The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

  The Stalker wis in a foul mood as the car pulled intae the station yard.  Biscuit, his PC, wis behind the wheel, claiming he couldnae avoid driving intae every pothole oot ae sight in the yard.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Biscuit!” he growled, pressing the palm ae his haun against his burning cheek that felt as if it wis oan fire.

  “Sorry, Paddy, it’s hard tae see where the hell the holes ur wae aw this snow.”   

  “Whit kind ae effing polis force ur we when we cannae even bloody sort oot potholes in oor ain yard, eh?  Ah bet Dixon ae Dock Green disnae hiv tae put up wae aw this shite.  It jist goes tae show the respect they high heid yin pricks hiv fur us, eh?” the sergeant growled, his teeth rattling thegither as the front passenger wheel thudded intae another ravine.

  The Stalker hid awready been tae the dentist, a right butcher called Duddy, two days earlier.  He’d asked him tae take the tooth oot, bit the butchering basturt hid telt him that he goat mair money fur a filling than an extraction.  When he’d gone hame the night before efter his shift, he’d made a greasy McKechnie’s bacon roll before heiding aff tae his kip.  While chomping intae it, the tooth wae the filling hid crunched oan a bit ae bone left in the bacon by some so-called journeyman butcher.  By the time he’d been fully alerted tae the situation, a dollop ae hot fatty grease hid flooded the hole fae where the filling should’ve been and he’d been in agony ever since.  He shuddered tae think ae whit that face ae his must look like by noo.  He'd nearly fainted wae fright when he'd clocked his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  Thank God it wis Friday and Christmas Eve.  If it hid been Christmas Day, he wid’ve been well and truly snookered.  When he’d left the hoose at twenty tae five, the left haun side ae his face hid looked as if somewan hid put wan oan him wae a right hook.  It felt as if some basturt wis trying tae drill a rusty screw doon intae that left jaw ae his.  He knew fine well that there wis nae way he’d get through his shift wae the pain he wis in.  When he’d turned up at the station tae start his shift, him and Biscuit hid been telt tae get their arses doon tae the Co-op oan Springburn Road tae relieve Hope and Glory, who’d been sitting there aw night, waiting fur a joiner tae come and board up two ae the big shoapfront windaes.  A posse ae thieving shite-hooses hid tanned baith windaes the night before and hid dashed in, blagging everything that wis Christmassy that they could lay their hauns oan.  When him and Biscuit hid arrived, the pavement wis still covered wae tumshies, Brussels sprouts, tins ae Ye Auld Oak Ham and bottles ae Christmas cordial.  Biscuit hidnae wasted any time and hid put some in the boot ae the squad car fur them fur later, while slinging the rest ae the stuff back intae the windae ae the shoap.  At least they hidnae hid long tae wait before the joiner’s van hid pulled up in front ae them.

  “Whit kept ye, ya wee prick, ye?” Biscuit hid demanded when he arrived.

  “Hoi, this is the tenth shoap that Ah’ve hid tae attend tae since eight o’clock last night, so it is, so we’ll hiv less ae yer cheek, pal, or ye kin sort the thing yersel,” the joiner hid growled back at him.

  It wis gonnae be a long day aheid ae them.  He’d need tae get doon tae that dentist, bang oan nine and get his tooth sorted oot.  There wis nae way he wis even gonnae attempt tae get up tae Endricks Street fur the sale at eleven if his jaw wis still gieing him trouble.  It wis the worst task ae aw the jobs him and Biscuit hid tae carry oot.  Why could The Corporation no jist hit the hairys wae some sort ae court order tae stoap them fae turning up at these hoose sales, he wondered.  There must be somewan, somewhere, who could take them oan and stoap them fur good.  They wur a pain in the arse.  He actually pitied the poor unfortunate basturts that hid the misfortune tae be hitched tae any ae them.  Hivving said that, the Taylor wan hid something aboot her.  He couldnae quite put a finger oan it.  There wis jist something aboot her when she wis aw fired up that he found attractive...sexy even.  Back in the sixties, when she’d actually been civil tae him, they’d been staunin in the same queue wan day and, fur some strange reason, he'd hid a terrible urge tae ask her if somewan like her wid ever find somewan like him attractive.  He shuddered noo, jist thinking ae the consequences, if he’d gied in tae that impulse.  He’d spoken wae Father John aboot his feelings a few months back, which hid been a big mistake, never tae be repeated.  He looked at his watch, no listening tae Biscuit gieing him a running commentary oan whit a useless, slow basturt, the joiner wis.  Efter the warrant sale, him and his opposite number, Fin O’Callaghan, known tae aw and sundry as Bumper, hid tae be doon at Central fur a meeting, tae see whit the update wis oan the trouble brewing between Tony Gucci, wan ae the local up-and-coming gangsters and The Simpsons’ crowd, a mad bunch ae psychotic desperados who ruled Possil wae a heavy haun.

  “So, whit time’s that appointment then, Paddy?” Chic Thompson, the inspector asked, as himsel and Biscuit entered through the side door ae the station.

  “Ah’ll be doon there at nine oan the dot.”

  “And then up tae the hoose sale?”

  “If ye say so.”

  “Ah dae, and don’t be late fur the meeting at Central.  Daddy hates anywan trooping in late when he’s in full flow, so make sure that ye’re there oan time, even if ye hiv tae leave the street party early.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Don’t worry, Chic, we’ll be there, raring tae go, as usual.”

Chapter Fourteen

  The Stalker wisnae in fine fettle at aw.  Even though he wis a sergeant in Glesga’s finest, Duddy’s receptionist hid still made him sit in the waiting room, alang wae the rest ae the great unwashed.

  “Ah’m sorry, sergeant, bit as an emergency patient withoot an appointment, ye’ll jist hiv tae wait until there’s a gap in the queue before Mr Duddy kin deal wae ye,” the battle-axe oan the reception hid drawled at him.

  “Look, Ah’ve goat mair important things tae dae than hing aboot here, so Ah hiv.  Ah’m still oan duty and people ur depending oan me.”

  “Aye, well, that makes two ae us then, so it dis,” she’d hit him wae, erms folded, nodding tae the group ae people, aw sitting roond the walls ae the waiting room behind him.

  “Well, Ah’d appreciate it if he kin see me as soon as.  Ah’m in agony here and if yer dud ae a boss hid bloody-well done the job right in the first place, Ah widnae need tae be staunin here wae hauf ma face louping like a well skelped arse.”

  “If ye take a seat, Ah’m sure ye won’t be kept waiting fur long, sergeant.”

  It wis at times like this that wan became aware ae the prejudices against the polis, The Stalker thought tae himsel, as he nodded at the miserable faces sitting oan the chairs roond the walls, staring nervously at him.  They aw looked guilty as sin, so they did.  He wondered whit the reaction wid be if he asked them aw tae turn their pockets and bags oot oan tae the wee table wae the magazines oan tap ae it that wis sitting in the middle ae the waiting room.  He picked up a wee Reader’s Digest book tae start aff wae, bit soon slung it back doon oan tae the scuffed and scarred coffee table.  The pain wis driving him mental.  He wanted tae run across and start battering the side ae his heid against the door post tae ease the pain, bit he didnae want tae upset a wee lassie who looked aboot five year auld, who wis sitting wae a white tourniquet wrapped roond her heid and cheeks wae a big knot tied oan tap ae her skull.  She looked as if she’d a boiled egg stuck in her mooth that wis trying tae push oot ae the side ae her right cheek.  She looked as miserable as he felt.  He kept squinting at that watch ae his o’er and o’er as people came and went, maist ae who’d arrived efter he hid.  He’d tae be doon in Endricks Street by hauf ten, at the latest, before the Sheriff officers arrived, or he’d be fucked.  If they arrived before him, there wis a good chance that a riot wid break oot wae aw that poisonous hairy mob laying intae them.  He wis shuddering, thinking aboot whit wid happen if any ae the buyers turned up early, when his name wis called.

  “Ye kin go in noo, sergeant,” the anti-bizzy bitch cooed pleasantly, as he covered the space between his seat and the dentist’s door in two seconds flat.

  “Right, Duddy, ya dud, ye, Ah’m through being pleasant, so Ah am.  Being civil disnae seem tae get ye anywhere these days.  When Ah wis in here a couple ae days ago, Ah specifically asked ye tae take this tooth oot, bit ye said ye’d rather try and save it.  Well, the time his come fur decisive action, so it his.  Get this bloody tooth oot pronto, before Ah dae something that Ah might regret fur the rest ae ma days,” he snarled, plapping that arse ae his doon oan the chair and opening up his gub.

Chapter Fifteen

“Right, Paddy, that’s us, we’re here.  Ur ye sure ye’re gonnae be awright,” Biscuit asked him, as he parked the car up against the railway line wall, across fae the closemooth, at bang oan ten thirty.

  “Ah’ll be fine, Biscuit.  There’s only aboot hauf a dozen ae them and there isnae any sign ae that Taylor bitch.  This should be a piece ae piss, so it should,” he said, gieing the wummin the wance o’er, as he opened the car door.  “Let’s go.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, whit happened?  Did some guy catch ye peeking through the curtains at his wife getting undressed again?” Sharon Campbell let rip at the arrival ae Glesga’s finest.

  “Is that another second prize Ah see ye’ve goat, Stalker?  Whit hiv we telt ye aboot stalking roond the back ae people’s hooses at night?”

  “Noo, look, ladies.  Let’s keep it quiet and lawful and everything will be okay,” The Stalker said, dribbling blood fae the side ae his lopsided mooth, which wis still feeling like a slab ae rubber efter Duddy froze up hauf ae his face.

  “Bloody hell, he looks like a car crash victim.  Thank Christ it’s snowing and aw the weans urnae playing oot in the street,” wan ae the wummin shouted, as the car carrying the two Sheriff officers arrived.

  “Right, girls, let them past noo.  They’re only daeing their jobs, jist like us,” Biscuit shouted, pushing two ae the wummin away fae the closemooth.

  “Hoi, Pig-face, keep yer hauns tae yersel.  She lives here and it’s her furniture that’s getting punted, so it is.  She’s entitled tae be here,” Betty Smith shouted indignantly, brushing Biscuit’s erm away before putting her erm roond Mary Porter’s shoulders.

  “Right, well, she’s the only wan that’s allowed in the closemooth then.  The rest ae youse kin jist fuck aff, so youse kin.”

  “Or whit?”

  “Or Ah’ll hiv nae choice bit tae lift the lot ae ye fur breach ae the peace, so Ah will,” Biscuit warned, looking across at The Stalker.

  “Yersel and whose army?” some floozy demanded.

  “Me and him,” The Stalker shouted, spraying bloody droplets aw o’er everywan.

  “Listen, Dracula-mooth, ya dribbling pervo, ye...we might aw be poor defenceless wummin, bit yer scare tactics don’t work wae us.  Don’t come roond aboot here, spluttering blood aw o’er the place.  We’ve enough blood suckers tae contend wae, withoot youse pair ae baw-heids adding tae it,” Sandra McClellan shouted at him, before waving her fist at the occupants ae a big black Zephyr that wis slowly driving past.

  “Don’t gie’s that auld stuck record.  Youse aw know the law as well as we dae.  If ye don’t disperse, ye’ll aw be huckled, so youse will,”  The Stalker spat back.

  “Aye, see whit we’ve done tae him?  If ye don’t piss aff, the same will happen tae aw youse, so it will,” Soiled Sally shouted, waving her haun and pointing tae The Stalker’s bloody mooth as a rusty white Commerce van crawled past the scene at the closemooth.

  “Right, that’s it, ye’re aw under arrest fur threatening behaviour, so youse ur,” The Stalker spluttered oot ae the side ae his gub, spraying everywan within a five feet radius ae him.

   He immediately realised his mistake when aw the placards, wae their misspelt messages oan them, suddenly turned intae lances like something oot ae an Ivanhoe film.

  “Oh shite!” he heard Biscuit exclaim behind him.

  “On what charge, sergeant?” a strong commanding voice called oot, as everywan instantly swung roond tae see where it hid come fae.

  “Oh, er, Reverend, it’s yersel.  Whit the fu...er, ur ye daeing here?” The Stalker dribbled, looking confused and surprised.

  “I’ve been standing here for the last few minutes and I haven’t seen any disturbance that wasn’t provoked either by yourself or the constable standing there beside you,” The Reverend Donald Flaw said, as two cars pulled up and ten ae his elderly flock, aw wearing fancy hats, spilled oot ae them, some carrying placards.

  “Well, if ye wur staunin there fur as long as ye claim, ye wid’ve seen and heard aw the threats that wur being made toward us, Reverend,” Biscuit retorted indignantly.

  “I’m sure this can be all sorted out peacefully and calmly, sergeant?” The Reverend suggested, ignoring Biscuit.

  “Look, everywan is aw heated up here.  Maybe we jist need tae calm oorsels doon and catch oor breath fur a bit, eh?” The Stalker announced, looking aboot, wondering where the hell Helen Taylor hid managed tae recruit this new crowd fae.

  “Aye, well, ye kin stoap spitting blood aw o’er us, fur a start.  Spitting is a criminal offence, so it is,” Sharon shouted, hivving been charged wae assault in The Battle ae John Street in the mid-sixties fur spitting oan a sergeant.