The Silver Arrow (14 page)

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

  Police have confirmed that the man shot outside The Blackbull Picture House in Kirkintilloch’s West High Street on Thursday night, died this morning in Glasgow’s Royal Infirmary, where he had been rushed shortly after the incident.  Forty-five-year-old Millionaire, Mr Thomas Brannighan, a father of three and the sole director of Kirkintilloch Driving School, never regained consciousness.  Tonight’s news can exclusively reveal that Mr Brannighan was a major underworld figure in the West of Scotland and was known in underworld circles as The Driving Instructor.  Mr Brannighan was also known to be the biggest supplier of Horseman Thief Pouter pigeons in Britain.  Police have refused to confirm whether they believe the motive for the murder was drug-related.  Police are urging anyone with any information to contact them on…

  Bus drivers and clippies in the city have announced an all-out walkout on Friday and Saturday nights for the next four weekends after another weekend of violence in which three of their colleagues were assaulted whilst on duty in and around George Square last weekend…

  The City’s Police Traffic Superintendent, John Bower, stated at a press conference today that police throughout the city have searched nearly five hundred garages and lock-ups since the man known as The Silver Arrow took to the streets, tempting the police to catch him, in and around The West End of the city.  Superintendent Bower justified the resources being put into the investigation by stating that Glasgow’s pride as the second city of the empire was at stake and that members of the public should see The Silver Arrow for what he is…a criminal breaking the law.  When asked what he thought of the revelations that, in a recent survey, two thirds of the city’s male pupils aged between six and twelve said they wanted to be like The Silver Arrow when they grew up, Superintendent Bower stormed out of the press conference accusing the press of giving The Silver Arrow myth status…

  A young girl of fifteen was attacked and sexually assaulted as she walked along Argyll Street at nine thirty last night.  Police say that the girl was lucky as a driver of a passing vehicle and his passenger came to the girl’s rescue after hearing her screams.  The man, who police described as in his thirties, has long black hair, tied in a ponytail and was wearing…”

Chapter Fifteen

  “Whit time’s it?” Jean groaned, trying tae shield her eyes fae the glare ae the bare light bulb, peeping oot fae the bottom ae the lampshade oan Peter’s side ae the bed.

  “Hauf seven.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Peter, whit time did ye get in at?”

  “Ah’m no sure…hauf three or four…something like that.”

  “Why so late?”

  “We hid tae clear stuff oot ae storage and shift it elsewhere.  Whispering Bob telt me he spotted that pair ae eejits, Hope and Glory, snooping aboot the lock-ups earlier in the week.  That Silver Arrow prick is putting pressure oan everywan.  The bizzies ur turning o’er aw the lock-ups in the city.  Ye widnae believe the amount ae stuff that’s being shunted back and forth oan a nightly basis because ae that selfish basturt.  Wance the bizzies move oan, aw the gear is moved back in.  Talk aboot hassle.  The quicker they catch the prick, the better.”

  “Ye’re gonnae hiv tae slow doon or ye’ll end up keeling o’er wan ae these days.”

  “How kin Ah slow doon?  Ah’m supposed tae be a runner, so Ah am,” he scoffed, staunin up and opening the wardrobe tae take oot a clean shirt.

  “Whit ur ye daeing getting up at this time oan a Sunday fur anyway?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.

  “Look, go back tae sleep.  Ah need tae go and see aboot getting a camera.”

  “A camera?  There’s wan in the sideboard through in the living room.  Ah saw it there the other day there when Ah wis putting stuff away.”

  “Naw, this is a particular camera.  Wan that’s wee and kin take pictures in a dark and dingy, cramped space.”

  “Whit the hell ur ye wanting wan that dis that fur?”

  “Nothing…it disnae matter,” he replied, as she swung her legs oot ae bed.

“Throw me o’er ma dressing gown, will ye?” she asked him, staunin up, stark naked.  “Ah’ll go and put the teapot oan…unless ye want tae come back tae bed fur a wee while?” she asked him, smiling.

  “Ah cannae, Ah hiv tae nip doon tae see Sleazebag Donald before he starts filming.  He’s a pain in the arse if ye disturb him mid-scene, so he is.”

  “Ye mean ye’d rather go and watch him making dirty films, rather than stay here and get the real thing?  It disnae say much fur me, so it disnae,” she said, as he slapped her arse oan the way past.

  “Wan slice or two?”

  “Wan.”

  “Dis it no seem kinda sleazy?”

  “Whit?”

  “Ye know?  Making films ae lassies and guys shagging?”

  “It’s meant tae be like that…it’s a skin-flick.”

  “And so demeaning as well.”

  “Whit is?”

  “Fur the lassies…and the guys tae, Ah suppose, if ye think aboot it,” she mused, taking a sip ae her steaming tea.

  “They get paid a fortune, so they dae.”

  “He gies me the creeps, so he dis.”

  “He’s supposed tae…that’s why he’s called Sleazebag,” Peter retorted, looking across at her while chomping oan his toast.  “Ah don’t suppose Ah kin hiv another slice, kin Ah?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Why dae ye hiv tae deal wae people like him anyway?  Dis it no make ye feel bad aboot the wummin he’s exploiting?”

  “Ah’ve telt ye, Ah’m a runner…it’s aw part ae the job.  Ah hiv tae deal wae aw sorts ae unsavoury characters.  Christ, if ye think he’s bad, ye should see some ae them.”

  “So, how much dae they get paid then?”

  “Who?”

  “Y’know, the lassies?”

  “Christ, Jean, how wid Ah know?”

  “Ye jist said they get paid a fortune.”

  “It’s Sunday morning…should ye no be thinking ae heiding doon tae the chapel tae ask fur furgiveness fur aw the sins ye’ve committed against me this week or something?”

  “Don’t change the subject.  How wid ye feel if yer daughter ended up doon at a place like that, being filmed hivving sex wae some sleazy stranger?”

  “Ah don’t hiv a daughter…at least, no that Ah’m aware ae.”

  “So, who’s the camera fur then?”

  “Simon.  He asked me tae get him wan.”

  “A camera that takes photos in wee dark, dingy places?  He’s no intae taking pictures in men’s toilets, by any chance, is he?”

  “It’s funny ye should say that,” he replied, smiling.

  “Right, Ah’m aff tae hiv a bath.  Any idea when ye’ll be back?” she asked him, placing their plates and cups in the sink.

  “Naw, bit it probably won’t be before teatime.  Dae ye want tae go oot fur something tae eat the night?  Tattaroni’s?”

  “Naw, Ah’m getting sick ae eating oot.  Why don’t Ah make us something nice that we kin sit and hiv a bottle ae wine wae?”

  “Sounds perfect…see ye later,” Peter said, gieing her a wee peck oan the cheek before grabbing that jaicket ae his fae the back ae the spare dining chair and disappearing oot ae the door.

Chapter Sixteen

  “So, how are you getting on with your rehabilitation then, Johnboy?” Father Leonard asked him, slipping aff his robes in the vestry efter Mass.

  “Look, Father, let’s get wan thing straight here, Ah never said Ah wis intae being rehabilitated.”

  “Oh?”

  “Naw, Ah’m jist trying tae understaun whit it entails and whit it’s supposed tae mean tae the person gaun through the process, like…how does it feel?  How should he feel?  Aw that kind ae shit.”

  “Change,” Jimmy Baxter said, taking a wee fly slip ae the priest’s wine behind his back.

  “He’s slugging that wine ae yers behind yer back, Father,” Johnboy telt him, nodding.

  “Ah wis jist trying tae find oot whit blessed tastes like, Father.  It wis scientific and nothing tae dae wae the alcohol content…honest.”

  “Jimmy’s right, Johnboy…no matter how you dress it up, rehabilitation is about change.  If one is not prepared to change then rehabilitation surely won’t work.”

  “Ye mean like, unless ye’re baptised, the pearly gates stay shut, no matter how good and decent ye ur, wur or hiv become?  So, nae change in lifestyle and attitude means ta-ta tae rehabilitation.”

  “So, ur ye baptised, Johnboy?” Jimmy asked him.

  “Naw, that maw ae mine fell oot wae the local Ju Jitsu man and never goat roond tae it efter that.  She wis pretty flighty that way, so she wis.  It wis always the noo…nothing ever happened unless it happened the day before yesterday.”

  “Father Leonard could dae it fur ye, couldn’t ye, Father?”

  “Anyway, getting back tae aw this rehabilitation stuff,” Johnboy reminded them, ignoring Jimmy’s interruption and getting back tae the subject in haun. “It seems tae me that it’s jist another way ae controlling somewan, no matter how it’s put up.  Aw ye need tae dae is perform…jump through other people’s hoops…make oot that ye’ve seen the light and hey-ho, Bob’s yer uncle,” Johnboy sneered, snapping they fingers ae his, as he looked defiantly across at the priest, encouraging a challenge.

  “Would that not be…dishonest?” the priest hit him wae.

  “Fur who?  Christ, Father, it’s a jail we’re staunin in…no a…a…a bloody convent.  Of course it wid be dishonest.  Honesty isnae the real issue here, noo is it? This is aboot survival, getting by, trying tae pull a flanker.  The people who work in and run places like this don’t gie a monkey’s shit aboot honesty…if they’re even really honest wae themsels.”

  “Apart fae yersel, that is, Father,” Jimmy added quickly.

  “Fae where Ah’m staunin, it’s aw aboot power.  The screws push the YOs tae change, so it gies them an easy ride in here under the cloak ae rehabilitation.  If ye really listen tae them, the change they preach is based oan the way they wankers live and view life.  Who said they live perfect lives?  Look at some ae the thick shitehooses who walk aboot in here in a uniform.  They’d be the last people Ah’d want tae turn tae as an example ae how Ah’d want tae live ma life.  Maist ae the YOs in here, although stupid basturts like masel, ur probably jist honest scallywags who’ve broken the law and goat punished fur it by being caught.  It seems tae me that YOs like us should use that experience as a starting point and a basis fur whether we want tae change or no.  The problem Ah hiv wae trying tae understaun rehabilitation is because the official rehabilitation programme is being run and managed by wankers who ur looking fur an easy life…tae make them feel good aboot themsels, so they kin go hame and kid themsels oan that they’ve actually done something productive wae their day…at least that’s ma take oan it.”

  “Yes, but what about society in general, out there in the real world?” the priest challenged him wae a wave ae his haun up towards the Jesus windae.

  “That’s ma point.  Take me fur example.  Ah’m jist no that convinced some ae the thick basturts strolling aboot here in a uniform could really rehabilitate somewan like me.  Maybe a naïve first offender, who disnae know any better and wants tae believe the shit being spouted by people like The Tormentor…bit somewan like me?”

  “Is that not just a little bit cynical?” the priest came back at Johnboy wae, stoapping whit he wis daeing and looking across at him.

  “Fur who?”

  “You, Johnboy, ya bloody falsifier, ye,” Jimmy chipped in, taking another wee fly slug fae the neck ae the bottle.

  “I suppose, at the end of the day, if someone really wanted to change, they would, irrespective of who they had to prove it to.  Change has to come from within.  I agree that concocting a cynical ploy to achieve an end like early release probably wouldn’t be classified as rehabilitation in it’s purest form, but at the end of the day, people have to start somewhere.  Whether you believe it or not, Johnboy, there are people working in institutions like this that do genuinely want to support and help facilitate those who want to turn their lives around.”

  “Aye, bit who ur these people?  Whit makes somewan like Fanny Flaw such an expert?  When wis the last time anywan saw the results ae her rehabilitation score-card stuck up oan the notice board?”

  “Why ur we hivving this conversation anyway?  Ye either want tae change or ye don’t.  It seems straightforward enough tae me, so it dis,” Jimmy volunteered.

  “Ah’m trying tae figure oot whether it’s worthwhile investing ma time in rehabilitation or whether there’s an alternative, far mair productive path Ah should be focussing oan.  There’s nae point in daeing something if it disnae come up wae the goods at the end ae the day, is there?”

  “Like?” Jimmy asked, taking another fly swig.

  “Take love fur example.”

  “Love?” Jimmy and the priest exclaimed in unison, looking at each other tae confirm whether they’d heard right, before focusing back oan the red-heided, earnest looking, eejit staunin facing them.

  “Jist because Ah love pie, beans and chips disnae mean tae say a widnae soon get fed up ae it efter eating it five nights in a row.”

  “I’m sorry, Johnboy, you’ve lost me,” the priest admitted, smiling, as he turned and looked at Jimmy, before confiscating his depleted bottle ae altar wine.

  “Well, ye could try switching fae tomato tae broon sauce oan alternative nights,” Jimmy suggested, grinning mischievously.  “That wid extend yer love life fur a wee while longer.”

  “How wid somewan know when they wur in love?  Ah mean, real love and no jist lust love, Father?” Johnboy wanted tae know.

  “Oh, well, er, I suppose you would know based on how one felt, er, particularly towards er, the other person.”

  “Why the hell ur ye asking him?” Jimmy asked Johnboy.

  “Aye, bit how wid ye know that ye wurnae jist wanting tae perch oan that person and then efter ye’d done the damage, piss aff as fast as they legs ae yers could carry ye?  How could ye be sure it wis love before ye committed the dastardly deed?” Johnboy asked, smiling and ignoring Jimmy’s exaggerated umbrage at no being asked.

  “Promiscuity is shallow and debases true love,” the priest replied wae conviction.

  “Is that based oan personal experience or whit the bible taught ye, Father?” Jimmy challenged him.

  “No, it’s about respect.  If two people truly love one another, the sanctity of a loving marriage would be the natural progression…when the time was right, of course.  Before that, the couple in love would spend time with each other, getting better acquainted, deciding on their path together, in the eyes of the one true God and Mary, Mother of Jesus, God bless her, Amen.”

  “Right, so it’s obvious ye don’t believe in sex before marriage, and it’s good that ye managed tae somehow, wae subtly and finesse, slip that wee wan in withoot me and Jimmy clocking whit ye wur up tae, Father, bit tell me how these two people wid recognise the difference between true love and true lust?” Johnboy continued, starting tae wonder if he wis gonnae find whit he wis looking fur, fae this pair ae eejits.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Is there a particular feeling that separates love and lust?  Is the feelings different?”

  “Respect?”

  “Christ, Father, there ur a lot ae lassies that Ah truly respect, bit gie me hauf a chance and Ah’d be in there like a rat up a drainpipe, so Ah wid.  And don’t say ye widnae be the same, Johnboy,” Jimmy chipped in.

  “So, let’s say that Ah loved somewan and Ah wis the kind ae person like yersel who’d wait until Ah goat married before daeing the damage.  Whit feelings wid tell me that Ah wis in love and no really jist wanting intae they pants ae hers?” Johnboy persisted.

  “Johnboy, for centuries people in love have written, sung and proclaimed how they felt about being in love.  Surely you must have read or heard examples?  I don’t think that it’s all that complicated.”

  “Well, seeing as there isnae any library in here, gie’s an example…and before ye start, don’t tell me tae go and talk tae Fanny, the wonder-wummin social worker, who clearly knows everything there is aboot nothing,” he warned him.

  “Well, there’s Romeo and Juliet, probably one of the most famous love stories ever written,” the priest suggested.

  “Did they no commit Hari-Kari?  Hardly a success story that, wis it?” Johnboy retorted.

  “Cleopatra and whit wis his name?” Jimmy volunteered.

  “Another pair ae suicidal hopeless cases,” Johnboy replied dismissively, wae a wave ae his haun.

  “Sir Lancelot and whitever her name wis then?” Jimmy persisted.

  “Guinevere?  She wis married tae King Arthur.  Whit is it the bible says aboot sniffing roond another man’s wummin, Father?”

  “Orpheus and Eurydice,” the priest volunteered, eyes lighting up.

  “So, how dis that wan go then, Father?” Jimmy asked.

  “Is that no the wan where he wis married tae some wee nymph and he wisnae supposed tae look back…bit did?” Johnboy asked, starting tae feel himsel getting frustrated by the pair ae dumplings in front ae him.

  “A nymphomaniac?  Noo, that sounds like the kind ae gal Ah’d want tae marry, so it dis,” Jimmy admitted, laughing, getting a wee smile fae Johnboy.

  “It’s the sentiments being expressed in the story, Johnboy,” the priest reminded him, ignoring Jimmy’s continued shallow intellectual contribution tae the discussion.

  “Aye, right, Ah kin see that, bit wur Orpheus and Eurydice no jist figments ae somewan’s imagination who wis intae Greek or Roman Gods or something?” 

  “Yes,” the priest agreed.

  “Well, how dae we know that the person who wrote that wisnae as blind, stupid and as ignorant as me, bit unlike me, hid a way wae words?”

  “Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler…there wis a love story and a hauf,” Jimmy declared.

  “Too busy knocking lumps oot ae each other.  She sounded a total nightmare, so she did.” Johnboy mused, wracking his brains as he put the Guild back intae its case.

  “Richard Burton and Lizzie Taylor?”

  “Jimmy, whit ur ye like?  That pair hiv been married mair times than Pope Pius or whitever his name wis.”

  “Aye, bit ye’re no saying they wurnae in love, ur ye?”

“So, we’ve goat imaginary Greek Gods and Goddesses and battling film star divorcees.  Is that it?  See, Ah knew youse pair widnae understaun where Ah wis coming fae,” Johnboy growled, picking up his guitar case.

  “Johnboy, I think you’re complicating the point here. These beautiful, timeless words were written to express love in such a way that, irrespective of who we are, we can all identify with them.  When you’re in love, you’ll know it,” the priest said encouragingly and piously, crossing himsel and looking up at the crucifix wae the chipped feet nailed tae the cross.

  “Said like a true expert,” Johnboy scowled, heiding fur the door.