The Silver Arrow Read online

  The Silver Arrow

  By Ian Todd

  The Silver Arrow is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  You can keep up to date with The Mankys and Johnboy Taylor on his Facebook page:

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  Chapter One

  Simon Epstein wisnae too happy hivving tae sit oan that arse ae his in the lounge bar ae The Edward Hotel up in Buchanan Street, aw oan his lonesome, sipping oan an over-priced wee glass ae orange juice, when he could’ve been getting oan wae mair important things elsewhere. He hidnae been there five minutes and awready he’d been asked three times by dapper-looking aulder guys if he wanted a drink…wan ae them being the hotel manager, whose brother, Clifford Burns, wis a well-known Glesga sheriff. Simon hid been in too much ae a hurry tae gie much thought tae where they wur meeting up, efter arranging tae meet wae Baby Huey. And anyhow, even if he hid, it widnae hiv put him up nor doon where the meeting wis tae take place.

  “Ah’ll meet ye in the lounge bar, jist aff the reception ae The Edward Hotel. Nowan wae any connections will clock us in there, unless there’s something aboot ye that hisnae surfaced so far,” Baby hid informed him oan the phone…the fat basturt’s attempt at being funny.

  Looking aboot, he finally goat the joke. Simon looked at his watch. The Blob wis fifteen minutes late awready. He’d agreed tae meet Simon at seven oan the dot, efter he’d dealt wae a wee bit ae business across in The Lunar Seven oan the corner ae Bath Street. He took another sip ae his juice and smiled, making sure he didnae gie eye contact tae any ae the lounge lizards that wur eyeing him up oot ae the sides ae they hopeful eyes ae theirs, as they feigned their noninterest in him, sipping oan their soda highballs across at the bar. He thought back tae the get-thegither wae the rest ae The Mankys earlier in the day.

  “Ur you bloody jesting me or whit?” Jake McAlpine, Glesga’s answer tae Mr Saville Row himsel hid screeched, as Peter Paterson, The Mankys’ runner and Ben McCalumn, sometimes enforcer and night-time goods train and lorry hijacker, jist aboot fell aff ae their chairs pishing themsels laughing.

  “So whit’s yer problem then?” Simon hid asked him, deliberately keeping that face ae his deadpan.

  “Did that fucking haufwit jist ask me whit ma problem wis?” Jake hid howled in exaggerated disbelief, looking at the other two fur confirmation that he wis being addressed by a twisted blethering dickheid. “You’re ma fucking problem…that’s whit the problem is.”

  “Aw, Jake, shut yer arse. It’s no as if Ah’m asking ye tae marry her, fur fuck’s sake,” Simon hid retorted, as Peter added fuel tae the fire by starting tae whistle The Wedding March.

  “Well, Ah’m telling ye right noo, Ah’m no bloody-well daeing it. Ah’ve goat a big show coming up and Kim Sui and the rest ae the lassies ur demanding ma presence twenty-four-seven, so they ur. And anyway, whit’s wrang wae wan ae they pug-ugly basturts taking it oan?” Jake hid growled in defiance, nodding in the direction ae the other two grinning monkeys.

  “Because Tony his asked you tae dae it…that’s why.”

  “A bizzie’s daughter?”

  “She cannae be that bad. Johnboy wis in there and back,” Ben hid reminded him, trying tae be supportive.

  “Ben, if Ah hear ye trying tae be helpful tae me wan mair time, Ah’ll fucking end up daeing time fur ye, so Ah will,” Jake hid threatened, as everywan burst oot laughing.

  “Look, everywan doon in Dumfries aw agreed that it needs somewan wae a wee bit ae a-la-suave aboot them. Ye’re no trying tae tell me that that pair ae glaikit haufwits hiv any ae that, ur ye?”

  “Don’t try and flatter me, Simon, ya warped-faced wanker, ye. Dae ye think Ah’m some sort ae bampot or something? Okay, don’t answer that wan,” he quickly added, smiling. “And anyway, she fucking hates ma guts, so she dis.”

  “Everywan hates yer guts, bit that disnae mean tae say that they don’t feel sorry fur ye,” Peter the Runner said encouragingly, getting affirmative nods fae Simon and Ben.

  “Peter, stay the fuck oot ae this,” Jake warned him.

  “Right, noo that that’s settled and Jake’s gaun-a-calling oan Michelle Hope, PC Shiny Buttons’ only daughter, who Johnboy goat caught perching oan, the night him and Silent goat arrested by her da, Ah’ve goat a few wee tasks fur youse pair ae dumplings as well,” Simon hid informed them, joining in wae the laughter, as Jake took his anticipated nose-dive ungraciously.

  He’d jist scowled fur the third time in as many minutes at the tailor’s dummy wearing the sky blue silk bow-tie, who wis unashamedly flirting in his direction, trying tae catch that eye ae his, when a fat roond bawheid, balancing oan tap ae a 400-pound frame, suddenly blocked oot the light fae the hotel lobby and emerged through the frosted-glass swing door. Johnboy hid been right…Baby wis the spitting image ae Milton Reid, the actor, who’d played the big, bad, baldy-heided pirate in the film, Swiss Family Robinson, and hid scared them aw as weans at the pictures oan a Saturday efternoon in The Princes in Gourlay Street. He’d never noticed it before, bit that mean, pug-ugly face that wis waddling towards him definitely hid a twin who wis an actor.

  “Simon, ya knob, ye, how’s that arse ae yers then?” Baby asked, chortling tae himsel, nodding tae the nervous barman tae send o’er a couple ae drinks.

  “Still intact, if that’s whit ye mean,” Simon scowled.

  “Right, ye better make it quick. Ah’ve goat ma reputation tae think ae,” Baby announced loudly, smiling, before plapping that big fat arse ae his doon oan tae the fake leather-cushioned seat opposite.

  “Ah’ve goat a wee favour tae ask ye, Baby,” Simon informed him, leaning forward in his seat and getting straight tae the point, as the poor wee barman wae the shaking haun placed a pint ae lager and lime nervously doon in front ae Baby and a fresh glass ae orange juice in front ae Simon, before disappearing, withoot waiting tae be paid fur the drinks.

  “Well, before ye ask, the answer’s naw,” the ugly pirate-lookalike grumbled, taking a swift sip ae his pint.

  “It’s no fur me…it’s fur Tony.”

  “Ah don’t gie a monkey’s tit who it’s fur…the answers still naw,” Baby retorted, clearly in nae mood tae even listen tae whit the favour wis that wis being sought.

  Simon looked at the young grizzly sitting opposite him. At nineteen, he knew they wur the same age. He swithered whether tae kick Baby’s fat arse aw o’er the lounge bar and gie the mouthy basturt a showing-up in front ae everywan who’d looked away in fear efter Baby’s arrival, bit decided no tae…at least fur the time being. Tony hid warned him tae be nice tae Baby and no tae upset him or any ae Wan-bob Broon’s gorilla-crew in the toon. He knew Tony and Johnboy went aw the way back tae their Toonheid days wae Baby, bit despite trying, Simon still couldnae figure oot whit the attraction between them wis. It wis a well-known fact that Baby Huey could clear a street wae jist his presence and that his reputation fur breaking erms and skulls went before him, bit Simon felt they wur still taking too big a risk, involving themsels wae somewan so close tae Wan-bob Broon’s set-up. The Mankys always went fur the pounds, shillings and pence. Despite whit some people believed, violence hid always been secondary…a tool tae assist wae the objective ae amassing as much money as possible, wae the minimum ae effort. Inflicting hurt oan anything that moved hid become a thing ae the past, due tae the fact that The Mankys no longer hid tae prove themsels tae the extent they’d hid tae a few years earlier, following their involvement in wiping oot Tam Simpson, wan ae the tap men in the toon, i
n an ambush ootside the door ae his shagging shack up in High Possil oan Hogmanay, back in 1971. Another major reason fur the reduced level ae violence being dished oot tae the wee local tickets, who, fur some strange reason that wis known only tae themsels, persistently felt the need tae noise up The Mankys, hid been the jailing ae Tony Gucci, Snappy Johnston and Pat McCabe fur three years, eighteen months earlier. The three ae them hid being falsely accused ae trying tae extort two hunner and fifty quid oot ae a wee Chinese fly-man called Wee Pie and that family ae his, efter the slanty-eyed, pie-faced basturt hid ripped Tony aff o’er a pound ae doctored hashish. Despite hauf ae The Mankys being in the jail and the other hauf daeing their best tae keep as low a profile as they could, there wis still a need tae ensure that the deaf, dumb and stupid received the message loud and clear that The Mankys wur no tae be messed wae. The latest step in the persuasion campaign hid led The Mankys tae up the ante against pockets ae resistance across Burmulloch, Balornock and the Red Road flats, who wur refusing tae take a telling tae get oot ae the hash trade, unless they wur receiving their supplies via The Mankys. The maist recent discussion tae take place hid been a few days earlier up oan Petershill Road, wae a no-very-bright, nineteen-year-auld wae a death-wish, who’d ended up losing a leg efter Ben McCalumn let loose wae baith barrels ae a sawn-aff shotgun oan the stupid basturt’s doorstep, efter Tony’d insisted The Mankys wurnae being persuasive enough. He glanced across at the fat sweaty face opposite him, glugging doon two thirds ae his pint in the wan go this time, before letting oot a contented gasp and a gassy burp at the same time. Everywan knew that Baby and the rest ae they ugly pals ae his fae The Garngad clearly goat aff oan inflicting as much pain oan people as they could get away wae, whether there wis a penny in the pot or no. He hidnae gied much thought as tae how he wis gonnae put across Tony’s wee request fur assistance, bit efter being kept waiting fur longer than whit he felt wid be deemed acceptable in mair polite circles, Simon hid decided no tae fuck aboot. He’d hid enough tae be getting oan wae withoot hinging aboot in The Edward Hotel, talking tae a fat ugly basturt who clearly thought he wis something ae a comedian.

  “Right, here ye go. Tony wants tae know who wis behind bumping aff that wee nurse, the doctor and that auld farmer oot near Dumbarton a wee while back,” Simon said, ignoring Baby’s earlier announcement ae non-compliance oan whitever it wis that The Mankys wur efter, as a fine spray ae frothy Tennents lager covered a four feet square patch ae the red flocked wallpaper above Simon’s heid, drawing fearful glances fae the row ae skinny tailor’s dummies still sitting perched oan their tall stools across at the bar.

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

  Following the announcement by the force’s traffic division Superintendent John Bower, that Glasgow Police had arrested the driver of the silver sports car that has been thrilling crowds at the weekends on Great Western Road for almost a year now and two days after Coatbridge mechanic and classic car enthusiast, Jonathon Hatch, was remanded in custody without bail, The Silver Arrow was once again attempting to break the sound barrier on Great Western Road in the early hours of this morning. A local resident, who wishes to remain anonymous, said that it sounded like a rocket was taking off as the 1930s sports car sped past her window, being pursued by a line of police cars, well over ten seconds later. Another resident, living a few miles further West, Mr Charles Binn, who has lived on Great Western Road for over forty years, said that he thought the windows of his flat were going to fall out, they were rattling that much. A police spokesman later confirmed that the racing car reached over one hundred and sixty five miles an hour on some stretches of the road and admitted that they currently don’t have a vehicle that can match the speed of The Silver Arrow. Mr Hatch’s solicitor, Edwin Plonk, has demanded that all charges against his client be dropped forthwith and that he be allowed to re-join his family…

  Two GPO staff suffered head injuries at Glasgow Royal Infirmary this morning after the staff wages they were delivering were snatched from them at gunpoint. One of the assailants clubbed both men to the ground before running off with the three satchels of money to a waiting car, believed to be a silver Vauxhall Viva…

  Staff at a women’s refuge in Glasgow have criticised a sheriff for the lenient sentenced imposed on Barry Hamilton, who battered his wife so severely that she was hospitalised for over a week. Sheriff Clifford Burns refused to comment after sentencing Hamilton to three months custody at Glasgow Sheriff Court...

  And in the same courtroom, Charles Spence, aged forty, was remanded in custody for failing to stop after he knocked down a nineteen-year-old nurse to her severe injury whilst driving his GPO van through a red light outside Glasgow Royal Infirmary as she finished her shift. Spence made no plea or declaration and was remanded in custody for eight days until…

  A female shopkeeper was assaulted and robbed at knifepoint in a newsagent’s shop on Alison Street, Govanhill late last night. Marjory Cruickshank was released from hospital this morning after suffering cuts and bruises in the incident…”

  Chapter Two

  Robert The Beast heard the footsteps approaching well before he clocked that reflection ae his staring up at him fae the two black shiny toecaps that hid suddenly appeared under his nose. He looked up, wet cloth in haun, feigning surprise at the interruption.

  “Whit’s wae aw the flushing ae the lavvy then, Connor?” Hutchison, the senior officer and corridor gatehoose keeper demanded tae know, looking aboot the wee toilet suspiciously.

  “It wisnae flushing away, sir. Every time Ah flushed the pan, the water wis rising tae the tap, bit it’s clear noo…look,” The Beast replied, before stretching up and gieing the dangling chain a tug, as the screw peered intae the swirling bowl.

  “Any time there’s a problem, ye come tae wan ae us and we’ll get the plumber o’er. Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Aye…sorry, sir, Ah’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, as The Gatekeeper aboot-turned and walked back tae the first ae the two barred gates at the far end ae the corridor.

  “Cunt!” The Beast hissed under his breath, as he lifted his right palm aff ae the tiled flair, exposing the wee clutch ae red dust and brick fragments he’d been concealing.

  He waited until he heard the second gate being slammed shut loudly and locked before crouching doon further and peering at his handiwork. He’d spent the past two weeks chipping away at the centre ae a brick wae a shiny stainless steel putty knife that hid been awarded tae Nelson, the civvy painting and decorating training manager, way back in 1956, fur being the apprentice knob-eater ae the year. The Beast hid come across it doon the back ae wan ae Nelson’s filing cabinets, while he wis supposed tae be cleaning the office. He studied his handiwork. The hole wis oblong-shaped, aboot five inches wide by aboot three inches high and went right through the wall, jist underneath the cistern. This wis his second stab at it as it hidnae been big enough fur whit he’d intended oan his first attempt. He’d been able tae push the bigger bits ae brick roond the bend ae the waste pipe wae his haun and hid happily discovered that it wis easy jist tae flush away the wee dusty crumb particles if he put plenty ae toilet paper intae the pan before flushing it. He could barely contain himsel as he felt a surge ae excitement. He stood up, making sure that he wiped the dusty patch wae his damp cloth, before peering doon at the pan and cistern fae aw angles. Satisfied, he slung the cloth intae his bucket ae water. He picked the bucket up and moved oot intae the corridor, quietly pulling o’er the door behind him and gieing the bitch’s office door, at the far end ae the corridor, a quick glance as he scurried intae his cubby store, oot ae sight ae the screw, who wis perched oan his stool behind the glass plated windae oan the other side ae the two barred gates, reading the sports section ae The Glesga Echo. He stood and steadied himsel, inhaling the flair-polish-fumed fetid air ae his cubby-hole doon intae his lungs. He could feel his heartbeat thumping aff ae his collarbone.

  “Steady, Robert…steady, son,” he
murmured tae himsel, trying tae suppress the semi-hard-on that hid started tae thicken in his underpants efter he spotted the shadowy reflection moving across the light fae the windae in the bitch’s office being reflected aff the lino oan the flair, under the bottom ae her door.

  He took another deep breath and pulled the cubby door o’er and stood in the darkness wae the light aff, counting doon fae ten. Looking doon, he grunted in satisfaction. He couldnae detect any light emanating fae next door via the hole, despite hivving deliberately left the bitch’s lavvy light oan. He knelt doon, heart starting tae gather speed again, as he pulled the heavy box full ae white soap bars aff ae the bottom shelf. He felt his cock starting tae stir again, as a beam ae light suddenly shot oot fae the hole, illuminating a bright square patch oan the flair. He turned and put his ear against the door and listened. Nothing. He quickly crouched doon and hid a wee peek. Aw he could see wis the flair reflecting aff the underside ae the white, enamelled cistern and the bare wall opposite the pan. He squinted alang the underside ae the shelf jist above the hole. He reached oot and withdrew a twelve-inch wooden ruler oot fae between the screws ae the bracket that wis haudin the shelf in place. He quickly started tae take the white bars ae soap oot ae the cardboard box until he found whit he wis looking fur. Using the beam ae light fae the hole tae see whit he wis daeing, he gently unfolded the yellow duster, exposing the wee mirror and bulldog clip. It took him barely two seconds tae clamp the mirror oan tae the end ae the ruler before gently and carefully edging the mirror end horizontally through the hole in the wall. He gasped, feeling that cock ae his instantly harden against the elastic ae his underpants, as the ceiling light straight above where the bitch’s heid wid be when she wis sitting oan the pan appeared, reflected in the mirror. He couldnae contain himsel, and wae his free haun, unzipped that fly ae his and starting chugging away furiously. He wis that excited, he didnae last long before letting oot a wee muffled, suppressed whimper, as he shot his load across the tap layer ae the bars ae soap in the box, involuntarily letting go ae the ruler and watching horrified as the weight ae the clamped mirror pulled the ruler through the hole. It hid completely vanished oot ae sight. He quickly scrambled tae his feet, stuffing his sticky hard-on back intae his troosers as he quickly zipped himsel up. He casually opened his cubby-hole door and walked oot intae the dazzling bright light ae the corridor, keeping his body turned sideways, tae avoid SO Hutchison clocking that cock ae his pushing against the front ae his troosers like a toppled totem pole. Wance back inside the bitch’s lavvy, he couldnae contain himsel and quickly unzipped his fly again and proceeded tae hiv another toss, shooting his white load o’er the black plastic seat, as he steadied himsel by leaning forward, resting his weight oan his haun that wis splayed flat against the tiled wall in front ae him. Efter stuffing his limp cock back where it belonged, he bent doon and shoved the ruler and mirror back through the hole in the wall, before wiping the bitch’s lavvy seat wae a scrunched-up bit ae toilet paper and flushing it away.