Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (31 page)

Chapter Thirty Seven

  “Kirsty, will ye get that, hen?” The Big Man said, withoot looking up fae his Racing News.

  “Whit ur ye wanting?” Kirsty demanded, haun oan hip, efter opening the door fur the fourth time in twenty minutes.

  “Is he in yet?” asked Horsey John.

  “Aye.”

  “Then, that’s whit Ah want,” he said, brushing past her.  “Hellorerr Pat.”

  “Horsey, how’s yersel?”

  “Shite.”

  “Aye, so nothing’s changed then. Ye’re still in yer usual good mood, ur ye?”

  “Ah’ve jist saw they cheeky wee manky pals ae yours daeing a runner, wae the bizzies hauf way up their arseholes.”

  “Whit wans?”

  “The Tally and his pals.”

  “Who wis chasing them?”

  “They daft eejits, Crisscross and Thompson.”

  “So, they’ll hiv goat clean away then?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “So, whit kin Ah dae ye fur?”

  “Ah haunded o’er the keys tae Shaun’s cabin tae them, jist before they took aff and Ah’ve goat some money tae haun in fur him tae pick up later.”

  “Jist gie it tae me and Ah’ll see that he gets it.”

  “Fine,” Horsey John said, pulling oot five socks full ae coins and throwing them oan tae the table wae a thud.

  “Whit the fuck’s this?”

  “The cheeky wee basturts haunded the money o’er tae me like this.”

  “Whit’s wae the two knots in each sock?”

  “The Tally wan said that aw the socks hid holes in the toes so they hid tae tie a knot oan baith ends tae stoap the money fae spilling oot.”

  “Hiv ye counted it?”

  “Hiv Ah hell.  They said there wis a score in there somewhere.”

  “Aye, they’re something else, so they ur,” The Big Man said, laughing. “They’re jist like masel when Ah wis their age…cheeky as fuck wae a good sense ae humour tae boot. No a bad wee crew that. Ah kin see them gaun far.”

  “Dae ye think they meant tae haun o’er the dosh in coins?”

  “Of course they did. They wee shitehooses hiv probably spent the last two days gaun up and doon the shoaps oan Parly Road, changing it fae notes intae ha’pennies and pennies, jist tae noise Shaun and his brothers up. Ah definitely like their style.”

  “Ah cannae staun the cheeky wee fuckers masel. And the lip ye get fae them? If Ah wis forty years younger, their baws wid’ve been well kicked before noo.”

  “Aye, well, Ah widnae put money oan that. They’re gonnae be trouble in a couple ae years fae noo, bit we’ll deal wae that when the time comes. In the meantime, jist dae whit Ah’m daeing and enjoy the show. Crisscross and Liam Thompson, ye say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Fucking eejits!  That wee manky mob will run rings roond them aw day long.”

  “Ah’m glad somewan appreciates them.”

  “If ye see Shaun, don’t let oan that they’ve paid in ha’pennies and pennies. Ah cannae wait tae see the face oan him when he his tae sit there aw night, coonting it.”

  “Right, Pat, see ye later.”

  “So, Kirsty, hen, how’s ma group getting oan wae their rehearsals?”

  “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Which dae ye want first?”

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Ah hate aw that choices shite…jist tell me.”

  “Dae ye want the good news or the bad news first?”

  “Furget it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Listen, Ah’m no gonnae let ye wind me up the day. No news is good news as far as Ah’m concerned.”

  “Great.”

  “Okay, gie’s the good news first.”

  “The band ur getting oan like a hoose oan fire and they’re churning oot songs, twenty tae the dozen. There’s no been a cross word between them and they reckon they kin go oot oan the road. Bad Tidings ur hoping tae catch them oan tour or at wan ae their gigs.  Ah’ve heard the stuff they’re daeing. There’s a fair chance that they might jist get a recording deal.”

  “Aye, well, noo, that is good news. Ah’ll need tae make sure that Ah get ma cut, seeing as Ah’ve put them thegither.”

  “Will ye hell. They’ve asked me tae be their manager.”

  “So, that’s the bad news, is it?”

  “Naw, that’s still part ae the good news,
ya cheeky sod, ye.”

  “Okay, nae need tae get they knickers ae yours in a twist. So tell me the bad news then, bit be careful…ye know how sensitive Ah kin be.”

  “They’ve goat an offer ae another gig, wae better money…oan Saturday.”

  “Hiv they fuck. They’re playing here next Saturday or they’re no playing anywhere.”

  “Ah telt ye last week that Ah wis representing them. First of aw, ye telt me ye wid pay anything tae get a decent group and then ye informed me, withoot negotiating or nothing, whit ye wur willing tae pay them.  Yer offer wis considered and noo Ah’m informing ye that we’ve goat a better deal.”

  “Gonnae no dae this tae me, Kirsty? Ye’re making ma auld Nobby Stiles play up, so ye ur.”

  “Ye offered them, through me, three nicker fur the night…is that right?”

  “Ah offered three quid plus a bevy if they wur any good. Looking at the way the Pie Flinger and Marshall Dillon wur tearing intae at each other, Ah’m still surprised they’ve lasted this long.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Noo we’re getting somewhere. So, three quid and a bevy still stauns then?”

  “Naw, fair enough means thanks fur the offer bit if ye want pish, get in touch wae yer pal, doon the water in Dunoon. See if he kin gie ye a better deal.”

  “Kirsty, Ah cannae believe whit Ah’m hearing here. Ye know how important this is tae me and that wee maw and da ae mine. How kin ye dae this? Look at aw the things Ah’ve done fur ye.”

  “Aye, it’s nearly a year since ye offered me the hostess job doon at The Capstan Club and Ah’m still waiting.”

  “Ah telt ye, how wis Ah tae know Chantel’s cancer wisnae terminal at the time?”

  “Ur ye wanting tae renegotiate or no?”

  Silence.

  “Fine then,” she said, picking up her Jackie.

  “Er, aye, okay, spit it oot, bit Ah’m warning ye, Ah’m no in the mood tae be ripped aff…especially fae the likes ae you,” he eventually said wae a scowl.

  “Right, this is non-negotiable, so don’t even try. Three pounds each tae the musicians and three tae masel fur aw the hard work Ah’ve hid tae put in.”

  “Ye’re bloody jesting yer uncle Santa fucking Claus here. Ah could get that blind prick, Roy Orbison, fur hauf that if he wisnae awready oan tour.”

  “Ye obviously hivnae taken a telling, hiv ye?  Ah said that it wis non-negotiable. Three single wans plus three fur masel. Take it or leave it, Colonel Parker. Whit’s it tae be?”

  “Ah don’t bloody believe this. Being screwed by a blonde dolly bird and Ah don’t even hiv a smile oan ma coupon.”

  “Hiv we a deal?”

  “So, Ah’ve tae haun o’er twelve smackeroos before ye’ll agree tae the group Ah’ve brought thegither tae play in ma pub tae ma wee poor maw and da?”

  “Naw.”

  “Naw whit?”

  “That’s fifteen big wans fae where Ah’m staunin.”

  “How the hell dae ye make that oot?”

  “There’s the lead singer...”

  “Florence Nightingale, the pie flinger, aye?”

  “Gareth and Blair...”

  “Commonly known in the toon as Sheila and Lola.”

  “Masel...”

  “Kirsty, the soon tae be unemployed barmaid…which makes, if ma calculations ur correct, four times three quid equals twelve. At least it wis when Ah wis in approved school.”

  “And then there’s Michael Massie.”

  “Who the fuck is Michelle Lassie? Another wan wae an even dodgier name than they brothers ae yours.”

  “Massie. Michael Massie.”

  “Who the fuck is he then?”

  “He wis the bass player wae Charlie Crevice and the Pyle’s until we stole him fur yer maw and da’s bash. Best bass player in the toon, so he is. So, that makes fifteen. At least it wis when Ah went tae The City Public.”

  “Kirsty, ye’re bloody skating oan thick ice, hen. They’d better be bloody brilliant.”

  “Ah think ye mean thin ice.”

  “That as well.”

  “And ye better gie me an agreement right noo or Ah’m oot ae that door tae phone Rio Stakis tae get a real job.”

  “Oh, fur Christ’s sake…hiv Ah no jist agreed?”

  “Hiv ye?”

  “Ah said Ah hid, didn’t Ah?”

  “Aw, Pat. Ah swear tae God, ye’re no the biggest wanker in the Toonheid that everywan says ye ur. Under that sagging beer belly is a heart ae stane.”

  “Ach, ye’re embarrassing me noo...stoap it. Ah only want tae dae whit’s right fur ma wee maw and da.”

  “So, the offer ae the hostess job at The Capstan Club still stauns?”

  “Aye, as soon as Chantel moves oan… if ye know whit Ah mean.  The job’s yours, bit ye might hiv tae wait a wee while jist yet.”

Chapter Thirty Eight

  Johnboy stood looking at the cabin, soaking in the view. He couldnae believe it belonged tae them...well, nearly belonged tae them. He noticed there wis awready two doos oan the board, dancing aboot. The hood wis up so they wurnae gaun anywhere though. He could hear laughter coming fae the door and Skull’s voice.

  “Tony, fuck the Murphys. It’s aw oors noo.”

  Johnboy stepped oan tae the bottom rung ae the ladder and shouted that he wis coming up.

  “So ye’re here, ur ye? And no before time. We thought ye’d goat nabbed by Stan and Ollie,” Skull said, popping his heid oot through the bead curtains as Johnboy climbed up.

  “Naw, Ah never clocked them wance Ah left youse,” Johnboy said, feeling his excitement building up as he stepped in through the door.

  The place wis the same as he’d remembered it fae their first visit. The only difference wis that aw the nesting boxes wur open and Tony and Skull wur scrubbing them oot using soapy water fae a bucket that wis sitting in the middle ae
the flair.

  “Whit ur youse daeing?”

  “We’re cleaning oot the boxes. Ah don’t trust they Murphys, so we’re gieing them a good scrub, jist tae make sure they hivnae left us any fungi or bacteria as a farewell present, the pricks,” Skull said.

  “Kin Ah gie youse a haun?”

  “Naw, jist staun there and learn fae the experts,” Skull advised, as he dipped the scrubber intae the soapy water and began scrubbing furiously in a new box.

  “Being an expert oan soapy water disnae really go wae yer image, Skull,” Tony said, looking doon fae the wooden Barr’s box that he wis staunin oan tae reach the tap row ae boxes.

  “Ha, fucking ha, Tony. When wis the last time ye hid a bath yersel, ya Atalian greaser, ye?”

  “Jist efter Ah shagged yer granny. That’s whit killed her.”

  “There ye go, boys,” Joe announced, tying a wee bag tae a nail at the side ae the boxes and staunin back tae admire his work.

  “Whit’s that fur?”

  “That, Johnboy, is fur us tae use before we put oor greasy hauns oan any ae the doos. Ah’ve filled it up wae baby powder. So, before ye pick up a doo, ye hiv tae clap yer hauns oan tae each side ae the bag, jist like this,” he said, demonstrating, as a wee puff ae white powder engulfed his hauns.  “The powder comes through the cloth and soaks up any greasy shite oan yer hauns and it’ll keep the doos clean when ye lift them oot and in fae the boxes oan the landing board.”

  “Aw, right, Ah see.”

  “Hiv ye seen oor cavie, Johnboy?” Skull asked, wiping his wet hauns oan the front ae his Jags jersey.

  “Naw.”

  “Ye don’t know whit the fuck Ah’m talking aboot, dae ye?”

  “Nope.”

  “Right, oot ae ma way.”

  Johnboy stood tae the side as Skull lifted up a trap door fae under where he’d been staunin beside the door.  Johnboy looked doon and saw that apart fae the light shining doon intae the opening, it wis pitch black.  There wis a ladder nailed oan tae the lip ae the opening that stretched doon intae the dungeon.

  “Right, oan ye go. Ah’ll follow ye doon.”

  “Me?  Er, Ah’m a wee bit feart ae the dark, so Ah am.”

  “There’s fuck aw doon there.”

  “So, ye go doon first then.”

  “Ah cannae believe ye. Oot ae ma way,” Skull said, and disappeared doon the hole like a wee bald-heided rat.

  When Johnboy followed him doon and stood beside him at the bottom, Skull telt him no tae move. He then nipped back up the ladder, and pulled the trap door shut wae a slam. The place went instantly black.  Johnboy jist aboot shat himsel when Skull landed, feet first beside him.

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Skull!”

  “Wait a minute and yer eyes will get used tae the dark. And anyway, Ah thought youse carrot-heids could see in the dark?”

  “Only if ye eat carrots mair than wance a week,” Johnboy replied, as his eyes started tae get used tae the blackness.

  “The last carrot Ah tasted, hid a taste ae mince aff ae it. It wis in a school dinner. Fucking horrible, so it wis.  Ah prefer them raw masel.”

  “That’s how ye’re supposed tae eat them. That and in soup as well.”

  “Ah know, that’s whit Ah’ve jist said, ya daft eejit, ye.”

  “Is that wee windaes?” Johnboy asked, nodding.

Johnboy’s eyes wur noo in full working order and he wis looking o’er at the four wee narrow beams ae light that wur shining doon horizontally oan tae the flair fae each wall.

  “Aye, they’re jist big enough tae let in some air and enough light that the doos kin see whit’s gaun oan. There’s nae glass in them. See the heavy mesh wire oan the insides ae them? That’s tae stoap the rats getting in. Wance they invade, yer doos hiv nae chance.”

  “So, whit happens doon here then, apart fae scaring carrot-heids like masel shitless wae aw that slamming ae trapdoors? Nae wonder hinging his a bad name.”

  “This is where yer hens hiv their chicks. They like their peace and quiet and the dark as well.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Aye, wait tae ye see the wee beauties we produce doon here. They ugly fuckers, the Murphys, ur no gonnae know whit’s hit them.  Ah’’ve goat big plans fur this place, so Ah hiv.”

  “Too true, ye hiv.  Ah cannae wait tae get involved.”

  “Right, let’s get back up and make sure that pair ae lazy basturts ur daeing whit they’re supposed tae be daeing.”

  “So, whit dae ye think then, Johnboy?” Tony asked, emptying bird shit aff the end ae his shavehook wae his finger intae a box.

  “Bloody brilliant, so it is. Ah cannae believe it’s oors.”

  “Aye, well, we’ll need tae speak aboot that.”

  “Goat ye, ya fud, ye!” Joe shouted gleefully, jumping up and doon oan the carpet-covered cot, looking o’er at the other three wae a big grin oan his coupon.

  He wis haudin up a wee blue tranny that looked familiar and which hid music blaring oot ae it.

  ‘This is the Mike Ahern Show, believe it or not. Your DJ, Mike A, Radio Caroline, on one-one-nine, your all-day radio station. This is the All Systems Go Show’ the voice jingled, followed by the sounds ae the Everly Brothers’ ‘Price Ae Love’
blasting oot intae the cabin.

  “Bloody brilliant, Joe,” Skull shouted, daeing an impression ae a wee baldy Partick Thistle player, dancing in a filthy, oot-ae-date fitba jersey and whose fitba boot studs wur aw worn doon tae the white soles, bit who looked as if he wis sucking oan a bit ae wire that wis still live, hinging oot ae a wall socket.

  Tony jumped oan tae the dance flair and started strutting roond in a circle, hauns at his sides, looking like
a doo that wis jist aboot tae get its hole. Hivving never danced before didnae put Johnboy aff either. He jumped straight in and made an even bigger arse ae himsel than the rest ae them by pretending that he wis playing the guitar as the Stones’ ‘It’s Aw O’er Noo’ filled the cabin
.
They aw eventually sat doon when ‘Colour’
by Donovan came oan.

  “Where did the tranny come fae then?” Johnboy asked Joe.

  “Aye, well...Ah decided tae hing oan tae this fur the cabin so didnae coont it when Ah said how many we nicked. Pretty cool, eh?”

  “Magic!”

  “Right, we need tae figure oot how we’re gonnae pay aff next week’s money. Any ideas?” Tony asked them, as he picked up the bucket ae dirty water and heaved it oot ae the door.

  “Aye, tell them tae eat ma shite because we’re no paying,” Skull shouted, as everywan burst oot laughing.

  “How much hiv we goat in the kitty?” Johnboy asked.

  “Efter haunin o’er the twenty tae they Murphy basturts, we’re left wae three pounds, fifteen bob and sixpence ha’penny exactly. Isn’t that right, Joe?” Skull said.

  “Bang oan.”

  “So, how dae we find sixteen pound, five bob before next weekend?”

  “Skull kin spend aw week doon in the toilets ae Dundas Street bus station.”

  “Right, that’ll take care ae five bob fur the week then.  Whit aboot the rest?” Tony said through the laughter.

  “Five bobs, five bob,” Skull sang, joining in.

  “Seriously, we’re goosed if we cannae pay oan the spot next weekend,” Johnboy reminded them.

  “Briquettes?”

  “That’ll gie us six pound less five bob fur the horse and cart. That’ll still leaves us ten pound ten bob short.”

  “Trannys?”

  “We’d need at least ten or eleven trannys tae cover that. That’s at least three shoaps worth, tae make sure we get the amount we need.”

  “No forgetting we’d maybe need wan or two days tae get the briquettes across the Nolly.”

  “How aboot lifting the lead aff the roofs ae the schools and chapels roond aboot here? There’s plenty tae choose fae.” Joe suggested.

  “Or, the green roof at the back ae the building beside the gates ae Sighthill Cemetery. Ah heard that that’s where they keep aw the records ae who’s planted there. The roof is covered wae copper sheets. It’s the weather that’s turned the sheets green.”

  “Is it? Ah never knew that,” Johnboy said.

  “That’s cause ye’re thick and we’re no,” Skull chipped in.

  “It wid mean daeing an all-nighter in the dark. Kin ye imagine the faces ae aw the workmen who’d clock ye, while sitting oan the buses smoking their fags, gaun up and doon Springburn Road tae their work, if we did it during the day?”

  “Naw, let’s leave that wan the noo. That’s a good wee wan tae haud oan tae fur a rainy day,” Tony said.

  “Or night,” Skull chipped in fur good measure.

  “Why dae we no jist tan the Murphys’ loft?” Johnboy asked aw ae a sudden.

  Silence.

  “Fucking good wan, Johnboy,” Joe said eventually, sniggering.

  “Imagine the fun they pricks wid hiv, screwing oor baws oan tae a builder’s plank efter booting them fur hauf a morning.”

  “Whit? Whit did Ah say?”

  “Johnboy, that’s whit Ah like aboot ye…ye’ve no goat a bloody clue. Who the fuck invited him tae run aboot wae us in the first place, eh? Wis that you, Tony, ya daft Atalian, ye?” asked Joe.

  “They’d be oan tae us like the rash ma sister goat treated fur up in Black Street. Aye and it’s no whit youse think it wis...Ah think,” Tony said, tae mair laughter.

  “Whit’s wrang wae tanning the Murphys’ loft then? How many times hiv ye tanned a dookit and goat aff wae it? Look at Mad Malky and his dug fae Possil?  Ye never goat caught fur that wan, did ye?”

  “We’re game enough, Johnboy, bit no bloody stupid either.”

  “Aye, well, tae hell wae this. We kin aw think aboot how we raise the rest ae the dosh later. Let’s get that wee hen or the doo oot aff ae that board and gie them a wee bit ae exercise. Johnboy, Joe...nip doon and check that none ae the Murphys’ doos ur up and oan the go. Ah don’t want tae lose this pair before Ah trade them in the morra,” Skull said.

  When Joe and Johnboy went in search ae the Murphys’ doos, Joe telt Johnboy whit hid happened that morning wae the bizzies.

  “We’d jist come up o’er the roof, efter gieing Horsey John the dosh and collecting the keys fur the cabin.  Skull turned up, saying that there must’ve been a Friday morning mass oan at St Mungo’s as he’d noticed that they still hid their collection boxes...the wans that sit oan the end ae a pole, sitting leaning against the wall in the vestry, jist in fae the front door. It wis jist too good tae ignore. He came running o’er, aw excited, shouting whit wis happening. We wur jist hauf way through Tony’s close when that pair ae bampots jumped oot oan us. The sergeant came in through the front, behind us,
and Crisscross nipped in the back ae the closemooth.”

  “Christ’s sake. Whit did youse dae then?”

  “We charged up the stairs wae the pair ae them up oor arses. Crisscross wis shouting ‘Goat ye, ya wee manky basturts, there’s nae escape noo.’ As soon as we hit the first flair landing, we aw nipped o’er the banister and drapped doon tae where we started. Skull couldnae resist shouting in mid-air, as we flew past them, ‘Hiv ye fuck,
ya skelly-eyed basturt.’ They wur so bloody surprised that they ended up crashing intae each other, like something oot ae the Keystone Cops, when Crisscross whirled roond tae come back doon the stairs efter us. Gie him his due though, that skelly-eyed wanker kin shift. Ah thought they’d captured us the way he wis bounding up the stairs, three at a time. That’s when we bumped intae you.”

  “Aye, Ah jist aboot shat masel when Ah saw whit wis behind youse, coming towards me through aw they puddles.”