Free The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 by Ian Todd

supposed tae be finding oot, Mickey?” Chic asked.
      “See, there lies the problem.  People don’t realise, bit it’s a science tae be able tae know exactly whit’s gaun oan.  It’s shite like whit Duggie his jist come oot wae that creates problems.  Rumour and lies never helped anywan.  Concrete intel…that’s aw we’re interested in, so it is, Daddy,” Mickey shot back defensively.
       “Look, we need tae work thegither oan this wan, keep oor ears tae the ground and nip whitever it is that they Simpsons ur up tae in the bud.  We need tae see if there’s any fire behind aw this smoke,” Chic persisted.
        “Ye’re right, Chic.  So, here’s where we’re gaun wae this wan.  Billy will co-ordinate this end and keep me up tae date.  Ah’ll feed it upstairs tae Mackerel and Bison when it’s appropriate.  They’ll keep Jack Tipple posted.  Pat Molloy’s name still his bad karma aboot this place.  We need tae keep this close tae oor chests fur the time being.  By that, Ah mean, amongst oorsels.  Let’s hing back a wee bit and see whit way the wind’s blowing first, making sure that if there’s any skulduggery oan the go, it disnae get oot ae haun.  Ah don’t want tae see blood oan the streets, so Ah don’t.  Noo, if ye’ll excuse me, Ah’ve goat a game ae fitba that Ah want tae watch.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
    Chapter Nine
      “Did ye no see the look oan Daddy’s face when Mickey Sherlock mentioned Harry Portoy being droont?” The Stalker asked Bumper as they hung aboot, drinking tea in the canteen, waiting fur Gucci tae turn up wae his brief.
      “No really.  Whit wis so different fae his usual ugly basturt look?”
      “It wis wan ae they ‘keep that tongue in yer heid’ kind ae looks.”
      “Ye don’t think they’d anything tae dae wae auld Portoy’s drooning, dae ye?”
      “Naw, bit Ah widnae put it past them, the sleekit basturts.”
      “Ach, well, it’s aw water under the bridge noo, so it is.”
      “Did ye mean tae say that?”
      “Whit?”
      “That auld Harry Portoy’s drooning is aw water under the bridge?”
      “Well, it is,” Bumper replied, laughing.
      “Right, Paddy, Bobby’s no happy wae you being in the interview room, so don’t upset him.  Ye’re jist there tae sit in and listen,” The Inspector warned him, sitting doon tae join them wae his mug ae tea.
      “So, whit’s the point ae me being there if Ah’m no allowed tae say anything?”
      “Listen, it wis yersel that asked tae be present.  This is a murder investigation.  Ye’re no part ae the investigation team.  Bobby his made that clear.”
      “So, where the fuck is aw the ‘we need tae work thegither oan this’ shite gone then, Chic?” Bumper wanted tae know.
      “Ah’m telling ye, it’s Bobby’s way, or no way.  Make yer minds up,” The Inspector warned them, patting his pockets in search ae his fags.
      “So, Ah cannae ask him anything?  Is that whit ye’re saying?”
      “Whit Ah’m saying is that ye need tae take yer lead fae Bobby.  He’s the main man here.  Ah’ve goat enough shite gaun oan withoot it being added tae.  So, behave yersel,” he said, lifting up Bumper’s lighter fae the tap ae the packet that wis sitting oan the table and flicking open the Zippo.
      “He’s here,” Happy Harry, the desk sergeant announced, popping his heid roond the door.
     
      “Right, Mr Gucci, Ah’m glad ye could manage tae come in.  Ah’m Chief Inspector Ma...” Bobby started, bit wis stoapped deid in his tracks.
      “Before we start, I’d like a few points clarified and acknowledged,” Portoy demanded.
      “Like whit?”
      “That my client is not under suspicion of being involved in the sad death of his friend, Joseph McManus, that you acknowledge that my client is here of his own free will, in order to assist in any way that he can, that my client will not be subjected to any form of interrogation or