Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 by Ian Todd

asked.
      “Think ae wan ae they McKechnies’ rolls ye scoff at breakfast time, squashed between the tap ae the legs ae a wummin. That’s whit ye’re looking fur.”
      “Seriously?”
      “Aye.”
      “So, how dis it stay up?”
      “It sits jist under their drawers, covering their fanny.”
      “Seriously?”
      “Aye.  Hiv ye never seen wan?”
      “No oan a live wummin, Ah hivnae.”
      “Aye, ye hivnae lived,” Joe said, taking another bite oot ae his apple.
      “Ah’ve clocked them when Ah go raking aboot in midgie bins.  Sometimes they’re in a broon paper bag.  The last wan Ah came across wis in Tam The Bam’s dug, Elvis’s mooth, as he wis tearing doon Montrose Street, being chased by two other mongrels who wur trying tae get it aff him, bit Ah’ve never clocked a wummin wearing wan.”
      “So, ye’ll be wanting tae win that apple then, will ye?” Joe asked.
      “Too bloody true,” Johnboy said, as two sets a legs appeared in front ae him.
      “So, whit ur they fur?” Johnboy finally asked, efter the couple heided aff intae the bustling legs ae the other shoppers.
      “Tae catch the fud blood.”
      “Aye, Ah know that.  Bit whit fur?”
      “Who knows.  Aw Ah know is that wance a month, fur aboot a week, aw wummin go bloody mental and start tae skelp and knock fuck oot ae everywan within range ae them.”
      “Is that whit that is?  Ah usually know when trouble’s brewing when that ma ae mine sends me alang tae the draper’s shoap oan Cathedral Street tae buy four single wans and then intae the paper shoap fur two single tipped fags.  Ye don’t think they’re tae dae wae smoking, dae ye?”
      “Ah widnae think so.  Ah cannae remember hearing any stories aboot guys who smoke wearing them, apart fae when they’re getting a boil oan the back ae their neck lanced,” Joe said, tentatively dabbing the back ae his neck wae they manky fingers ae his at the memory.
      “That ma ae mine and ma sisters turn intae maniacs aw at the same time, noo that Ah think aboot it.  They’re like wummin possessed, so they ur.”
      “Aye, ‘the time ae the month’ they call it.  Ma ma always commandeers a folded up tea towel or wan ae ma da’s string vests when she’s skint and cannae afford tae buy any, so ye never get a warning ae whit’s coming yer way.”
      “Ah’ve only the wan sister and Ah cannae remember her or Ma mentioning them.  Mind you, she’s so possessed, ye’d think it wis her time ae the month every day ae the week,” Joe said as the other two laughed.
      The legs oan the pavement hid started tae thin oot wae everywan getting oan tae their buses hame. They waited till the lassies in the shoap came oot and pulled doon the mesh grill.  Efter heiding up tae Gordon Street, they cut alang by the front ae Central Station.  They couldnae believe their luck.  A big BRS lorry wae a full load oan the back hid jist passed them, heiding up Hope Street.
      “Let’s go,” Tony shouted, nipping in and oot ae the taxis in front ae The Central Hotel tae catch up wae it.  There wis four feet ae space between the load and the back bumper.  Wance they wur aboard, they settled doon tae watch the taxis and buses coming at their backs.  At the tap ae Hope Street, their lorry turned right intae Sauchiehall Street and carried oan up intae Parly Road.  They could smell the fish and chips wafting oot ae the San Remo chip shoap oan the way past.  As they passed by Dundas Street Bus Station, Joe pointed tae the wee man staunin oan the corner selling The Evening Times and Citizen.
      “Check the board in front ae him,” he shouted.
      Leaning against the front ae the wooden orange boxes that he used tae stack his papers oan, The Evening Citizen heidline screamed ‘BIRD BOY DIES IN FIRE.’
      “Dae ye think they’re talking aboot Skull?” Johnboy shouted.
      “Aye,” wan ae the others said.
      It wis the first time Skull’s name hid been