The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 (16 page)

  “This is the Polmont Borstal Visiting Committee, Taylor,” the stupid basturt hid repeated, daeing whit he’d been telt, while at the same time, pleading wae his eyes fur Johnboy nae tae cause a scene and gie him a showing-up.

  “And we are here to help him…in whatever way we can,” she’d shouted, reminding The AG.

  “Oh yes, Lady Polmont, excuse me.  Yes, the ladies of the Visiting Committee are here to help you, Taylor,” he’d repeated, sounding as if he wis talking tae a dummy in some shoap windae.

  “Wae whit?” Johnboy hid asked him, getting fed up awready, as The AG’s face creased up in horror.

  “W…What?” he’d demanded fearfully.

  “Help me wae whit?”

  “Er, well…”

  “With whatever you require help with,” wan wee brave soul hid volunteered fae in amongst aw they glassy-eyed deid foxes, as everywan’s heids and feathers aw nodded up and doon in agreement, like a scene oot ae an early black and white Sinbad film.

  Johnboy hid stood there, weighing up the situation.  He’d been dying tae let rip wae that arse ae his, knowing fine well that it wid upset them, especially efter he’d being made tae eat something that hid been deid longer than it should’ve been, that hid been served up tae him the night before.  He stood wondering whit he hid tae dae tae get a bit ae kip aboot the place.  Luckily fur aw concerned, he’d caught the eye ae King Porky Chops himsel, who’d been loitering jist ootside his cell door.  Baker The Basturt’s gaze hid warned Johnboy that if he wanted oot ae borstal oan Hogmanay, then he’d better play ball.  It hid been wan ae they rare times in Polmont that a uniform hid suddenly become visible tae him, withoot hivving tae shout or jump up and doon tae get his attention, upsetting themsels and everywan else in the vicinity.

  “Ah don’t need any help.  Everything is fine and dandy, so it is,” Johnboy hid replied tae everywan and tae The AG in particular, clocking the muscles oan Napoleon’s piggy face relaxing behind his braided visor, o’er by the door.

  “Yes, but do you have everything you need, Taylor?” Lady Polmont hid continued tae harass him, wae that plummy voice ae hers, looking aboot his empty eight by ten cell, addressing him directly fur the first time.

  Johnboy couldnae contain himsel and ignoring Napoleon, hid come oot wae a wee snigger.

  “What’s so funny, Governor?” she’d demanded tae know fae The AG, as aw the foxes oan the necks ae the visiting committee swivelled roond, looking at The AG fur an answer.

  “Er, I’m not quite sure, ma’am.”

  “Would it be because we’re asking him if he has everything he needs whilst the boy’s standing in the middle of a stark empty room?” the brave wee vixen who’d spoken earlier hid slung in tae mair ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs,’ as everywan, including The AG looked aboot the cell as if noticing it fur the first time.

  “Yes, I’m sure that could have something to do with it, ma’am, but in solitary confinement, the prisoners are not allowed any luxuries.  They have to earn the respect of the officers that have to deal with them on a day to day basis, and who have to work in an environment where fear of being assaulted is prevalent amongst their rank,” the fly basturt hid slipped in under the wire, rolling that auld dangerous prisoner chestnut oot.

  “And what tasks do the prisoners have to perform to be rewarded with the rules in solitary confinement being relaxed, Governor?” Johnboy’s new pal, The Vixen, hid asked, catching the lying prick oot.

  “Oh, er, once a prisoner goes back into general circulation, after having had time to reflect on his flouting of the rules in solitary confinement, he is then at the stage where the opportunity to prove that he is ready to be rehabilitated is upon him, ma’am” he’d purred like a lying cat, wae a smug smile oan that kisser ae his.

  “So, there is nothing to stimulate Taylor or Smith down here meantime, Governor?” another auld fox-throated biddy hid chipped in. 

  It wis clear that there hid been the beginnings ae dissention in the ranks, bit no enough tae stimulate Johnboy tae take advantage ae the situation.  Aw he wanted wis tae get back tae his bed-pipes.  He remembered staunin there wishing that they’d jist take their drivel ae a conversation aff somewhere else and leave him tae get back tae whit he wis daeing, whit wis fuck-aw, before he’d been rudely interrupted.

  “But, if you’ll beg my pardon, ma’am, we haven’t come up with a tried and tested successful method of rehabilitation...as yet…for prisoners whilst they are in solitary confinement, other than strict solitude.  I believe the government has wasted substantial amounts of money on research, but to no avail,” The AG hid apologised, trying tae make oot that he knew whit the fuck he wis rabbiting oan aboot.

  “What is that horrendous noise, Governor?”

  “Oh, that’s just the prisoners in the pallet workshop across the way.  To you, that may sound like a noisy racket, but to us professionals, that, ladies, is the sound of successful rehabilitation in practice…getting young prisoners back into the world of work.”

  Mair ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ and feathers bobbing up and doon hid followed that wan.

  “Well, I think we have to try harder on the rehabilitation front for these two.  Leaving young men festering in a dungeon is not what John Howard,
the great prison reformer, meant when he set out to raise the physical and mental health of our prisoner population, whilst ensuring the security of the institution was maintained.  Idle hands and all that, Governor, what?  Could you please ensure that Taylor and Smith, next door, are issued with the establishment rulebook, in order that they may learn how to conduct themselves in the future, once they join the other inmates in their rehabilitation journey?” Lady Polmont hid shouted.  “And do have a Merry Christmas, won’t you, Taylor?” she’d added fur good luck, as they aw shuffled  aff, trying no tae be the last wan oot ae the cell, jist in case they wur the wans that wid be taken hostage.

  Johnboy hid been concerned that he hidnae heard the vixen contingent gaun intae Silent’s cell next door, which only went tae show how tired he’d been earlier.  Trying tae get a word oot ae Silent must’ve been a bundle ae laughs fur them, he’d been thinking, when it dawned oan him that his cell door hidnae been noisily slammed shut efter The Vixens hid disappeared, tae the accompanying sound ae jangling keys and irritating tuneless whistling echoing up and doon the digger as per usual.  He also realised that none ae the screws, including The Chief, hid been wearing their tackety boots either.  His next interruption hid been when his grub arrived.  It hid consisted ae a plate ae watery soup that tasted much the same as the porridge that he’d goat at breakfast time, apart fae it hid whit looked like a bit ae an orange carrot floating oan the surface ae it, trying tae make oot that it wis entitled tae be there, and two slices ae stale breid.  Aboot an hour later, the talking clock fae the morning slop-oot session hid come stomping intae the cell wae his crony in tow…baith wearing tackety boots this time.  Efter putting the cell door haundle oan a deid-lock, Johnboy hid been ordered oot intae the corridor, where another two highly trained professionals hid been staunin, gieing him the glad-eye.

  “Right, get back in here and strip aff,” Tic-Tock hid shouted oot, efter spending five minutes searching the empty cell.

  Fuck knows whit they thought they’d find or how the hell they thought he’d hiv managed tae hiv contraband lying aboot, bit they’d carried oan nevertheless, withoot a word being said, which hid included peering in tae Johnboy’s mooth, ears and the crevice ae his arse wae a wee torch.  He’d been well oan the way tae being well pissed aff and grumpy when the door hid swung open again and Sick Screw hid re-appeared wae Stab-along Cassidy in tow.

   “Is everything okay, Taylor?” Sick Screw hid asked, as Stab-along stood behind him looking at Johnboy wae a big psycho grin plastered across his face, making stabbing movements wae an imaginary knife intae Sick Screws back.

   “Ah could be daeing wae a bit ae help in getting a sleep during the day aroond aboot here.  It’s like St Enoch Station at tea-time, so it is,” Johnboy hid attempted tae say, before bursting oot laughing in hysterics.

  “Oh, we cannae gie ye anything fur that,” Sick Screw hid said, turning roond fur confirmation fae the stabber, who wis noo staunin looking as if butter widnae melt in his mooth, as Sick Screw pulled the cell door o’er behind him.   

  Thank Christ it wis night and he’d goat his mattress in at last.  Johnboy felt his eye-lids drooping.  He wis well and truly pissed aff wae everything...the screws, Freckles, the lot ae them.  He knew fine well that he wis hitting the ‘Ah wonder whit day it is?’ stage ae his time in the digger.  Even though he’d eventually worked oot when it hid been the Monday because ae the hammering coming across fae the pallet shoap, he knew he’d soon start tae lose aw sense ae time, as the days crept by.  It didnae help that his daytime shift hid kept being disturbed by the coming and gauns ae the screws and they auld do-gooders who’d done fuck-aw do-gooding that day, as far as he could tell.  He suspected that the screws wur noo starting tae turn the tables back oan him because they’d sussed oot that he wis beating their rap by sleeping during the day and lying aw cosy through the night.  He knew he’d need tae get oan tap ae the ‘whit day is it?’ situation because there wis nae way he wis gonnae lower himsel tae ask wan ae the uniforms whit day ae the week it wis.  There hid been a couple ae times when he’d jist aboot started pacing up and doon the cell like a caged dug, bit he’d kept that in check.  Pacing up and doon in the digger wis a sign ae desperation.  He certainly wisnae anywhere near that stage yet.  He’d thought he hid it aw worked oot. Before settling doon each night efter his first night in the digger, he’d started tae take a wee bit ae dough aff ae his stale bun in the evening and roll it intae a tiny pea-sized baw.  Each night, he’d laid the breid balls in a wee row in the corner, tae the left ae the cell door.  The baws wur wee enough that the screws widnae clock them.  He’d been quite chuffed wae himsel, till he started tae get confused as tae whether he’d been in the digger three or maybe four days.  Wis it the early hours ae Saturday or the Sunday morning?  Hid the pallet shoap been quiet fur wan or two days?  He couldnae understaun why he wis getting confused until he’d opened his eyes and spotted the thieving wee basturt.  A wee moose hid been slipping under his door in the middle ae the night and helping itsel tae his good bun-baw calendar.  At first, he’d thought that he wis seeing things, as he watched the ‘wee sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie’ nip in, bold as fuck, and oot again wae the swag.  The perils and survival skills ae being a moose clearly hidnae changed since Rabbie Burns wrote aboot his wan in the field, Johnboy thought tae himsel.  He’d managed tae clock the wee roond bun-calendar clamped between its jaws as it scurried, stoapped fur a second, glanced back at Johnboy lying there watching it fae his mattress, before it disappeared aff back under the cell door tae eat its midnight feast.  Even if he could’ve jumped up and nabbed the smash and grab merchant, he widnae hiv bothered.  He wis convinced he’d seen a wee bit ae himsel in the glistening eyes ae the wee thing looking back at him…and well, he wisnae exactly in a position tae shout oot that he’d been robbed.  Seeing the moose hid a calming affect oan him.  Fur some reason, he didnae feel as if he wis oan his lonesome any mair.  Noo that he’d found oot why his baw calendar wisnae working, he’d need tae turn his attention tae the task in haun and come up wae a system before his second week in the digger started or he widnae know whit day it wis.  He glanced across at the light coming through the bottom ae the cell door.  There wis nae sign ae the moose.  He smiled tae himsel, before pulling the threadbare blanket up tae his chin and closing they tired eyes ae his.

Chapter Twenty One

  Tony gripped the edge ae the wooden slatted seat that he wis sitting oan wae baith hauns tae stoap his arse fae slipping aff ae it and landing oan the flair ae the van.  He suspected he wis heiding oot towards Lenzie, oan the basis ae whit Baby hid telt him, bit decided no tae even try and figure oot the route.  He knew that whoever wis driving wid probably go oan a long detour.  He’d been lying oan tap ae his bed fully-clothed, wae the bedroom door open intae the lobby, waiting fur the knock.  He’d sensed they wid come fur him through the night, so hid telt Kim Sui no tae come roond tae the flat fur a few nights.  He’d jist glanced at the clock beside his bed, which hid said ten tae two, when he’d heard the faint tapping oan his ootside door.  He’d quietly slipped aff the bed, intae the lobby and peered through the spyhole.  He’d clocked the ugly mug ae Wan-bob Broon staring back at him.  There hid been nae warm smile or friendly hellos.  He’d wanted tae mention Freckles, bit the tone ae the voice hid made it clear that this wisnae a social call.

  “Ur ye right then?”

  “Aye.”

  “Let’s go.”

  At the bottom ae the stairs, a white transit hid been sitting, jist ootside the closemooth, wae its back door open and engine idling.  When Tony’d nipped in and sat doon, Wan-bob hid quickly slipped a thick cotton pillow case o’er his heid before stepping in and sitting opposite him, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Tony sat and collected his thoughts.  Earlier oan, he’d tried tae work oot whit his approach wid be, how he wis gonnae conduct himsel and whit he wis gonnae say, bit hid eventually gied up.  The Big Man wis unpredictable and Tony knew that ye jist couldnae plan because things could go either way.  He wis also a bit worried aboot whit Baby hid telt him.  If it wis true that Pat Molloy hid been away, bit wis noo back, withoot anywan knowing aboot it, it put Tony in a dangerous situation.  Wid The Big Man feel comfortable if he knew that Tony knew he wis back oan the go?  And whit aboot Shaun Murphy and the rest ae the heavies?  Where the fuck wur they in aw this?  Why wid The Big Man no want his right-haun man tae know he wis back in the toon?   Tony wis still really angry at Joe fur messing everything up fur everywan.  He’d been jist as devastated as everywan else wis, when he’d found oot that Joe hid been stabbed tae death in Gourlay Street.  If he wis honest, he wis surprised that it hidnae come aboot before then as the signs hid been there fur long enough.  Toby Simpson wisnae wan ae they guys that anywan could reason wae and the severity ae the beatings that Toby and his crew hid been gieing Joe hid goat worse every time they’d goat their hauns ae him.  Tony knew there must’ve been times that The Simpsons hid goat a haud ae Joe that The Mankys hidnae heard aboot.  The fact that The Simpsons hid been using Joe as bait tae try and get tae Tony, said a lot aboot the basturts.  He wis also raging wae The Big Man fur no getting back tae him.  If Tony hid only been able tae speak tae him before noo, then there wis a good chance that Joe wid probably still hiv been alive.

  “Right, Tony, when we arrive, Ah’m gonnae take that bag aff ae yer heid.  Ah widnae stoap tae glance aboot...jist heid through the front door and it’s the second room oan yer left.  Ah’d also watch whit ye say and how ye say it.  He’s no happy wae a lot ae things jist noo, and he’s goat a lot oan his plate.  Don’t fuck aboot.  Jist state yer business and get tae fuck oot ae there.  If ye dae that, ye’ll be back in yer bed in the next hour or so,” Wan-bob said, as the van took a sharp right turn oan tae a crunchy gravel road.

  The van stoapped and then reversed before coming tae a halt.  Tony felt his arse twitch when he saw The Goat, aw six feet five ae him, staunin there, haudin the van door open, efter Wan-bob snatched the pillow case aff ae his napper.  Staunin, haudin open the front door ae the hoose wis Charlie Hastie.   Everywan knew that Hastie hid been a gunman fur the Krays back in the sixties.  Every noo and again, he’d disappear doon tae London oan a Friday night fur a wee job and then he’d be back tae work oan the Monday morning in Glesga, breaking legs fur The Big Man.  There wis nae use him saying anything, he thought tae himsel, as he gied The Goat and Charlie a wee nod oan the way past.  If he wis gonnae die that night, then The Big Man hid the right people wae him tae take care ae the business.  He entered the hoose and walked alang the lobby tae the left ae the stairs, taking a deep breath.  He pushed open the four-panelled door which wis slightly ajar, tae the sound ae ice cubes clinking in a glass.

  “Ah, it’s yersel, Tony.  Take a seat, son,” The Big man said pleasantly, replacing the cork ae his eighteen-year-auld Lagavulin, before settling back in his ermchair.

  Tony looked behind him and turned tae shut the door o’er.

  “Leave the door as it is.”

  Tony sat doon opposite him.  Although Tony hidnae seen him in o’er a year, he looked relaxed, wae a tan tae boot.  Despite whit people said aboot his reputation, Pat Molloy didnae hiv a cruel face.  In fact, sitting there, withoot his suit and tie oan, sipping oot ae a whisky glass and smoking a cigar, he looked jist like any other middle-aged businessman that Tony occasionally hid tae deal wae oan his travels.  In aw the time that Tony hid known him, this wis the first time he’d ever seen him in a pair ae slippers.

  “Ye wanted tae speak tae me?”

  “Aye,” Tony replied wae a nod ae his heid, his brain gaun intae meltdoon, forgetting completely everything that he’d worked oot in that heid ae his tae say.

  Silence.

  “Ah’ve goat a wee bit ae bother,” Tony finally confessed.

  “Hiven’t we aw?”

  “Aye, bit this is serious...deadly serious.”

  “Fur who?”

  “Me.”

  “So, whit’s this goat tae dae we me then?”

  “Ah need the go-aheid fae yersel tae allow me...us...tae try and nip it the bud.”

  “Why dae ye need ma permission?  You and that wee manky mob hivnae gied a monkey’s fuck aboot whit Ah’ve thought in the past, despite me being good tae youse aw these years, so whit the fuck’s so special aboot noo, eh?”

  Tony felt his anger flare up inside his heid.  He struggled hard no tae fly across the space between them and take that whisky bottle tae that heid in front ae him.  The Big Man smiled, reading the mind ae the young cheeky fucking pup.  Tony breathed in evenly, through his nose, trying tae keep his face deadpan, waiting fur his anger tae subside.  Oan the way oot ae the van, Wan-bob hid gied him a casual frisking, while helping him oot, tae make sure he didnae hiv anything lethal oan him.  Tony knew in that instant, sitting across fae The Big Man, that if he’d hid wan ae The Mankys’ guns oan him, he wid’ve blasted Pat Molloy intae oblivion, irrespective ae the consequences fur them aw.  Despite whit some people in certain quarters claimed, Tony hid never killed anywan…yet.  He slowly inhaled in some air.

  “Ye heard about Joe?”

  “Aye.  Ah wis sorry tae hear that…we aw wur.  He wis a good boy…when he managed tae keep that fucking trap ae his shut, insteid ae upsetting people.”

  Silence.

  “Ah want tae hiv a go at Toby Simpson…a real go.”

  “So whit’s stoapping ye?  Fae whit Ah’ve heard, ye’ve awready started,” The Big Man said, lifting his glass up tae his lips.

  “Naw, Ah mean, wipe the basturt oot,” Tony replied, as a fine spray ae single malt hit his face.

  “Ur you fucking serious?  Nae chance!”

  “Why?”

  “Because Ah fucking said so, that’s why!” The big Man roared.  “Tony, Ah’m bloody warning ye…don’t come fucking roond here trying tae upset everywan.  Ah’m no in the mood.  Ye wur well warned tae stay away fae they pricks, bit ye widnae take a telling, so ye widnae,”

  The Big Man wiped the dribbles fae his mooth wae the back ae his haun.

  “Noo, see whit ye’ve gone and done?  And where’s ma good Princess’s
ring?”

  “There’s hardly a day goes by withoot they basturts trying tae wipe us oot.  Ye cannae expect us no tae retaliate.  There’s nae talking tae them.”

  “Fae whit Ah’ve heard, ye’ve knocked back mair than a few meetings that Shaun his been trying tae set up.”

  “Set up?  Exactly.”

  “Tony, don’t fucking staun there slagging aff Shaun when he isnae here tae defend himsel.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Pat.”

  “Naw ye’re no.  Tam and Toby Simpson wid squash ye, and that wee manky-arsed crew ae yours, like fucking flies.  Ye widnae know whit the hell hid hit youse.  It widnae be a pretty sight either.  Ye couldnae take oan wan brother withoot the other.  That’s the benefit ae hivving brothers tae back ye up, no that Ah ever hid that benefit masel, mind ye.”

  Silence.

  “There’s no way in a month ae Sundays that Ah’m gonnae let somewan like you cause a bloody war, even though there’s certain people in certain quarters, who’d jist love that tae happen…tae take advantage ae the situation.  So, the answer is naw.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Ah’ve fucking telt, that’s why!” The Big Man roared again, this time, knocking his crystal whisky glass oan tae the flair.

  Tony watched the wetness seep intae the carpet.  He felt the bitterness well up inside him.  He’d never felt so frustrated in his life.  He knew he hid tae calm doon and play this wae a steady haun.  Even though the answer wis naw, he still wisnae back in the van safely yet, heiding back tae his kip in Petershill Road.

  “So, whit if Ah get somewan fae ootside tae dae it fur me then?”

  “A war wid still erupt and Ah’d still be annoyed at ye fur disobeying me.”

  “Okay, so whit if some other basturt done it and it wis nothing tae dae wae me then?”

  “Unless ye could prove otherwise, straight away, that it didnae hiv anything tae dae wae yersel or that bunch ae toe-rags that ye call a gang, then ye’d still cop yer whack.”

  “That’s no right, Pat, and ye bloody-well know it,” Tony spat.  “That mad fucking wanker stabbed Billy MacRae and assaulted Terry Marshall, oor two delivery guys, when they wur oan their milk runs in the early hours ae the morning a while back.  It wis lucky they didnae hiv any swag in the cabs ae their vans when it happened.  Joe McManus goat stabbed tae death last week.  Joe wis awready a bloody cabbage because ae Toby Simpson and they other liberty-taking basturts he’s goat roond aboot him, bit he still wisnae happy and kept coming back fur mair.  Ye’ve known Joe...us...Johnboy and Silent, since we wur aw wee snappers.  Look at everything we’ve done fur ye o’er the years.  Why wid ye no want tae help us oot when we’re up tae oor eyes in it, eh?”

   “Tony, don’t come in here wae yer amateur dramatics.  Whit the fuck hiv ye done fur me o’er the years that ye wurnae well paid fur, eh?”

  “We broke intae hauf the dookits in the city tae get ye aw they good doos, when ye wur in the doo business.”

  “Ye broke intae three or four wee scabby dookits fur me.”

  “Ah screwed Mad Malky’s windae box across in Possil and goat ye that big special Horseman Thief Pouter tae add tae yer breeding programme…and Ah’ve still goat the scars tae prove it efter his dug jist aboot chewed ma erm aff,” Tony added bitterly, lifting up his wrist and showing The Big Man the scar.

  “Ah’ve a bigger scratch oan ma tadger, so Ah hiv.”

  “We supplied ye wae aw they fancy tranny radios when they first came oot at the time ae yer ma and da’s anniversary, remember?  Whit year wis that?  Nineteen sixty something?”

  “Sixty five.”

  “And if it wisnae fur us screwing that polis car, doon in the lane opposite The Chevalier Casino, and stealing that briefcase wae aw the details ae whit corrupt polis and Corporation officials wur getting back-haunders fur, wid ye still be sitting there happy wae yersel?  Dae ye think that bunch ae Irish Brigade inspectors wid’ve aw ended up jailed or sacked?  Wid that chief superintendent still be alive, still hassling yer arse, insteid ae being deid and buried long ago, efter shooting himsel in the heid?  That wis us…including Joe…who helped ye oot when ye needed it, Pat.  It’s no as if Ah’m asking ye tae dae it yersel or get involved, so Ah’m no.”

  “And whit aboot that Duke’s daughter then?  Youse wee fuckers ripped me aff there, so youse did.  Ah could’ve made a bloody fortune oot ae her.”

  “Look, that wis different, so it wis.  That wis Paul’s shout.  We wurnae gonnae undermine whit he wanted…even fur somewan like yersel.”

  Silence.

  “Ma glass is empty,” The Big Man said, eyeballing him, no moving tae pick up the glass fae the flair.

  “We’ve hardly been able tae move fur aboot a year noo.  Every time they Simpson basturts come across any ae us, they hiv a go.  We’re trapped in Springburn,” Tony said, ignoring the glass.

  “That’s whit happens in business when ye fuck up and don’t show a bit ae respect tae yer elders.  If ye urnae strong enough tae keep yer heid above the water line and stay oot ae trouble, then maybe ye should jack it in and try something else…like plumbing or working oan a building site,” The Big Man said, trying nae tae smile at the flare-up behind the dark eyes in front ae him.

  “Ah’ve been mair than ready tae dae something aboot it fur months noo, bit Ah didnae want tae staun oan anywan’s toes…especially yours, Pat.”

  “Why wid ye be staunin oan ma toes?”

  “Because they basturts hiv changed their tactics o’er the past few months.  Aw the damage against us is being done tae us across in Springburn noo.  We’ve no been too sure whit the score wis wae they Simpsons, given that they seem tae be aw o’er the place, coming and gaun…as if they own Springburn.  We assumed you’d gied them the nod tae come and go as they please,” Tony replied, feeling a bit ae satisfaction at the reaction tae that last jibe ae his.