sight ae their eyes widening, jist before he took in the scene doon tae his left. Something wisnae right, bit he still couldnae put his finger oan it. Oan a normal Friday night, the lounge wid’ve been packed full wae Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, wheeling and dealing. Practically every single bit ae stolen property in this part ae the toon usually changed hauns in this place. Whether it wis radios, watches, rings or bigger stuff like carpets, beds and furniture, maist ae it wis aw ordered through Jonah’s lounge. At the far end, oan the left, a barmaid hid her back tae the customers as she stretched up tae get a nip fae wan ae the optics. Frisky Frank wis sitting at the bar oan his lonesome. The Stalker wis relieved that he wis sitting oan his ain. Christ knows whit he wid’ve done if he’d been sitting wae Gucci’s crowd. Beyond Frisky, hauf a dozen ae The Mankys wur sitting wae their pints in front ae them, aw immaculately dressed, their backs tae the wall, facing up towards the only door in and oot ae the place. A group ae wee darlings wur in amongst them, tottering oan stools, shrieking and giggling aboot something he couldnae catch. He briefly locked eyes wae Pat McCabe, who wis intae anything made ae gold. The Stalker wis well aware that he specialised in jewellery, bit rings in particular. He wondered where Simon Epstein, commonly known up in the station as ‘The Carpet Blagger,’ hid fucked aff tae a few minutes earlier. Harper could get any make ae carpet ye liked...Axminster, Wilton, Berber...you name it, he could get ye it. There hid been whispers that he’d carpeted the flairs ae hauf ae the pavement pounders in the station at some time or another. Sitting beside McCabe wis Jake McAlpine, who wis maistly intae up-market clobber like coats, suits and shirts, including wedding dresses…aw blagged tae order. It wis said that he’d supplied the famous television newsreader, John Turney’s new bride wae her wedding dress a few months back, as well as the ootfits fur the bridesmaids and flower girls. Next tae McAlpine sat Snappy Johnston, well-known fur blagging aff ae railway goods wagons, lorries and vans full ae promise. Two weeks previously, Daddy Jackson hid done the roonds ae the Possil and Springburn cop shops, bawling everywan oot and telling them tae get their fingers oot ae their arses. Jack Tipple, The Assistant Chief Constable, hid burned the ears aff ae him efter British Rail threatened tae sue the city fur aw the extra security costs they’d incurred tae keep the wagons rolling in and oot ae Cowlairs withoot being hi-jacked. Next tae Johnston sat Ben McCalumn, who seemed tae be involved in everything and anything that the others wur involved in. The Stalker hid picked up that him and Johnston provided maist ae the back-up muscle. And finally, there wis Peter Paterson. Paterson wis the runner fur The Mankys. If ye wur tae take him oot ae the game, everything wid come tae a halt…at least fur a wee while. He wis the main go-between, who took the orders fae the customers and made sure they goat whit they wur efter, as soon as possible, wance the order hid been placed wae the rest ae The Mankys. He hated tae admit it, bit they wur a well-oiled money-making machine, wae balls the size ae elephants. If they wurnae crooks, they’d be unstoappable. Fae whit The Stalker could gather, efter talking tae some ae the sergeants in the other divisions, The Mankys wur a step above maist ae the other wee thieving squads that wur scattered aboot the toon, in that they seemed tae be better organised and much mair disciplined. He’d been hoping tae come across Tony Gucci and wis disappointed no tae see him haudin court. Gucci hidnae been visible fur a few weeks noo, which hid been a bit strange, although no unheard ae. He wis glad tae clock the wee Chinky thing sitting in amongst the other lassies. It meant that Gucci widnae be too far away. They
Similar Books
