The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 9

  As for the gang, all of the boys had alibis for being in Castlemilk that day and had been “wrongly apprehended.” Alex and Peter said they were visiting relatives who verified their stories. Chris’s sister testified he was visiting her before being arrested. McCoy’s uncle told the court that he and “the boy” were having “a wee bevvy” in his house at the time of the robbery. McGlinchy’s auntie said that he had been with her all day and had not left her house during the time of the robbery.

  The problem was, the auntie, out of all the witnesses, was the most unconvincing – dull, poorly-educated, with no hint of any real intelligence or education. She had a dreadful, guttural Gorbals accent. The jury was instructed by the judge to consider the evidence and the case was adjourned until the next day.

  When Johnny went for the Daily Record that night, he was surprised to read the headline: PRIEST AND MOTHER IN VICIOUS STREET MUGGING.

  There were pictures of Mrs McGinty and her son. The story was they were walking through George Square when a man appeared and grabbed Mrs McGinty’s handbag. She put up a fight and was beaten to the ground. Her priest son tried to intervene but was also beaten up.

  The mugger, who police described as a 30-year-old, well known alcoholic and drug addict, was later arrested and after a brief appearance in court was remanded to Barlinnie prison. Johnny speculated what fate would await him there. Al McGinty and his jailbird mob would be preparing to take deadly revenge.

  Peter the paperman knew the family fairly well. He laughed, “That imbecile beat up Al’s mother and brother. They’ll be waiting for him inside. I wonder what his nickname is – Lucky?” The bunnet brigade laughed uproariously, they loved a bit of schadenfreude.

  The next day Johnny and his pals waited for ages at the High Court for a verdict to come in but got bored and ventured into Paddy’s Market which was just behind the High Court.

  Johnny hadn’t been there for ages. There were dozens of people selling what looked like piles of rags, calling them clothing. Inside there were stalls selling everything from illicit tobacco, radios, televisions and even fur coats. To Johnny this was the epicentre of poverty. He thought of some of his poorer pals at primary school who had been mocked for wearing Paddy’s Market clothes.

  There was a dodgy-looking café near the stalls and Johnny ordered ham ribs, mashed potatoes and cabbage. His pal ordered “mince and tatties”. Both meals cost next to nothing. Johnny and his pal thought the food was delicious, but they were almost put off when they saw an old man eating a bowl of lentil soup. He had a runny nose and it flowed into the soup as he ate.

  Johnny’s pal quipped, “Look at that auld dosser, he’s got the never-ending bowl of soup!”

  When they got back to the court the jury had returned with their verdicts. The foreman, an obese grey-haired man who looked like a retired schoolteacher, read the verdicts from a piece of paper.

  Alex – not proven of murder and robbery.

  Peter – not proven of murder and robbery.

  Chris – not proven of murder and robbery.

  McCoy – not proven of murder and robbery.

  Johnny thought that was the beauty of the Scottish judicial system. Unlike England, you had two chances of getting off, not guilty and not proven.

  The foreman hesitated before giving the last verdict and revealed:

  Sam McGlinchy, guilty of murder and robbery.

  McGlinchy’s face went pure white and his mother fainted in the public gallery. The judge said the other men were free to go. McGlinchy stood in the dock as the judge told him, “You have been found guilty of these heinous crimes. I sentence you to life imprisonment.”

  All this trouble for £100 which he never got in the first place. The fingerprints had gone against him but it had been a stupid mistake not to have worn gloves. Johnny just thanked his lucky stars that he had not got involved. McGlinchy was only the driver, a cameo actor on the main stage but had taken all the blame.

  He now had at least 15 years to ponder over his mistake. Act in haste, repent at leisure. Sam McGlinchy had plenty of time to repent.

  Chapter 14

  CLUB

  The celebration do was at the Railway Club just off Cumberland Street. The club, an elongated single-story building, looked shabby and miserable from outside but was warm and inviting inside. It had a small bar at the back and a large function room at the front which could accommodate more than 200 people.

  It was often used for weddings and funerals. More than 100 people turned up to celebrate the boys being freed. Alex was smartly dressed and had scrubbed up well. He was a good-looking kid aged 22, with handsome Mediterranean looks. Peter was 23, a small-town sort of guy who thought he was a big town sort of guy. He was not dressed as well as Alex but was smart enough for the occasion. Chris, 22, wore a bright white shirt and jeans. He had never been a man for smart gear. A donkey jacket or a parka was his usual attire.

  There was no sign of McCoy, 25, not that it mattered. He was a newcomer, a rank outsider, who had never really been a real Gorbals guy. He was just a ship that had passed in the night.

  The place was swarming with young women, a disco and buffet had been laid on. A few local “businessmen” had clubbed together to honour the boys, it was a smart thing to do. The boys had enhanced their reputation by being on a murder and robbery charge and this had accentuated their kudos in the Gorbals limelight.

  Maybe they were on their way to becoming big time gangsters and the businessmen who sponsored the night, including a well-known publican, thought that it was better to have the boys inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

  Beautiful mini-skirted young women gyrated on the dancefloor, joined by grannies aunties and uncles. Most of the young guys looked on from the bar while getting drunk. It was a rare do.

  The acquitted guys sat at a couple of tables near the dancefloor. Well-wishers came over with trays of drinks to pay homage to these men who they now considered to be local superstars. Sure, their names and photos had been all over the papers. They had even appeared on TV as they entered and left the High Court every day under heavy guard. They had also been mentioned on radio, albeit with some “expert” commenting on the high rise of crime rates in the Gorbals.

  Alex, Peter and Chris were lapping up their celebrity status. Their tables were jam packed with drinks, mostly pints of lager, vodka and cokes, with a few whiskies thrown in.

  Alex shouted above the disco din, “Ah love this lark, people are buying aw this bevvy and it’s no’ costing us a penny. Ma middle name is crime and crime don’t pay!” Peter took a slug of his lager and agreed saying, “We beat those polis bastards!”

  Chris toasted their victory, “Aye if it wisnae for that young lawyer we’d all be doing a 15 year stretch at this very moment.” Suddenly they were joined by a dishevelled grey haired woman. It was Sam McGlinchey’s mother. “It’s awright for you boys, as free as a bird. But what aboot ma boy? Life imprisonment and he was only the driver.”

  She began to sob uncontrollably. Peter tapped her on the back and said, “Cheer up missus, he’ll get off on appeal, you mark my words. Let’s have a wee toast for our pal Sam. Cheers!”

  Alex and Chris raised their glasses, “Cheers tae Sam!” The party and the drinks continued to flow. The disco was at full throttle and the beautiful young birds were coming over to the table asking the boys to dance with them. T-Rex came on with Ride a White Swan when Johnny walked in looking as handsome and gallus as expected.

  The young birds eyed him up with lustful stares because to them he looked beautiful. He had arrived at the party wearing the shark skin suit his father had bought him in Hong Kong. Also, he had been to Felix the barbers to have a “Tony Curtis” haircut. There was no doubt about it, Johnny was a handsome bastard. Other guys glared at him with envy, many were jealous. If only they had his looks, charisma and fighting skills.

  A drunk young woman, called Lorraine, 22, broke from the pack, dancing around their handbags, she sa
id, “Dae ye fancy a dance Johnny?” He looked at her and thought she was quite alluring but decided to turn the invitation down, “Nah a bit early yet doll. Maybe later when ah get tanked up a bit.”

  Lorraine sighed and gave a beautiful smile saying, “Awright maybe later, do ye promise me?” Johnny smiled back, “It’s a promise, ah’ll definitely dance wi’ you. Just wait a wee while.”

  She wandered over to her pals on the dancefloor and gave them the thumbs up sign. Johnny joined his pals at the table. He grinned and shook hands with them, “Good to see all you innocent men enjoying yourselves!” One of the boys went to the bar and got Johnny not only one pint of lager but two. Someone else handed him a double whisky. Alex said, “If it wisnae for you sorting out the two grasses, we would all be in the nick.”

  Chris agreed raising his pint, “You were brilliant Johnny, you did us a real good turn.”

  Johnny laughed, “Too right, a brick through a window and a mad wino setting aboot a wee woman can work wonders!”

  He scanned the bar and dancefloor, “Nae McCoy then?”

  Alex shook his head, “Nah, we didnae want him here anyway, he’s a fucking oddball.”

  Chris agreed, “He was the eejit who brought the gun along. We didnae know it was loaded, we thought it was blanks.”

  Peter gave a half-bevvied, concerned look. “That wanker could have got us aw life in jail like poor Sam.” Johnny was relieved that McCoy was not there as he had a razor in his pocket and planned to slash him. But McCoy’s absence meant he had one less problem to deal with. He would deal with McCoy another day, when the time was right.

  A patter merchant called Harry joined them, he was always good for a laugh, “You guys were lucky tae get cleared ‘cause you’re all guilty as fuck! You remind me of the big Irishman who was in the High Court. The judge said, ‘We find you not guilty of assault and robbery.’ And the Irish fella says, ‘Does that mean I can keep the money then?’” The joke cheered the boys up, it certainly was not a million miles away from what they had experienced.

  The young ladies, getting drunker by the minute, gave Johnny more lustful glares and smiles. Johnny gave them a wave and they giggled. The drunken Lorraine once again staggered over to Johnny and said, “Come on then big boy, how’s about a wee shoogle?” He told her it was still too early and she staggered back to her envious pals on the dancefloor.

  The quick consumption of the beer and whisky made Johnny feel funny. One minute he was happy and contented the next paranoid thoughts came over him. They then mutated into murderous dark thoughts. The thoughts of a psychopath. “If only that bastard McCoy was here, I’d show him. Show him no’ tae mess wi’ me.” He should have avoided mixing lager with whisky it usually gave him too many schizophrenic ideas.

  Once, when he had been on the lager and whisky, he awoke in Craigie Street police station, covered in blood. It had been after a Celtic and Rangers game. Johnny, wearing a Celtic scarf, was in the Tollbooth Bar at Glasgow Cross when a guy wearing a Rangers jersey bumped into him on the way to the gents and called him “A dirty Fenian bastard.” Johnny retaliated by calling him a “dob” – short for a “dirty orange bastard” - and things escalated from there.

  Johnny, as leader of the Cumbie gang, summoned his troops to go on a full-frontal assault on the “dob” and his team of protestant pals. The result was tables and glasses went flying everywhere. During the melee several Rangers supporters – thought to be members of the Derry gang from Bridgeton – gave Johnny a kicking. The result? Several people ended up in hospital and several in the police cells. Johnny was one of the latter.

  When he woke up in the cell, he could barely recollect what had happened. But the blood on his face and clothes gave him a reminder that he had not been for a stroll in the park. He was fined £25 for breach of the peace. He later reflected that mixing his drinks had landed him into trouble.

  Also, the experience made him think deeply about this Celtic versus Rangers business. Both clubs were giant money-making machines who depended on bigotry and sectarianism to fill their cash registers. King Billy versus the Pope. When he thought about it, it all seemed to be a waste of time, energy and money. From then on, he vowed to cut back on going to Celtic games, especially when they faced Rangers – it just wasn’t worth the bother, or the spilt blood.

  Another time when he had mixed his drinks, this time strong wine – “biddy” – with whisky, he was well tanked up when he led some of his gang over the Clyde Suspension Bridge, to Clyde Street. As they made their way across, a drunk guy had made a cheeky remark to them. Johnny in his psychotic wine-and-whisky condition head butted the fellow – gave him a “Glasgow kiss” –before he and his gang pals threw him into the Clyde. The man splashed into the freezing cold water and floated off, his head bobbing up and down.

  Johnny awoke with a hangover the next day and wondered if he had killed the man. He checked the papers, television and radio news, but nothing, the drunk had either been saved or drowned. So maybe there was still a body out there, lying at the bottom of the Clyde, but then again maybe not. Johnny consoled himself that the man had probably been saved by one of Glasgow’s Humane Society who rowed along the Clyde in a little boat rescuing people who had fallen in.

  The paranoid thoughts began to torment him then the rock song by Free, All Right Now came on. On hearing it he felt slightly better. He thought about the guy in the Clyde and imagined the song being played at the disco was a good omen – the fellow was all right now.

  Still feeling a bit strange, and mildly sick, he headed to the gents for a pish. Then it came to him, perhaps someone had spiked his drinks. Some jealous, evil bastard who wanted to do him in. He went into a cubicle in the lavatory and sat on the pan. He thought that if someone was spiking his drinks the best things to do was avoid any alcohol being bought for him. From now on, he would drink from only bottles and keep them with him at all times.

  When he was in the cubicle, he heard two men come in, it was Alex and Chris. They were unaware that he was there.

  “Great to see Johnny turn up,” Alex said.

  “Aye,” said Chris urinating heavily, “Good job we didnae mention that bastard McCoy to him and how he told the polis that Johnny was involved in the robbery. Johnny would slash him if he knew.”

  So that’s why he had been arrested, the low life bastard McCoy had told the police that he was behind it all! As they left Alex said, “Best keep quiet at the moment, we’ve been in enough trouble. The last things we need is Johnny doin’ in that no-good grass.”

  Johnny felt better after hearing the revelation and strangely the psychotic thoughts weakened. He sat in the cubicle for a few minutes longer, it was nice and peaceful there, an oasis away from the madness. Then he thought of Mrs McGinty and her priest son. When the mugger got to Barlinnie there was no doubt Al would have him bumped off.

  But Al had to be careful. He could not implicate himself and his gang as they were in the shit already. They could do without a murder charge while incarcerated. Police and forensics would be all over the place. Besides the jail was full of grasses who would spill the beans to have their sentences reduced. Johnny analysed what Al would do. Members of the gang would go into the mugger’s cell and give him an ultimatum – “Hang yourself or get stabbed to death. Hanging yourself is easier and much less painful.” Johnny knew that Al had used this modus operandi several times before, in jail and out, and it had always worked, especially with weak people.

  He left the toilets, bought a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale from the bar and stood at the edge of the dancefloor. Lorraine seemed to have sobered up, probably because she had stuffed herself with sausage rolls and cheese sandwiches from the free buffet.

  She approached him again and they began to dance to Chubby Checker’s The Twist. They were fine dancers and people looked on in admiration. Lorraine was no doubt a sexy woman, with big breasts, clear, pale complexion and long dark hair. To accentuate her beauty, she was wearing a mini skirt and black stocki
ngs.

  But she was not a woman of great sophistication. Lorraine cuddled into Johnny during a slow dance and whispered into his ear, “Johnny, ah want you to shag me.” He could feel himself getting harder. He thought momentarily about Cathy, but a standing cock has no conscience.

  They both left the club and went outside into the cold night air. Johnny led her behind the building where it was dark and poorly lit and began to shag her standing up. He was used to stand up sex because in the Gorbals that was the favoured position. Young couples with no place to go, regularly shagged at night standing up in the dark and dingy backcourts and closes.

  “Oh, Johnny give it tae me. Give it tae me hard,” Lorraine was moaning. Johnny felt himself come and a few minutes later they were back in the club. Lorraine took again to dancing and Johnny joined his pals. It was as if nothing had happened. As everyone got drunker and drunker, becoming louder and incoherent, Johnny decided to make a quiet exit, like a thief in the night. He got back to Crown Street and Peter was there as usual selling the Daily Record. On The front page the headline screamed out: PRISONER ON PRIEST MUGGING CHARGE HANGS HIMSELF.

  Chapter 15

  WOMAN

  Johnny awoke in an exalted mood although he did feel slightly exhausted after yesterday’s events. The boys being released, the party and of course the sexual encounter with the lovely Lorraine. The shagging behind the club had been great and it certainly put a spring back in his step. Previously, for several months, he felt as if he had lost his mojo, lost a sense of who he really was. He had even lost his sense of humour, unforgiveable for a Gorbals guy like him.

  He thought back to Lorraine, her sensuous lips, her perfectly formed breasts, and unusual for a local woman, her French kissing, deep that it was. He smiled and got a hard on when he thought of it. A few years back he had attempted to French kiss a blonde after meeting her at the Portland dance hall. He led her into a dark lane nearby and had expected full sex. All was proceeding well until he stuck his tongue down her throat. She pushed him away shouting, “Get your tongue out ma throat, ya dirty bastard ye!”