Dumfries (3 page)

Chapter Three

  “John Taylor, in respect of the verdict of being found guilty of bank robbery, of discharging a loaded firearm and attempting to murder two serving police officers whilst in the line of duty at The Clydeside Bank on November the ninth of last year, nineteen hundred and seventy two, the sentence of this court is that you be sent to a young offender’s institution for fourteen years…”

  And that, as Lord Campbell ae Claremyle so gracefully lisped fae between whit looked tae Johnboy tae be overindulged, fat, purple, drink-sodden lips, hid been that.  It hid been difficult tae take the stupid auld basturt seriously, even though Johnboy knew fine well that the sentence hid been fur real and that the arse ae his Y-fronts wid testify tae that wance he conducted a wee forensic investigation oan them later oan that night.  He’d known a fair amount ae guys who’d sat oan the very bench that that arse ae his hid been plapped doon oan since him and Silent’s trial hid started first thing oan Monday morning.  Efter being roughly plucked fae between the legs ae Michelle Hope, back in January, by her da, a serving bizzy up in Springburn, he’d been slung, heid first, doon two flights ae the stairs up his closemooth in Heim Street, bare-arsed, before being remanded up in the Bar-L fur three months.  He’d known the trial wid end up in the High Court, bit the length ae the sentence hidnae been whit Johnboy hid anticipated.  He’d known fine well that they’d come doon oan the shooter like a ton ae bricks.  He’d been trying tae get his heid roond the bizarre flairshow that hid been getting played oot in front ae him and Silent, sitting there oan they numb arses ae theirs fur three days solid, in front ae some dodgy looking auld geezer, who wis decked oot in a hair-doo that Mary Antoinette wid’ve gied up cakes fur.  No only that, bit it hid been difficult tae take the proceedings seriously.  This wis probably due tae the fact that he’d never come across so many lying basturts in polis uniforms in his entire life being paraded in front ae some auld judge who wis sitting there, wearing a red and white Santa Claus outfit, even though the sun wis beaming through the windaes ae the South Court in The High Court Judiciary, doon in The Saltmarket, jist before five o’clock, oan that sunny efternoon oan Wednesday, the 30th May 1973.

  “He’ll be addressing the jury as we speak.  Y’know, thanking them and aw that,” the turnkey…screw…bizzy…whitever the fuck he wis supposed tae be, who wis cuffed tae Johnboy, said tae the blank expressions oan the two prisoners’ faces.

  Johnboy turned roond and glanced back up the well-worn, wooden stairs, as the doors that led the prisoners straight fae the dock, doon intae the cells below, crashed shut above them. 

  He looked across at Silent.  Johnboy could tell he wisnae amused by the uninvited commentary being freely dished oot by the turnkey that Johnboy wis hauncuffed tae either.  Tae add tae the drama, the wee skinny runt that Silent wis attached tae hid gone and goat his key jammed in the barred gate that wid take them through tae the cells and the Paddy bus that wid take everywan back up tae the big hoose that wis the Bar-L.

  “Ur ye there, Boabby?” the skinny, uniformed, haufwit shouted, trying tae keep his echoing voice fae doubling back up the stairs tae the courtroom, where Santa could be heard murmuring his thanks tae every lying basturt ae the local constabulary he could find tae commend.

  “Boabby?  Boabby?  It’s me, Ross…Ross and Big Byron.  We’re locked in, so we ur,” Ross squealed, unease starting tae seep intae that whine ae his.

  “Y’know, ye’re actually quite famous noo, so youse ur,” Big Byron suddenly announced, oblivious tae the panic in his partner’s voice.  “No that anywan bit me his made the connection, mind ye.” 

  “Should that no be notorious?” Silent suddenly piped up, tae Johnboy’s surprise, hivving no uttered a single word during the whole ae the trial proceedings.

  “Naw, naw, that’s the other guy…the main man.  He wis the notorious wan aboot here, so he wis.  Youse pair ae clowns ur famous fur something quite different aw thegither, so youse ur.”

  “Boabby, ur ye there or whit?  Where the fuck is he?” Ross demanded, whining, as he looked at Big Byron, in full panic-flow noo, that high-pitched stuttering voice ricocheting up and doon the white glazed tiled walls ae the corridor oan the other side ae the grilled gate.

  Johnboy could’ve saved him a bit ae grief.  The instant that key hid become jammed in the lock, he’d awready calculated and then dismissed their chances ae being able tae overpower the two dumplings they wur attached tae, tae attempt an escape fae the building, withoot being nabbed.  The fly in the ointment wis the fact that the screws him and Silent wur hauncuffed tae didnae carry a key oan them tae unlock the cuffs.  That wid be done oan the other side ae the barred gate.  Noo, if Boabby, the missing bobby, hid been oan the same side ae the gate as them, well, that might’ve been a different story aw thegither.  The odds wur definitely stacked against that happening, at least fur the time being.

  “And whit notorious wan wid that be then?” Silent finally asked, biting, as Johnboy glared at his co-accused, no sure whether he wanted tae gie him a bloody slap or ignore the stupid basturt.

  “Manuel.  Peter Manuel. Notorious fur raping and shooting aw they wummin and young lassies deid, back in the late fifties,” Byron beamed knowledgably, clearly impressed by that historical brain ae his.

  Silence.

  “Johnboy, dae ye know whit the hell he’s oan aboot?” Silent suddenly asked, taking Johnboy by surprise again, trying tae draw him in tae the useless diatribe he’d been forced tae witness.

  “Ah’m talking aboot that notorious mass murderer wan, Peter Manuel…him that goat sentenced tae be hung by Lord Campbell…your Lord Campbell, at 4.58 in the efternoon, in the same dock, at the exact same time as youse two, oan the 30
th
May 1958,” Big Byron continued, haudin up his wrist and shaking his cheap Timex watch at them.  “Imagine the coincidence ae that, eh?  Exactly fifteen years tae the minute, gie or take a few seconds.   Ah wonder whit odds the bookies wid’ve gied me oan that wan, eh?  Ah wis the wan that led him doon the stairs efter he goat sentenced, so Ah wis.  Wee Peter? Couldnae gie a monkey’s jack-fuck, so he couldnae.  Wance Lord Campbell donned that black piece ae cloth and telt him he wis tae be topped, he jist aboot-turned and tried tae take these steep steps two at a time.  Christ, Ah could hardly keep up wae the greasy wee, limping midget,” Byron beamed, chuffed tae be able tae share aw that historical knowledge tae a captive, hauncuffed audience.

  Johnboy felt the bile in his stomach burning and wanted tae throw up.  He’d been let doon badly.  The nod fae The Big Man hidnae arrived back fae Spain, despite the supposed appeals fae Wan-bob Broon.  It wis difficult tae breath steady. He wanted tae be oan his lonesome tae try tae sort oot in his heid whit the hell fourteen years meant in porridge time. He’d never really been intae violence and hid always tried tae avoid it if he could, despite whit Lord Haw Fucking Haw hid claimed, back up in the courtroom, when he wis sentencing him.  Johnboy inhaled the musty air ae the confines ae the white tiled dungeon.  He hid a really strong urge tae grab the hair oan the back ae the heid ae Ross, the useless basturt ae a turnkey, who wis stuck between the jammed lock and Silent, and smash that face ae his aff the barred gate he’d failed so miserably tae open.

  “So, how many people dae ye hiv tae bump aff tae be classed as a mass murderer then?” Silent wanted tae know, as Johnboy coonted tae ten, slowly.

  “Oh, noo there’s a question.  Definitely mair than wan, that’s fur sure, bit efter that, well, Ah suppose the sky’s the limit.  Manuel goat convicted ae five, bit they say he done in a lot mair than that.  Aye, he wis a charming wee fucker wis Peter.  Always wore a cravat under his shirt collar…at least, he did when he wis up here oan trial.”

  “So, ye’re saying five then?”

  “Aye, five wid definitely hiv yer passport stamped as a spree killer, nae question aboot that.”

  “And aw these Yankee sojers that get sent tae Vietnam, shooting wummin and weans here and there and who ur aw noo walking aboot, happy as Larry.  Wid they be classed as mass murderers as well then?”

  “Naw, that’s different.  When ye’re at war, ye hiv every right tae defend yersel.  It’s either kill or be killed.  When faced wae an enemy, it’s either you or him.  The wan that’s left staunin is the wan that goat in there first. Everywan knows that.”

  “Jesus H Christ, Ross.  How the fuck hiv ye managed tae get yersels stuck?” Boabby, the lost bobby, demanded tae know, suddenly appearing oot ae naewhere, looking sheepish, the bulge in his crotch still visible.

  “Ah don’t know.  Ah tried turning the key and the bloody thing widnae budge, so it widnae.”

“Hiv ye tried turning it back the way?”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Boabby, Ah’ve tried this way and that…everything apart fae pishing in the keyhole.  We’ll need tae get these two through intae the cells,” Ross hauf wailed, turning and looking at Johnboy nervously.

  “Right, well, unhook yer belt wae the chain oan it and leave the key where it is.  Gie me a minute tae nip back up the stairs and we’ll take them through intae the North Court and back doon the stairs in that dock,” Boabby said, before disappearing.

  “Ah’ll bet ye yer Peter Manuel didnae get tae be in two docks in the wan High Court oan the same day, oan the same charge, at the exact same time as us, when he goat sentenced,” Silent beamed.  “Oh, and by the way, don’t ever compare us wae a fucking sick perverted stoat-the baw or Ah’ll fucking tear that bloody tongue oot ae yer mooth wae ma bare hauns and stuff it right up yer arse, so Ah will,” Silent said quietly, smiling at Byron The Bore, who tried tae come back wae a response, bit failed miserably, as that mooth ae his opened and shut, like a spring-loaded trap door.

Chapter Four

“How did ye get oan then, Johnboy?” a face asked fae the open hatch oan a cell door oan Johnboy’s left, as he passed by.

  “Fourteen,” he replied, wondering who the hell this James Baxter wis.

  “Fur fuck’s sake!”

  “Whit aboot yersel, Silent?” another face asked fae the opposite cell in the corridor.

  “Five,” Johnboy replied, knowing fine well Silent widnae answer, although efter whit he’d hid tae put up wae in the past few minutes, who knew?

  Johnboy stoapped, before haudin up his wrist tae get the hauncuff aff ae it.  The two brothers, awready sitting in the cell, didnae speak as Silent followed Johnboy in and the door wis loudly slammed shut behind them.  Two big white plastic mugs, wae a couple ae thick slices ae breid wae red cheese jammed in the middle ae them, wur sitting oan the narrow stripped, tungsten steel bench, waiting fur them.

  “Ur they fur us?” Johnboy asked.

  “Aye, but the tea will probably be cold.  They’ve been sitting there a while now.”

  Johnboy haunded o’er wan ae the cheese pieces tae Silent, before sinking his teeth intae his wan.  Nowan spoke.  The brothers sat silently, looking between Johnboy, who wis still oan his feet, and Silent, who wis noo sitting cross-legged oan the flair, his back against the steel, studded, door.

  “Did I just hear you saying you got fourteen years, Johnboy?” Shamus asked him, that Irish voice ae his, fur some strange reason, sounding totally alien in a place like the dungeons ae Glesga High Court.

  “Aye.”

  “At least you’re young.  You’ll still be a young man by the time you get out,” Gerry, his brother said kindly.

  “And you got away with five, Silent?” Shamus asked.

  “So, whit aboot youse, Shamus?” Johnboy came back swiftly wae, butting-in tae save Shamus’s embarrassment when Silent didnae respond.

  “We’ve been told that they’ll be sending the jury out to consider their verdicts on Monday.  The lawyer said he thinks they’ll take a few days to deliberate.”

  “A few days?  Well, that sounds promising.  That means The Crown hisnae come up wae as good an argument as they thought they hid.  The jury we hid took wan look at Silent and that wis that.  Ah don’t think they wur away mair than two hours before they trooped back in.  Ah knew we wur well-goosed, when that auld buck-toothed army-looking guy wae the Hitler moustache avoided gieing me eye contact.”

  “Maybe we should’ve turned up wearing cravats,” Silent interrupted, grinning, coming back tae the land ae the living.

  “And you, ya stupid prick, ye.  Whit wis aw that shite between you and that turnkey aboot?” Johnboy demanded, as Silent finally took a bite oot ae his cheese sandwich, efter hivving sat, studying it intently fur aboot four minutes straight.

  Johnboy looked at the brothers.  Shamus and Gerry hid been oan remand up in the Bar-L at the same time as Johnboy and Silent and their three pals, Tony Gucci, Pat McCabe and Snappy Johnston.  Gerry wis the quiet wan who hardly spoke and always hid his face in a bible, while Shamus, the youngest, jist came across as wan ae the boys.  They looked exactly like whit they wur…two young farmers fae Southern Ireland.  As well as supposedly being in the Provisional IRA, they wur the main defendants in the ‘Bombs in the Chapel’ trial that hid been playing oot in the newspapers and the news oan the telly fur the past few weeks.  There wis a lassie, the same age as Johnboy and Silent, who’d also been charged wae them, who wis being kept separate, somewhere alang the corridor.  Johnboy hid caught a glance ae her in the passing, bit she’d kept her eyes averted, doonwards, so he hidnae hid the chance tae say hello tae her.  She’d been kept oan remand oot in Cornton Vale wummin’s nick in Stirling.  Seemingly, the brothers and the lassie hid been stashing big piles ae gelignite and other weapons in the vestry ae St Teresa’s chapel up in Possil.  The priest, Father John, hid fucked aff back tae Ireland and wis refusing tae come back tae be questioned.  The Irish wur refusing tae extradite him because ae who he wis, knowing fine well that aw the Catholics in Ireland wid be up in erms, if they gied in and shipped a priest back tae The Brits.  Johnboy wis glad Father John hid managed tae dae a runner.  It wid’ve been embarrassing fur Shamus and Gerry tae hiv witnessed Johnboy booting the baws aff ae their co-accused, seeing as they came across as a right pair ae gentlemen.  Father John hid gied Johnboy’s ma a lot ae grief a couple ae years earlier, jist before she died ae a brain haemorrhage, oan the same night as she’d won a Corporation election tae be a cooncillor up in Springburn. Being locked up wae him wid’ve been too much ae a temptation oan Johnboy’s part.  The wee pontificating prick hid always been spouting aff, busy telling people how tae live their lives and there he wis, up tae his vestments in running a bloody bomb factory.  When they’d been walking aroond the exercise yard oan remand, Gerry hid asked The Mankys if any ae them hid come across Father John.  The others hid left it tae Johnboy tae reply.

  “The last time any wan ae us ever spoke tae a priest wis efter Tony went in the huff because the dirty basturt tried tae stick his finger up Tony’s bum withoot first washing it,” Johnboy hid replied.

  “Johnboy, get yer facts right or shut the fuck up.  The real reason wis that he hid fang breathe and he nearly knocked me oot when he wis trying tae whisper sweet nothings intae that lug ae mine…that and the fact, Ah wis only nine-years-auld at the time,” Tony hid said tae laughter, as the two brothers’ faces hid turned red wae embarrassment.

  “It sounds tae me as if ye’re in wae a good shout ae getting found not guilty,” Johnboy said, getting back tae the subject in haun.

  “We were just talking about it before you arrived.”

  “Stephen Charles, our Queen’s Counsel says it could be fifty-fifty, either way,” Gerry said, looking up fae his bible. 

  “Ach well, Ah wish youse aw the best.  At least we know where we staun noo,” Johnboy said, looking across at Silent, wondering if he knew anything aboot this James Baxter wan.

  “So, what happens to you now?” Shamus asked.

  “Ah think they’re planning tae ship us oot tae Longriggend, near Airdrie, tae be assessed before moving us oan.  It’s a big secure remand nick fur young offenders, bit they’ve goat a section in it fur convicted YOs who’ve been sentenced, like us, tae Her Majesty’s Pleasure fur murder. Wan ae the pass-men up at the reception in Barlinnie telt me that he heard a couple ae senior screws talking and they said that if we goat found guilty, they wur gonnae keep masel and Silent separated fae Tony, Snappy and Pat until they decide where tae put us.  They’ve awready been moved alang tae E Hall…the young offenders hall back up in the Bar-L…efter being sentenced last week.  Efter Longriggend, Ah’m no too sure, bit it’ll probably be Jessiefield, or Dumfries Young Offenders, as it’s noo called.  At least, it will be fur me, wae the length ae ma sentence.”

  “Ah want tae go tae Saughton in Edinburgh and become a barber, so Ah dae,” Silent announced suddenly.

  “Bit Ah thought ye wur a joiner, ya tadger, ye?” Johnboy asked, smiling fur the first time since being sentenced, as Silent reached across and lifted up another cheese piece.

  “Naw, that wis back in borstal in seventy wan.  This time, Ah’m gonnae tell them Ah worked in Tony’s da’s barber-shoap, doon oan the High Street,” Silent replied, smiling, taking a bite.  “And who the hell’s this James Baxter wan when he’s at hame?”