Dumfries (11 page)

Chapter Nine

  Johnboy gied the big basturt sitting opposite him another wee glance.  He wished tae hell he knew whit he’d supposedly done tae upset him.  The baith ae them hid been sitting in silence fur the past fifteen minutes, secretly eyeing each other up, avoiding direct eye contact.  Johnboy looked aboot the room fur the umpteenth time.  It wis a typical jail space, clearly designed by somewan who wis colour blind, who’d been trying tae impress some faceless, bit obviously important bureaucrat, in tae believing that they really wurnae staunin in the middle ae a madhouse that tried tae pass itsel aff as a jail social work reception area, efter being allowed oot ae The Department fur a day visit tae the place. The three tiny barred windaes, high up oan the brick walls oan the same side ae the room as The Scowler hid sun bleached, six feet length, multi-coloured jungle-leaved green curtains hinging oan either side ae them that clashed heavily wae the lilac painted brickwork and broon lino-covered flair.  At either end ae the twenty by thirty feet ae flair space, a hauf dozen wooden and chipped metal tubular chairs faced each other, hinting at their wance prominent position ae hivving spent some time in a boardroom, bit noo awaiting their imminent disposal tae the local tip, wance a budget could be identified by The Department accountants in Edinburgh tae replace them.  Unintentionally splitting the room in two wis the well-worn path across the lino, that hid been ploughed by countless leather-soled shoes, stretching between the door in tae the room itsel and the door directly opposite it, where a highly polished brass sign announced tae the world that this wis the social work office where the current jail destination assessment interviews wur tae take place.  Johnboy wis hopefully gieing everywan the impression that he wis reasonably laid back and relaxed, despite that antennae ae his being switched oan and buzzing like a speed-freak oan heat.  The screws, loitering aboot at the other end ae the room fae where Johnboy and The Scowler wur sitting, wur trying tae act normal, so Johnboy knew fine well that there wis some sort ae set-up being played oot.  Three screws hid escorted him fae his cell, withoot telling him where he wis gaun, only tae join up wae the three awready hinging aboot wae The Scowler at the final destination.  He’d noticed that The Scowler’s mattress and other gear wur still sitting oot in the corridor, tae the side ae his cell door.  Johnboy hid found oot pretty quickly oan Sunday, efter the church service, that his man hid been spotted being haunded something fae wan ae the untried YOs who’d been exiting the church up the aisle.  He’d lugged intae the commotion ootside his cell door when they’d escorted The Scowler back and telt him he wis oan governor’s report.  He’d stood by the inside ae his cell door and listened tae the screws gleefully informing The Scowler tae shift his meagre belongings oot intae the corridor.  Johnboy hid spent the day speculating whit it wis that he’d been caught wae.  Hid it been a blade?  Noo, here he wis, sitting waiting tae be assessed oan where he wis gonnae end up, in the same room as somewan who wanted tae kill him, while the escort screws wur refusing tae plap they lazy arses ae theirs doon oan tae the inviting hauf dozen empty chairs at the other end ae the room, trying hard no tae alert him tae the fact that they wur up tae something.  He glanced across at The Scowler, bolder this time, no hiding the fact that he wis deliberately trying tae eye-ball him.  Johnboy wondered whether The Scowler hid also picked up that the screws wur up tae something, or wis he part ae the set-up?  It wis well-known in the jail that the screws set guys up.  It wis also well-known that a wee back haunder could be slipped intae an envelope oan the ootside tae some aff duty screw who’d then turn his back oan whit wis happening back in the jail, where somewan wid end up getting a blade in the ribs, as hid happened tae Silent, back in Polmont in 1971.  It wis carry-oans like that, that made new jail admissions like Johnboy and Silent nervous and jumpy as fuck.  If The Scowler wis worth his salt, he widnae be showing any signs ae his intention towards Johnboy.  Johnboy reckoned there wis aboot two tae three decent strides between them.  He wondered if he’d hiv time tae pick up wan ae the chairs oan route and still make it across the divide between them, before The Scowler knew whit wis happening.  He quickly shifted his focus back doon towards the screws, allowing the eyes ae the YO across fae him tae sneak another peek at him.  Johnboy’s brain wis screaming inside that heid ae his, urging him tae go fur the basturt while he hid the chance.  Johnboy, again, studied the length ae the space between them.  He didnae want tae get intae a close huddle where The Scowler could haud oan tae him.  He wis a big strong-looking basturt and Johnboy reckoned that tae take him, he’d need plenty ae space tae manoeuvre, in order tae keep away fae they vice-like erms that wur oan display, folded across that barrel chest ae his.  Johnboy wisnae too concerned aboot the size or strength ae his opponent.  He’d been in enough situations in the past tae know exactly how much effort wis required tae put this wan oot ae the game swiftly, so wis reasonably comfortable oan whit hid tae be done tae resolve The Scowler’s personal issues wae him and Silent, wance and fur aw.  He’d need tae hiv the freedom ae movement tae inflict as much damage oan him in as short a space ae time, before he wis overpowered by the dodgy-looking screws, over-playing the fact that they wurnae up tae something at the far end ae the room. 

  “Taylor!  Right, in ye come,” a screw hollered, efter the social worker’s door wis suddenly yanked open, startling baith Johnboy and his victim across fae him.

  “Take a seat,” a grey, side-burned chief screw, full ae silver-braided crowns stuffed wae imitation red velvet, growled, motioning him tae roost oan the solitary seat in front ae the desk.

Johnboy took his time in taking up the offer.  Opposite him sat an assistant governor, wae a female social worker tae his left and a chief officer, full ae rainbow-coloured medal ribbons splashed across that chest ae his, tae his right.  The AG and the social worker hid a buff-coloured folder open in front ae them and wur flicking through the sheets ae paper it contained.  The Chief jist sat immobile, staring at him through deid-looking eyes, baith shoulders covered in dandruff.  Fur some strange reason, Johnboy wanted tae lean across and flick each shoulder wae the palm ae his haun, bit thought better ae it.   He wis well-aware ae the presence ae the two screws staunin anchored close behind, oan either side ae him, by the sound ae the wheezing escaping fae wan ae them.  Good…a smoker…he thought tae himsel.  He looked across at the social worker, busying hersel wae the contents ae his file.  He knew as soon as he clapped eyes oan her that she wis the wan that hid thrown the pen at Snappy during his admission interview when he’d been up oan remand in Longriggend a while back.  Ah’ll gie her mair than a pen if she bloody well starts any ae that shite wae me, Johnboy thought tae himsel, trying hard no tae scowl at her and show his haun this early in the game.  Snappy hid her described doon tae a T.  She wis yer typical horsey-faced, greasy-looking jailbird social worker.  She wis as ugly as sin and hid that grey pallor, similar tae a long term prisoner who hidnae been oot intae natural light in a while.  He wondered whit her excuse wis.  She sported wan ae they smoker’s permanent ‘Ah’m dying fur a fag’ startled looks, that his ma and aw her pals used tae wear…like a blinking neon sign oan a dark night…when they’d suddenly discover, too late, that no only hid they nae fags, bit there wisnae a packet ae Typhoo tea leaves lurking in the back ae a kitchen cupboard as back-up either.  She wis dressed like she shoapped in a rag store, clearly proud as punch tae be displaying that set a keys, attached tae her belt by a long steel chain, similar tae the wans harnessed by the two sitting tae the right ae her.  While no decked oot in a uniform, she hid that same superior demeanour as everywan else in the nick, who goat tae walk aboot wae a set ae jangling keys attached tae them.  The only thing lower than a sex-offending stoat-the-baw in a jail, as far as maist jailbirds Johnboy knew, wis yer ‘Ah’m in here fur the long-run and enjoying every fulfilling minute ae it’ low-life social worker.  Everywan that Johnboy knew who’d ever done any time inside aw believed that the reason social workers, male or female, chose tae work in a jail, wis because ae some sort ae sexual kick.  Why else wid anywan want tae come and work in a place like Longriggend?  Fuck, even working in a zoo wid’ve been mair satisfying than coming tae work, day-in, day-oot, in a midden like Longriggend, unless there wis a perverted angle in there somewhere.  He wondered if he wid get the opportunity tae slip that long held observation in during the interview withoot it being deemed oot ae order or offensive.  Johnboy knew fine well that there wis a load ae verbal abuse heiding his way, gaun by the filthy looks she wis slinging across at him.  He sat back and relaxed, looking forward tae the flairshow that wis aboot tae start.

  “And you’ll be John Taylor, eighteen-years-auld and serving fourteen years fur attempting tae murder two poor serving polis officers while robbing a bank.  Is that correct?” she demanded, rather than asked, eyeing him up wae the usual ‘Ah know you, so don’t think ye’ll get away wae getting wan o’er oan me’ looks that jail civvy workers tended tae come oot wae oan meeting an inmate they hidnae come across before, especially if there wis a screw present tae keep them fae getting assaulted or verbally abused.

  “Aye, Ah believe that’s whit it said oan the indictment,” he confirmed pleasantly.

  “Oh, Ah see.  So, ye don’t agree wae the charge then?” she scowled, exaggerating her supposed superiority and toughness, fur the benefit ae the two loafers tae the right ae her.

  Johnboy wondered, no fur the first time since sitting doon, whether he should gie the stupid cow the time ae day.  His mind wis still oan whit wis sitting back oot in the main reception room.  He hoped he hidnae blown his chances by no getting in there when the opportunity hid risen.  It hid been the screws fannying aboot, blatantly advertising tae everywan that they wur up tae something, that hid unsettled him.

  “Personally masel, Ah think attempted murder wis stretching it a bit,” he eventually replied.

  “Oh, ye dae, dae ye?  Discharging a sawn–aff shotgun in a public arena tae the severe injury ae the poor polis officers wisnae an attempt tae murder them then?”

  “Ah widnae know.”

  “Oh really?  So, whit dae ye know then?”

  Silence.

  “Answer the question, Taylor,” The Chief growled, irritation showing in that voice ae his, this early in the meeting.

  “Whit the fuck his this goat tae dae wae her, eh?”

  “She’s part ae the management team ae this establishment.  If we’re tae assess yer suitability as tae whether ye dae yer time in a training establishment, then we need an insight intae yer suitability, so we dae.  Oor job is tae ask the questions here and your job is tae answer them,” the AG informed him, speaking fur the first time.

  “This is the first day ae yer rehabilitation journey, so it is.  It aw starts here. Ah’d advise ye tae listen up, and listen up good,” she spat at him, obviously encouraged by the support oan show.

  “You?  Rehabilitate somewan like me?” he scoffed, no being able tae contain himsel fae laughing oot loud. “Ye’ve mair chance ae finding yersel a man aboot here than ye hiv ae rehabilitating me. Dream oan, ya imposter, ye.”

  “Look, let’s move oan, shall we?” The Chief, who wis the real boss aboot there, demanded, clearly getting fed up awready wae the disturbance unfolding in front ae him.

  “Whit skills dae ye hiv?” The AG asked pleasantly, as Mrs Management sat there, in the huff wae The AG fur no reprimanding him fur accusing her ae being an ugly basturt.

  “Whit ur ye looking fur?” Johnboy asked, noticing The Chief rolling they eyes ae his heavenward.

  “Whit makes scum like you hate aw us wummin, eh?” she demanded tae know, no able tae contain using that auld defensive, social work chestnut, that he’d heard umpteen times in the past, when the accuser wae the chain and key attached tae her waist, took umbrage at his less than respectful attitude.

  “Ah know a ton ae wummin who ur far mair equal in ma eyes than maist men Ah know.  Unfortunately in your case, you’d certainly no qualify as wan ae them.”

  “See, Ah knew as soon as Ah clapped eyes oan this wan…another wummin hater!  His file speaks fur itsel,” she spat, wae a wave ae her nicotine-stained fingers, as The Chief shut his eyes and the AG turned and hauf smiled at her, the baith ae them clearly no being able tae contain themsels, hivving telepathically decided tae let her stew in her ain juices fur the time being, allowing Johnboy tae take the flair.

  Silence.

  “The difference between somewan like you and me is that Ah don’t go aboot accusing somewan ae hating me because ae ma sex, jist because Ah don’t like the fact that they’ve judged me oan whit they’ve read in some poxy, made-up prison file.  Ah judge people based oan whit Ah see in the whites ae their eyes when Ah meet them,” he hit her wae, as The Chief opened his eyes and the faint wee smile reappeared oan the corner ae The AG’s flaky, cracked lips again.

  “That’s enough Taylor,” he warned him.

  “Ye’re no making this easy fur us,” she grumpily mumbled, sick as a pig, clearly no happy that The Chief and AG hid joined thegither in unison and dumped her at his feet fur some sick sense ae humour known only tae them, as if Johnboy gied a monkey’s fuck how she felt.

  “Jist answer the question so we kin get this o’er and done wae,” The Chief sighed, the game o’er wae.

  “Whit wis the question again?”

  “Whit skills dae ye hiv?” Mrs Management spat at him before The AG, who’d asked the question in the first place, could get in there.