The Silver Arrow (12 page)

  “And if Ah didnae want tae change?”

  “Then I don’t think the word rehabilitation is what you should be using.  Perhaps the starting point is to ask yourself what you would be prepared to change.”

  “Oan whose terms?”

  “On your own terms.”

  “Naw, Ah mean, who sets the bar oan these things?”

  “Well, if one was to use evidence of rehabilitation to persuade the parole board, then talking to a member of staff, someone like Fanny Flaw for instance, would probably be worthwhile.  She could probably tell you if there was any set criteria that was matched against an inmate’s rehabilitation performance.”

  “And if somewan like me wanted tae use it fur personal use and nothing tae dae wae trying tae jump through hoops tae get parole, whit should Ah be looking oot fur?”

  “Have you heard of Saul, Johnboy?”

  “Wis that no Paul, the bad dude who goat some sort ae a flash oan the road tae Damascus and who suddenly wanted tae be nice tae aw they wee Christians that he’d been jabbing the hell oot ae the week before wae that big sharp spear ae his?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Whit aboot him?”

  “One could say that Saul was transformed into Paul after being reformed and reborn a Christian.  He was clearly rehabilitated, not only in the eyes of the Lord, but in the eyes of those he persecuted.”

  “So, ye think Ah should change ma name then?” Johnboy asked, smiling.

  “What I think is that we’ll need to have this conversation another time as I really do need to get these hassocks down to St Thomas’s.  I’ll certainly give it more thought, as I’m sure I’ve just done you a disservice with my lacklustre response.  It’s strange, but I’ve never been asked that question before by an inmate.  How interesting.  Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

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

Police have confirmed that eleven women who made a citizen’s arrest of a burglar in Carleston Street Springburn in June of this year will not be charged with serious assault.  Twenty-four-year-old Brian Banks of Broomfield Road, Balornock, was confronted by Ella Fisher and her neighbours after a local child playing in the street alerted them that Mrs Fisher’s house was being broken into.  On confronting Banks, who denied the accusation at the time, even though he was confronted in the living room of the house with a bag containing the content of Mrs Fisher’s gas meter, Banks claimed he had entered the flat by mistake.  After dragging Banks down to the backcourt, the women ladled into the accused with an assorted collection of pots, pans and other non-lethal household implements to his severe injury.  Banks was later jailed for three months…

  A sixty-six-year-old pensioner today claimed he spotted a salmon in the River Clyde near the boat house on Glasgow Green this morning, causing surprise and joy to the city’s growing angling community.  Professor Harold McCauley from Glasgow University said that given the pollution in the river, he was surprised, but delighted by the news.  Professor McCauley said that with the rundown of the heavy shipbuilding industries, the river was clearly repairing itself after hundreds of years of abuse…

  A local primary school head teacher has condemned the mystery person known as The Silver Arrow, claiming that half the children in her and other primary schools along Great Western Road are falling asleep at their desks midway through their morning lessons.  Mary Frost has pleaded with the unknown racing driver to think of the children…

Justice of the Peace, Herbert Thompson, who handed down fines totalling one hundred and ten pounds to the eighteen individuals convicted of domestic violence at Central District Court today, warned the offenders that they would be dealt with harshly if they appeared up in front of him in the future.  The assaults, ranging from slaps and kicks to the use of weapons, such as sticks, belts and a pot lid, mostly under the influence of drink, were all evidenced during the proceedings.  Women’s groups in the city have condemned the sentences as pathetic and have called for the Justice of the Peace to resign.  Jill Shand, a ward sister at The Royal Infirmary hit out at the sentences and said that these assaults are only the tip of the iceberg and called on all women to write to their local MPs demanding justice for women…”

Chapter Thirteen

He wis glad the rain hid stoapped.  He wisnae sure if he wid’ve spotted her coming oot ae her work in C&As oan Argyle Street wae the amount ae umbrellas that hid been oan the go hauf an hour earlier.  He wis staunin across the road at Dolcis, the shoe shoap, tae gie himsel a three hunner and sixty degree coverage ae the exits.  Even though she wis wearing a coat wae a hood covering her heid, he spotted her slipping oot ae the side door intae Glassford Street, heiding in the direction ae Ingram Street.  By the time he caught up wae her, she’d crossed the road and wis waiting fur the lights tae change at the corner ae the GPO building oan George Square.  He took a deep breath.

  “Michelle?  Is that you?”

  “Oh, er, Jake, it’s you.  How ur ye daeing?  Er, long time, no see,” Michelle Hope replied, sounding a wee bit flustered, as she continued tae follow the damp sheep as they crossed the road, withoot stoapping.

  “Ach, no bad…whit aboot yersel?” he replied, pleased tae see that she still looked pretty tasty under that hood, despite whit she wis wearing.

  “Oh, Ah’m okay.  I’ve jist finished ma work.”

  “Where’s that then?”

  “C&As oan Argyle Street.  Ah’m…er…a windae dresser in the wumminswear department.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Aye, it’s nothing tae whit ye’re obviously used tae, although they’ve goat some quite good stuff and as a member ae staff, Ah get a hauf decent discount, so Ah dae.”

  “So, where ur ye aff tae then?”

  “Ah’m heiding up tae Dundas Street Bus Station tae catch ma bus up the road.”

  “Ur ye still up in Springburn?”

  “Naw, ma parents moved further oot tae Bishopbriggs a few years ago.  That’s why it needs tae be a Bluebird.”

  “Dae ye fancy gaun fur a quick drink?”

  “Who?  Me?” she asked, turning tae face him, surprise in her voice.

  “Aye, who did ye think Ah wis asking?”

  “Ah’m sorry, Jake…Ah cannae.  Ma bus leaves at twenty past five and the next wan isnae until ten past six.”

  “So?”

  “So, ma ma usually his the tea ready, bang oan seven, so she dis.”

  “Bishopbriggs, ye said?”

  “Aye.”

  “Look, Ah hiv tae nip oot tae Kirkintilloch later oan, tae take care ae a wee bit ae business, bit Ah’ve tae nip in by the shoap fur a minute.  Ah kin then gie ye a lift up the road, if ye want?” he said tae her, changing tactic.

  “Oh…er…Ah think it wid be better if Ah wis tae get the bus.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, er, nothing, it’s jist…”

  “Yer da?”

  “Ah don’t think he’d be too pleased tae see me talking, let alone stepping oot ae a car wae the like…er…ye know whit Ah mean,” she apologised, her cheeks turning red.

  “Christ, Michelle, Ah’m only offering ye a lift, so Ah am.  It’s no as if Ah’m asking ye oot oan a date or anything like that.  And anyway, Ah’m sure if ye asked yer da, he’d know fine well that Ah’ve gone straight.  Ah don’t hing aboot wae that manky bunch anymair…no since Ah’ve become an honest businessman.”

  “Aye, Ah saw the bit they did oan the shoap oan the evening news a wee while back.  The shoap looked amazing, so it did.”

  “Look, Michelle, Ah kin understaun that ye widnae want tae be seen wae me wae yer da being a bizzy and aw that, bit honestly, Ah’m totally reformed these days…Ah rarely see any ae that Springburn crowd.  Ah could always drap ye aff near yer hoose.  Hiv ye been in the shoap?” he asked her, as they cut diagonally across the square, heiding towards the opening ae Queen Street Train Station.

  “Naw.”

  “Ye hivnae?  Bit, ye’re working in the rag trade.  Why hiv ye no been oot and aboot checking oot the competition?” he asked her, reckoning he’d aboot a hunner yards tae get her tae change her mind tae steer her towards Buchanan Street and the shoap, insteid ae seeing her disappear up Queen Street.

  “Ah’d hardly compare whit Ah dae tae whit ye’re daeing, Jake,” she scoffed, looking at him, showing him her perfect white teeth in a smile, the first since he’d accosted her.

  “Look, it disnae make sense you getting a bus when Ah’m heiding oot that way.  Why don’t ye let me gie ye a lift and Ah’ll get Kim Sui tae gie ye the grand tour.  Ye know her anyway, don’t ye?”

  “Er, no really, Ah met her jist the wance when Ah wis seeing…”

  “Johnboy?”

  “Well, Ah wisnae really gaun oot wae him, it wis jist the odd date here and there,” she’d murmured.  “It might’ve went further if…”

  “If he hidnae goat the jail?”

  “Ah wis gonnae say if it wisnae fur that Senga Jackson…the cow that she wis, always hinging aboot like a bad smell,” she scowled bitterly.

  “Oh, her?  Aye, she always hid a funny thing when it came tae Johnboy, so she did.  Ah wonder whit became ae her, eh?”

  “Look, Ah’m no sure aboot the lift, Jake.  Ah’d love tae see the shoap, bit Ah widnae know whit tae say tae Kim Sui.  Ah don’t really know her,” she admitted, turning tae face him, as aw the damp sheep stoapped at the corner ae the lights opposite the entrance tae the station.

  “Ye don’t hiv tae say anything.  Kim Sui loves showing people roond the place.  C’mone, we’ll only be five minutes and then Ah’ll nip roond and get the car and get ye up the road in time fur yer tea,” he said soothingly tae her, as everywan followed each other across the road as the stationary buses and cars sat revving up, waiting fur the lights tae change back tae green.

  “Oh, Ah don’t know,” she said doubtfully, clearly swithering whether tae accept his offer, looking up Queen Street in the direction ae Dundas Street.

  “Look, it’s started tae chuck it doon again and the shoap’s jist the next street up.  Whit dae ye think, Michelle?”

  “Er…aye, okay, bit jist fur a few minutes,” she finally agreed, getting a big smile in return fae Jake.

Jake relaxed.  It hid been easier than he thought and if he wis honest wae himsel, she wis mair attractive looking than whit he’d remembered.

  “Kim Sui, ye remember Michelle…Michelle Hope…wan ae the Springburn lassies, don’t ye?” Jake asked his designer and shoap manager.

  “Oh, I’m not sure.  My brain’s like a sieve when it comes to placing faces.  Sorry,” Kim Sui apologised, smiling at Michelle.

  “Oh, it’s okay, Kim Sui, Ah think we only met the wance and it wis in a crowd.”

  “Ah’m gieing Michelle a lift up the road, bit Ah need tae make a few phone calls first.  Hiv ye goat time tae show her aroond the place?  Michelle’s in the trade,” Simon said tae Kim Sui.

  “Of course I can.  I would be delighted,” Kim Sui replied, smiling.  “Give me your coat, Michelle, and we’ll get it hung up.”

  Jake made the mistake ae haudin back.  Although he could see that Michelle wis wearing a midi skirt under her coat, he wanted a wee swatch ae that body and wisnae disappointed.  Her hair wis cut pixie-style and her body wis quite slim and athletic looking wae a firm pair ae paps pressing against her V-neck jumper.  The curvature ae her arse pressing against the skirt, wae the wee two-inch gap, exposing her white nylon-covered legs between the hem and the tap ae her broon leather boots, made his dick twitch.  She wis bloody gorgeous.

  “Senga was in earlier,” Kim Sui said, bringing his manky thoughts crashing doon aboot they hee-haws ae his.

  “Eh?” he stupidly asked.

  “Senga Jackson.  We went for lunch.  She sends her regards,” Kim Sui said, a puzzled look oan her coupon.

  “Oh, right…aye, well, Ah better go and make they calls,” Jake mumbled, feeling Michelle’s eyes bore intae his back as he made a quick exit through the backroom door.

  “So, Michelle, this is DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE,” Kim Sui said, stepping back and nodding towards the walls, lined wae racks ae clothes wae the names ae the designers prominent above them, separated by three long counter level glass cabinets running parallel tae the clothes in the middle.  Oan the far wall, there wis two sections.  Wan wae shoes oan display and the other, haunbags.

  “Oh Kim Sui, it’s stunning, so it is,” Michelle said in awe, looking aboot in wonder.

  “Jake mentioned you were in the trade?”

  “Hardly,” Michelle laughed, feeling her cheeks burning.  “Ah’m a windae dresser in C&A’s.  It’s nothing compared tae this, believe you me.”

  “We’ve split the shop into different sections.  Through there is the menswear department,” Kim Sui said, pointing tae a brightly-lit room accessed by three carpeted steps.  “In here, we’ve separated the American and European clothing designers.  Some people will only wear European.  Along this wall, we’ve got Bill Blass, Bobbie Brooks, Victor Joris, who’s a designer for the Cuddle Coat Company, Evan-Picone, Halston, Ralph Lauren, Marie St John, Diane Von Furstenburg, Norman and Max Raab, from The Villager Company.  On the other wall, we have clothes by most of the top European designers, such as Armani, Gucci, Emanuel Ungaro, Givenchy, Karl Lagerfeld, Westwood, Valentino and Versace…to name a few.”

  “How come there isnae any price tags?”  Michelle asked, lifting the sleeve ae a Givenchy dress.

  “Oh, they’re there, tucked deep inside the sleeve.  Jake believes that customers shouldn’t be in the shop if the first thing they ask for, or look for, is the price tag,” Kim Sui replied, smiling.

  “And whit dae ye think yersel?”

  “Well, the turnover since we’ve opened has been phenomenal, so he may have a point.”

  “And whit’s Jake’s role?  Ah couldnae see him hinging aboot in here aw day, waiting fur customers, lovely though it is,” Michelle asked, wae a sweep ae her erm.

  “Yes, you’ve got him down to a T,” she replied, laughing.  “He’s mostly out and about a lot, mixing with current and potential customers, promoting the shop.  Back in the base here, there’s four other girls, two young guys and myself who take care of the customers at this end.  It works quite well.  All the girls and boys, including myself, are up-and-coming designers.”

  “Aye, Ah’ve heard.  When Ah telt ma supervisor, a while back, that Ah knew Jake, she didnae believe me at first, bit it didnae stoap her mentioning it tae wan ae the tap buyers.  He mentioned that ye wur putting oan a show soon and that there wis a lot ae speculation aboot whit ye wur gonnae come up wae.  Yer reputation as a designer is gaun before ye,” Michelle said, looking at a belt wae an eighteen-quid price tag oan it.

  “Oh, that was nice of him.  Yes, it’s true that I’ve been working on my own collection, although I’m not too sure how the buyer would have known about the show.”

  “He said that he’d seen some samples ae yer work and thought it wis oot ae this world.”

  “Let’s hope others do as well.  The show opens in mid-December and is a charity dry run before a bigger one in the spring.  I’ve had quite a lot of encouragement from other designers outwith Scotland who I’ve met through my twin sister, Bo, who’s a model, now living in Paris.”

  “It aw sounds so romantic and exciting.  Bo?  Is that her real name?”

  “Yes.  It means ‘precious’ in Chinese.”

  “Oh, Kim Sui, the bags and the jewellery…” Michelle exclaimed, clasping her hauns thegither under her chin.  “And look at the shoes…they’re gorgeous, so they ur.”

  “The handbags by the likes of Coach, Koret, Etienne Aigner and Etra are really popular as well as the jewellery by the likes of Goldette, Monet, Napier, Renoir of California and the early pieces by Jerry Fels.”

  “Right then, how ur we getting oan then?” Jake asked, interrupting them.

  “Ah’m jist speechless, Jake.  The shoap is oot ae this world, so it is,” Michelle gushed, looking aboot in wonder.

  “Ah’m glad ye like it.  Look, Ah don’t want tae rush ye, bit the car’s sitting oan yellow lines ootside,” he said apologetically.

  “I’ll get your coat, Michelle.  Perhaps you can come in another day and you can try on some of the clothes at your leisure, without some man spoiling our fun, eh?” Kim Sui suggested, smiling and heiding aff tae get her coat.

  “She’s lovely,” Michelle said, jist as Kim Sui reappeared and helped her intae her coat.

  “And this is for you…it’ll keep the draught from your neck,” Kim Sui said, putting a Louis Feraud silk scarf roond Michelle’s neck, which hid been part ae a batch that hid been hijacked, alang wae everything else that hid been in the back ae a van in London a few days earlier.

  “Oh, Kim Sui, Ah couldnae.  It widnae be right…really,” Michelle gasped, fingering the fabric.  “It’s absolutely beautiful, so it is.”

“Right, ye’ll need tae run fur the car…it’s bucketing doon,” Jake shouted, haudin open the door.

  “This wan?” Michelle shouted, pointing at the Mercedes sports car sitting wae its engine running.

  “Aye, jump in.”

  “Whit kind ae car is this?” she asked, stroking the cream leather interior.

  “It’s a Mercedes SL 200 sports.  It used tae belong tae that journalist wummin that hung hersel a few years back…the wan that Pearl Campbell used tae work wae doon at The Glesga Echo,” Jake replied, getting tucked in behind the traffic oan West Regent Street.

  “Oh, Ah never heard aboot that.”

  “Ach, well…her loss, ma gain, eh?” Jake said smiling, switching oan the tape, as the rolling base intro tae Stevie Wonder’s ‘Living fur the City’ filled the car.