The Silver Arrow (5 page)

  “Say that again?” he’d asked, the wan and only time she’d ever witnessed Gucci’s impenetrable demeanour tae slip aff-guard.

  “There’s a new pilot programme being introduced that would allow, er, certain inmates…YOs…those who would not normally be considered for early release, an opportunity to prove the exception to the rule that they are incapable of turning around their lives through the reward system,” she’d informed him cautiously.

  “And?” he’d sneered rather than asked.

  “I happen to believe that there is hope and good in everyone and that, with the right level of support, most people are capable of anything they put their minds to…although, I accept that for some, that may come across as conformity,” she’d added quickly, remembering their last encounter.

  “Or carrot and stick.”

  “Or maybe a golden opportunity?”

  “Aye, well…if ye say so,” he’d retorted dismissively, sitting waiting fur her tae continue.

  “Look, what is it with you?  Why would you look a gift horse in the mouth and not jump at the chance?”

  “It’s the teeth behind it that’s the problem.”

  “Oh, come on, Tony.  There’s strings attached to everything in life.  Even someone like you must realise that.”

  “Is that it?  Is that whit ye’ve dragged me away fae ma bandoliers tae hit me wae?”

  “We’re talking about the possibility of you being released, four…maybe even five…months before the end of your sentence.  How could you even hesitate or question the reasons behind it?  There are other YOs in here that would give their eye-teeth for a chance like this.”

  “So, why don’t ye offer them this golden opportunity then?”

  “Er, well, the scheme is only for a limited period and…er…only a few…er…inmates would qualify.”

  “Like me?”

  “As I’ve already stated, Tony, this would be a good opportunity for you to consider what you want to do with your life.”

  “Naw, whit Ah’m asking ye is…why me?  Whit criteria hiv ye matched me against that makes me the ideal candidate?”

  “Well…er…you’re habitual in your offending, for a start.  Your sentence, by Dumfries standards, is a relatively short one and the time being rewarded back to the successful candidates is inconsequential to the number of young offenders incarcerated in institutions like Dumfries overall.”

“Meaning somewan like me widnae be missed in a shithole like this?”

“The aim of the pilot is to closely monitor and supervise the parolees…weekly…daily, if required, which is quite radical, by the way, with the ultimate aim of widening it out, if it proves successful.”

  “And ye’re daft enough tae think ye’ll notch up a success by choosing a guinea pig like me?  Christ, ye must be a glutton fur punishment,” he’d scoffed at her, looking at her the way a person wid look at a puppy efter it hid accidently tumbled intae a cauld muddy puddle heid first.

  “As I’ve said, there is a stick element to it.”

  “So, whit dis the monitoring and supervision look like tae the lucky YO then?”

  “It means he would have to report to a supervisor on a daily or weekly basis, up to a year beyond his original release date, which in your case, would be twelve months from May of next year.  Of course, the level of supervision is discretionary, and could be terminated earlier if the supervisor deemed the ex-offender was making good progress and responding to the support being offered.”

  “That’s the pain in the arse bit ae it.  Whit’s the real negative side?”

  “Er…well…if the ex-offender refused to co-operate, once released, he could be recalled to complete his sentence and would still have a mandatory twelve month supervision order placed on him at the end of his sentence.”

  “Why dae Ah deserve this?”

  “Well, I have been asked to nominate a few inmates.”

  “Ye mean the no-hopers that ye think will fail miserably and end up back in the jail wae a probation tag stapled tae their foreheids further doon the line?”

  “If you want to put it that way…yes, probably…but then again, if the inmate really wanted to go straight…turn around his life…then qualified help would be at his disposal.”

  “So, who else hiv ye goat in mind then?”

  “I was thinking of William Johnston and Patrick McCabe.”

  “Well, ye kin furget Snappy…he’ll laugh ye oot the door, if ye go anywhere near him wae this shite and Pat’s awready applied fur parole.”

  “The only way Patrick McCabe will get an early release is through this scheme,” she’d replied emphatically, recalling the governor’s response when she’d put McCabe’s name forward alang wae Gucci’s and Johnston’s.

“McCabe?  Not the one who thinks he knows everything there is to know about jewellery?  Is he not some sort of an imbecile, that one?” The Governor hid exclaimed, shaking his heid in disbelief.

  “So, when wid we be talking aboot?” Gucci hid finally asked, efter sitting silently, staring at her wae a broody expression splashed across that dark handsome face ae his.

  “Well, it’s September now.  Certainly no later than the end of January, but it could be sooner,” she’d replied, haudin her breath.

  “Four months,” he’d murmured, pursing his lips.

  “Once the paperwork was completed at this end, it would have to be considered and verified by The Department in Edinburgh, of course.  These things take time.”

  “The parole board?”

  “No, the parole board wouldn’t entertain the request.  This would be an internal decision, as part of a wider pilot research scheme.”

  “Whit’s the governor saying aboot it?”

  “He’s supportive, although, like everyone else, he has certain, er, reservations…and misgivings”

  “Christ, anywan wid think youse wur trying tae get rid ae us,” he’d hit her wae, the first time she’d seen whit passed as a smile, since she’d interviewed him efter his arrival, eighteen months earlier.

  “Ah’ll think aboot it,” he’d finally said, throwing her intae a blind panic.

  “I would appreciate an answer now,” she’d retorted, probably too quickly, bit she’d been determined tae staun her ground.

  “Wid ye noo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wid ye no be better tae speak tae Snappy and Pat first?”

  “I’m speaking to you.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m sure if you agree, Snappy Johnston will follow suit.”

  Silence.

  “And if Ah don’t?”

  “Then your friend, Pat McCabe, can forget any chance of parole.  This is his only route out of here before May of 1975.”

  Silence.

  “So, whit dae ye want me tae dae then?” he’d asked grimly, scowling across the table at her.

  “Complete this application…now.  I’ll assist you if you need any help or clarification,” she’d replied, smiling pleasantly, quickly sliding an application and a pen across the desk tae him.

  She hidnae been able tae believe her luck as she’d sat watching him.  He’d asked fur nae assistance while he filled oot the reasons why he should be considered.  Efter five minutes, he’d casually tossed the pen across the desk towards her, glancing at her as he settled back in the chair.

  “You’ll need to sign it,” she’d reminded him, as he quickly stretched across, picked up the pen and signed his name wae a quick flourish oan pages wan, five and six, this time leaving the pen oan tap ae the form, bit still oan his side ae the desk as if he didnae want tae gie up his soul. 

  She’d wanted tae laugh at him and ask him tae pass the application and pen back across tae her, bit hid decided no tae, allowing him his wee show ae rebellious expression.  She’d felt a thrill go through her body watching him sign.  It hid only taken a few seconds, bit she’d known wae that wan gesture that he’d crossed the compromising line tae her side ae the desk.  It hid taken her eighteen months, bit she’d goat there in the end.  She felt disappointed that there hidnae been anywan present tae witness her triumph.  When she’d looked intae they lovely dark Latin eyes ae his, she’d realised that signing that application hid been a very difficult and challenging thing fur him tae dae.  The fact that aw she’d seen wis hatred staring back at her wis irrelevant.  He knew that he’d voluntarily come across tae her side ae the fence and that she hid dealt wae him oan her terms, no his.  She wisnae gonnae rub his nose in it, bit insteid hid jist gently said, “Thank you.” 

  She glanced doon at his signature again.  She still couldnae believe it.  No matter how hard she tried, reflecting back oan their conversation, analysing whit hid been said fae different angles, she couldnae detect anything that he’d agreed tae that wid allow Gucci tae back oot.  She wis sure that he’d lost enough face and that he widnae be wanting to come back fur seconds.  Efter signing the form, he’d stood up tae leave, withoot saying anything tae her.  Because ae the way she’d been feeling aboot her confidence, she’d felt the need tae hiv the last word.

  “But, of course, Tony, The Department will still have to approve who I recommend,” she’d said, as he turned and opened the door, walking through intae the corridor tae where Mr Hamilton, the security escort officer wis waiting, withoot saying a word or gieing her a backward glance.

  Maybe Senga Jackson hid been right aboot Tony Gucci being misrepresented by the authorities, the night that her, Fanny and Alison hid spent getting drunk thegither in Fanny’s wee cottage.  According tae Senga, Tony Gucci wis nae mair violent than anywan else who broke the law.  She wid know as she’d known Tony Gucci aw her days and she wis a trained nurse.  She’d know whit she wis talking aboot. Fanny gently ran the tips ae her fingers alang her thigh, feeling the soft fabric ae the Bill Blass troosers that hid arrived in the post the day before wae two beautiful Bobbie Brooks silk scarves fur Alison.  She hidnae pretended tae Alison that she’d ever heard ae Bill Blass or Bobbie Brooks before Senga hid explained who the likes ae C&A and Etams copied their clothing lines fae.  Names like Bobbie Brooks, Halston, Missoni, Chanel and how they wur responsible fur whit everywan in the street wur wearing these days hid been fascinating.  Fanny hid never really gied much thought tae where aw the lovely midi-skirts and trooser suits originally came fae, although she wis aware that Mary Quant hid invented the mini skirt.  There hid been a wee card in the package. ‘Thank you for allowing me to come to my senses before it was too late.  Luv Senga x,’ it hid read. Fanny smiled.  Although some ae the evening wae Alison and Senga hid been difficult, no jist fur her, bit fur them aw, Senga hid been hilarious wae her stories aboot whit the so-called Manky Mob, as she referred tae them as, goat up tae as they wur growing up.

  “Hardened criminals?  Mair like hapless harridans, if ye ask me,” she’d screamed at them, as they’d doubled up wae laughter.

  The funny stories hid continued when Fanny hid asked Senga why she called the chap who’d been driving their Transit bus Angelo and Simon.  Alison and Fanny hidnae been able tae keep their eyes dry when Senga hid explained that Angelo Dundee wis Muhammad Ali’s boxing trainer, and that Simon’s assertion wis that the screws wur aw too dumb tae suss that wan oot.  When he’d arrived at aboot quarter tae three in the morning tae pick Senga up, Senga hid introduced him tae Alison and Fanny as Angelo.

  “Is that not the same name as Muhammad Ali’s manager?” Fanny hid asked him, wae a twinkle in her eye.

  “Same name, different spelling,” he’d replied, straight-faced, before joining in wae the hilarity, as the three drunken wummin hid fallen aboot the two couches laughing.

  Alison hid been right no tae feel threatened by Tony Gucci’s presence in the visiting room and hid put this doon tae Senga Jackson being present.  Fanny hid also felt different since she’d met Senga.  Although she wisnae a hundred percent convinced about Senga’s decision tae reconnect wae Johnboy Taylor efter some ae the things he’d done tae her, Senga hid come across as being smart, funny, sassy and stunningly beautiful.  Fanny felt that she understood the Springburn boys better since that Saturday night.  Of course they wur criminals…thugs who’d inflicted violence oan innocent people…bit efter listening tae Senga, baith Alison and Fanny hid definitely hid their doubts as tae the level ae badness that hid been tagged against these particular YOs.  It wis difficult tae dispute Senga’s assertions.

  “Aye, they’re no angels, bit some ae the things youse hiv raised the night hivnae been ma experience ae them and Ah’ve known them maist ae ma life,” she’d said.  “Wid Ah trust Tony Gucci or Snappy Johnston?  Well, in some things Ah wid and oan others, probably no.  Could they be vicious if wan ae them goat assaulted?  Mair than likely…in fact, guaranteed.  Wid they steal the eyes oot ae the back ae yer heid if ye wurnae looking?  Maist definitely, bit they’re still growing up.  Maist ae the boys that people refer tae as The Mankys hiv started their ain businesses, like Jake McAlpine and his clothes boutique and Simon…er, Angelo, wae his carpet warehouse.  Ah heard that Tony hid gaun in tae the property market wae an aulder, mair experienced business wummin, knows tae everywan as Donna The Prima Donna,” Senga hid said straight-faced before they’d jist aboot fell aff ae the couches, peeing themsels laughing fur five minutes solid at the name.

  “Oh my God, Senga.  Where do all these names come from?” Fanny hid asked before they’d aw crumbled again at Senga’s response.