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  “So, how can I help you?” he’d asked, efter she’d fallen silent.

  “Should I walk…or run?” she’d asked, as he burst oot laughing again.

  He must’ve been in his mid tae late forties, wae silver tips tae his side-burns. He hid neat white teeth, wore an immaculate Ivy League conservative grey mohair suit and striped tie and wid definitely be described as dashing.

  “I always liked a bit of a challenge. That’s one of the reasons I became a G-man,” he’d drawled in that mid-western accent ae his. “But, what you’ve just described, is a lot more than any challenge I’ve had to face. There wouldn’t be any shame in walking…however, if you were to stay, then you need to put your task into perspective. If I were you, I would draw a line in the sand. Deal with what’s in front of you. Stay away from historical crimes that have no bearing on the positive and meaningful impact of the changes required just now. What’s done is done. Identify your key targets and devise a strategy around them. If it’s police corruption, fine. If it’s political graft, fine. If it’s putting the top hoodlums out of business, fine. Don’t take on more than one specific target, unless there is a direct connection to and correlation with the immediate task in front of you. In other words, if they’re all in the same barrel, go for them. If they’re in separate ones, don’t. I’m interested in your analysis of this Mr Big Man, the one who’s in Spain and the other top gangsters in the city, the McGregors. Based on what you’ve just told me, I’d say this One-bob one is the most dangerous.”

  “Both Papa McGregor and One-bob Brown are in the same category. Both are vicious killers with a vice-like grip on their respective parts of the city,” she’d reminded him.

  “That appears to be the case, but look at The McGregors. According to your intelligence, they won’t tolerate any enterprising opposition on their side of the river, whilst this One-bob allows various organized criminal elements to flourish on this side. What does that tell you?”

  “It tells me that to hold on to the city, particularly the city centre, then there has to be give and take.”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption to make. However, in the States, we look at it from a different angle. We have the Sicilian Mafia, who are well organized and have been since the twenties and thirties. What they do is allow what we call confederates…local non-Sicilian crime gangs and syndicates to operate. Look at the spread of the landscape they’re operating in. It’s sort of like a gentlemen’s agreement. Whatever criminality occurs within their so-called territorial sphere of influence, the Mafia receive a percentage. That’s good business sense. Estimates have intimated that they make more income from their confederate partners than they do with their own enterprises which, believe me, are already considerable. When they get fed up or fall out with whoever is operating where they have control, they liquidate them and allow another transitional group to take their place. That’s why we have Jewish, Irish, Turkish and even Russian gangs operating, raking in millions of dollars each year, with a hefty slice going to the Sicilian boys. If what your intelligence is saying about this Big Man is correct, then it sounds as if he’s taking a leaf out of his American cousins’ book across the water. Look what happened to the Simpson gang you just told me about. Also, the black meat traders and others.”

  “Yes. One-bob and his henchmen also wiped out a nasty bunch from Milton at the same time as The Simpsons. They operated under the cover of scrap metal and commercial waste companies. There are similar younger organized gangs, or teams, as they call them in Glasgow, coming up. Most of them operate out with the city centre in exotic places called Springburn, Royston, Possilpark, Carntyne, Barlanark and Ruchazie. All are criminally organized to varying degrees. The city centre is out of bounds to everyone, including The McGregors.”

  “Did you not say that this Big Man in Spain had links with Detroit via Nova Scotia in Canada, back in the 60s?” he’d reminded her.

  At the time, a lot ae whit James Douglas hid said hidnae made sense. He’d laughed as she’d sat there taking notes in the pub, in-between moothfuls ae steak pie and chips. Although she preferred tae lie in the erms ae a wummin, he’d been a strong bit gentle lover, wance they’d made it back tae his suite in The Douglas Hotel oan Buchanan Street. At the time, she’d felt terribly lonely…and vulnerable. He’d later written tae her, inviting her across tae Washington, bit she’d never replied. She’d too much in front ae her tae deal wae. Efter frustrating, thoughtful consideration, she’d decided tae tackle the black butchers ae Possilpark as her starting point. There hid been an element ae everywan in the mix. Black Pat McVeigh and his cohorts, links tae Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie, polis oan the take, allowing the black butchers tae go aboot their business unhindered. The corrupt practices ae Inspector Duggie Dougan hid gied her an in tae tackle the polis corruption in the north and west ae the city while she wis at it. It hid aw seemed manageable. Whit she hidnae allowed fur wis a young polis constable, in the shape ae Collette James, tipping the apple cart o’er. Whit wis it that James Douglas hid said? Keep away fae historical cases that won’t bear fruit, unless they wur fundamental tae whit the strategy wis that hid been drawn up. She’d been satisfied that she hid The Irish Brigade well and truly in her sights. Insteid ae taking the week’s leave tae heid back up the A9 tae Inverness tae top up her batteries, she’d spent the time in her tap-flair rented flat in Charing Cross Mansions, mapping oot the strategy. By the end ae that week, she’d been convinced that there wid be nae bolt holes fur her targets tae scurry doon intae. She remembered staunin wae a glass ae Teaninich, Alness’s finest single malt, her ancestor Sir Robert Munro’s favorite tipple, looking doon at the noisy traffic crisscrossing the north and southbound traffic ae the motorway intae Sauchiehall Street, as she savoured the fiery smooth liquid and the fight still tae come. Nothing could hiv prepared her fur whit hid happened wance she’d let her skulks loose. Why could the young polis officer, Collette James, no hiv left matters tae somewan like her? James Douglas hid impressed upon her tae stay focused and no tae let hersel be distracted by white rabbits that wid almost certainly pop up oot ae hats fae nowhere. Oot ae everything she’d accomplished, Collette James wis her wan regret. Although the letters fae the ex-WPCs, which Susan McFarlane, who’d been raped by Sergeant Sally Burke’s brother, Willie, in a polis social club, back in 1972, hid handed o’er tae Collette James, hid been taken care ae, perhaps the way they’d been disposed ae hid been a bit too rash. It hid been a difficult decision fur her tae make, considering the sacrifices, bit put against whit she wis confronted wae, she didnae believe she’d hid any choice. Aw the ex-poliswummin hid awready been damaged by then. Given where she wis and whit wis happening, whit good wid’ve come oot ae it, if aw the auld wounds hid been allowed tae be reopened? She’d been aware ae The Showgirls fur a while. She’d looked at them as part ae her initial assessment ae the situation in the city. She hidnae discovered any real organized criminal activity, other than political behind-the-scenes influencing and the posting ae malicious graffiti oan billboards under the cover ae darkness. They wur an annoying distraction tae her mission and certainly no worthy ae the attention that she’d eventually hid tae exert oan them, efter Collette James and Elvis The Sani Man kept popping up aw o’er the place. Her and her skulks wur walking a political tightrope. She hid tae somehow distance her operation fae the daily feeding frenzy ae the press…particularly fae The Glesga Echo. Everywan identified as sexual predators in the ex WPC’s letters in Collette James’s possession wur awready being dealt wae. She knew that, withoot the letters, there widnae be a case tae answer and that the wummin widnae get the justice they clearly deserved. It hidnae been an easy decision. Despite whit Cooncillor Barbara Allen believed, Murdina Munro, the last ae The Munros ae Ferindonald, wisnae a traitor tae her sex. The bodies ae the Munro wummin fae doon through the ages, who’d died fur their beliefs since the Jacobite Rebellion, wur scattered across the windswept peat bogs ae Easter Ross. They’d fought and died alangside their menfolk fur their belief
s. A lowland street agitator like Mrs Purple couldnae spell sacrifice, let alone make wan. That wis the difference between them. She couldnae and widnae allow distractions that wid take the onus ae the investigation away fae the main purpose as tae why she and her skulks wur there in the first place. Rightly or wrongly, she’d drawn the line in the sand. Despite her regret fur victims like Collette James, Pricilla Presley and the others, it wis noo time fur everywan, and the force in particular, tae move oan. In jist o’er four weeks, it wid be aw o’er wae. Broon and Hastie, alang wae Paddy McPhee and Dave McGovern, wid be history and a warning tae others. Her skulks hid done a good job under difficult and dangerous conditions. She looked aboot. The wind wis getting up even mair than it hid been when she’d set oot. It wis starting tae get dark, despite it only being two o’clock in the efternoon. Wan-bob Broon hid jist gaun and made it personal. Oan the positive front, his attack oan her and whit she stood fur reminded her that he wisnae doon and oot…yet. Noo it wid be her turn tae respond wae a wee bit ae metal ae her ain. She couldnae help smiling tae hersel, as she carefully made her way doon the hill, thinking back tae that night in the lecture theatre ae Glesga University. The other odd wan oot there, apart fae her and Glenda Metcalfe, sitting quietly wae his erms folded across his chest, up behind the young eager students, hid been a snappily-dressed young man. Before he’d disappeared, withoot taking up the offer ae a free cup ae tea, she’d asked him whit year he wis in. He’d jist paused momentarily, gieing her a wee wry smile, before disappearing towards the lit-up exit sign at the back ae the hall. It hid only been when her interest hid turned towards The Mankys, later oan in the operation and she’d been sitting, studying the intelligence the force hid oan them, whilst looking at their mugshots, that she’d realized that the young man in the lecture theatre that night hid been none other than Simon Epstein.

  Chapter Seven

  “Naw, nae mair fur me, Sharon, hen. Ah’ll end up pishing masel wae aw the tea that that Wee Mary wan keeps serving me up in the office aw day,” Donna The Prima Donna tutted, putting her fingers o’er her cup, before sticking a fag intae her wee fag holder and lighting up.

  “Girls?” Sharon asked.

  “Naw, no fur me. Ah think that dribbling ae mine’s started again,” Soiled Sally replied, clamping her thighs thegither.

  “That’s why you goat the vinyl-covered chair,” Betty said tae her, as the lassies laughed.

  “So, that wee Mary ae mine, Donna?” Issie asked, eyeing up the others, who’d been hivving a go at her fur capitulating and allowing her teenage daughter tae leave school early. “Is she settling in then?”

  “Wee Mary? Ach, you and that Tam wur blessed, so youse wur, Issie, hen. Christ, if only wan ae ma lassies wis hauf as bright, ma life wid’ve been complete before noo.”

  “Aw, is that no nice?” Issie beamed, glowering at her pals wae wan ae they ‘See, Ah telt ye,’ expressions, that only Glesga wummin ur blessed wae at birth, fur never being wrang.

  “Aye, she must’ve goat it fae Tam,” Ann muttered tae Soiled Sally, thinking she wis oot ae earshot.

  “Hoi, Ah heard that Jackson. At least ma lassie’s gonnae be an accountant, so she is,” Issie retorted. “Isn’t she, Donna?”

  “Issie, hen, your daughter is gonnae be Glesga Business Wummin Ae The Year wan day, the same as me. You mark ma words…wae ma good guidance behind her, of course,” Donna modestly chipped in. “And, as fur that beautiful angel wae the lamp, Senga? Jist you don’t listen tae any shite that Issie wan’s coming oot wae, Ann. Christ knows whit wis in the water back in the Toonheid when we wur aw put up the stick, bit jist look at how well aw the lassies hiv turned oot…and no a snapper between them either? Bloody miracle, so it is. Ah’d shat three ae the wee screaming basturts oot before Ah wis oot ae ma teens, so Ah hid. Ah mean, who wid’ve guessed Pearl wid’ve ended up working fur the likes ae The Glesga Echo, the world’s worst newspaper, as a journalist, eh? Ye must be very proud ae her, hen.”

  “Did ye read that front page jist before Christmas?” Sharon reminded them fur the twentieth time in twenty minutes, nodding tae the front page framed heidline, taking pride ae place oan the red and gold flocked wallpaper above the fireplace. “Wisnae in the place two minutes, either.”

  “So, whit’s happening aboot the job, Sharon?” Betty asked.

  “Ach, who knows. She disnae think that boss ae hers, Mr Rat Arse, will keep her oan beyond January.”

  “Why?” an angry chorus-line demanded tae know, as Betty picked up that morning’s Glesga Echo aff the coffee table, displaying the heidline and photos ae a gangster and a detective inspector hivving a wee swally in Sammy Dows, wan ae the boozers in the toon.

  “Well, despite the latest heidline, she’s struggling tae find oot mair aboot whit happened tae that poor poliswummin who goat murdered by that evil man ae hers,” Sharon replied, as Donna shifted in her seat. “Seemingly, there’s a bunch ae letters floating aboot that wid expose aw they dirty randy basturts that wur taking advantage ae aw the young poliswummin jist new intae the service. Christ, Pearl telt me oan the QT, that some ae the basturts even raped them.”

  “Ach, Ah’m sure she’ll be kept oan efter the sterling job she’s been daeing, Sharon, hen,” Donna interjected, attempting tae steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “Aye, well, Ah’m no sure aboot that. Ye should see the work she’s been putting in. She’s oot tae aw hours ae the day and night, so she is. She says she’s hitting brick walls. Seemingly, the poliswummin, the wan that goat hersel murdered, wis hated by everybody, so nowan’s willing tae speak up oan her behauf…including the WPCs that wur sexually assaulted. It’s two feet forward, five feet back, so it is. Ye should see that bedroom wall ae hers. Her da went aff his heid when he first went in there, so he did, no long efter she goat the job.”

  “How dae ye mean, Sharon?” Donna asked, her ears pricking up, suddenly becoming interested again.

  “C’mone and see fur yersel,” Sharon replied, inviting everywan, staunin up and walking through tae the lobby, being followed a few seconds later by the lot ae them.

  “Whit the fuck?” Soiled Sally exclaimed, being pushed further intae the room by the lassies bringing up the rear.

  “Get that fat heifer ae an arse ae yers oot ae ma road, Sally, hen,” Donna growled, nipping Sally’s right buttock wae her fingers, as she brushed past her, before suddenly stoapping in her tracks.

  Nowan said a word. They aw stood staring at the bedroom wall opposite the bottom ae Pearl’s bed.

  “Is it some kind ae map?” Ann wondered, no getting a response.

  “Aye, Ah kin see why that ugly man ae yours wid be annoyed, Sharon, hen. That’s blue carpet tacks she’s used oan that good wallpaper, so it is,” Issie pointed oot, folding her erms across her chest.

  Donna stood looking, trying tae take in and make sense oot ae whit she wis being confronted wae. Alarm bells hid sprung intae life in the back ae that heid ae hers. It wis like something oot ae an auld black and white Edward G Robinson movie. The whole tap hauf ae the wall wis crisscrossed horizontally and vertically wae whit looked like typewriter ribbon pinned tae a pyramid ae photographs wae writing scrawled under some ae them. Teddy Bare, who wis lying up in the Bar-L charged wae his wife’s murder, sat at the tap ae the pyramid. Underneath him, in rows ae three columns, wur an assortment ae black and white photos ae senior polis officers and other well-known faces in the toon. Although Lesley wis at the tap ae the first column oan the left, it wis The Irish Brigade, the corrupt group ae inspectors that hid ruled the toon fur the past twenty odd years, that leaped aff the wall at her. Nothing moved oan the north side ae the Clyde withoot they dangerous, corrupt basturts getting their cut, she reminded hersel bitterly. She also noticed Barbara Allan, the local Springburn cooncillor up there as well. Whit the hell’s gaun oan, her brain screamed.

  “Christ, whit’s that Senga ae mine and Geraldine Baker daeing up there?” Ann Jackson wondered, her voice sounding subdued, no sure whether ta
e be alarmed or no, as aw eyes, apart fae Donna’s, zoomed in oan the two wee portrait photos ae the nurses sitting smiling in their uniforms.

  Donna wis too busy staring at the wee clump that included Tony Gucci beside that lawyer ae his, Graham Portoy and Glenda Metcalfe, the young procurator fiscal, who aw the court staff in the toon, hid recently gaun oot oan strike in support ae. She’d been demoted o’er the heid ae Paddy McPhee, The Stalker’s pocket notebook, that hid allowed Helen Taylor’s boy, Johnboy, tae walk free fae jail. When the contents hid become known, The Stalker hid ended up being charged wae the murder, alang wae Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie, ae the young nurse who’d seemingly been deliberately killed efter it hid been disclosed that she might’ve overheard a death bed confession fae that auld gangster Haufwit Murray up in Stobhill. As expected, The Gruesome Twosome, the two Possil sergeants, also charged alongside The Stalker, wur also up there scowling doon oan everywan. There wis another female poliswummin she didnae recognise. She wisnae wearing a uniform. Even withoot Pearl’s squiggly haunwriting underneath hivving scored oot the word ‘sergeant’ and replaced it wae ‘inspector,’ this Inspector Thain wan hid bizzy written aw o’er her. Donna wondered whit her connection wae the rest ae the uglies wis. Despite that morning’s heidline declaring that Pearl Campbell hid managed tae produce a crystal-clear shot ae Victor Ruth, a notorious McGregor thug, sitting hivving a pint in Sammy Dows pub doon in Mitchell Street, wae Detective Inspector Harry Tinto fae The Flying Squad, the day before Tinto wis arrested oan suspicion ae being concerned in the supply ae drugs, Donna realised that whit she wis looking at hid far mair reaching consequences fur a lot ae people…including everywan squashed in at the bottom ae Pearl’s bed. Pearl’s ma, Sharon, and the other wummin staunin behind her fae The Original Jeely Piece Sandwich Company, hid unwittingly played a major role in blagging the wee murdered nurse, Rose Bain’s polis file oot ae The Cove, the secure part ae the crime and intelligence section, doon in Pitt Street, at the tail end ae October, a few months back. Nowan, apart fae her, knew the important role they’d played. It wis the photo ae Elvis The Sani Man and that smiling wife and wean ae his ootside The Plaza, the day he’d won the ‘Elvis Is The Main Man Event,’ that kept the alarm bells ringing. Whitever Pearl wis up tae, she looked tae be too close tae hame fur comfort, in mair ways than she obviously appreciated. Donna thought back tae earlier in the morning. She’d been sitting hivving a wee cup ae tea in her office, chortling away tae hersel efter comforting Wee Mary, her feet up oan the desk wae the newspaper spread oot across her knees. Inspector Harry Tinto, first class set-up merchant, notorious fur planting gear oan the crooks that he wis in hot pursuit ae, looked like he’d been set-up…at least, that’s whit the lying basturt wis claiming through his polis federation lawyer. Tae make the story even juicier, Pearl hid claimed that the corrupt basturt hid been arrested by The Skulks, the special team sent doon fae the Highlands, efter a hunnerweight ae cannabis wis discovered in the boot ae his car, following an anonymous tip-aff. That coming oan the back ae the wee thug, who’d been set oan fire, chained tae a lamp post across oan Govan Cross, hid the top brass doon in Central and Pitt Street, pulling their hair oot by the roots and the ‘Hang Them and Flog Them’ brigade, lead by Teddy Taylor, wance again, being rolled oot screaming fur the rope tae be brought back as a matter ae urgency. Christ, and tae think she’d left her office wae a spring in her step. Bit noo? While the human torch and Tinto’s arrest hid The McGregors’ fingerprints written aw o’er it, Pearl’s bedroom wall wis a different story aw thegither. She wondered why Tony Gucci wis the only other Manky up oan the wall? Where wis Peter Paterson and Snappy Johnston, they poor wee souls, whose young lives hid been snuffed oot in the blink ae an eye? In fact, she remembered asking Wee Mary, efter slinging her last packet ae Handy Andy’s across tae her, where the screaming heidlines wur, demanding the return ae capital punishment fur their evil killers? It wis The Showgirls letterheid and the photo ae Cooncillor Barbara Allen, The Purple Dove, self-styled leader ae Glesga’s answer tae New York’s Cripettes, that telt her everything she needed tae know…at least fur the time being. She knew that she hid tae get that arse ae hers doon the road, back tae the office…and pronto. There wisnae any time tae lose. She wondered if The Purple Dove wis up in Springburn daeing the roonds under cover ae being a cooncillor. She’d need tae hiv a wee quiet confab wae her, and fast. And Pearl? She could wait. If her life wis in any immediate danger, she wid’ve been dealt wae before then. That suggested Wan-bob wis in there controlling her fae behind the scenes. How else wid Pearl hiv goat the story ae Victor Ruth and Tinto, two minutes efter arriving at The Glesga Echo? The fact that The Rat wisnae up there oan the wall spoke volumes, so it did. Thankfully, it probably meant Pearl wisnae aware ae who wis pulling her strings in the background. It hid awready crossed Donna’s mind that Pearl hid a wee helping haun in getting the job at the newspaper. It finally aw made sense. The Glesga Echo wis well known fur keeping wummin oot…especially oan the crime desk. Everywan who knew anything aboot the toon knew fine well that The Rat wis Wan-bob’s man. She wondered where young Tony wis in the great scheme ae things. Surely Wan-bob wid’ve known that Pearl Campbell wis part ae The Mankys’ set-up, so why wangle tae get her a job oan the paper? She also knew that The Mankys didnae hiv influence wae any ae the newspapers in the toon…until then. Her brain wis whirring, trying tae evaluate the connections and perambulations oan view in front ae they eyes ae hers. If it wis The Rat that hid gied Pearl a start wae the paper, then Tony surely must’ve done it through Wan-bob. That part ae the puzzle made sense. Also, there wis no way that kind ae concession wid’ve occurred if Wan-bob or Charlie Hastie hid even the slightest doubt aboot whit The Mankys wur up tae. She sighed wae relief, a weight suddenly drapping fae her shoulders. If her conclusion wis right, it meant that Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie wurnae responsible fur getting shot ae Peter Paterson and Snappy Johnston as she first suspected. She fought the urge tae spin roond and gie Sharon a big hug. She wondered whit it wid’ve cost him…them…The Mankys. Pat Molloy, The Big man and Wan-bob Broon protected their important resources at aw costs. Also, the very fact that Tony and Simon hid goat the go-aheid tae progress wae purchasing the properties doon in the Merchant City, wis another big deal. Young Tony must be selling his soul fur they kind ae concessions unless…unless whit? Unless Tony hid agreed tae gie The Big Man and Wan-bob whit they’d be really efter…Papa McGregor’s heid oan a plate, maybe? Christ awmighty! She felt hersel shudder. The fact that there hidnae been a massive come-back efter Timothy Moffat, The Goat, hid been cowardly blasted in the back noo made sense. Everywan and their blind dugs hid been expecting a bloodbath…bit where the hell hid it been taking place? There hid been nothing in the papers or the news despite a lot ae speculation. Who else wid’ve hid the baws tae take doon Snappy and Peter wae everything else that hid been happening in the toon? Why hid the investigative journalists fae the newspapers no picked up and reported oan whit wis noo staring at her in the face? She knew fine well that Wan-bob hid been raging wae aw the unwanted attention regarding his activities and hid been sending oot dire warnings fae his prison cell ae whit wid happen tae the journos if he felt they wur taking a liberty wae him in his time ae trouble and strife. The trial wis due in jist o’er a month’s time…Friday the 13th ae February, she’d heard. Where the hell wis Mr PC Plod in aw this, she wondered? If they’d been aware ae whit hid obviously being gaun oan, then she wid’ve picked up oan it. She noo realised that there wis a dangerous game being played oot, under the radar, between Wan-bob and Papa McGregor, bit where wis aw the action taking place? Apart fae Snappy and Peter, where wur the rest ae the casualties? The human torch across oan Govan Cross? Wis that The Mankys? How wis this gonnae impact oan her interests? Who else knew aboot her business links tae The Mankys? Obviously, Wan-bob and Charlie did. The McGregors? Wis whit she wis looking at, up oan the bedroom wall, jist a stand-alone investigative piece ae journalism by an eager young hack trying tae make her mark
in the toon, or wis this part ae a bigger game? This wis Glesga…there hid tae be wider influences and skulduggery at play. Where the hell wis Pearl sitting in the bigger spider’s web, she wondered. Nothing ae relevance tae the interests ae The Big Man ever happened in the toon, that wisnae being manipulated fae behind the scenes. The lassies staunin speculating behind her wur raking in the cash. Her companies wur providing aw the raw materials. Everything wis cash-in-haun. Fifty five percent ae everything they took in fae the customers, sitting clacking away at their typewriters in the offices doon in the toon centre, wisnae being declared. She’d projected year oan year growth o’er the next five years. That pot hid tae be protected at aw costs. She wis also relieved tae discover that her Pan Stick caked face wisnae up there either. It probably meant that Pearl wisnae as far doon the treacherous, slippery path, as she’d initially thought oan entering the bedroom. She felt hersel relax a wee bit, relieved tae know that she still hid time tae get in there wae a bit ae guidance…bit how? Whit if Pearl, in her hungriness tae keep that job ae hers, widnae play ball unless it hid tae be explained why somewan like Donna The Prima Donna wanted tae know why she wis so interested in the murder ae somewan as irrelevant as Lesley Bare? Christ, Pearl obviously didnae know how much ae a cow she wis…hid been…tae aw the wummin’s groups in the toon. Anywan wae the right connections and hauf a brain in their heid wid know fine well that Donna The Prima Donna’s hatred ae Lesley Bare wis well justified. Pearl wisnae stupid…none ae the lassies wur, when she thought aboot it. Talking tae them wisnae like hivving a conversation wae the brilliantly funny wummin, shuffling aboot in a state ae confused wonderment in the bedroom behind her. The lassies who’d run aboot wae The Mankys since they wur weans aw knew whit the score wis doon oan the cracked, dug shit infested pavements. They wur aw schooled in the fine art ae Double-Dutch, where the meaning ae whit anywan said, no matter who they wur, always hid two sides and meanings attached tae it. Pearl hid been away, bit that widnae hiv dulled that street sense ae hers. That ran too deep. Naw, she’d need tae come up wae a different approach, withoot Wan-bob or Charlie Hastie getting wind ae that beak ae hers poking aboot in there, or it wid be her that ended up strapped tae a lamp post, covered in paint, the next time roond. She supposed she could always find a reason tae get Pearl sacked before her time wis up. She hid mair than enough oan The Rat tae get him tae dae her bidding, despite Wan-bob’s grip ae the scurrying wee basturt, bit that wid expose her meddling.