Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (14 page)

  “C’moan Nancy, ya shameless hussy, ye.  Gie’s yer money fur the carry-oot,” a female voice said through the opening.

  Oan the right, an auld wummin came oot ae a door that said ‘The Snug’ oan it. When Johnboy glanced past her, he could see a couple ae tables wae aw these auld wummin in their heid scarves sitting roond the wall seats, wae whit looked like a hauf pint and a nip glass in front ae them aw.

  “Awright, boys?” the auld yin asked, smiling wae a toothless grin, as she walked past them oot intae the street.

  Johnboy followed Tony through the double swing doors and the first thing that hit him wis the smoke and the racket. The smoke grabbed him by the throat and stung his eyes.

  “Hellorerr Kirsty.  Is Big Pat aboot?” Tony asked.

  Johnboy knew before she answered him that it hid been her voice that he’d heard asking Nancy and lover-boy tae cough up their dosh fur the carry-oot. She didnae seem tae be that tall bit the blond beehive sitting like a giant candy floss bush oan tap ae her napper made Dusty Springfield’s look like a sparra’s nest. She wis wearing a tight v-neck jumper and her paps wur sticking oot like two boxing gloves o’er a tiny waist. She looked like a beautiful rose sticking oot ae a pile ae shite in that pub, Johnboy thought tae himsel.

  “Doon the bottom,” she said, walking doon tae the other end ae the bar, withoot glancing at them, which wis brilliant, as Johnboy and Tony soon furgoat why the hell they wur there in the first place, as they joined aw the rest ae the drooling hounds at the bar wae their tongues hinging oot, dribbling doon their chins, watching that arse disappear intae the haze ae blue smoke.

  It wis only when a big blond mean-looking basturt, wae a big Mars bar scar oan the side ae his face, stood up at the end ae the bar and spoke that Johnboy remembered why they wur there.

  “Kirsty, ma wee prairie flower.  How aboot a drink fur yer favourite man?”

  They wur soon jolted back tae reality. Johnboy goat a wee thrill ae satisfaction tae see the look ae disgust oan her smacker as she wafted away fae them, heiding back up North.

  “That’s Kirsty,” Tony said above the din. “She trained as a hairdresser.”

  “Really?” Johnboy said, impressed, his eyes following the rose, alang wae everywan else’s in the place.

  When they reached the far end ae the bar, there wur two tables that hid plenty ae space aboot them. At wan sat the two twins, Danny and Mick, while Shaun, the liberty-taker, wis jist putting a roond doon in front ae them. At the other table, Pat Molloy, The Big Man, who wis the spitting image ae Desperate Dan fae the Beano, wis sitting reading The Greyhound News while wan ae his fingers wis shoogling aboot, knuckle deep, up his left nostril, trying tae catch a jelly fish by the look ae things. He wis sitting wae his feet oan tap ae a chair in front ae him as if he wis at hame. Johnboy tried no tae boak and even managed tae keep his burnt toast breakfast doon that he’d eaten eight hours earlier, by keeping his eyes away fae watching that finger daeing aw sorts ae brain damage. The Big Man wis wearing a stripy blue shirt and a shiny blue tie. He hid oan a fancy dark blue suit, wae a light coloured coat covering his shoulders, even though the place wis as hot as a gas oven. He’d a ring oan his right pinkie wae a big gold sovereign coin sitting oan tap ae it. Oan another stool, jist tae the left ae him, sat Horsey John’s right haun man, Tiny, the midget wae the club fit, whose two hauns wur gripping a big pint ae Guinness. Johnboy hid a strong urge tae suggest that he’d be better aff wae a hauf pint, when The Big Man looked up.

  “Tony, ya manky
wee thieving toe-rag, ye. How ur ye daeing?” Desperate Dan asked, pulling oot his finger, making the same sound as Johnboy’s ma made when she pulled the cork oot ae her sherry bottle at Christmas and leaving a massive angry nostril that slowly started tae shrink back tae its normal size.

  “Fine, Pat.”

  “And who’s this manky wee arse-bandit wae the fancy Levis ye’ve goat wae ye the day?”

  “This is Johnboy.”

  The Big Man took his time, looking Johnboy up and doon.

  “So, where hiv youse been snow-dropping then?”

  “Alexandra Parade.”

  “Ah, that brings back the auld days tae me, that dis.  Dae ye remember Alexandra Parade, boys?” he asked, looking o’er at the three blond gorillas.

  “Aye, Ah goat ma first pair ae underpants there,” wan ae the twins said, aw misty-eyed.

  “See whit we’ve aw goat in common then, boys? We aw started oot in the same wee cesspit, so we did.  It’s always good tae be reminded ae where ye came fae noo and again,” The Big Man said, looking at the manky pair in front ae him.

  “Er, ye wur wanting tae speak tae me, Pat?” Tony asked, bit The Big Man ignored him.

  “Tiny, go and get the boys a wee drink. They look awfully dry-moothed, staunin there in they fancy expensive jeans that some poor mug his worked aw week fur.”

  Wae that, the filthy basturt lifted the side ae his arse aff ae his chair and let oot a fart that sounded like a clap ae thunder above the racket in the bar. There wur loud guffaws fae somewhere behind Johnboy, followed by, “Fucking stoater, Big Man!”

  Stoater?  Johnboy thought that The Big Man must’ve shat himsel. Even wae aw the smoke tae smother the smells in the place, The Big Man hid tae wave his Greyhound News furiously in front ae his nose tae get rid ae the smell ae shite that took o’er their side ae the bar.

  Meanwhile, Tiny arrived wae two hauf pints and set them doon in front ae Johnboy and Tony.

  “Tiny, hiv ye jist shat yersel again?” The Big Man asked in mock horror.

  “Probably,” Tiny said, reaching roond and touching his wee arse before sniffing his fingers and then grabbing his Guinness wae baith hauns again.

  Johnboy wis dying tae taste the beer, despite no knowing where the fuck Tiny’s tiny hauns hid been before they’d arrived, bit he’d decided tae take the lead fae Tony.  Tony wis staunin there, trying tae look as if he widnae want tae be anywhere else in the world.

  “Trannys!” The Big Man finally said, looking at Tony.

  “Trannys?”

  “Ah need some trannys and Ah need them pronto.”

  “Nae bother.”

  “How much ur ye efter fur them?”

  “Ah’m no sure, it depends oan how many ye want.”

  “How many kin ye get me?”

  “It depends.”

  “Oan whit?”

  “Oan whit the fuck trannys ur,” Tony said, straight-faced.

  The Big Man slapped his fancy-suited knee, and let oot a roar ae laughter.

  “Ah knew ye didnae know whit the fuck Ah wis oan aboot, ya fly wee midden, ye. Ah wis jist trying tae see how long it wid take ye tae own up.”

  “So, whit’s a tranny when it hits ye oan the napper?” Tony asked, visibly relaxing, bit still no reaching fur the beer.

  “Transistor radios. Everywan wants them these days, including me,” The Big Man said in triumph, looking aroond at Tiny and the blond back-breakers who wur aw eyeing each other up knowingly, delighted that they knew something the boys didnae.

  “How much dae they cost?” Tony asked.

  “Anything between fourteen and twenty quid,” Tiny chirped in, looking up fae his Guinness wae a big white foamy moustache oan his tap lip.

  “A fiver each then?” Tony said.

  “Ah’m the crook aboot here. Try again, Mario.”

  “Three quid each then?” Tony said.

  “Ah’ll tell ye whit Ah’ll dae.  Ye’ll get a quid each fur yer standard Perdio PR Twenty Fives, Dansette Gems, Choristers, Dynatron TP Thirties and Pye Q Threes, bit ye’ll get two quid if ye come up wae a KB Rhapsody Deluxe, or even better, a Realtone Globepacer or a Grand Prix GP-nine-o-wan. They’re like hens teeth as they’ve jist newly started tae appear in this country fae America.”

  “It’s a deal,” Tony said.

  “Ye kin tell if it’s a real Globepacer because there’s a ‘Dial-O-Map’ wae real time zones that pops oot ae the back,” chipped in Tiny.

  “A ‘Dial-O-Map?’”

  “Aye, a fancy wee map ae the world,” Tiny said, as if he knew whit the fuck he wis talking aboot.

  “Er, right, Pat. So, if we kin get ye a whit?”

  “Realtone Globepacer, Grand Prix-nine-o-wan or a KB Rhapsody Deluxe.”

  “Ye’ll gie us two quid a shot?”

  “Aye.  Noo, fuck aff.  Ah’ve goat a wee bitch who’s running across in the White City that Ah want tae put a line oan.”

  And wae that, they wur dismissed.

  Jist as they wur aboot tae high-tale it oot ae the place, Shaun, the liberty-taking gorilla, waved them across. He looked as if he wis awready pished.

  “Yersel and yer mates, including that wee ugly Skull wan...come roond tae ma cabin at wan o’clock the morra. Don’t keep me waiting,” he slurred.

  “Nae bother, Shaun. We’ll be there.”

  As Johnboy wis walking oot the door, he said, “Goodnight, Kirsty,” in his maist friendliest grown-up voice that goat a few titters and grunts fae the hounds ae the Baskervilles camped oot at the bar, bit a lovely smile fae the rose who wis pouring a pint.  As they went through the swing doors, he noticed that Nancy and her man wur still sticking their tongues doon the throats ae each other in the aff-sales section.

  “There’s nae way Ah’m bloody-well gaun roond tae that dookit the morra,” Skull shouted defiantly when they caught up wae him and Joe oan the stable roof.

  “Skull, ye don’t hiv any choice. Tell him, Johnboy.”

  “Aye, he asked fur ye by name.”

  “So, whit did he say then?”

  “Remember and tell that wee Mr Magoo he’s tae be there oan the dot,” Tony said, keeping his face straight.

  “Fuck him and his wanking brothers. Ah’m still no gaun.”

  “Anyway, we’ll deal wae that later. Johnboy is gonnae show us where we kin plank oor dosh. Is that right, Johnboy?”

  “Aye, bit we’ll hiv tae heid back doon tae the bottom ae McAslin Street tae get there.”

  “Right, let’s go. We’ll tell ye whit wis said oan the way.”

Chapter Sixteen

  “Ah’ve jist spotted that Johnboy ae yours, coming doon McAslin Street,” Helen’s maw said tae her. “It’s a wonder ye didnae bump intae him oan route.”

  “He wis probably aff hame,” Helen replied.

  “He wis wae three other boys…a right sleekit wee bunch, if ye ask me.”

  “Whit, they wurnae wearing alter smocks, ye mean?”

  “Ah’m jist saying…and anyway, it’s efter nine. Should he no be hame and in his bed at this time?” her maw went oan, looking at the clock.  “Ye know whit they say aboot boys and idle hauns.”

  “Maw, it’s still light ootside and it’s the school holidays.”

  “Aye, well, when you wur his age, ye wur still in yer bed at seven, holidays or no.”

  “When Ah wis his age, ma Auntie Jeannie hid me trooping aboot aw o’er the pubs and halls in the Toonhied behind her oan the campaign trail, trying tae get wan last non-voter tae go oot and vote fur her.  Ah wis lucky tae be in ma bed by midnight maist nights,” Helen retorted, instantly regretting bringing up Aunt Jeannie’s name as her maw stiffened in her seat. “And anyway, don’t ye worry aboot Johnboy.  Ah’ve goat him well in haun, so Ah hiv.  He’s feart tae look at me these days, in case he gets grounded.  He’s been kept in three times in the past week fur his cheek and it drives him nuts.  So, how ur you and Da daeing?”

  “Ach, ye know, nothing ever changes aboot here. Dae ye know that Ah’ve served yer da up scrambled egg oan toast wae black pepper every single night fur the past forty five years, including during the war when eggs wur as scarce as hens’ teeth?”

  “Aye, ye don’t know how lucky ye ur.”

  “Whit? Is Jimmy fussy aboot whit ye’re putting doon in front ae him?”

  “Naw, maist ae the time Ah’ve goat sweet F.A. tae gie him when he comes in fae his work, apart fae a stale piece ae bried, fried in dripping.”

  “Ach, well, Ah’m sure it keeps him oan his toes, eh?” her maw said as they baith burst oot laughing.

  “So, spit it oot, whit’s the joke?” Helen’s da asked, coming intae the room wae The Evening Times tucked up under his erm.

  “Hiv ye left that windae open?  Ah hope tae God none ae the neighbours hiv tae go intae that cludgie fur at least hauf an hour,” her maw said.

  “Ach, serves them right. If they think that’s bad, they should’ve seen whit wur officially classified as shite-hooses fur us heroes tae take a crap in during the war.”

  “Aye, well, save us fae oor blushes and change the subject, Colonel Pish-pot,” Helen said.

  “Aye, let’s change the subject aboot aw ma heroic escapades that ensured Queen and country could hiv a crap in peace.  Hiv ye telt her then?” he said, heidin fur the sink tae wash they hauns ae his.

  “Check this oot,” her maw said, sliding a fancy printed pink card across the table tae her. “A big skinny boy in shorts and vest came bounding up the stairs, three at a time, and pushed it through ma letter box. Auld Izzie next door thought she wis getting attacked, the way he shot past her.”

  “Ye’ve been invited tae auld Daisy and Bill’s wedding anniversary?”

  “How dae ye know that?” they baith asked at wance.

  “Aye, me and Jimmy goat an invite tae.”

  “Did ye?  Oh, that’s different then. We’ll probably go noo,” her maw beamed, looking across at her da.

  “Whit? Jist because her and Jimmy ur gaun, ye’re gaun noo?”

  “Aye, so whit? A minute ago ye wur in the huff because Ah said Ah wisnae gaun, noo that Ah am, ye’re back in the huff.”

  “Ah’ve no mentioned it tae Jimmy yet, so it’s no a hunner percent that we’ll be gaun anyway.”

  “He disnae hiv a problem wae Pat Molloy, dis he?” her maw asked, putting oan her best solemn face.

  “Jimmy?  Naw, Ah don’t think so. It’s jist that we’re skint.”

  “Ach, don’t let that put ye aff. Yer da will make sure ye’ve goat enough fur a wee Babycham or two.”

  “Nae doubt, Ah kin manage a wee sub as long as it’s paid back…this time.”

  “Oh right, brilliant, then we’ll definitely be there,” Helen said, as she picked up the card, feeling better than she hid fur a while.

  “It says here that there will be a top country and western band playing aw night and he’s putting oan a wee Bingo session wae first class prizes fur aw us wummin folk,” her maw said, getting hersel aw excited.

  “Aye, ye let that wan slip through yer fingers, Helen,” her da said.

  “Aw, don’t start spoiling the fun before it’s even started,” Helen retorted, gieing her da a dirty look.

  “Well, Ah’m only saying.”

  “Ye’re only saying whit?”

  “That ye could’ve been sitting in a fancy hoose, living the life ae Riley,
insteid
ae sitting up in Montrose Street wae the door coming in tae meet ye.”

  “Whit’s this goat tae dae wae us being skint?”

  “Ah’m only saying ye could’ve been wae a successful business man.”

  “Pat Molloy is a bloody money-lender who breaks people’s legs if they don’t pay up oan time.”

  “Aye, Ah heard that rumour tae,” he scoffed under his breath.

  “Right, Granda, change the record,” her maw warned, before Helen could come back at him.

  “Ah’m still no sure why we wur invited though,” Helen wondered oot loud.

  “Probably because ye looked efter auld Bill when Daisy wis ill aw they years ago.  Remember?” her maw reminded Helen.  “If it hidnae been fur yersel, Bill widnae hiv been able tae go oot tae work.”

  “Aye, maybe that’s the reason.”

  “Or he’s still goat a wee saft spot fur ye,” her da slipped in.

  “Anyway, Ah’ll speak tae ma loving husband, the wan that worships the very ground that Ah walk oan, the faither ae ma weans who’d never, ever, stray and make me look like an eejit by gieing me a showing up in front ae aw ma friends,” Helen said bitterly, staunin up and gieing her maw a kiss before heiding oot the door.

  As Helen wis heiding doon the stairs, she could hear her maw getting oan tae her da tae keep his trap shut aboot
her
and Pat Molloy.