Wance Skull wis up oan tap, Johnboy haunded up the loaf, wae the jam oozing oot the sides ae it. Johnboy didnae realise how hungry he wis till he started tae lick the jam aff ae wan ae his socks, which he wis still wearing oan they hauns ae his. When he drapped intae the lane, Tony, Joe and Skull wur hauf way across Grafton Street, heiding fur Frankie Wilson’s close. By the time he caught up wae them, Joe hid disappeared o’er the wall intae the school dining hut and Tony wis sitting oan tap ae it as if he wis oan a horse.
“Same again, Johnboy,” he said, as Johnboy haunded the bags up.
“Aye, the same here as well, Johnboy. Fur Christ’s sake, take they fucking socks aff. Ah’m no wanting tae taste yer smelly feet aff ae ma good Mother’s Pride.”
Johnboy hidnae noticed that they’d awready taken their socks aff ae their hauns.
“Stuff them in yer pocket the noo,” Skull said, jimmying up oan tae the wall.
A couple ae seconds later and they wur aw sitting oan the bench in the shed ae the boys’ playground in the school.
“Jam? Is that it? Wis there nae cheese, Skull?” Joe moaned, peeling back a slice.
“Ye might’ve at least cut the fucking thing in hauf,” Tony moaned.
“Don’t worry, smart arse, that mooth ae yours will manage that nae bother,” Skull said, taking a big bite oot ae the middle ae his double piece, between the crusts.
“This breid is bloody stale tae,” Joe said, chewing oan his.
“Aye, jist like yer maw’s fanny.”
“Ah think it tastes magic. Ah cannae remember the last time a piece tasted so good,” Johnboy chipped in.
“It’s the Robertson’s jam. Ah’m telling ye, they Christians must be as rich as priests,” Skull said, pulling a packet ae Jammy Dodgers oot fae under his Jags jersey.
“Ye better hiv taken Custard Creams, Skull, ya fanny, ye,” Joe said, reaching o’er fur another jam piece.
“Never let it be said...” Skull retorted, wae a satisfied grin oan his coupon, hauling oot a packet ae good quality McVities Custard Creams and throwing them oan tap ae wan ae the money bags.
“Aye, ye knew better,” Joe chipped in, smiling and looking as chuffed as Punch.
“See, Johnboy, ye stick wae me and ye’ll never go hungry. Stay wae these manky losers and ye’ll waste away.”
“So, how did it go then?” Joe asked, putting his hauns in wan ae the bags, scooping up coins and letting them slip through his fingers, the way that pirates dae in the films efter they open up a treasure chest.
“Nae bother. Johnboy did a good job and everything went well until Skull done his usual fuck up...”
“By the way, before he starts, Ah wis the wan that found the stash in a suitcase under the bed.”
“...by drapping a suitcase full ae coins aff the bed oan tae the flair,” Tony continued.
“Is that whit the noise wis? Ah thought ye’d won the jackpot oan a wan-ermed bandit the size ae a Morris Minor.”
“Naw, when we heaved the suitcase oot fae under the bed and opened it and saw aw the coins, Ah telt Skull tae get wan end, fur us tae lift it up oan tae the bed. Ah goat ma end oan, bit Skull drapped his end and it landed oan the flair.”
“The metal bits ye get oan the corners ae they suitcases ur lethal. There should be a label telling ye tae watch oot fur them. Ah wis okay lifting it up, bit when ma haun slid alang tae the corner, it wis like getting slashed wae a razor and Ah hid tae let go, so Ah drapped the bloody thing.”
“So, how much dae ye think we’ve goat, Tony?” Joe asked, as Johnboy reached o’er fur his second piece.
“Ah don’t know, bit Ah think we’ll hiv enough tae cover oor losses fae earlier oan and take o’er the dookit.”
“Bloody brilliant!”
“Yes!”
“That wis Crisscross and his fat wife’s bedroom that we wur in,” Skull chipped in, through a moothful ae breid.
“How dae ye know that?” Tony asked.
“Cause when Ah opened the wardrobe, there wis a bizzy hat sitting oan the tap shelf and the dressing gown oan the bed wid’ve covered the penalty area o’er at Parkheid.”
“It’s a pity Ah wisnae there. Ah wid’ve left that skelly-eyed prick a wee prezzy,” Joe said.
“Aye, it wis a pity ye wurnae there, bit when we finished, Ah went back in tae make us up these pieces. That wisnae aw Ah went back in fur though, ye’ll be glad tae hear,” Skull said, as the other three looked o’er at the ex-choir boy, wae the manky jam-covered face. “Aye, Ah nipped back through tae the bedroom and grabbed that hat and done a big shite in it and put it back where Ah found it,” he said, smiling.
They aw burst oot laughing.
“Fucking brilliant!”
“Aye, bit jist so that that fat Christian wife ae his wisnae left oot, Ah lifted the blankets up and wiped that arse ae mine right doon her good sheet that wis covering her mattress. Ah think it wis her side ae the bed as Ah noticed a pair ae stripy pyjamas under the covers oan the other side. Ah made sure Ah tucked everything in jist nice so as no tae spoil the surprise,” he went oan, aw innocently.
Johnboy wisnae too sure if it wis funny or no, even though they wur aw falling aboot laughing. The wan-liners coming thick and fast in deid-pan voices started tae gush oot ae them aw.
“Kin ye imagine whit’ll happen the night then? ‘Jist skid in here, darling,’ Crisscross will say.”
“Or...‘Ah smell shite!’”
“‘Ye goat promoted again, darling? Oh good, wan stripe or two this time?’”
“‘Wis that a streak or a shriek Ah heard while ye wur howling the place doon, darling?’”
“‘Two stripes and ye’re oot!’”
“‘It wisnae me... honest!’”
“‘Fuck’s sake, Sally…noo Ah know where they goat the name, “skid-mark” fae!’”
By this time, Johnboy wis bent o’er double wae the pish dribbling doon the inside ae his leg.
“Aw, stoap it. Ah cannae take any mair,” he howled.
“Right, whit dae we dae noo then?” Joe said, hiccupping as he looked at them aw, sprawled oot across the shed.
“Ah need tae get hame. Ma ma is gieing me heaps ae hassle jist noo,” Johnboy said.
“Joe, ye take wan bag hame and Ah’ll take the other. We need eleven quid tae make up oor stolen stash. Ah’ll sort oot five pound ten bob fae whit Ah’ve goat and you see if ye kin dae the same. We’ll meet the morra morning, up oan Horsey John’s roof,” Tony said.
“Aye, okay. Skull, whit ur ye daeing?” Joe asked him.
“Ah’m no sure. Ah don’t know if Ah’ll get in the night.”
“Right, ye kin come hame wae me, bit ye’ll hiv tae wait ootside oan the landing while Ah go in first, tae show face. Ah’ll leave the bag wae you and then Ah’ll come oot and gie ye a shout and ye kin sneak intae ma room and nip under the bed. Wance the auld wans go tae theirs, ye kin come in beside me. Ye’ll hiv tae be quiet though, or Ah’ll end up sleeping ootside, wae ye.”
“Aye, nae bother, Joe. Ta.”
“Right, see youse the morra then,” Tony said, lifting up his bag.
Chapter Thirty Four
The Sarge hid jist been picked up by wan ae the squad cars and drapped aff at Central. He wis wanted, bit he knew whit it wis aboot. A parcel hid been drapped aff that morning fur him bit the hauf-wit oan the desk couldnae remember whit the tink hid looked like who’d delivered it. If Pat Roller fae The Echo only knew the hauf ae it, The Sarge thought tae himsel. When he’d taken delivery ae the parcel at the start ae his shift, he’d opened it at the desk. That hid been a big mistake. Before he knew it, every nosey basturt in the place hid found oot that it hid contained a haungun. He’d managed tae nab Colin, the inspector, before the news hid reached him, thank God.
“Colin, hiv ye goat a minute?” he’d asked, popping his heid roond the inspector’s door.
“Aye, whit is it, Liam?”
“Hiv a look ae this. Ah’ve jist picked it up fae the front desk. It wis haun-delivered this morning,” he’d said, spinning it roond oan his trigger finger, Roy Rogers style, before haunin it o’er.
“Well, first aff, Ah don’t think ye should be haundling that. If there wis prints oan it, they’re no there noo,” the smart twat hid said, sticking a pencil through the trigger guard and swinging it aboot in front ae his beady eyes.
“Where did ye say ye goat this?”
“It wis haun-delivered this morning.”
“By who?”
“Daft arse at the desk says he cannae remember. He said some guy came in and said this wis fur me and that Ah wis expecting it.”
“He did, did he?”
“Aye.”
“And who dae ye think it wis that delivered it, or even better, sent it tae ye?”
The Sarge hid telt Colin aboot his wee chat wae Pat Molloy. The Inspector hidnae gied him the impression that he wis listening until The Sarge hid faltered and stoapped talking. It hid been as if he’d been talking tae himsel, though every noo and again The Inspector hid looked across the desk at him and said, “Carry oan.”
He wid then continue his wee tale while The Inspector held up the gun tae the light above his heid.
“It looks clean enough,” he’d murmured at wan point, sniffing the barrel.
The Sarge hid also telt Colin aboot his conversation wae the wee fat canary.
“Ah hope ye goat him his badge,” wis aw he’d said, taking a wee pen torch oot ae his desk drawer and shining it intae the barrel, his left eye competing wae the bulb oan the torch in trying tae get a glimpse deep intae the hole.
“And ye think this came fae Pat Molloy, dae ye?”
“Who else?”
“Right, leave it wae me jist noo. Ah’ll gie ye a shout later if there’s any news. This’ll hiv tae go o’er tae forensics tae start wae. They’ll want tae know if it’s been fired recently.”
And wae that, The Sarge hid heided oot ae the door, oot ae the building and hid nabbed a number thirty seven bus oan the Saltmarket, tae drap him aff up oan Castle Street, where he’d arranged tae meet up wae Big Jim, Jobby and Crisscross at the Black Street sub-office.
Noo he wis back, trooping up the stairs in Central. As he drew nearer the tap step, he could hear the clatter ae Peggy ‘second door oan the right, and naw, ye’ve nae chance’ McAvoy’s typewriter gieing it big licks.
“Second door oan the right.”
“Aye, thanks, Peggy,” ya wee saucy strumpet, ye, The Sarge thought tae himsel as he heided alang the corridor.
Jist before he goat tae the door, it struck him like a bolt ae lightning. Fuck’s sake, if he played his cards right, he’d maybe get an opportunity tae talk tae that wee skinny forensic runt who’d humped Peggy silly efter the Christmas party. He might even be able tae pick up a few wee tips oan how tae get his fingers intae they drawers ae hers, although he’d need tae be a wee bit subtle as he widnae want the prick tae think he could show Liam Thompson a thing or two in the fanny department.
“Grab a seat, Liam,” Sean Smith, the chief inspector said, nodding tae the chair at the other end ae the table.
At least Big Jim wisnae there this time, fucking things up by sitting there shifting aboot oan his seat, the guilt oozing oot ae him, even though they hidnae done anything wrang, he thought as he sat doon. It wis as if time hid stood still since the last time he’d been there. The clock wis still making a racket and the Paddy inspector contingent ae Pat Curry, Billy Liar, Daddy Jackson, Mickey Sherlock, and Ralph Toner wur aw sitting in the same chairs, scowling doon the table at him…the shitehooses that they wur. Colin, his inspector, stood leaning oan the doorjamb.
“So, tell us aboot yer Belgian Browning FN, Liam...and don’t leave anything oot. Oan ye go, in yer ain words,” The Chief said.
He jist managed tae catch a wee negative nod fae Colin.
“Is that whit it is?”
“Aye, it’s a Browning WaA wan forty Berretta...Belgian made. Ye kin tell by the light wooden grips oan it. They’re pretty shite in that they don’t tend tae age wae grace…bit it’s still deadly, aw the same. Probably made roond aboot nineteen forty three or forty four, Ah wid say, though no as good as the Wehrmacht wans that the Jerries used during the war,” Mickey Sherlock, fae The Flying Squad said tae nowan in particular, bit letting everywan know he knew a thing or two aboot guns.
The Sarge went oan tae tell them how he’d put the word oot oan the street that he knew there wis a gun oan the go which wis being used tae pan-in electrical shoap windaes and if it wisnae haunded in, then there wis gonnae be big trouble. They jist aw sat there nodding at him every time he goat tae a wee twist in his Pinocchio pitch, letting oot wee encouraging ‘ahs’ and ‘oohs’ every noo and again. Even Liam himsel, no used tae hivving an audience when embellishing porkies, wis fairly impressed at how good he sounded. He even started tae convince himsel that the shite he wis spieling, oot ae that mooth ae his, wis the truth, and nothing bit the truth. Daddy Jackson and Billy Liar baith expressed amazement at the juicy bits ae the tale, glancing o’er at each other wae big grins aw o’er they mugs-shots ae theirs. The Sarge’s brain hid then kicked up a gear and gone intae overdrive. Although he widnae hiv admitted this tae anywan, he’d a vivid vision ae a shiny inspector’s badge being pinned oan tae his hat before he’d even finished. It wis jist a pity that he hidnae bothered tae glance across at Colin during his gibber though…the stupid haufwit that he wis.
“We’ve checked wae forensics and they’ve said that, apart fae wan haun print that turned oot tae be yours, the gun seemed clean. It wis probably cleaned this morning, before it wis passed oan tae us and although there wis still a few wee flecks ae rust here and there, they didnae think it hid been fired recently…”
That statement fae Billy Liar should’ve alerted him. He wis aware ae Colin’s presence oot ae the side ae his eye, shuffling at the door, bit The Sarge wis too busy thinking aboot his impending promotion and dazzling the drawers aff ae that wee Peggy McAvoy, oot there in the front office, wae his shiny badge and newly creased troosers.
“...bit they’ve passed it oan tae the ballistic boys, jist tae make sure and tae see if it’s been used oan anything.”
Another fucking clue that he should’ve picked up oan.
“So, ye think this is the same gun that that wee manky mob ae yours hiv been using, Liam?”
“Stauns tae reason,” he said, shrugging and wondering how he wis gonnae manage tae skim his wages withoot his other hauf finding oot.
He felt quite calm while being put oan the spot by the Paddy posse. He put this doon tae Big Jim no being there tae fuck it up...or maybe it wis because he wis too busy imagining himsel oot wining, dining and pumping the wee blonde thing who he could hear tapping away oot in the front office, oblivious tae the pleasant wee surprise awaiting her. He’d take her up tae The Savoy Cafe in the Coocaddens, he wis jist thinking tae himsel. That wis sure tae saften her up before he let his charms loose oan her. It wis then that the rubber garter that he imagined wis haudin up the thirty deniers oan that left leg ae hers snapped wae the sound and finality ae a moose trap oan his future illicit love-life wae wee blonde Peggy McAvoy.
“So, if we telt ye that the windaes wur tanned using some sort ae sling wae glass bools in it, it wid come as a surprise tae ye, Liam?”
“Ye whit?” he asked, his brain struggling tae comprehend whit it thought it hid jist heard.
“So, if we telt ye that the windaes were tanned using some sort ae sling wae glass bools, it wid come as a complete surprise then?” Daddy, fuck-pigging, arse-licking, Jackson repeated wae a smug look oan that crackly, lined, auld fuck-face ae his.
Hivving said that, The Sarge thought he haundled himsel quite well, under the circumstances.
“Really?” he croaked, sick as a pished frog.
“Aye, it took they forensic boys a wee while, bit tae gie them credit, they came up wae the goods in the end, even withoot the intervention ae ballistics,” Billy Liar said, sounding mair jolly than anywan hid heard him in a long while.
The Sarge wondered whit the reaction wid be if he threw up, there and then, straight across the shiny table top in front ae them. He felt faint. Ah swear tae God, If Ah ever get hauf a chance, Ah’m gonnae get ma hauns oan that fucking clock and take a fucking axe tae it, The Sarge telt himsel as he sat there, fighting tae keep his composure intact, tae the thundering sound ae tick-tocking. Nae use letting these arseholes see that they’d goat tae him, he thought, as he clamped the cheeks ae his arse thegither tae stoap a fart ripping the fuck oot ae the arse ae they troosers ae his.
“So, where wur we then, Liam? Oh, aye…” said The Chief, “…the Berretta?”
“The only thing Ah kin think ae, is that somewan must’ve panicked and haunded that in tae me tae take the heat aff ae them,” he croaked, impressing even himsel that he wis haudin it aw thegither.
“And who dae ye think that might be?”
“Ah’m no sure. Ah spoke tae Crisscross, Jinty and Big Jim aboot it this efternoon, so we’re aw oan the case. We assumed it wis they wee toe-rags we’re efter fur the windaes. Ah wis hoping that the forensic boys wid’ve picked up oan that.”
“Colin?” The Chief asked, as everywan in the room looked o’er at the inspector.
“As Liam said, the boys hiv been putting a lot ae heat oot oan the streets. That seems tae be the only explanation.”
“There’s something aboot this that jist disnae add up,” chipped in Billy Liar, clearly enjoying himsel. “If ye’re saying the pavement pounders, including yersel, put oot the word that we wanted the gun that wis being used tae tan in aw they windaes, and we know that a gun wisnae used, bit we’ve ended up wae a gun, dae ye think we should put oot the word, asking fur aw the jemmies used tae tan aw the shoaps and hooses in the toon o’er the past six months tae be haunded in or there’s gonnae be trouble?”
“Aye, we could ask fur aw the getaway cars that wur used in aw the armed robberies while we’re at it,” Ralph Toner said tae laughter.
“As Ah’ve jist explained, the strategy we used...”
“There’s that word that Ah don’t like popping its heid up again,” growled nippy-face Jackson.
“...wis tae jist keep the pressure oan and let aw the wee toe-rags in the area know the score. There wis a lot ae pissed-aff people gaun aboot because ae it, Ah kin tell youse,” The Sarge said, ploughing oan, ignoring the interruption.
“So, whit aboot this wee manky mob then?”
“We couldnae catch up wae them tae hiv a wee chat, bit we’ve goat the wee fat talking clock oan their trail, trying tae track doon their planking place. We’re confident he’ll find it and that should lead us tae oor first piece ae solid evidence that’ll link them tae the electrical shoaps and aw the other jiggery-pokery they’ve been up tae. Personally masel, Ah think they’ve panicked and paid some auld jakey tae haun in that shooter. It shows ye that we’ve goat the wee basturts oan the run,” The Sarge said wae as much conviction as he could muster under the circumstances and clearly no convincing anywan in the room.
“Liam, Ah’m in agreement wae Daddy here. There’s something fishy gaun oan that we cannae jist put oor fingers oan. In the meantime, keep the pressure oan these sticky-fingered wee fuckers,” The Chief advised.
“Aye, and when ye dae catch up wae them, ye mind and tell them that if any ae ma boys catch them anywhere near Dumbarton Road, oan a bus or no, they’ll be booted back tae the Toonheid, minus some ae they sticky fingers that they’re so fond ae,” growled Daddy Fuck-face.
The Sarge wanted tae tell these tottie-heids tae fuck aff back tae the auld country and leave the real polising tae real bizzies like him and Big Jim, bit thought better ae it.
“Aye, Ah’ll dae jist that, Daddy,” he mumbled.
Colin opened the door and winked at him as he stepped through it.
The shock ae realising that he wisnae gonnae be getting intae wee Peggy McAvoy’s pants any time soon, hid left him in such a daze that he hardly noticed her as he passed by her desk. He also never noticed that she’d stoapped typing until he goat tae the tap ae the stairs efter she called oot his name.
“Oh, Liam?”
He hidnae realised that she even knew his name as a thrill shot through they loins ae his. He turned roond, feeling like a hungry dug jist aboot tae get a crumb aff ae a hungry hermit’s mince pie. Maybe things wurnae as bad as he’d first imagined, he thought tae himsel as he hauf stumbled back tae staun in front ae her desk wae an expectant look oan his coupon.