Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 by Ian Todd Page B

gang culture oan the patch.
    Colin, The Inspector, reckoned JP wis aiming fur parliament. The local bizzies wid need tae strike a balance in the Toonheid, The Sarge thought tae himsel.  The focus needed tae be oan the wee toe-rags who wur the walking crime statistics, before they upset the apple cart and spoilt things fur everywan. Wan pilfering wee toe-rag could quite easily put the statistics intae double or triple figures compared tae some wee eejit hinging aboot a street corner shouting ‘Toi, Ya Bass’ twice a week.
      His thoughts wur suddenly and abruptly interrupted by the sight ae the targets, who’d jist appeared at the closemooth ae the tenement building across fae where him and Crisscross wur lying under a clump ae bushes.
      “See the bigger wan ae the two?  The wan wae the red hair?” The Sarge asked. 
      “Aye, whit aboot him?” asked PC Chris Cross, who wis acknowledged by aw and sundry as no being the shiniest star in the galaxy and affectionately called ‘Crisscross’ by friend and foe alike.
       Crisscross wis unfortunate tae be blessed wae the biggest squint that hid ever been launched oot ae The Rottenrow delivery room. Everywan knew that he’d hid it since he wis a wee snapper. According tae his personnel file though, he’d caught a severe dose ae Strabismus efter he wis accepted intae the force, so as he wis awready in, they hid tae let him stay. The fact that he wis married tae JP Donnelly’s two ton daughter, Fat Sally Sally, a probationary lieutenant in the local branch ae the Sally Army, wis purely coincidental. It wis also jist a coincidence that JP hid been the chair ae the Police board at the time ae Crisscross’s recruitment.
      “That’s the Taylor boy who screwed the shoap in St James’s Road,” The Sarge reminded him.
      “Aye, Ah know.”
      Crisscross awready knew the taller ae the two. He remembered wan ae the first times he’d met the maw, who wis a foul-moothed jezebel. He’d hid tae respond tae a Code Twenty Wan Red alert that hid come o’er the radio.  Tommy and Jack, the other two beat PCs hid goat caught up in the bar ae The Grafton where hauf the punters wur aw battling wae each other.  Efter things hid quietened doon, she’d made things worse by shouting her mooth aff in front ae everywan through in the lounge.
    “Fur Christ’s sake, Crisscross, where did ye get they eyes fae?  It looks as if wan’s aff tae the bar fur a roond and the other wan’s coming back wae the change,” she’d howled as the place erupted in laughter.
      When he’d tried tae book her oan a breach ae the peace fur her cheek, it hid nearly caused a riot.  She’d denied that she’d started them aw aff and cited every lying basturt in the lounge as witnesses. In order tae no lose face, he’d been forced tae let her aff wae a warning.
      “Ah want tae talk wae that wan first and his wee pal second,” The Sarge murmured, peering through the hole he’d made in the bush.
      “Whit’s he done that his mate hisnae?” asked Crisscross.
      “Jist look at the pair ae wee thieving basturts. They’re probably planning their next move oan how tae break intae every shoap and gas meter in the area while we’re hivving tae be lying here, daeing sweet fuck aw tae stoap them,” The Sarge hissed, ignoring the question.
      “Ah telt ye we should’ve lifted him when we goat the info fae the wee fat grass,” Crisscross reminded him.
      “And Ah telt ye the reason we couldnae.”
      “Aye, bit if we cannae use Fatty’s info, then we’ll need a bit mair luck than we’ve hid recently tae score a conviction.”
      “Ah know fur a fact that that wee red-haired cretin will spill the beans if we kin only get him oan his lonesome.”
      “Aye, Fat Boy said that it wis definetly this pair who screwed the tobacconist’s, alang wae the two we nabbed.”
      “Aye, there’s nae doubt aboot it, Crisscross…we’re looking at yer typical wee manky thieving toe-rags that