The Silver Arrow (23 page)

  “I still don’t think we’ll be able to use this as evidence,” Swansea reminded him, no being able tae resist flicking through the photographs, stoapping noo and again tae read the contents ae a page highlighted.

  “Maybe, bit whit it dis tell us is that the notebook is key here.  Ye want tae read whit they goat oot ae a right shitehoose called Wee Eck Thomas.  Christ, Wan-bob will hiv a hairy fit when he finds oot we’ve goat a copy ae this.  Ah cannae wait tae tell the basturt,” Simon snorted, laughing oot loud fur the first time that day.

  “I still don’t see what the end game is here, Simon,” Swansea admitted, looking across at the young dapper gangster, clearly baffled, as he looked doon at another photograph.

  “If Ah know Wan-bob, his initial reaction will still be tae hiv a pop at the lassies, bit when that fails, and we’re daeing aw we kin tae make sure that happens, he’ll calm doon and consider the wider implications ae whit’s staring him in the face.  The main thing is, we need tae make sure we kin deflect that first initial comeback.  That’s the challenge.”

  “We?”

  “The Mankys.”

  “But how?”

  “Ah’m no sure, bit we’ve taken some precautions awready.  We think we know who he’ll use tae try and dae the damage.  We’ve also changed the locks oan Senga’s flat and there’s been a phone installed.  The main thing fur us is tae keep oor eyes oan the lassies while they’re gaun back and forward tae their work.  We’ve split that task amongst ourselves.  That also applies tae the bears they’ll use against them.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Naw, it’s straightforward.  At any sign ae anything happening we’ll raise it wae them and let them see we’re aware ae whit’s gaun oan.  They’ll get the message.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, boyo,” Swansea said doubtfully.  “Are you sure this is not the time to call in the boys in blue?” Swansea wondered anxiously.

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake, Swansea.  Whit ur ye getting yer knickers in a twist fur?  It’s the polis that’s created aw this carry-oan in the first place, wae their corruption.  Aw Ah’m asking is fur ye tae set up a meeting wae The Stalker.  Wance we’re in and he sees me, he’ll nae doubt sling us oot oan oor arses, bit it’ll gie me jist enough time tae let him know that it wis Senga Jackson that wis in the room that night.  Withoot that happening, Ah’m no sure we kin keep the lassies safe,” Simon retorted, playing the conscience card.

  “Won’t Paddy McPhee know Senga Jackson…what she looks like?”

  “Naw.  Aw he clocked wis a nurse.  If he gets documented proof that says she wis oan duty, then that’s who he’ll believe slung his arse aff the ward that night.”

  “I’ll need to talk to Graham.”

  “Well, take as long as ye want.  Obviously, youse will hiv tae work oot the best way forward legally, if ye’re tae raise the action, bit if Ah’m no sitting in front ae The Stalker the morra, ye’ll know that Graham’s firm his been replaced wae wan wae a bit mair baws tae them.  Oh, and by the way, ye kin keep them,” Simon said, nodding tae the pile ae photographs, as he stood up.  “There’s plenty mair copies where they came fae, so there is.”

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

 
Just when everyone thought The Silver Arrow had retired, the most wanted racing car driver in Britain screamed and roared defiantly along Great Western Road in the early hours of this morning at speeds estimated to be in excess of one hundred and sixty five miles an hour.  Despite special high powered police squad cars, drafted in from other forces throughout Scotland, being strategically placed in and around Great Western Road at taxpayers expense, The Silver Arrow left them all standing in its screaming wake.  Residents reported local dogs barking for up to five hours along the city’s longest road after the twenty-five minute display of burning tyres and police sirens, howling in frustration.  It has been estimated that half of the residents across the whole of The West End of the city, were awakened by the screaming of the high-powered engine, as the racing car sped in and out of the side streets between Cowcaddens and Linnevale.  An older female resident, Mrs Blythe Cushion-Grant, living with her husband in Auderdale Gardens, Hyndland, said that it reminded her of being in Monte Carlo in the late forties.  She said that it was the most exciting thing she’d ever witnessed since being back in Glasgow and offered to post bail for The Silver Arrow if he agreed to come for tea with her and her friends.  Traffic Superintendent John Bower hit back at criticism for failing to catch The Silver Arrow and dismissed suggestions that a helicopter be brought in.

  “It’s all about the cost.  We never know when he’s going to turn up,” the Superintendent claimed at a press conference later.

  Superintendent Bower also said that it’s likely The Silver Arrow is being dropped off and picked up by some sort of covered car transporter and has asked the public to be vigilant…”

Chapter Thirty One

  The shit hit the fan big time when the screws found oot aboot the parole.  It wis fair tae say that the shock and surprise resounding aroond the place wis in equal measure between the YOs and the screws.  The majority ae YOs wur pleased fur Tony, Snappy and Pat, apart fae a big skinny snake fae Yoker called Buckteeth Bill.

  “There must’ve been some amount ae arse-licking gaun oan aboot here, if ye ask me.  Ah mean, ye wid’ve thought they’d hiv been the last wans tae put in fur parole, let alone get it,” he’d been overheard tae mutter tae a couple ae his cronies within earshot ae Snappy.

  “Who the fuck asked you fur yer opinion anyway, ya prick?” Snappy hid turned and demanded, before knocking Buckteeth’s two front buck teeth doon the back ae his throat.

  The first hint that they wur gonnae be telt officially hid been when Pat’s ugly mug appeared through the glass strip ae the door ae the sewing machine shoap.

  “Gucci! Johnston!”  The Tormentor hid shouted fae the door, a puzzled look etched oan that tormented kisser ae his.

  Twenty minutes later they’d arrived back, impersonating Cheshire cats and walking as if they’d jist hid their Nat King aff ae Bridget Bardot and two ae her pals.  The Tormentor hid looked as if he’d jist swallowed a dollop ae fresh shite.  It’d been quite clear that the white, sweaty, miserable-looking face oan display tae aw and sundry wis due tae rage and disbelief.  Oan entering the workshoap, he’d scurried past Snappy and Tony’s beaming coupons, oan route tae hivving a hurried confab wae Dickheid Dick, who’d been sitting whiling away his time oan that lazy arse ae his, up at the cutting table, kidding oan that he wis working.

  “Ye’re fucking joking me!” Dickheid Dick hid roared in disbelief.

  While maist people congratulated them in the dining hall, the screws stood aboot looking glum, taking it personally.  It didnae take them long tae get a second wind though.  Efter everywan wis locked up efter tea, the screws sprung intae action, starting at Tony’s door.  Johnboy heard the sound ae the boots climbing the stairs fae a good bit aff, heiding in the direction ae the tap cell landing.  It wis a familiar mob-haunded, determined kind ae stomp, where the marchers aw naturally managed tae fall intae step wae each other, even when marching up the stairs.  Johnboy nipped aff ae his bed and heided fur the spy-hole.  Although aw the spy-holes hid wee sliding latches that the screws lifted up when they wanted tae hiv a swatch at ye, they aw hid a wee pin hole in the centre ae them tae stoap the latches fae sticking against the glass.  By pressing yer eye hard up against the glass in the inside, it wis like looking through the wrang end ae a telescope.  The contingent stoapped at Tony’s cell.

  “Right, Gucci, how many books hiv ye goat in here?” Dickheid Dick demanded, as the sound ae the deid-lock oan the door wis sprung tae ensure wan ae the screws didnae get grabbed as a hostage and the door slammed shut behind him.

  “Ah gie in, how many books hiv Ah goat?” Tony replied, as The Tormentor moved oot ae Johnboy’s line ae vision and Tony came intae view, staunin in the middle ae his cell.

  “The Chief his instructed us tae inform aw the YOs that any mair than four books found in any cell hiv tae be impounded and transferred tae the new library cell oan the ground flair ae B-Hall.  If ye want any ae the excess books back, ye kin haun wan in and take another oot,” Dickheid snorted in glee as The Tormentor, oan bended knees, pulled oot a box, full ae books, fae under Tony’s bed.

  “And if Ah refuse?” Tony asked, staunin there wae his erms folded across his chest, leaning wae his back against the windae wall.

  “Then they’ll be confiscated.”

  “Oan whit grounds?”

  “Health and safety.”

  “Health and Safety?”

  “That’s whit we’ve been telt.  If there’s a fire, then they’ll add fuel tae it.  So, whit wans dae ye want tae keep and which wans dae ye want tae gie up?” Dickheid sneered, nodding at the box that hid been lifted up oan tae Tony’s mattress, looking as if he wis gonnae pish himsel wae excitement.

  “Some ae these books ur really rare and cost a fortune.  They’re collectors’ items, so they ur.”

  “Aye, well, Ah’m sure that’s whit everywan is gonnae say, so start picking the four ye want tae keep.”

  “And if Ah don’t?”

  “Then we’ll choose four fur ye.”

  “Whit if Ah don’t want them put intae yer so-called library?”

  “Then we’ll dump them.”

  “Who’ll dump them?” Tony asked calmly, keeping his temper in check, even though Johnboy knew he’d be absolutely boiling inside.

  “Ah will,” The Tormentor said.

  “How dae Ah know ye won’t keep them fur yersel?”

  “Me?  This heap ae shite?  Somehow, Ah don’t think so,” The Tormenter scoffed, waving his erm dismissively at the box.

  “Right, well, let me see,” Tony said, bending o’er and picking up a book, gieing it a momentary glance before opening it in the middle and tearing it apart fae the spine, before picking up another book.

  Johnboy stood watching the scenario fur aboot ten minutes as Tony slowly and casually ripped apart his book collection, some ae which hid been blagged tae order fae some ae the biggest hooses in The West End.

  “How many books hiv ye goat, Taylor?” a screw asked him efter unlocking his door.

  “Four.”

  “Show us.”

  Efter they moved oan tae Jimmy Simpson’s door, Johnboy went back tae the peep-hole.  Dickheid Dick and The Tormentor wur baith staunin, no saying a word, as Tony continued tae systematically shred his prized book collection.  Far fae being happy wae the situation, Dickheid and The Tormentor baith looked sick as pigs as the pile ae ripped-up books oan the mattress grew in size. 

  “Brilliant.  That’ll save me hivving tae humph them aw the way back tae Glesga oan the ninth,” Tony informed them smiling.

Tae add insult tae injury, Robert The Beast arrived oan the scene, pushing wan ae the big four-wheeled laundry bins used oan Clean Sheet Day.

  “Right, Connor, pick up aw that shite and put it in the basket,” The Tormentor commanded.

  “If that beast takes wan step anywhere near ma cell Ah’ll tear the fucking face aff ae him,” Tony growled.

  “Did ye hear me, Connor?” The Tormentor snarled, as The Beast refused tae budge, glancing fearfully between the screws and Tony, who wur staring intae Connor’s eyes.

  When it became obvious that The Beast wisnae gonnae budge, The Tormentor pushed him aside and grappled the bin intae Tony’s cell and glumly started filling it wae the remnants ae whit hid been Tony’s stack ae reading material.

  The flairshow goat even better wance Tony reached the last four ae his books.

  “Right, ye kin keep they wans,” Dickheid hid interrupted, nodding tae the books as if he wis daeing Tony a favour.

  “Them?  Nah…where Ah’m gaun, Ah’ll be partying so hard and shagging everything in sight, Ah won’t hiv time fur reading,” Tony bragged, smiling, as he tore up the books, before tossing them and the still intact standard issue Gideon’s bible intae the laundry bin.

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

  Police have confirmed that nineteen victims have died and one hundred and eighty people have been injured in a Birmingham pub after the IRA detonated a bomb, following the return to Ireland of the body of James McDade, who was killed last week in Coventry, when the bomb he was planting exploded prematurely.  The Prime Minister, visiting those in hospital this afternoon said that…

  Police in the Highlands have searched Culrain Castle, the ancestral home of the present Duke of The Kyle of Sutherland, as part of the nationwide hunt for the missing Lord Lucan, who is wanted in London for questioning, following the murder of a nanny employed by him to look after his children.  Inspector Swein McTavish, based in nearby Lairg, denied a warrant had been issued to search the castle and stated that Lord MacDonald had invited the police to search the castle and grounds to dispel local malicious gossip that Lord Lucan was in hiding there…

  Police in Glasgow are hunting for three teenage boys who absconded from Thistle Park Approved School in Paisley.  The boys, ages between twelve and fourteen, are thought to be behind a spate of house and shop burglaries in the Springburn area of the city in the past week…

  Graham Portoy, the colourful and often controversial criminal defence solicitor, won the ‘Brief of the Year’ award at the Glasgow Bar Association’s annual dinner in The Grosvenor Hotel last night.  In his acceptance speech, Mr Portoy praised those within the legal profession who stood up to defend people’s rights to a fair trial, whatever the cost, and criticised those, who used those same laws to undermine and deny people, mostly the poor and disenfranchised, equal rights and access to justice.  Mr Portoy went on to suggest that those within the legal profession, who had taken the easy route to practice law, should look at themselves in the mirror and ask why they are there.  Most of those in attendance attributed Mr Portoy’s criticisms to those working within the city’s procurator fiscal’s service.  Mr Portoy received a standing ovation…”