‘So, anyway, we all gather there, wearing these balaclavas and calling each other by an animal name: I was Fox and the others were Wolf, Bear and Tiger. Load of shite, but that was the way Strachan ran things. Like it was the fucking army. And we couldn’t complain, because it worked. Strachan then set to going through what we were going to do. He had four smaller robberies planned, but these were just practice runs, and to get funds to finance the bigger robberies. All he told us about these bigger robberies was that the first two would be the usual type of job, but on a much bigger scale than anyone had ever seen. But the third was going to be something so different, so unexpected, that they wouldn’t know what had hit them and the police wouldn’t know where to start looking. Oh, there was one thing we did know about each other — that none of us had any kind of serious form that would make us suspects.’
‘Did he tell you then that it was going to be the Empire Exhibition?’
‘Naw. I got the feeling that the first four jobs were more than practice or to raise funds. I think he was testing us out, to see how we worked as a team; to see if he could trust us. It was only after that that he gave us the details of the Triple Crown. But there was a lot more weird stuff. Every time we met, it was up at the Bennie Railplane, and every time we had to turn up at different times so that we didn’t see each other without our masks on. I really didn’t see how we could keep it up. Even with the test jobs, we were all masked up and in the back of a van. We were told that anyone who took his mask off and let the others see his face would be shot there and then. And if you knew Gentleman Joe Strachan, you’d believe it. It was then that it started to dawn on me: the real reason for the masks and the codenames and not being allowed to talk to each other. Strachan and the Lad were tight; they knew each other; the rest of us were useful if we did what we were told, but if we started to talk to each other, we could maybe plan a double-cross. Divide and fucking conquer, that’s what it was.
‘But we were happy. We got a big slice each from the practice jobs and we had all seen how Strachan’s planning worked better than any boss we’d had before. And we knew that if we pulled off the Triple Crown, we’d never have to work again. But like I said, it was all pretty weird. For three months we had to meet up every Tuesday night and Strachan would drive us up into the fucking wilds and make us do all of these exercises and combat practice. Again, like in the army. Anyway, one night we were disturbed by this gamekeeper, who obviously thought we were night-time poachers. He approached us, waving his shotgun at us, but Strachan put on his army officer palaver and before you knew it this poacher was tugging at his forelock and calling him sir. But the Lad had been on lookout and, while Strachan was talking to the gamekeeper, the Lad came up behind him, completely silent, and cut his fucking throat. In the bat of an eye and without breaking his step.’
‘I see …’ I said, casting my mind back to a more recently deceased gamekeeper with a slashed throat. ‘What happened to the body?’
‘We took it back in the van. What happened to it after that I don’t know: Strachan and the Lad disposed of it, I suppose. But on the way back, Strachan stripped the body and left the keeper’s shotgun and all the clothes that weren’t blood-stained by the side of this fast flowing stretch of river. I said to Strachan that it didn’t make sense, that no one would believe that the gamekeeper had gone for a midnight dip in a dangerous stretch of river, never to be found. In any case, I says, it’s not like the sea … anyone drowned in the river would be washed up somewhere downstream.
‘Strachan says to me that that doesn’t matter. That the less sense it makes the more of a mystery the gamekeeper’s disappearance will be. Country people love a mystery, he says, and they’ll make up all kinds of stories about the gamekeeper running off with a woman or crap like that. No one will think about it being a simple murder because he disturbed someone in the woods.
‘After that, things got tense. Me and the other boys had been shaken up by the way the Lad had done the gamekeeper in cold blood. I started to think that maybe the loot from the big jobs would only be split two ways and the rest of us could end up taking a nap at the bottom of the Clyde.’
‘Did you do anything about it?’ I asked.
‘I’ll get to that,’ Provan answered me impatiently. ‘So we do the first two of the big three and everything goes to plan. But there’s no talk of a divvy-up of the takings. We’re told we have to wait until after the Exhibition Robbery. Then, says Strachan, we’ll get everything that’s coming to us.
‘But one of the other guys slips me a note. It’s got the address of a pub in Maryhill and a day and a time we’re to meet. Strachan is such a twisted bastard that I worry that it’s a set-up to test our loyalty or security or God knows what. But I go along anyway. I stand in the pub like a fucking lemon because I’ve got no idea what he looks like and he’s got no idea what I look like. I’m just about to leave when this bloke comes up and asks if I’m Mr Fox. I say I am and he tells me that he’s Mr Bear. Turns out he’s Johnnie Bentley. He tells me that he gave the same note to Mr Wolf and Mr Tiger, but he can’t tell if either of them are there yet.
Half an hour later we goes up to this fella sitting on his own nursing a pint. Right enough it’s Mike Murphy. Ronnie McCoy sees the three of us together and works out we’re his furry workmates. We leave the pub and sit in the bus stance for two hours talking everything through. Turns out that the other two have the same thoughts I did and reckon that we’re going to get shafted by Strachan and the Lad.’
‘So you decide to do some shafting yourself?’ I asked.
‘Not there and then, but we meet four or five times after that. We had to be careful because there was no way of knowing if Strachan had his Lad following us. Christ knows we would never have been able to recognize the bastard. Anyway, we agree that after the Exhibition Robbery, we’ll deal with the pair of them. Problem is that we have no idea when and where we’re supposed to meet to split up the cash, but we guess it’s going to be the Bennie Railplane, so we agree that, whatever time we’re given by Strachan, we’ll all turn up, tooled-up, fifteen minutes earlier.
To start with, we agree that if we can just make sure that we get our fair share, as Strachan promised we would, we’ll leave it at that. But we have to see the Lad’s face so’s we know who to be looking over our shoulders for. But then Johnnie Bentley says about the gamekeeper and how there’s no chance that Strachan or his masked monkey will let us get away with holding them up. So eventually we agree that we have to kill them both. It was a big step. Not one of us was a life-taker, not like them other two, and it would be murder. You hang for murder. Anyway, it all became academic after what Strachan does during the robbery.’
‘The copper?’
Provan nodded. ‘Strachan only gives us the full details on the day of the Exhibition job. Nothing’s last-minute though, somehow he’s been able to train us up, to prepare us for it in bits. Like a jigsaw puzzle. Then everything comes together when he tells us how it’s going to go down. The bastard was good, I have to give him that. If he hadn’t been a villain, he’d have made a good general.’
I decided not to tell Provan about the supposed sighting of Strachan in officer garb during the war.
‘The only fly in the ointment is that he tells us on the day of the robbery that we’re to split up after the robbery and stay low for a week, then we meet up at the Railplane. So we’re sitting in the back of the van, masked up and tooled up, but we can’t arrange to meet to discuss our next move, because the Lad is sitting right there next to us. We arrive at the Exhibition site at Bellahouston, just when it’s closing. It’s a Saturday night so the Exhibition is closed the next day and the armoured car will be picking up the whole week’s banked takings. We go in through the entrance opposite Ibrox Stadium. Strachan’s driving and he tells the gateman that he’s got an urgent delivery for Colville’s Steel, who had a pavilion. There’s a bit of argy-bargy and we hear Strachan tell the gateman that that’s fine if he isn’t going to let him in, it’s no skin off his nose but he’ll need a note of his name because Colville’s are going to go spare. The gateman’s an old codger with bottle-bottom glasses and although he’s looking straight at Strachan, he can’t give a description later.