Authors: Ian Todd
“Ah, Johnboy, come in, come in. Have a seat, my son,” he’d drawled in that Bogside accent ae his.
“Ye wanted tae see me, Father?” Johnboy hid asked him, sitting oan a chair, John Wayne style.
“Yes. I believe you’re quite good on the guitar. Would that be right now?”
“Well, if ye wur tae asked Tony and Silent, Ah’m sure they’d beg tae differ.”
“Yes, but you know a chord or two?”
“Ah’ve jist moved oan tae barre chords and ma strumming is shi…er, crap. Snappy claims there wid be mair rhythm if Ah swung a PP9 battery aboot in a sock above ma heid,” Johnboy hid replied, wondering whit The God Man wis up tae.
“Yes, well, it isn’t a radio battery I’m looking for, it’s a guitar player.”
“Fur whit?”
“To assist me with my service on Sunday mornings.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Bit, Ah’m no a Catholic.”
“So?”
“So, why don’t ye get yersel wan ae them then? Ah wid’ve thought that there wid be mair than enough in here tae go roond.”
“God works in mysterious ways and he’s brought you to me. I must admit, it took me by surprise as well, but there you go. It surely is true, that the dear Lord God also has a sense of humour as well,” he’d said, smiling, looking heavenward.
“So, tell me aboot purgatory then,” Johnboy hid asked, hivving a good swatch aboot the musty-smelling vestry.
“Pardon?”
“Purgatory. Explain tae me whit it is,” Johnboy hid asked, deflecting the conversation away fae him playing the guitar at mass, and feeling a wee pleasurable twinge at the surprised look oan the priest’s face.
“W-e-l-l,” he’d replied slowly, gently rubbing his fingers across that square chin ae his. “For some people, I suppose purgatory is a place where the souls of sinners go after they die before entering heaven.”
“Catholic sinners?”
“Catholic sinners.”
“Tae suffer?”
“That’s one interpretation.”
“So, there ur others then?”
“Some people believe that purgatory is about purification and can’t wait to get there.”
“So, why is purgatory punted as being aboot hell and damnation then?”
“Some people believe that, as sinners, we all need to be punished in order to enter heaven cleansed.”
“Like some right ae passage?”
“In Revelations, it talks about ‘nothing unclean shall enter heaven.’”
“So, whit aboot confession then? Ah thought people’s sins wur furgiven if they spilled the beans tae somewan like yersel, behind closed-doors.”
“Confession is about repenting sins and becoming worthy of consideration to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
“So, the only way ae finding oot if purgatory really exists is by dying?” Johnboy hid asked him, wan cynical eyebrow lifted.
“Well, it’s what happens after we die that most people associate purgatory with,” he’d replied wae a shrug ae his humph and they shoulders ae his.
“Bit, ye’re saying there might be alternatives?”
“Some people believe that for some, purgatory takes place here on earth.”
“Like whit?”
“Look at me? In my teens and early twenties I stood over six feet tall and played Irish football semi-professionally. I tried to lead a life worthy of God’s good blessing.”
“Fae where Ah come fae, somewan wae a background like that either ends up rich or becomes a politician…or a man ae God. Yer ma and da must’ve been proud ae yer achievement or am Ah detecting a wee bit ae doubt in there?” Johnboy hid challenged him, starting tae feel bored, as he looked aboot the room.
“Perhaps I was trying too hard,” the priest hid replied, smiling.
Silence.
“Look, Ah’ll need tae go, Father. That’s the boys being let oot fur rec,” Johnboy hid said suddenly, staunin up at the sound ae chattering and feet passing by oan the other side ae the door.
“Johnboy, why were you asking about purgatory?”
“When Ah wis a wee snapper, aw ma pals, who wur aw Catholics, wur always getting threatened wae it by the local priests. Being a Proddy, Ah always felt a bit left oot. Ma pals loved the thought ae being different fae the goody-two-shoes at school. The fact that they didnae believe in aw that Holy Willie guff, allowed them tae paint themsels as real desperados. Tae them, it wis like they wur being awarded a badge, withoot hivving tae jump through hoops tae earn it, which wis right up their street. Ah wonder if they wid’ve turned oot differently if they’d actually believed that their souls wur gonnae roast in hell furever, unless they pulled their socks up and turned up fur communion the following Sunday.”
“It’s certainly a thought,” The Priest hid replied, a faint smile appearing oan his lips.
“Aye, and jist before that ma ae mine died, wan ae the local priests stood up at the altar and called her fur everything, in front ae everywan, including aw her friends and neighbours, jist because she wis staunin up against some auld crook in an election. The priest claimed she’d die a thousand deaths in hell fur aw the sins she’d committed, which Ah thought wis a bit harsh. Anyway, Ah always wondered if it hid been purgatory that he wis threatening her wae,” Johnboy hid said, knocking oan the vestry door tae let The Tormentor oan the other side know that he wis ready.
“
Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
One of Glasgow’s most famous stores has gone into liquidation. Samson’s, the famous family-run furniture store based at the bottom of the High Street, had been trading for over seventy years. Mr Paul Samson, who took over from his father only last year, said earlier today that the store had never fully recovered from the systematic plundering of substantial amounts of furniture from its Bell Street store over a number of months in 1970. The terms of their insurance didn’t cover the cost of the stolen stock at the time and Samson’s have reported losses over the past four years…
A police sergeant was threatened with imminent arrest in the dock of the High Court in Glasgow today. Lord Campbell of Claremyle warned Sergeant Bernard Hall that he was in danger of committing perjury after changing his earlier written statement in a high profile murder case. Defence Queen’s Counsel, Stuart McKenzie, representing Timothy Moffat, referred to throughout the trial by witnesses as ‘The Goat,’ complained to the judge about the unreliability and contradictory replies, given under oath, by the crown prosecution witness. Lord Campbell reminded the police sergeant twice of the seriousness of lying under oath and adjourned proceedings for the day to give him time to consider the defence QC’s request that the charges against his client be dismissed.
Lord Frank Owen, proprietor of two of Scotland’s leading newspapers, The Glasgow Echo and its sister paper, The Sunday Echo, has reported a break-in at his plush West End townhouse. Amongst the many items stolen was a substantial collection of first edition rare books…
Two women wur viciously assaulted and had their handbags snatched after they made their way home from Bingo on Balmore Road, Possilpark, last night. It’s believed that one of the women had won the fifty pounds jackpot earlier…
And finally, a man who disfigured his wife for life by stabbing her in the face with a broken bottle whilst under the influence of drink has been referred to the High Court for sentence by a sheriff’s jury trial. Fifty-five-year-old Alice McBride of…”
Chapter Thirty Four
Wan-bob Broon shifted uncomfortably in the shadows ae the gleaming black 1954 Wolseley six eighty. He used the back ae the bench seat in front ae him tae good effect tae shield him fae the prying eyes ae the stragglers crossing Bannatyne Avenue as they walked alang Alexandra Parade. It wis hauf eleven, no too late fur somewan tae be sitting in a car at night, tucked up a side street, deliberately no wanting tae draw attention tae himsel. The pub doors across the city hid shut o’er an hour ago, efter disgorging their pished punters oot oan tae the street. Some ae the local stragglers hid staggered alang the avenue in Wan-bob’s direction, passing the car, singing some shitey, misty–eyed sentimental love songs, oan the way hame tae batter their missus fur no hivving their tea oan the table. The few who’d glanced in at him in the passing, wondering who the fuck the stranger wis in the auld fancy car, hid soon averted their eyes when they’d recognised the cauld stare looking back at them. They’d been sitting fur nearly three-quarters ae an hour before Charlie Hastie exited the car and heided across tae the single gate ae Alexandra Park. This particular gate wis usually locked efter six o’clock, bit Charlie hid arranged fur it tae be left open that night. Wan-bob watched a couple being pulled alang by a big Alsatian oan a leash, crossing the avenue fae right tae left. It wis the same couple who’d passed by ten minutes earlier. He wisnae too concerned at their reappearance. The guy looked alang towards where the Wolseley wis sitting, as the sound ae wan ae the last buses ae the night, changing up a gear oan Cumbernauld Road behind him, rumbled aff intae the distance. Wan-bob wid’ve been mair worried if the bus hidnae attracted the dog walker’s attention. It wis the wans who crossed, eyes fixed forward, who didnae look tae see whit wis happening up the side streets, at junctions, who wur the wans tae worry aboot. It wisnae natural no tae glance up a street, especially if ye hid tae cross between two pavements. Even in the dead ae the night, when there wisnae any traffic aboot, it still wisnae natural no tae hiv a wee gander tae yer left or right, jist in case. It wis aw psychological. It wis a wee thing, bit paying attention tae that kind ae detail hid goat him oot ae a few scrapes wae the bizzies, and others, who’d tried tae ambush him mair than a few times when he wis growing up in the Toonheid, back in the thirties, forties and fifties. He glanced across at the gate o’er the tap ae the seat in front ae him again. He could be daeing withoot aw this lounging and creeping aboot in the back ae a car up a side street in Dennistoun oan a Wednesday night. He’d gied up heiding across tae The White City because ae this.
“Oor pal…wan ae The Gruesome Twosome…wants tae speak tae ye, in person this time,” Charlie hid said tae him earlier.
“Me? Tell him tae fuck aff…Ah’m busy. Get him tae talk tae Peter the Plant.”
“We’ve tried that, bit he isnae hivving it. Peter’s awready spoken tae him twice the day, so he his. He’s insisting it his tae be yersel or nowan. He also says he’s looking fur a hunner quid…up front…non-negotiable.”
“A hunner quid? Whit’s he trying tae sell us, the fucking Crown Jewels?”
“He says this is pure gold and he’ll only talk tae yersel wae nowan else present.”
“Fuck him. Tell the prick, Ah’m busy,” Wan-bob hid growled.
Two hours later he’d changed his mind and asked Charlie tae set up the meeting. Dave McGovern wis a polis sergeant, based up in Possilpark, who, alang wae his partner, Shane Priestly…another three striper…wur commonly known in the toon as The Gruesome Twosome. It wis a well-known fact that if The Gruesome Twosome goat a haud ae ye oan yer lonesome, then ye’d be as well spilling the beans as soon as, rather than allowing them the pleasure ae extracting it oot ae ye in some polis safe-hoose or deserted piece ae waste ground somewhere. It hid crossed Wan-bob’s mind oan mair than a few occasions tae get shot ae McGovern wance and fur aw, bit he’d proved useful, particularly since The Big Man hid expanded up intae Possil and Milton. Efter The Simpsons and Blaster Mackay hid been neutralised, McGovern hid proved his worth by letting them know whit the investigating murder and serious crime squad teams wur up tae, two steps before they jumped intae action. Mind you, even then, he hidnae demanded a hunner big wans. This is whit hid made Wan-bob change his mind aboot the face-tae-face. Nothing wis worth a hunner quid…unless? He knew the question wid’ve eaten away at him aw night and wid’ve spoilt his relaxation across at the track. He suddenly became alert. Charlie Hastie hid jist appeared through the gate oan tae the wide pavement. He stoapped and slowly took a packet ae Benson & Hedges oot ae his jaicket pocket and lit wan up, hivving a wee look up and doon the Parade while he wis at it. He then turned right and disappeared oot ae sight, walking in the direction ae Castle Street. It hid been agreed that if everything wis hunky dory, Charlie wid light up a fag and make his way back tae the car via Alexandra Park Street and Cumbernauld Road. By the time he reached the car, Wan-bob wid awready be in the park, making his way towards the bandstand.
Wan-bob clocked the lighted fag-end long before he emerged fae the line ae trees oan the path. He stoapped and listened, looking aboot tae make sure it wis only the baith ae them in the vicinity. He knew McGovern widnae hiv seen him yet. That wid happen wance he stepped oot intae the open. Although dark, he could make oot the chain haudin the paddleboats thegither oan the pond o’er tae his right. He could jist make oot the ootline ae a couple ae ducks wae their heids stuffed doon intae the plumes ae their chests as he exposed himsel. He saw the fag-end stoap in mid-air before being flicked aff tae the side. He strolled across tae the wee iron fence surrounding the pond and waited. He heard the crunching footsteps behind him drawing closer until a pair ae shiny-toed boots appeared next tae his haunmade Cambridge brogues.
“Ah used tae come up here when Ah wis a wee snapper and take the sweeties aff ae the other weans who’d been sent up here by their maws tae get them oot fae under their feet during the summer holidays,” Dave McGovern sighed wistfully.
“That wid’ve been well efter ma time, Dave. Ye wid’ve goat the fucking fright ae yer life if it hid been ten or fifteen years earlier,” Wan-bob said, smiling tae himsel.
“Thanks fur seeing me, Bob.”
“Ach, Ah wisnae daeing anything else anyway…no since Ah’ve went in tae semi-retirement.”
Aye, and Ah’m a fucking blue fairy, the sergeant thought tae himsel. People like Wan-bob Broon didnae retire, at least no when somewan like Pat Molloy wis still oan the go, sunning the cheeks ae that arse ae his across in Marbella. He’d need tae go caw-canny, he telt himsel again. Wan-bob wis notorious fur shooting the bringer ae bad news. Bizzy or no, that uniform ae his widnae protect him if he upset the bear staunin beside him. He’d wanted tae ask Charlie Hastie if Wan-bob wis in a good mood, bit hid held back as he didnae want them tae know that he wis nervous.
“So, Dave, ye wanted a wee word?” Wan-bob asked, as the blue flashing light ae a squad car darted through the trees oan their right, speeding towards the junction ae Edinburgh Road and Cumbernauld Road.
The baith ae them watched it in the distance as it went through a red light and disappeared aff tae the right, heiding in the direction ae Cranhill and Barlanark.
“Ah’ve picked up a few wee ditties that Ah thought ye’d be interested in,” McGovern said cautiously.
“A hunner quid’s worth? They must be right tasty at that price.”
“Well, Ah’ll leave that fur you tae decide. If ye think it isnae worth that amount, Ah’ll take whitever it is ye think its worth and we’ll call it quits. Ah cannae say fairer than that, kin Ah?”
“Ah’m listening,” Wan-bob said, facing the sergeant fur the first time.
“Hiv ye ever come across an eejit called Haufwit…Haufwit Murray…in yer travels?”
“Disnae sound that familiar, bit then again, as Ah said, Ah’m in semi-retirement these days.”
“Aye, well, he wis wan ae these guys who always seemed tae be hinging aboot like a bad smell, no serving any particular function, mair like a gofer…that kind ae thing.”
“Wis? Tae who?”
“Well, he wis quite friendly wae some ae The Simpson crew a few years ago up until Toby put a pint glass intae that coupon ae his fur gieing him a bit ae lip. Efter that, he popped up oan the horizon a few times, in tow wae that Wee Eck Thomas wan, who wis wan ae Blaster Mackay’s bum-boys at the time.”
“Aye, Ah know Eck…a good wee earner, so he is. He’s noo running Blaster’s yard fur us since we bought poor Blaster’s wife oot. So, whit aboot this Haufwit wan then?”
“A few weeks ago, he ended up getting himsel stabbed twenty two times aboot the neck and chest before being unceremoniously slung oot ae the back ae a speeding car jist alang fae the lights oan Colston Road.”
“So?”
“So, though still breathing, he wis in such a state, that he died fae his wounds twenty two hours later, up in Stobhill. He wis that bad that they decided no tae bother transferring him doon tae The Royal or across tae The Western, bit jist decided tae plap him intae a wee side room tae let him go withoot gaun through the rigmarole ae farting aboot, wasting time oan somewan who wis clearly no gonnae make it.”
“Ah still don’t see the connection wae us,” Wan-bob said casually, looking beyond the sergeant’s heid at the bandstand in the distance.
“Aye, well, before Haufwit gied up the ghost, an auld pal ae yers…Paddy McPhee…managed tae blag his way intae the hospital and intae wan ae they family rooms that ur set aside fur the dying. It wis in the middle ae the night, an hour or so before Haufwit departed this world, so it wis,” The Sergeant said, searching fur a reaction fae the gangster’s face in front ae him, bit getting none.
“The Stalker? Ah wis wondering when his rotten name wis gonnae crop up. Carry oan, Dave…ye wur saying?”
“Well, according tae ma sources, Paddy managed tae grill Haufwit before getting slung oot oan his arse by the young nurse oan duty, a right mouthy wee cow, by aw accounts. Anyway, and don’t take this the wrang way…” the sergeant said, hesitating fur the first time and picking his words carefully, “…jist keep in mind that Ah’m the good guy here. According tae Haufwit, Shaun Murphy and Peter the Plant waylaid Toby Simpson and Bootsy Bell in Bob Montieth’s factor’s office across in Woodside, before shipping whit wis left ae them across tae the Coocaddens where, according tae Haufwit, Charlie Hastie took a baseball bat tae them before you shot them at point blank range,” The Sergeant whispered, haudin his breath, quickly looking aboot, waiting fur a reaction, bit getting none.
“Is that it?” Wan-bob asked, they piercing eyes drilling in tae McGovern’s.
“Er, naw. He also claimed that Blaster MacKay hid also goat ambushed oot in Alexandra, near Dumbarton, at some chicken farmer’s place and ended up joining Toby and Bootsy, somewhere in the Coocaddens.”
Silence.
“Ah’m sorry.”
“Fur whit?”
“Fur bringing bad news tae yer door,” the sergeant replied, mentally preparing himsel fur signs ae impending violence coming his way.
“Well, Ah widnae worry too much aboot it, Dave, because it’s aw shite, so it is. This Haufwit wan wis obviously well-named. It aw sounds pure Isaac Asimov tae me,” Wan-bob grunted dismissively, shrugging they shoulders ae his underneath the dark Gabardine coat that wis straight oot ae The Third Man.
“Aye, well, he also telt Paddy that it wisnae that young Taylor boy that shot Liam Thompson and that young PC in that bank job up oan Maryhill Road either, a year or so ago.”
“So, if it wisnae him, who wis it?”
“According tae Haufwit, it wis the wan they call Snappy…Snappy Johnston.”
“Noo, where the fuck wid a nonentity like this Haufwit wan pick up that kind ae gossip fae then, eh?” Wan-bob growled, momentarily losing his composure.
“Pass.”
“So, ye said The Stalker goat evicted fae the room?”
“Aye.”
“So, how did he manage tae blag his way in, in the first place? Ah thought they wur strict aboot that kind ae intrusion, especially fae the likes ae youse?”
“The doctor oan duty goat him access seemingly. Paddy huckled him wan night when they raided wan ae yer brothels across in the West End a while back.”
“And?”
“And, this doctor fella hid been getting his arse thrashed by wan ae the lassies when Paddy arrived oan the scene. Paddy let him walk oan the understaunin that he might need a favour in return some day.”
“Did he hiv a name tag fur this doctor wan?”
“If he did, Ah wisnae telt it.”
“Is that it?”
“Er, aye.”
“Dave, if there’s mair, spit it oot. Ah don’t want tae end up back here if ye’re haudin back oan something else that ye should’ve telt me this time roond.”
“Well, there wis wan other thing, bit it disnae really make sense…at least no tae me anyway,” the sergeant murmured hesitantly, scared tae fart in case he shat himsel.
“Why don’t ye let me decide that and jist tell me…everything,” Wan-bob whispered encouragingly.
“Well, he also said that it wis that young Johnboy Taylor wan that, er, shot Shaun Murphy…which came as a total surprise tae Paddy…Ah mean, er…everywan believes that Shaun Murphy is in Spai…” The Sergeant replied, faltering and regretting fur the first time being in a dark park, oan his lonesome wae Glesga’s maist notorious killer, bit getting confused at the sound ae the chuckle.