The Mattress: The Glasgow Chronicles 4 Read Free Page A

problems, ye should’ve seen the mess that Ah wis in,” Biscuit said cautiously.
      He shrugged they shoulders ae his at The Stalker, as if tae say, ‘Well, you come up wae something better,’ efter seeing The Stalker moothing, “Whit the fuck ur ye oan aboot?”
      “Hoi, ya fucking moron, ye!  Jist cut her bloody throat and get oan wae it.  We’ve aw goat oor work tae go tae in the morning, ya selfish prick, ye,” a voice yelled fae somewhere in the flats.
      “Don’t listen tae him, son.  He’s jist a selfish basturt who disnae gie a shite aboot anywan bit himsel.  Thank God we’re no aw like him, eh?  Right, hiv ye goat milk?  If ye hivnae, Ah’ll go and get us some,” Biscuit suddenly announced.
      “Whit?” Jim Bowie demanded, looking confused.
      “Milk?  Fur the tea?  Ye jist agreed we’d aw sit doon and hiv a wee chin-wag tae sort aw this oot,” Biscuit said, looking at him as if he wis daft.
      “Bit, Ah never s…”
      The Stalker flew across the six feet that wis separating them, jist as the haun gripping the blade tae the lassies throat relaxed and withdrew a few inches. Baith ae The Stalker’s hauns clamped the blade wrist.  Meanwhile, Biscuit pulled the lassie free wae his left haun.  He grabbed Jim Bowie by the hair wae his right wan and smashed his forehead against the door jamb when he turned tae see who it wis that hid a grip ae his haun.  The lassie disappeared intae the hoose and The Stalker followed in her footsteps.  The place looked as if a bomb hid gone aff in it.  He winced oan hearing the sound ae crunching glass underfoot as he slowly made his way fae room tae room, finally stoapping at a closed door at the end ae the lobby.  He turned the haundle and gently pushed it slightly ajar, wary, oan guard and no sure whit tae expect.  The light bulb, which wis dangling doon fae the ceiling in the lobby, withoot a shade oan it, lit up hauf ae the bare flairboards in the room, exposing a pair ae knees that wur skinned and bloody.  The lassie wis sitting oan the edge ae a bed, clinging oan tae two wee weans, who couldnae hiv been mair than two or three years auld.  The wee wans didnae move or make a sound, and he could jist make oot three pairs ae white, wet, shiny, frightened eyes, looking oot ae the darkness across at him in the doorway.   He pushed the door open and slowly walked across and lifted wan ae the weans oot ae the lassie’s erms and sat doon, putting his erm aroond her and drawing her and the weans heids closer tae him.  Within a few seconds he felt the lassie’s trembling transform intae shudders as she began tae sob.
      “Why?  Whit hiv me and the weans ever done tae deserve this?” she wailed, as The Stalker sat staring intae space towards the open door.

 
    Chapter Three
      The Stalker hidnae gied much thought tae the stabbing at the bingo hall doon oan Gourlay Street due tae the fact that they’d hid tae get an ambulance fur the madman wae the knife.  As well as splitting open his foreheid, which required eighteen stitches, the hospital hid discovered that he’d a fractured skull fae where Biscuit hid skelped his heid aff the sharp edge ae the doorframe.
      “Ye mean he might croak it?” Biscuit hid asked the doctor hopefully.
      “No, I think he’ll survive…this time,” the doctor hid replied, clearly disapproving ae the polis tactics in arresting his drug-crazed patient.
      “Aye, ye’re back, Paddy,” Chick Thompson, the inspector said, breaking intae his thoughts, as The Stalker lifted his mug ae tea up tae his lips.
      “Aye, Ah’m jist hivving a wee quick wan while Ah get the chance, before nipping up tae Stobhill Hospital, tae pick Biscuit up.”
      “That’s a wee turn-up fur the books, eh?”
      “Whit is?”
      “That murder...the stabbing doon in Gourlay Street earlier oan.”
      “Murder?”
      “Aye, the McManus boy.  Ah thought he wis well oot ae the game noo,” The Inspector replied,