Life Behind Bars by Linda Tweedie Read Free Book Online

£20.  None of them could
get drunk on £20.
     
    Gamblers are the best workers
when they are losing, and they lose most of the time.  They completely
spend up on their day off and have no money for the rest of their free time, no
hangovers and usually want as much overtime as possible.  The downside of
this is that if they do have the occasional win, they are off and running and
you don’t see them for days.

The Hitman and . . .
     
    For a while my head chef and
second chef were a double act from Glasgow who wreaked havoc across the county
for months.  The head chef, William, was an excellent cook and could work
under pressure like no other chef I’ve ever come across.  We were a
terrifically busy restaurant but he was a serious menace, of the worst
kind.  A street fighter who was always bragging about his ‘connections.’ 
He was the second cousin, twice removed, of someone involved in the ‘Glasgow
Ice-Cream Wars.’  Personally I think he bought a 99 cone from one of their
vans and that was his only claim to fame.
    He had been an amateur boxer in
his youth and had been destined for great things.  But no one had told him
that drink, drugs and women do not Olympic gold medals make.  He, like
many before him, had missed the boat and he had become just a surly thug with
an enormous chip on his shoulder.
    After work he would strut about
the bar like an ugly little bantam cock.  I forgot to mention how ugly he
was, and yet women swarmed round him.  He was a seriously bad drunk and
was always on the lookout for his next victim.  His sidekick James was a
reasonable enough chef; nothing special but they worked well together, in and
out of the kitchen.
    They always played the ‘I’ve got
you over a barrel’ game with me, and would frequently make jokes about how if
they left, the kitchen would close and we couldn’t dispense with their
services.  And many other such enlightening quips.
    The downfall for this pair was
that they never gave anyone else credit for being able to add two plus
two.  Actually, I wasn’t sure if they could master such advanced
maths.  It was time to divide and separate. 
    William had decided he was having
an extra holiday between Christmas and New Year.  It probably would have
been fine, if only he had run it past me.  But such was his ego he was
convinced on his return he would spin ‘the stupid cow,’ (me) a line and all
would be well.  However, this stupid cow had been planting a few seeds and
had managed to get chef number two on my side.  He was furious that
William had taken off and had left him with the brunt of the work with not even
a by your leave.
    That particular week is manic and
no one gets time off.  So to help ease the pressure, I pandered to James’
ego and gave him and the remaining chefs an extra bonus.  I also started
the rumour that William had been given the Christmas bonus to divide amongst
them and it looked like he had buggered off and spent it.  He hadn’t, but
who would they believe?  All this, to ensure that when he did show up he
would have no backup.  He was going, but not taking the whole brigade with
him.
    On the 3 rd or 4 th of January, he strolled into the bar, having first made sure I had left for the
night, and proceeded to hold court; telling of his adventures.  His story
was that he had been abducted by a ‘Glasgow hit mob’ and driven, blindfold,
somewhere down south.  Apparently he owed them a favour and it had been
called in.  According to him you certainly didn’t argue with those guys.
    As the story unfolded, we learned
that he had been given a gun and instructions (not sure if these were about the
firing mechanism,) but presumably about his victims.  It was three days
before they had returned and he was able to carry out his contract.
    There actually had been a
terrible incident in London at the time and police really were appealing for
witnesses, and here we had the perpetrator sitting in the bar telling all