The Silver Arrow (39 page)

  “The problem is that they’re aw o’er the place.  Aw they seem tae dae is argue amongst themsels.  Ye get them tae agree wae something and before ye know it, they’re fucking upsetting the world wae their antics.  Ah’m aw fur democracy, bit if Tony wants tae be aroond in ten years’ time, he’ll need tae take the time tae instil a bit ae discipline intae them,” Charlie hid tut-tutted.

  “So, dae ye think that’s how long it’s gonnae take fur The Atalian tae become ready tae take oan some real responsibility then?” Pat hid asked the baith ae them.

  “At least,” Charlie hid replied emphatically.

  “Charlie’s right.  Young Tony allows them too much rope, insteid ae telling them tae get oan wae it,” Wan-bob hid agreed.

  “Dae ye know whit the new nickname is fur him up in Springburn and Possil?  The General, wid ye believe?  Mair like a fucking corporal if ye ask me,” Charlie hid snorted.  “Well, The General better get they boys ae his reigned in because Ah’m sick ae fucking warning them.”

  “So, how big hiv they become…number wise, Ah mean?” Pat hid enquired.

  “They’ve aw goat aboot ten tae twenty boys working fur them, no coonting the legit employees in the businesses they’ve developed.”

  “Oan the positive side, they’re definitely progressing the way it should be done…Ah’ll gie Tony that,” Wan-bob hid admitted.

  It wis nae secret amongst them, that Pat hid a lot ae time fur young Tony Gucci.  He’d watched him grow and although he’d never trust him as far as he could throw him, he admired Tony’s baws and determination tae dae good wae his life.  The fact that he’d always spurned becoming part ae The Big Man’s set-up, hid also endeared Pat tae gie him a break.  He wanted Tony tae succeed.  Tony Gucci wis the boy that Pat hid never hid.  He didnae know why he’d never ended up wae a squad ae brats himsel, bit that wis the way the dice tumbled.  Ten years?  He’d be well intae his sixties by then.  Wan-bob, Charlie and aw the rest ae the crew wid be the same, even though new blood wid emerge internally o’er time.  Despite the doubts aboot Snappy Johnston and the quiet wan, baith Wan-bob and Charlie hid agreed that they’d still welcome The Mankys tae be part ae their overall set-up.  It wid soon be time tae haun o’er tae the next generation.  Pat couldnae think ae anywan better tae take up the reigns, bit Tony still hid a long way tae go tae prove he hid it in him first.

  “Tony, Wan-bob and Charlie hiv been concerned fur a while noo that ye’ve goat a lot ae loose cannons roond aboot ye.  This whole carry-oan wae young Johnboy could get a bit messy.  Ah’m no prepared tae get involved in yer troubles if it means Ah end up hivving tae be nipping back here every five minutes tae clean up other people’s shit.  If we’re gonnae move forward, ye’re gonnae hiv tae focus oan the income side and stoap aw this wanton violence shite.  Violence only begets violence.  Times ur changing rapidly and we hiv tae be smart and keep wan step aheid ae the boys in blue that ur churning oot aw sorts ae new technology tae use against people like us.  While we’re farting aboot, hurting people, jist because we don’t happen tae like them, the opposition ur developing new ways tae undermine us.  People like Daddy Jackson and The Stalker ur a dying breed noo.  They’ve goat younger and smarter wans coming up through the ranks.  Ye’ll hiv tae keep they boys ae yers in check.  As long as ye keep us oot ae the heidlines, then Ah’ll support ye…up tae a point.  Bit a wee word ae warning,” The Big Man said, stopping and turning tae face him.  “Don’t go fucking crossing me noo, because Ah hivnae goat the patience Ah used tae hiv.  Hiv Ah made masel clear?”

  “Aye, Pat, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit…” Tony said hesitantly, relief evident in that voice ae his.

  “Bit whit?”

  “That fuck-pig ae a brother-in-law ae yours?”

  “Whit aboot him?”

  “Mind and tell that prick that if he thinks Ah’m gonnae be turning up every five minutes, like some wee pup, then he’s goat another think coming, so he his,” Tony growled, as The Big Man burst oot laughing.

  “Ye know, ye kin be such a prick, Tony.  His anywan ever telt ye that?”

  “Aye, Ah think it wis yersel the last time we spoke,” he replied, smiling.

  “Aye, well, jist you remember that.  Oh, and Ah’ll need another two tickets fur the show the night, by the way.”

  “Nae problem, Pat.”

  “
Good evening.  My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.

  Sensational allegations that appeared on the front page of this morning’s Glasgow Echo, concerning the police inspector at the centre of the so-called ‘Notebook Affair,’ alleging that he withheld vital evidence in at least three murder cases, has been strenuously denied by top police officers in the city.  Glasgow’s Assistant Chief Constable Jack Tipple, accused the newspaper of reigniting a historical campaign to smear the honesty and integrity of the city’s brave policemen, who are out there in all weathers, keeping people safe in their communities.  The Assistant Chief Constable also said that he was saddened by what had become of a once fine family newspaper and that honest citizens would be appalled by the scurrilous innuendo and mischief making on a par with Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s war time propaganda minister.

  ‘The Glasgow Echo’s Crime Editor, Sammy Elliot, knows fine well that the inspector implicated in the scurrilous article printed this morning has little right of reply whilst there is a current legal challenge over the pocket service notebook that could drag on for a number of months until a decision is taken as to whether Graham Portoy, a Glasgow criminal solicitor, can get access to it.  Democracy and justice have not been well served by Mr Elliot and The Glasgow Echo today…

  Hollywood, Madrid and Paris glitter came to Glasgow last night at The Edward Hotel on Buchanan Street as stars of screen and stage, along with a host of international designers turned up for one of Scotland’s brightest and best clothes designers, twenty-year-old Kim Sui.  Outside, police cordoned off the street between Bath Street and Sauchiehall Street to allow fans and well-wishers an opportunity to witness the glitterati arriving in fleets of limousines.  Anyone lucky enough to have got their hands on a ticket for the charity fashion show, would have been stunned by the array of top stars mingling with High Society Scotland.  As the Champagne corks popped into the early hours of the morning, all proceeds from the evening, thought to be in excess of three thousand pounds, are to be donated to Glasgow’s only women’s shelter by fashion designer Kim Sui and young clothing entrepreneur, Jake McAlpine, who owns upmarket Dirty Jake’s Boutique further down the street from where the event was taking place…

  Another local drugs dealer in the city has been shot.  Timothy Harris, a twenty-three-year-old from Finlay Drive, Dennistoun, is recovering in The Royal Infirmary after being shot twice in the head.  A hospital spokesman said that Mr Harris is lucky to be alive.  Although his injuries are not thought to be life threatening, after an emergency operation, it is thought that Mr Harris will, however, have lifelong injuries that will require constant care…

  A social worker and a policeman were both warned by Sheriff Clifford Grant regarding alleged statements they made in a case against a woman charged with child neglect.  The sheriff accused the pair of colluding and lying under oath…”

Chapter Forty Nine

Friday 24
th
October 1975

2.20 A.M.

  “Settle doon, Petra, it’s only the wind, lass,” Auld John Hamilton whispered soothingly tae his Jack Russell, reaching fur his clay pipe, as the wind whistled doon the flue ae his cast iron stove.

  He’d been working as a night watchman at the Hayford Mill in Cambusbarron fur o’er seven years.  It widnae be the job ae choice if ye wur easily spooked.  In aw that time, he’d never been confronted by anywan, including ghosts, oan his journey roond the large, spread oot complex ae red brick buildings, despite regular warnings fae The Department ae Home and Health people in Edinburgh tae be alert and oan the look-oot at aw times.  Occasionally, wagons wid arrive in the middle ae the night fae doon south, laden wae tons ae field kitchens, tents and large water vessels, tae be stored and forgotten aboot.  His boss hid telt him that, in case ae emergencies, civil unrest or natural disasters, the mill wid provide support tae communities throughoot the whole ae central and southern Scotland.

  “Sshhh, Petra,” he said fae within the cloud ae burning pipe tobacco.

  It hid been o’er three weeks since he’d first reported the broken windae latch doon oan block thirteen.  It wis high up oan the third flair and clattered violently every time a slight gust blew.  Tonight, the wind wis up and the windae wis crashing against the frame every few seconds.  He wis surprised it hidnae come aff its hinges by noo.  When he’d started his shift at ten, a large key, wae a broon crumpled thin cardboard tag tied tae it by string hid been sitting oan his wee table beside his chair.  He’d jist been able tae read the number thirteen written oan it, in faded pencil.  There hid been nothing else.  He thought they hid a bloody cheek.  He’d asked fur a joiner and they’d sent him a key.  Petra goat up fae her blanket in front ae the fire and trotted across tae the door and whimpered, sniffing underneath it, before sitting doon, occasionally looking back at him.

  “Aye, awright, hen, wait until Ah get ma gear,” he sighed in resignation, staunin up and lifting that woollen scarf and bunnet ae his aff ae the coat stand, as the dug started tae get excited.

  Efter putting oan his thick coat o’er the tap ae his jaicket, he slung his tool bag o’er wan shoulder and the middle rung ae his wooden stepladder o’er the other wan before switching oan the torch as he opened the door tae the ootside.  Petra didnae hing aboot and disappeared through the mass ae swirling broon leaves alang the drive in the opposite direction fae the main gate, disappearing oot ae range ae his beam.  By the time he’d caught up wae her, she wis getting hersel intae a bit ae a lather by running roond in circles, barking up at the crashing frame.  The howling wind nearly blew him aff ae his feet when he turned the corner ae the building.  He quickly followed the beam tae the big wooden door, wae the number thirteen highlighted in white flaking paint oan the brickwork, jist tae the left ae the doorframe.  Even before he hid the chance tae put the key in the lock, Petra wis scratching furiously at the bottom ae the door.  Wance opened, she scurried straight intae the darkness.  He caught a fleeting glance ae the white patch ae her arse as she disappeared up the broad, wooden staircase.  He didnae even attempt tae switch oan the corroded pre-war light switch, as he knew The Department controlled the power and hid removed the fuses fae the main switchbox in his workshoap-come-bothy tae stoap any nocturnal raiders turning up wae lorries tae empty the place.  Using that back ae his against the strong wind, he pushed the door shut behind him, before shining the beam up the stairs.

  “Third flair,” he announced oot loud, taking the first step, as the whistling ae the wind and the sound ae the windae crashing up above where he wis heiding echoed eerily doon the dark staircase.

  By the time he reached the third flair, he wis oot ae breath and took a minute tae get it back by loudly clearing that throat ae his. There wis still nae sign ae the dug.  He wondered if she’d heided straight up the stairs tae the flair above him.

  “Petra?  Where ur ye, lass?” he shouted, listening fur any whining while pondering how he wis gonnae reach the windae fae where he wis staunin. 

The whole wooden flair wis stacked tae the ceiling wae big canvas-covered square and oblong objects.  There didnae appear tae be a path through it.  He leaned forward and pushed the corner ae wan ae the big packages wae baith hauns, attempting tae shift it tae the side, bit it widnae budge.  He placed the back ae the stepladder against the canvas stack, making sure that it hid a firm base tae take his weight and extended it upwards.  Efter slinging his tool bag o’er his shoulder, he proceeded tae climb up, using wan haun tae haul his frame up, while using the other tae get a grip ae the canvas covering ae the big bales tae steady his progress.  Wance his heid wis above the level ae the stacks, he shone the beam across the tap ae them.  He could see the tap two lines ae glass fae each ae the windae frames running the length ae the side ae the building.  Each windae frame wis aboot twenty feet apart.  He lay doon the torch oan the bale he wis leaning oan and heaved himsel up aff ae the stepladder.  He picked up the torch and tried tae staun up.  He wis aboot eighteen inches taller than the space allowed, so he stooped doon as he made his way across the lumpy storage bundles towards where he thought the windae wid be located.  He heard a whimper.

  “Petra, where ur ye, ya daft galoot, ye?” he shouted, stoapping and listening. 

  He thought that she wis somewhere in front ae him, across tae his right.  He carried oan, treading carefully.  Some ae whit he wis walking o’er wis clearly tents as he could feel and hear the clink ae the poles under his weight as his feet sank intae the canvas bags, while in other parts, it wis smooth enough fur him tae walk unhindered.  He heard the dug whining again.  He could noo see the banging windae, bit the whining wis coming fae away o’er tae his right, nearer the wall that he supposed separated the section he wis in fae number fourteen, next door.  When he reached the wall, he knew the dug wis directly underneath where he wis staunin.

  “Ur ye there, lass?” he called, above the noise ae the clattering windae frame and getting a definite urgent response.

  He stood back and lay the torch oan a six feet by six feet metal container, tae the side ae the tents he wis staunin oan.  Oan his knees, he started tae pull up the heavy bags, sliding them tae wan side.  Despite the freezing cauld, he wis getting up a fair wee sweat.  He wis disappointed tae come across another lair underneath the first wan and so, started the process again.  Efter heaving up two mair tents, exposing a big black crevice, he leaned across and picked up his torch before shining it doon intae the cavern he’d uncovered.  Petra wis sitting oan her haunches, looking up at him, her two eyes being reflected like bright shining diamonds.

  “Noo, how the hell did ye manage tae get yersel back here?” he asked her, laying flat oan his stomach before leaning forward intae the gap wae the torch in front ae him.

  “Whit the…?” he gasped oot loud.

  It wis a square cell-like space that the dug hid found.  The flair looked tae be covered in whit he thought wis white plaster dust.  As well as Petra’s footprints, he could see the ootline ae footprints that hid been made by the soles ae whit he assumed hid been working boots.  There wis at least another two sets ae footprints as well.  Whoever that hid been, wan ae them hid been wearing whit looked like winkle pickers, gaun by the shapes ae the pointed toe prints in the dust.  He shone the beam aboot.  Where he expected tae see a continuation ae bricks, separating his flair fae the wan next door, whit looked tae him like an opening hid been there at some point in the not so distant past, gaun by the difference in colour ae the plaster between the bricks.  It hid either been a cupboard or a connecting door, bit whitever it hid been, it hid noo been bricked up.  He wondered how he wis gonnae get the dug up and oot ae the space.  He shone the torch oan tae the windae wall.  There wis a wee gap ae aboot eight inches separating the side ae the building and the storage he wis lying oan tap ae.  He grunted wae relief.  That hid obviously been where the dug hid managed tae gain access tae where she wis noo.  He wis jist aboot tae haul that heid and shoulders ae his up and oot ae the hole, when he caught something oot ae the corner ae his eye, jist tae his right oan the opposite corner fae the bricked up doorway.  He swivelled the beam across.  He wisnae sure whit he wis looking at until it dawned oan him that it wis a solitary shoe.  It wis lying oan its side, covered in the white dust.  Although it hid a wee heel oan it, it wis definitely a wummin’s shoe, as it hid a strap across the front ae it, like a sandal, insteid ae shoelaces.  There wis something else lying near it, bit he couldnae make oot whit it wis.  He lay doon the torch again and shifted his body roond tae a different position.  He picked up the torch again and peered doon at the object.  At first his brain didnae register whit it wis that he wis looking at…like some oot ae focus lens trying tae grab oan tae an object…and then it became clear.  It looked like a pair ae panties.  Even wae the dust covering it, the unmistakable smiling face ae David Cassidy wis smiling up at him.  He again looked at the plastered up wall and back tae the two dust covered objects, a strange feeling overwhelming him.

  “Right, Petra, lass, ye better work oot how tae get yersel oot ae there before the Bobby’s arrive,” he warned the wee dug, heaving they heid and shoulders ae his up and oot ae the hole.  “And don’t disturb anything either.”

  He slowly and carefully made his way across the tap ae the storage, ignoring the crashing ae the windae frame behind him.