sat deep in thought, hardly noticing the bustle ae activity that wis gaun oan through the glass wall in front ae him in the newsroom.  He wis well pissed aff, so he wis.  He knew that Lord Frank Owen, the owner ae the biggest selling daily in the west ae Scotland...in fact...the whole ae Scotland...used the paper fur his ain political ends.  He understood that...that wis politics...bit the lead story in that morning’s paper hid said fuck-aw ae importance, yet hid managed tae make the front page.  It wis unbelievable.  Tom hid been in the office the night before, working oan the front page.  Three members ae the IRA hid jist blown themselves up in a place called Magherafelt, across in Northern Ireland, when the bomb they wur carrying hid exploded and the three ae them hid been killed.  The story hid been aw ready tae go tae press when the phone hid rang.  It hid been the editor’s secretary fae up oan the tap flair.

  “Mr Bryce?  Yes, Mr McGovern would like a word with you, right away, please,” she’d purred pleasantly doon the line.

  “Bit, er, kin it no wait a while?  Ah’m jist ready tae okay the morra’s front page. Everywan is waiting fur the go-aheid,” he’d snapped, irritated at the sudden interruption.

  “Oh, I think Mr McGovern wouldn’t be too happy to accept that, Mr Bryce.  He’s expecting you in exactly one minute…yes, one minute,” the wee smarmy cow hid purred before hinging up.

  Before he trotted up the stairs, he’d bumped intae Slipper, wan ae the paper’s photographers, who’d been sitting oan the stairs, hivving a fly puff while writing oot his bookies’ line.

  “The Queen hisnae jist croaked it by any chance, his she?” he’d asked him, hopefully.

  “No that Ah’m aware ae.”

  “Disaster then?”

  “Naw, no that Ah’m aware ae.”

  “How aboot a nuclear war then?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any war?”

  “The wan across in Biafra his jist finished, so it his,” Slipper hid informed him, trying tae be helpful, as Tom brushed passed him, looking at his watch.

  “Tom, it’s yersel, come in.  Sit doon and take the weight aff ae yer feet,” Hamish McGovern hid called oot pleasantly fae behind a desk that wis the size ae a tennis court.

  “Ye wanted tae see me, Hamish?” Tom hid asked, looking at his watch again.

  “Aye, it’s aboot us running wae the bombing in Northern Ireland oan the front page the morra?”

  “Aye, aw the competition will be running wae it as well, Hamish.”

  “Exactly.  Well, the morra, we’re gonnae be different.  Here’s the story Lord Frank wants ye tae run wae,” he’d said casually, sliding a press copy release across tae Tom.

  “It’s no April Fool’s day come early, is it?” he’d asked, looking up fae the copy he’d only hauf read.

  “That’s whit Lord Frank wants, and that’s whit Lord Frank’s getting.”

  “Bit, Hamish, Ah’ve awready goat the front page aw worked oot.  The presses ur jist aboot tae run wae it,” he’d lamented, hivving another wee quick gander at the story in his hauns and then back tae Hamish.

  “Tom, the decision his awready been taken…unless ye want tae phone Lord Frank at hame and tell him he’s no oan, that is?” Hamish hid challenged him.

  “Bit, er….”

  “And another thing, Lord Frank wants ye tae put that wee rodent...whit’s his name...oan the case?”

  “No Sammy Elliot…The Rat…surely?  Tell me ye’re kidding me oan, Hamish.”

  “The Rat...aye, that’s him.  We heard he’s back in toon.  He’s tae investigate, bit whitever he comes up wae, hisnae tae go tae print.  Everything he comes up wae his tae come up tae me in the first instance.  Hiv Ah made masel clear?”

   Tom jist aboot jumped oot ae his seat when the phone shrilled beside him.

  “Mr Elliot’s waiting, Mr Bryce,” the saucy wee thing wae the husky voice fae doon in reception informed him.

  “Oh right…ye better send him up, Trisha,” he reluctantly groaned intae the receiver.

  Sammy Elliot, also widely known…and feared by some…in the toon as The Rat, looked, walked and smelled like the scurrying wee rodent that everywan in the media knew him tae be.  He’d a hatchet-shaped face and two protruding yellow front teeth, sported a razor thin moustache oan that tap lip ae his, that he somehow, always managed tae keep trimmed pencil-thin.  Tom Bryce hid never seen him oot ae the auld, filthy raincoat that hung aff ae they thin bony shoulders ae his.  Tom wisnae sure whit the original colour ae the coat hid been, bit it always looked a faded shitey broon colour.  He looked up and beyond the wall ae glass in front ae his desk.  The Rat hid jist appeared through the doors intae the newsroom.  Tom could see the surprised and startled expressions oan the faces ae some ae the journos, especially Mary Marigold, who’d eventually moved up and intae The Rat’s job efter he’d disappeared, aw ae a sudden, at the time ae the big polis and Corporation corruption scandal back in 1969.  The Rat hid been responsible fur delivering some ae the biggest corruption stories in Scotland o’er the past decade.  Everywan feared him, bit because he wis the biggest arsehole that hid ever scurried aboot oan two legs, he’d never lasted wae any ae the majors fur very long.  As well as being known tae fraternise wae some ae the city’s biggest gangsters, he wis also very expensive.  He hidnae worked fur the Glesga Echo since 1969 when he’d left tae take up a post wae The Boston Globe.  Tom hid heard that he’d only lasted a month there, before being sacked.  He’d then disappeared efter that and hid only turned up, back in Glesga, a few days earlier. 

  “Tom, how ur ye daeing?  It’s good tae see ye,” The Rat squeaked, as he scurried through the sub editor’s frosted glass office door.

  “Sammy, Ah heard ye wur back.  Nice tae see ye,” Tom drawled, as The Rat grabbed a chair and dragged it across tae the front ae Tom’s desk.

  “Aye, Ah kin see things hivnae changed much aboot here since Ah last sat in this office, eh?”

  “Ah widnae say that.”

  “Ah’ve always wanted tae ask ye, Tom.  How come ye’ve goat a frosted glass door oan yer office, bit big clear glass walls oan either side ae it?”

  “It’s a long story that’ll keep fur another time and place.”

  “Tell me that it wisnae you that wis responsible fur that awful leader this morning?”

  “Ah’ve a wee investigative project that Ah want ye tae dae fur the paper,” Tom said, ignoring the question.

  “It wis you, wisn’t it?”

  “Ah approved it, bit the content hid nothing tae dae wae me, Ah kin assure ye,” the sub editor replied defensively.

  “Don’t get me wrang, the subject wis okay, bit the writing wis shite.  Ma wee sister could’ve written a better story than that and she’s whit they call dyslexic.”

  “Ah never knew there wis mair than wan ae you…Ah mean, that ye’ve goat family,” Tom Bryce exclaimed, shuddering, picturing aw these wee rats wae hauf human heids, scurrying aboot the back lanes ae the toon centre.

   “It’s a long story that’ll keep fur another time and place. So, whit’s the project?”

  “This morning’s leader…”

  “The wan wae the mysterious owner ae the missing ring that’s fit fur a princess?  Who the fuck came oot wae that shite, Ah wonder?”

  “This morning’s leader is yer brief, so it is.  This his come straight fae the tap ae the food chain.  Yer job is tae find oot who stole it, where it is noo, and how tae get it back tae its rightful owner.”

  “Who is...?”

  “Sammy, this is yer chance tae redeem yersel and tae be let back in fae the cauld.  Here, read this, bit stay well clear, and Ah mean well clear, ae the names contained in this folder.  Read it and digest the contents.  Ye’ve goat five minutes before it goes back intae ma safe,” Tom growled, sliding the folder across the desk.

  “Fuck, noo, this is the real news, so it is,” The Rat squeaked, whistling through they front teeth ae his.

  “And, Sammy?  Stay away fae gangsters.  Wan whiff ae that arse ae yours even being in the same street ae anywan that’s been busted fur a traffic offence and ye’ll be thrown back intae the gutter.”

  “How long hiv Ah goat?”

  “A week...max.”

  “Ah’ll need expenses and plenty ae them, if Lord Frank wants that princess’s ring back oan the finger ae...”

  “Wheesht!  Ye’ll get me the sack, so ye will.  Don’t ever let me hear ye mention her name again in here, unless ye never want tae work in Glesga again...ever,” Tom Bryce hissed, looking beyond The Rat, tae the journalists, tapping away at their typewriters oot in the main newsroom.   

Chapter Fifteen

Digger day Four

  It hid been a shite day aw roond.  Despite hivving been up aw night, Johnboy hid struggled tae sleep fur mair than a few minutes at any wan time during the day.  If it hidnae been fur the news ae Joe, he wid’ve jist put it doon tae getting used tae the silence across in the pallet shoap.  The worst thing aboot getting bad news in the jail, other than the news itsel, wis being stuck in the digger.  The pass-note fae Freckles hidnae said anything, apart fae the damage that hid been done and that Joe wis noo deid.  Johnboy hid swithered whether tae shout the news next door tae Silent or no, efter the screw hid put the cell lights oot the night before, bit he hidnae wanted tae alert anywan tae the fact that he wis getting news oan whit wis gaun oan, oan the ootside.  Whenever Freckles landed in the clink, he always ended up working in the kitchens.  The first time hid been when he wis in Thistle Park in 1968.  He used tae supply Tony, Silent, Johnboy and Joe, alang wae the Garngad crowd, wae aw the left o’er buns every night.  They’d always been guaranteed double helpings when Freckles wis dishing up the grub. 

  Johnboy could remember the first time he’d met Joe McManus as if it wis yesterday.  Johnboy must’ve only been aboot ten years auld, so Joe must’ve been aboot eleven at the time.  It hid been the same day as he’d met Paul McBride.  Tony hid jist arrived at Johnboy’s primary school that week, efter being expelled fae the Baby Rock up oan the Garngad and hid asked him tae come oot tae play that same night.  The playtime hid turned oot tae be breaking intae a wee tobacconist’s oan St James’s Road in the Toonheid.  Despite how he wis feeling, he found it difficult no tae smile.  Johnboy hid learned aw the tricks ae the trade fae Joe and the other Mankys.  Maist ae their thieving and blagging at the time hid been fur pennies, bit that hid soon changed as they started getting aulder and wiser.
It must’ve been roond aboot the tail end ae 1969, when Johnboy wis fourteen, that The Mankys started tae hiv run-ins wae the Simpson brothers fae across in Possil.  The Simpsons wur the type ae people that ye widnae want tae be friendly wae at any time, day or night, and tae cross them or their cronies wis bad fur yer health.  While The Big Man wis based in the Toonheid and operated mainly in the toon centre as well as the north ae the city in areas such as Springburn, Balornock, Burmulloch and Roystonhill, and tae the west ae the city, as far as Partick, The Simpsons tended tae operate in Possilpark, High Possil, the Bilsland Drive end ae Maryhill, Balmore and Milton.  Tam, the auldest brother, ruled the roost, while his younger brother, Toby, who wis a fully-fledged psycho, dished oot the damage tae anywan who encroached anywhere near tae where they believed their patch wis.  There wur two younger wans in the family…twins…who wur ages wae The Mankys.  Wan wis Toffee Arse, fae the pallet shoap, known as Toffee because he wis always eating penny dainty toffee bars as a snapper, and his twin sister, Kate.  Tony blamed Kate fur aw their trouble wae The Simpsons, bit it hid started long before that.  If anywan wis tae blame, it hid been Joe and that stubborn attitude ae his…and anyway, at the end ae the day, there wis never any reasoning wae the aulder Simpsons…everywan, apart fae The Mankys, wae any sense, knew that.  If ye crossed the line wae any ae them, ye could expect a hurricane tae come raining doon roond aboot yer ears.

   While Johnboy wis kicking they heels ae his, away up in Oakbank Approved School in Aberdeen in 1969 and Paul McBride wis trying tae get his heid sorted oot up in the Highlands, efter hivving his nervous breakdoon, Tony and Joe hid kept themsels busy efter being released fae the closed block up in Rossie Farm Approved School.  Wan night, no long efter their liberation, they’d robbed wan ae The Clydeside Provident Company moneylenders up in Petershill Road.  The Provi-cheque men, as they wur known in the toon, hid been responsible fur mair warrant sales and evictions than The Corporation, gas and electric companies aw put thegither.  Fur years, Johnboy’s ma hid always been ranting aboot that wee fact.  Borrowers, like his ma, spent maist ae their time coming up wae reasonable arguments tae justify getting a loan, as they wur supposed tae be refused if the money wis tae cover existing debt payments.  People wid ask fur a loan, saying that it wis tae buy clothes and shoes fur their weans, so that they could go tae school wae hauf decent clothes oan their backs…though maist people, including the Provi-cheque men, knew fine well that people used the loans tae pay aff the tic they awready owed through their Co-op book, The Corporation or gas and electricity companies, efter running up huge bills trying tae feed their families.  The problem, according tae that ma ae his, wis that maist people didnae realise that the interest being paid usually ended up becoming mair than the actual loan itsel in the long run.  The wans that did know aboot that fact, like his ma, usually still went aheid wae the loan anyway because they wur desperate.  Everywan hated the Provi-cheque men, bit couldnae live withoot them.  Johnboy’s ma always said that taking oot a loan wae the Clydeside Provident wis aboot robbing Peter tae pay aff Paul.  There wis wan Provi-cheque man in particular, a big fat sweaty basturt called Bawheid Baxter, who’d caused Johnboy’s ma and da a lot ae grief o’er the years.  Every single time their names hid appeared in The Evening Times warrant sales section, announcing their furniture wis tae be flogged fur peanuts tae pay aff their debt, it hid involved Bawheid.  Johnboy could remember when he wis aboot four or five and his ma hid taken him up tae the scabies clinic in the Garngad fur the first time, before tramping doon tae the debtors court in the toon centre, wae him in tow.  He could still picture aw these wummin greeting each other like long-lost relatives in the waiting room.

  “Who ur aw they wummin, Ma?” he remembered asking her.

  “Well, that’s so-and-so fae Roystonhill and that’s so-and-so fae Blackhill and that nice wee soul who’s sitting o’er there greeting is so-and-so fae Springburn…” she’d rabbit, as if she wis introducing him tae a bunch ae wummin waiting tae get intae the bingo.

  He could remember that she’d goat fined fur no paying aff her debts tae the Provi Company, oan the evidence ae Bawheid Baxter, who’d stood up in front ae the debt judge and sold her doon the river by calling her the maist untrustworthy, lying fork-tongued wummin he’d ever made the mistake ae trusting in his life, tae pay back a loan.  Even at that young age, Johnboy hid been horrified hearing somewan talking aboot his ma like that…especially in front ae her and everywan else in that big room.  He remembered sitting oan her lap in the dock as she took his haun in hers and gied it a wee squeeze, no even attempting tae defend hersel against the verbal abuse that wis being slung her way.  Wan ae the ushers in the court hid been meant tae be looking efter him while she wis up there being harangued, bit he’d wriggled free and dashed forward, jist as she’d stood up in the public gallery and walked across tae the dock facing the judge.  Baxter hid then hid the cheek tae confront her ootside oan the pavement and persuade her tae take another loan, efter she’d jist been fined fur no paying aff her last wan tae him.  He remembered his da hid gone ballistic at her when Bawheid hid turned up at the door two days later wae the twenty quid that she’d then used tae pay aff somewan else who’d arrived at the door an hour efter Bawheid hid gone.  He heard his da shouting at her that money wis like sand slipping through her fingers.  No only hid she paid aff wan ae her ain weekly payments, bit she’d paid aff two ae her pals wans as well because they wur aboot tae get their names put forward fur warrant sales.  Nae wonder his da hid gone aff his heid at her.  There hid been times, growing up, when Johnboy hid seen mair ae Bawheid Baxter than he’d seen ae his ain da, who wis always away driving long distance wagons doon tae England.

  The night in question, when Tony and Joe hid robbed a Provi-cheque man called Skinny Malinky up a closemooth in Petershill Road, hid jist been like any other night fur them.  They’d been oot and aboot in a stolen car, when they’d spotted Skinny Malinky daeing his roonds.  When they’d jumped oot at him wae lassies’ tights pulled o’er their heids that they’d blagged aff ae a washing line in wan ae the back courts, Skinny hid jist aboot shat they troosers ae his.  Tony’d said later that he thought somewan must’ve awready robbed Skinny in the past, because when he’d been confronted by him and Joe in the closemooth, he’d collapsed in fright, pleading wae them no tae hurt him.  Johnboy hid found oot months later that The Two Johns hid robbed him only a few weeks before Tony and Joe hid goat their hauns oan him.  Anyway, Skinny hid haunded o’er his takings before they’d even hid the chance tae gie him their best highway robbery spiel.  The poor basturt hid been that shite scared ae them, that they’d hid tae spend aboot five minutes trying tae calm him doon and convince him that they wurnae gonnae hurt him.  Wance they’d settled him doon, he’d started gaun oan aboot how he’d get sacked fur being robbed, when aw ae a sudden he offered the pair ae them a better deal than the forty quid he’d hid oan him at the time.  Skinny hid telt them that if they didnae rob him, he’d supply them wae the names, make ae cars and route details ae aw the other Provi-cheque men in Springburn, Burmulloch, Balornock, Colston, Milton and Possil, including aw the wans who’d operated in the Toonheid during the past ten years.  They’d jumped at the offer and wan week later, they’d hid a wee red school jotter wae everywan’s details in it.  Rather than go aff and start robbing every basturt in the book, they’d held back and decided tae share their good fortune wae Johnboy and Paul.  They’d blagged a car and heided up tae Aberdeen tae pick Johnboy up.  Efter they’d helped him escape, the three ae them hid then heided up tae the Highlands tae get Paul.  Because Paul hid been happy enough where he wis, Tony, Joe and Johnboy hid heided back tae Glesga tae start taking the money aff the Provi-cheque men wae the same gusto that the Provi-cheque men hid taken the Provi loan interest aff ae their mas and das.  It wis only when Johnboy hid hid a look through the jotter and hid seen the number ae Provi-cheque men who’d been operating in the Toonheid at any given time, that he’d realised that it must’ve been like locusts descending oan the Toonheid every Friday night and Saturday morning.

  “Like flies roond shite,” Joe hid quipped when Johnboy haunded back the jotter tae
him that first time he’d held it in his hauns.

The first three Provi-cheque men robberies hid been carried oot wan week apart and hid been straightforward enough, apart fae a few wee teething troubles. 

  “We’ll use these wans as practice runs…tae iron oot any wrinkles…before we start really gaun tae toon oan the basturts,” Tony hid declared.

They’d nipped Buster Blackcock at seven o’clock wan Friday night up in Menzies Road in Balornock.  The poor basturt hid been that feart that he’d pished aw doon the front ae his good Levi Sta-Prest troosers before, during and efter haunin o’er his dosh.  Next up hid been a guy called Simon Fisher.  Johnboy hidnae known him, bit Tony and Paul hid. He’d been known in the Toonheid by aw the local wummin as Simon The Sleaze, efter he’d been caught stealing a pair ae wummin’s dirty drawers oot ae the laundry bag in Foosty Taylor’s kitchen when she’d turned her back oan him tae fill the teapot at her sink, efter offering the clatty basturt a cup ae tea.  Tinky Taylor, her eldest boy, who’d been in Johnboy’s class at school, hid clocked him hivving a wee quick sniff before stuffing them intae his jaicket pocket.  Efter Tinky hid shouted oot tae his ma whit he’d clocked, Foosty hid proceeded tae knock fuck oot ae Simon The Sleaze.  Tinky hid run next door and gied a couple ae the other wummin who lived up the close a shout and they’d then arrived oan the scene, tae get tore in there themsels. Efter stalking his movements, The Mankys hid nabbed The Sleaze oan Scotsburn Road, up in Burmulloch, near tae where they’d nipped Buster Blackcock the previous week.  This time they’d goat away wae thirty three quid in mixed change and notes, which wisnae bad, considering a pint ae heavy wis wan and eightpence in 1969.  Bawheid Baxter hid been next.  Johnboy smiled, remembering that Tony hid felt the need tae offer a wee bit ae uninvited advice tae Johnboy which hid pissed him aff at the time.

  “Noo, remember Johnboy, we’re jist here tae rob the basturt.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye’ve offered the same advice tae Joe, hiv ye?”

  “Look, don’t make a big deal oot ae it…Ah wis only saying, fur fuck’s sake.”

  “So, why hiv ye no said the same tae Joe then?”

  “How dae ye know Ah hivnae?”

  “Because Ah wid’ve remembered, that’s why,” Joe hid slung in, smiling and stirring it up.

  “Joe, shut the fuck up and stay oot ae this,” Tony hid spun roond and snarled at him.

  “Don’t tell me tae shut the fuck up!”

  “You’re the registered psycho aboot here, no me, so don’t go offering me advice aboot how no tae hurt people, considering your track record in that department,” Johnboy hid sniffled at Tony.

  “Aye, you tell him, Johnboy.”

  “Well that wis a bit below the belt…getting personal and aw that,” Tony hid retorted in mock upset, before they’d aw burst oot laughing. “Aw Ah wis daeing wis jist reminding ye no tae get too personal wae Bawheid, that’s aw. It’s the money we’re efter and no a scene oot ae Cape Fear.”

  “Revenge might be the reason ye’re robbing the big fat sweaty basturt, bit it’s no ma reason, so it isnae,” Johnboy hid hit him wae.

  “He never dis look aw that convincing when he’s hivving a tantrum, dis he?” Tony’d turned and said tae Joe.

  “Ah think we should call him Mr Avenger fae noo oan,” Joe hid suggested.

  “Don’t you fucking start.”

  “Or, Mr Sensitive Paranoid Dickheid.”