The Silver Arrow (7 page)

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

  At least four people are believed killed and more than 60 injured after two bombs went off in The Horse and Groom and The Seven Stars pubs in Guilford, Surrey. All pubs and cinemas in the town have been closed, fearing further explosions. Surrey Ambulance Services are said to be stretched as…

  A policeman has been suspended after a man was found hanged in a cell in Possilpark Police Station this morning.  Despite strenuous efforts to revive the unnamed prisoner, he was found to be dead on arrival at Stobhill General Hospital.  A report has been sent to the procurator fiscal…

  The Light of Morocco Restaurant in Woodside Road was closed down today and the proprietors arrested after fifteen customers turned up throughout the night at various hospitals across the city, complaining of cramps and suffering from acute diarrhoea.  Sanitation Officers, led by Elvis Presley, the recently promoted Senior Sanitation Officer for the North of the city, were seen to be bagging and taking away the contents of the restaurants fridges and freezers…

  Police are clamping down on the city’s prostitutes in and around Blythswood Square and Anderston after complaints from female hotel staff working in the area of being accosted by male drivers looking for sex…

  Fire engines were in full readiness this afternoon at Glasgow Airport after a Spanish-run passenger plane made an emergency landing when the pilot smelled burning in the cockpit.  All passenger and crews landed safely…

  And still at Glasgow Airport, two stray dogs that wandered onto the runway this morning were shot after dog inspectors failed to capture them.  All passenger flights were delayed by two hours…”

Chapter Eight

  “Ah still think ye should let me dae the talking,” Ben McCalumn murmured, peering through the steamed-up windscreen ae the freshly stolen, wan point six, green Ford Capri Mark Two, towards The Kind Man pub oan Pollokshaws Road as the passenger plapped that arse ae his doon oan tae the passenger seat.

  “We cannae sit here.  Heid roond tae Alison Street and see if ye kin park up wan ae the side streets there,” Jake McAlpine instructed, deliberately ignoring the whinge, as he wound doon the windae at his side ae the car a few inches.

  “Ah take it he’s there then?”

  “He’s in the lounge, sitting oan his lonesome like some sad spare prick.”

  “There’s a surprise.”

  “Noo remember, Ben, Ah’m the wan that’ll be daeing aw the talking.  Aw you hiv tae dae is sit there looking dark and mean, saying sweet F.A.  We don’t want tae cause a commotion.”

  “So, ye’re saying Ah’d fuck it up…is that it?”

  “Naw, Ah’m the man that Simon delegated tae be in charge.  Your job is tae sit there and keep that gub ae yers shut…unless anywan interrupts the proceedings, that is.”

  “So, Ah’m the dafty…the muscle?  Whit wis the point ae me being here, eh?”

  “Ben, kin you put a bloody sock in it.  If this aw goes pear-shaped, it’ll be doon tae aw that fucking whinging Ah’m hivving tae be subjected tae.  If ye’ve goat a problem, take it up wae Simon.”

  “That prick?  Who left him in charge anyway, eh?”

  “Tony.”

  “Jake, shut the fuck up, will ye?  Who asked you fur yer opinion,” Ben girned, as the baith ae them exited either side ae the Capri at the same time.

  Happy Harry, Glesga’s longest serving desk sergeant wis deep in thought, focused oan wan particular bubble that wis competing wae its wee pals tae see who could reach the surface ae his pint ae Tennents first.  He’d been nursing his pint fur nearly hauf an hour noo, due tae being skint wae aw the debt he wis hivving tae pay aff. Six months tae go and he’d be oot oan that fat arse ae his.  Twenty two years ae ducking and diving, avoiding getting they size twelves ae his wet oan the vomit-covered manky pavements…and noo he wis nearly there.  He knew aw the boys in the station took the piss, bit apart fae the odd black eye, staved knuckle, where his right hook hid landed oan a foreheid insteid ae a nose and the odd broken tooth, he’d survived relatively intact.  He wondered if his survival record wid get a mention at his farewell piss-up at the polis social club in Bishopbriggs?  If the truth be telt, he didnae want tae retire, bit he didnae hiv any choice.  Rules wur rules and where wid everywan be if they wurnae there tae be observed?  He wondered where the time hid gone. Efter being demobbed, he’d gone fur a job in the pits.  It wis the only job, apart fae being a pavement pounder, that a hoose came attached tae it.  He’d applied fur the two and hid been selected fur baith.  Efter discovering that he suffered fae claustrophobia during his initial training in the mines, he’d contacted Glesga Polis and telt them he wid accept the job if it wis still oan offer. If only he’d been able tae keep that job oot in Midlothian he widnae hiv come back tae Glesga and met that wife ae his. Who could’ve known that Stella wid’ve turned oot tae be a vindictive hypochondriac, who’d gambled aw their measly savings oan the horses, while he wis oot slaving in aw weathers, day and night, in preparation fur his retirement?  It hid only been fairly recently that he’d managed tae get o’er the initial guilt he’d felt efter she’d died ae cervical cancer, when his good Austin Princess…his pride and joy…hid been carted aff tae pay aff the remaining ootstaunin debt tae wan ae The McGregors’ bookies across in Govan.  Tae add insult tae injury, the last horse she’d put money oan and lost the last twenty quid ae his life’s savings oan, hid been called ‘Hivving A Fine Time.’  Ah bloody bet she wis, he cursed under his breath bitterly.  The wee planned caravan that hid kept him gaun o’er the years, doon at the Heids ae Ayr Caravan Park, a quarter ae a mile alang the road fae Butlins, wis noo only a figment ae his twenty-two-years-ae-service imagination.  Granted they hidnae hid sex fur the past seventeen years, bit that wisnae an excuse tae go and bloody ruin his retirement plans, wis it? At the end ae her funeral, a wee weedy jakey type hid accosted him and tried tae hit him fur a few bob tae go and get himsel his next bottle ae cheap wine, efter informing him that his ma, Happy’s wife, Stella, hid informed him before she’d died that Happy wid gladly take care ae him if anything ever happened tae her.

  “Stella…ma missus…yer maw?” he’d exclaimed in shock, at another revelation he hidnae known aboot.

  “Aye,” the wee jakey hid confirmed.

  “Er…how auld ur ye, son?”

  “Sixteen…Da,” the wee basturt hid replied, staunin there in a filthy Rangers top, hinging fae that skeletal frame ae his.

Happy hid recently bumped intae Tam Mitchell, an ex-counterpart ae his, who’d loyally manned the desk across in Possil fur years, bit who’d been put oot tae pasture efter making the mistake ae alerting the Marine Division boys across in Partick that a shooting hid been reported up in Hillend Road in High Possil oan Hogmanay a few years back.  How wis poor Tam supposed tae hiv known that the shooting hid involved wan ae Glesga’s biggest gangsters and his shag-piece, posh social worker, who also happened tae be a prison governor’s wife?  By the time Tam’s inspector, Duggie Duggan, hid arrived oan the scene, the Marine crew hid been aw o’er the place, taking control ae the investigation oan the ground.  Within two months ae his fatal mistake, poor Tam hid been oot oan that puckered arsehole ae his withoot so much as a thank ye fur yer loyal service.  Fur the past couple ae years, Tam hid been working as an underground car park attendant oan the night shift at the George Street end ae the Montrose Street multi-storey car park.  Fae a position ae power, respect and authority as the desk sergeant in wan ae the busiest polis coonters in the city, Tam spent the nocturnal, night time hours ae whit hid been left ae his life, sitting in a wee glass box, lifting his heid up in anticipation every time he heard a passing car changing doon in tae first gear as it attempted tae tackle the big hill tae take it up and o’er oan tae Cathedral Street.  Harry hid been the only bizzy amongst the three mourners in attendance at Tam’s state-funded pauper’s funeral, ten days earlier, efter he’d noticed Tam’s death announcement in The Evening Times’s births and deaths column.  The last time he’d spoken tae Tam wis when he’d been parking his good, ex-repossessed Austin Princess car oan the groond flair ae the car park. Tam hid warned Harry tae try and stay in the force as long as he could as there wis fuck aw ootside in civvy street fur the likes ae them.  It wis clear that loyalty coonted fur nothing and that nowan wanted tae employ an ex-polis desk sergeant wae an ever expanding paunch, except fur the multi-storey car park companies, who treated everywan as if they wur monkeys, given the wages they paid.  Stella hid a lot tae answer fur, bit wherever she wis noo, she certainly wisnae gieing a bloody toss.  It wis only him and a lonely future noo…minus that wee dream caravan doon near Butlins.

  “Hellorerr, Happy.  Cheer up, it might never happen, eh?” Jake McAlpine quipped pleasantly, plapping a pint ae Tennents doon oan the table in front ae himsel, in time wae the sound ae that arse ae his landing oan the fake bamboo chair opposite.

  He wis rapidly joined by Ben McCalumn.

  “Whit the fuc…” Happy stammered, startled.

  “Cheers,” McCalumn said tae the other two, cracking a smile, as he took a sip ae his eighty bob.

  “Right, Ah don’t know whit the hell’s gaun oan here, bit ye better get tae fuck or Ah’m gonnae scream fur the polis,” Happy snarled, still in the throes ae his startlement by the unexpected intrusion.

  “Aye, well, Happy, Ah widnae dae that.  Ye widnae want tae miss oot oan a wee unexpected bonus, noo wid ye?” McAlpine chided him, withdrawing a broon envelope fae the inside ae his jaicket, while making sure that the sergeant clocked the haungun resting in a holster strapped tae the side ae his chest.

  “Whit’s that?” Happy yelped, drawing himsel back intae his seat and looking aboot in panic, while pointing tae the envelope sitting oan the table between him and the two Neds.

  “It’s nae use looking aboot, Happy, it’s jist us in here at this time ae the day,” McAlpine purred soothingly.

  “We jist want a wee chat, so we dae,” McCalumn added, getting rewarded wae a dirty look fae his partner.

  “Look, Ah don’t know whit the fuck youse ur daeing aw the way across here in the south side, bit ye shouldnae be talking tae me. Ah’m, er, aff duty, so Ah am,” Happy Harry’s voice quavered.

  “Aw, Harry, shut the fuck up.  We’re no daeing any herm.  Aw we want is a wee quiet word wae ye.  There’s nae herm in that, is there?”

  “Ah telt ye…fuck aff,” the sergeant hissed, looking aboot as the sound ae talking and laughter filtered o’er the coonter fae the staff door that separated the lounge fae the bar.

  “Oh, by the way, this is fur you, so it is,” McAlpine said, nodding tae the envelope.

  “Whit is it?”

  “Hiv a look.”

  “No till Ah know whit the fuck it is.”

  “Well, the only way tae find that oot is tae pick the thing up, noo, isn’t it?” McCalumn growled, drawing another dirty look fae McAlpine.

  “Ah…Ah hope that’s no whit Ah think it is,” Happy warned them, picking up the heavy, thick envelope.

  He drew in his breath when the flap opened and he saw the wad ae crisp notes.

  “There’s two hunner and fifty quid there, so there is,” Jake McAlpine informed him, nodding.

  “Two hunner and fifty?”  Happy whistled, mair tae himsel, than tae the Neds.

  “Two hunner and fifty crispy smackers,” McCalumn confirmed, letting the amount penetrate the sergeant’s skull.

  The desk sergeant wis scared tae speak.  Whit he saw sitting in the palm ae that haun ae his wis three, maybe four years in the nick fur somewan like him…or a wee two berth caravan doon in Ayr, wae the site fees covered fur the next four or five years and wae some change fur a pint left o’er.

  “So, whit’s aw this tae dae wae me then?” he croaked, his mooth as dry as the sole ae an Arab’s sandal.

  “A wee favour.”

  “A f…favour?  Whit kind ae favour?” he demanded, eyes narrowing, voice snapping back in tae suspicion mode.

  “Nothing much…jist a wee bit ae information.  Two minutes work fur somewan ae your capabilities…that’s it.”

  “Ah’m sorry, no can do.  Ye’re talking tae the wrang guy, so ye ur,” the sergeant growled painfully, his sphincter muscle rapidly expanding as Jake McAlpine slipped his haun in tae the front ae his jaicket.

  “Hail Mary, Mother ae God, furgive me fur Ah hiv sinned,” Happy muttered under his breath, squeezing they eyes ae his shut tight, feeling his arse relax when the blast ae the gun gaun aff in that face ae his never transpired. 

  He opened his eyes.  Another envelope wis sitting oan the Ned side ae the table in front ae the wan he’d jist hid in his haun a minute earlier.

  “There’s another two fifty in that envelope fur ye wance ye come up wae the goods,” McAlpine informed him, taking a sip ae his pint fur the first time since he’d sat doon.

  Silence.

  “Whit ur ye efter?” Happy finally croaked, licking his dry lips, hypnotised by the second envelope.

  “A shot ae a wee book fur five minutes.”

  “A whit…a book?  Whit kind ae book?”

  “Wan ae they wee black notebooks that youse bizzies use tae write yer notes in efter arresting some poor basturt,” McCalumn replied.

  “Ma service notebook?  Christ the last time Ah used that wis tae make up ma wife’s shoapping list, so it wis,” the desk sergeant replied, confused.

  “Naw, no yours…somewan else’s.”

  “Somewan else’s?  Like who?”

  “The Stalker’s,” McAlpine replied.

  “Paddy McPhee’s…The Inspectors?  Ur youse fucking mad or whit?” he yelped.  “How the hell am Ah supposed tae get ma hauns oan something like that, fur Christ’s sake?”

  “How many dae youse normally go through in a year?” McAlpine asked quietly, ignoring the emotional ootburst.

  “Probably tons wae the amount ae prefabricated lies that get written up in them,” McCalumn sneered.

  “Ah…Ah don’t know.  It aw depends oan how many arrests ye make and how complex the crime is when ye arrive oan the scene.”

  “Look, aw we want is a wee shot ae that notebook ae his fur five minutes. It’s in oor interest, as well as yours, that he disnae know that it’s gone walkies fur a wee while.  Ye’ll get it back within five tae ten minutes tops, so ye will.”

  “Ah cannae…it’s jist too risky…Ah’ll end up getting the sack…or worse, the jail,” The Sarge stammered, shaking his heid emphatically, before adding, “Ye’ve wasted yer time approaching me.  Ah’m no yer man.”

  Silence.

“We need the notebook he wis using between March and June ae this year,” McAlpine persisted, ignoring the bleating.

  “No January or February or July and August,” McCalumn reminded him.

  Silence.

  Happy Harry’s brain hid gone intae overdrive.  He wanted tae shake his heid tae slow that brain ae his doon, bit he didnae want the pair sitting across fae him tae get the impression he wis knocking them back…yet.  He knew where aw the completed pavement pounders’ service notebooks in the station wur kept, because he hid the key ae the locker and they wur under his supervision.  It wis him that signed the new wans oot and recorded the auld wans coming back in before they wur locked away fur possible use in future trials.  The only problem wis, he hid everywan’s except Paddy McPhee’s.  The inspector kept his, either in the drawer ae his desk or in that filing cabinet ae his, which wis always under lock and key.  He tried tae remember whit shifts The Stalker wid be oan o’er the next week.  The new rotas started oan a Thursday.  The only problem wae depending oan the rota wis that The Stalker didnae really keep tae his shifts.  He wis always coming and gaun, turning up when he wis least expected…another sad loser who didnae hiv any life ootside work.