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they’re talking aboot, bit it’s no ma place tae say anything…if ye know whit Ah mean?”
      “Look, Ah’m in a hurry, hen.  Jist tell him, Ah’ll maybe phone back later.”
      “Ah’m jist connecting ye noo, son…er, Mr Bingo,” the operator chirped pleasantly.
      He heard the clicking noise ae his call being transferred, jist as he pressed another bob intae the coin slot wae that well chewed thumbnail ae his.
      “Bingo, ma wee friend…how ur ye daeing, son?” Inspector Ralph Toner, heid ae the Criminal Intelligence Section, asked.
      “Who the fuck wis that loud-moothed hairy who put me through, Ralph?  Christ awmighty, she jist telt me that she recognised ma voice,” Bingo squealed, fear evident in his voice.
      “Who, Sweaty Muldoon?  Ach, Ah widnae worry aboot her. She’s jist trying tae be polite.  There’s been a heap ae complaints aboot her recently…”
      “Ralph, fur Christ sake, Ah’m putting ma life oan the line here.  If word got oot that Ah wis phoning Central, even if it wis jist tae report that wee dug ae mine wis missing, Ah’d end up in a bloody casket, fur Christ’s sake!”
      “Bingo, Bingo, calm doon, son.  Ah’ve jist telt ye…there won’t be a problem.  Ah’ll deal wae it.”
      “Ah’m telling ye, Ralph…Ah swear tae God, she knew who Ah wis.  Ah went tae school wae that big-titted sister ae hers.  Christ, Ah think Ah’ve jist accidently shat in ma pants,” Bingo wailed doon the line.
      “Look, ye’ll need tae calm doon, Bingo.  It’s aw sorted.  Ah’ll speak tae her.  Don’t worry, she’s been warned no tae divulge who’s phoning in or oot.  Ye’ve nothing tae worry aboot.  Noo, whit hiv ye goat fur me?”
      “We’re gonnae hiv tae change how we get in touch wae each other.  Ah’m no happy, so Ah’m no,” Bingo continued tae bleat.
      “Aye, Ah heard ye, Bingo.  We’ll get something sorted oot.  In the meantime, whit hiv ye goat fur me?”
      “The Big Man.”
      “Whit aboot him?”
      “Ah’m no too sure…it might be nothing.”
      “Well, let me decide oan that, eh?”
      “He’s hid a meeting.”
      “A meeting?”
      “Aye…in Frankie Mulligan’s shoap oan the corner ae Murray Street.”
      “The Bookies?”
      “Aye.”
      “And?”
      “As Ah’ve said…it might be nothing, bit…”
      “Spit it oot, Bingo.  Who wis he meeting wae?”
      “That wee newspaper guy.”
      “Whit wee newspaper guy?”
      “The wee ugly basturt.”
      “Bingo?”
      “The Rat…whit’s his name?”
      “Sammy Elliot?  Pat Molloy hid a meeting wae him?  When?”
      “They’re still there, as far as Ah know.  Ah’ve jist come fae putting oan a wee line.”
      “Whit’s the meeting aboot?”
      “Ah don’t know…Ah’m no sure.”
      “Ye’re no sure?  Whit kind ae reply is that?  Ah thought ye knew everything that’s gaun oan up there in the Toonheid.  Remember, it’s me ye’re talking tae?”
      “Look, aw Ah know is that it’s goat something tae dae wae that dookit that went up.”
      “Whit dookit?”
      “The wan that burnt doon, up the tap ae Parly Road last night.  The big cabin behind the billboards between Gizzi’s Café and Macbrayne’s bus depot.”
      “Bit, Ah thought The Murphys ran that?”
      “They dae…they did.”
      “Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”
      “They haunded it o’er tae a wee manky bunch ae toe-rags who’re aw right intae fleeing the doos.”
      “Right, back tae Pat Molloy and The Rat.  Whit dae ye think’s gaun oan then?”
      “Ah’m no sure.  Bit, why wid somewan like The Big Man hiv a meeting in the back room ae a betting shoap wae a journalist fae The Glesga Echo, insteid ae in his pub, jist alang the road?”
      “Bingo, it’s me that’s supposed tae be asking the questions here and you that’s supposed tae be coming up wae the answers.  Whit makes ye think the meeting’s connected wae the