Once Upon a Crime by Jimmy Cryans Read Free Book Online Page B

down from anyone. There was a side to her that when provoked would unleash a fury that was marvellous to behold unless you were on the receiving end. On more than one occasion she pitched in when the odds were stacked against me – and I mean in fights against men.
    During this holiday I was first introduced to the man who was to become known as the Godfather of Glasgow, Arthur Thompson. Hughie and I met at lunch time one Sunday to go to the Celtic Social Club on London Road. Christine had opted out so it was just me, Hughie and a few of his pals. The club was always a bit lively with a band on and anybody could get up on stage and do their turn. It was a full house and it generated a great atmosphere. At one o’clock the double doors to the hall opened and on each side stood two very broad-shouldered and flat-nosed men wearing well-cut suits. They silently scanned the whole room before letting in an immaculately dressed man in his early forties. He stood about 5ft 10in and was powerfully built. He had the coldest, most piercing eyes I had ever seen and he exuded power and menace. I had been around enough tough guys in my time to recognise the real deal.
    I turned to Hughie and said, ‘Who the fuck is that?’
    ‘Oh, that’s Arthur,’ came the reply from Hughie. ‘I’ll introduce you.’
    ‘Arthur who? He looks like he works for Murder Incorporated,’ I blurted out.
    ‘Aye, you’re not too wide of the mark there, but don’t let him hear you say that. He’s Arthur Thompson and he just about runs this town. We are old pals but I havenae seen him for a wee while – he’s not long out of Peterhead.’
    As Arthur made his entrance the whole place becamedeathly quiet. Even the band stopped playing. He moved slowly and deliberately, stopping to shake hands and smiling the kind of smile that came only from the mouth but never reached those cold eyes. To say he had presence would be an understatement and as a young guy I was duly impressed. Hughie left it until closing time before introducing me as we walked down the steps at the front of the building. It was almost like being presented to royalty. Hughie did not wait in line with the many others but simply stepped forward and with his hand outstretched said, ‘Hello, Arthur, good to see you. You’re looking well.’
    ‘Thanks, Hughie, good to see you as well. How’s the tar game?’
    ‘Aye, good, Arthur, still working away. Oh, by the way this is my boy, Jim. He’d like to say hello.’
    Arthur fixed me with those cold eyes and with the barest hint of a smile said, ‘Hello son, yer da’s a pal of mine.’ Over the next 35 years I was to meet many top villains from London to Glasgow and places in between but no encounter was quite able to match that Sunday afternoon with the infamous Arthur Thompson. Later on in life it came to be known that he had become rather less of the Godfather-type and his image was tarnished but when I met him in the summer of 1972 he really was the dog’s bollocks.
    Our holiday was soon over and Christine and I had to return south. It would soon be time for me to supplement my income: Christmas was approaching and I intended to make it a memorable one. I had pretty much stopped stealing on a large scale from shops but around the autumn of 1972 I embarked on some night work. I concentrated on breaking and entering into premises I had previously stolen from in daylight hours and I targeted various warehouses and goodsyards. How I managed to find the energy to carry bricks for eight hours a day and then go out at night from ten o’clock until maybe two or three in the morning is beyond me. I guess it had something to do with the adrenaline, though this was a term that I wasn’t even aware of at the time. Or maybe it was simply the fact that I loved my ‘work’.
    The site I worked on was to close down for a two-week period over the festive season so I was able get everything well organised. I turned our little home into a proper wee