Porno (54 page)

— Spud! Awright, man, he says and gies me a big hug. — This is Dianne.

She looks at me like she’s tryin tae place me, then steps forward n kisses ma cheek, n ah respond.

— Awright, doll? How’s things? ah asks the lassie.

— Not bad. What about you? she asks aw breezy, n aye, this is a wee honey n aw, man. No the kind ay bird ye associate wi Rents. Eh eywis seemed tae go for the troubled type ay lassie: goth or New Agey sort ay chicks wi slash marks oan thir wrists thit ey talked aboot ‘healin’ n ‘growth’ aw the time. Eywis drawn tae the dark side, that cat.

— Well, man, still swirlin around in that auld Leith vortex, ah sort ay rap.

Rents hus sortay changed but, man. Once upon a time eh’d git intae that wi me, now it’s jist an indulgent wee smile for ehs simpleton pal. — Been tae the fitba lately? eh asks.

— Aye, goat ma sister’s felly’s season. That Sauzee boy’s excellent, ah tell the cat.

Renton looks thoughful for a while. — Aye, ah dunno if ah like the idea ay following a winnin team but. Too sheepish, too unhip, eh goes in a wey whither ye dinnae ken if eh’s serious or no.

— Yeah, that’s why I support Hearts, that wee Dianne laughs, looking up at him, aw sort ay indulgent. This is a cute kitten whose face changes completely in a smile.

— All that’s over now, baby, those dark days have gone. Consider the Jambo albatross around your neck well and truly shot dead, Rents laughs as they pure jostle each other in the street.

— How long are ye ower here fir? ah ask him.

— Eh, it wis meant tae be a couple weeks, but ah’m sortay thinkin aboot steyin ower for a bit. Fancy a beer?

So we go intae one ay they weekender-n-tourist bars fir a few peeves. While Dianne’s up at the jukey, Rents whispers: — Ah’ve been meanin tae gie ye a phone tae git a drink, but eh, ah dinnae want tae be, well, aroond toon wi certain parties oan the prowl, – eh screws ehs face up.

— Better watch, man, ye ken what ah mean, ah whisper.

The Rent Boy smiles like eh disnae care. Mibee eh disnae. It seems tae me thit eh disnae really realise how cracked Franco is. We depart, heading oor separate weys, them wherever, n it seems tae be a secret locale, me pure back port side n tae ma mate Begbie’s. Cause now this is aw comin thegither in ma heid; the bus station, the scam, Dostoevsky, Renton n Begbie. It’s funny though, man, but Renton’s got what ah want. Eh’s got Begbie exactly where ah want um.

So ah’m headin doonhill tae Leith, thinkin aboot how if ye come fae Leith, ye really belong tae two toons, Leith n Edinburgh, rather than just the one. The old port stretches oot before me, dank n damp as the sodium street lights kick in, floodin the broons n greys n dark blues wi white, yellay n orangey glares. Ah’m thinkin that wir jist that bit further south thin St Petersburg n mibee this is what it felt like thair tae that Raskolnikov gadgie.

Doon the Walk, passin aw the pubs, so invitin as somebody spills oot, fill ay loud chatter n music n laughter n smoke, n the odd shout. Past the chippies wi drunks n couples n groups ay wee radges ootside thum. Past the bus stoaps wi nervous auld wifies mibee gaun hame back oot tae a scheme miles away eftir a bingo session, n the auld drunks n aw, punters whae huvnae lived in Leith fir decades but ur still drawn here, still Leithers through n through.

Ah turns off intae Lorne Street, n gits up tae Begbie’s stair n raps the door. Ah kin hear noises at the other side, like somebody’s just ready tae leave. The door opens n it’s that big Lexo cat, n eh’s headin oot.

— Mind what ah sais, Begbie shouts tae um, face aw stiff, n the big Lexo boy jist nods back, pushing past me, nearly knockin ays ower.

Begbie watches him go doon the stairs then looks at me for a second, fir the first time really, n goes in, noddin at me tae dae the same. Ah follay him n shut the door behind ays.

— That cunt hud better watch ehs step. Ah’ll fuckin well kill that big cunt, ah’m telling ye, Spud, eh sais, gaun intae the kitchen. Eh opens the fridge n pills oot two cans ay lager n hands ays one.

— Cheers, catboy, ah goes, lookin aroond. — Sound gaff.

Ah think ah kin smell a bairn here; thir’s a whiff ay pish n powder. Then a youngish lassie, no bad-lookin, but wi quite a worried face comes through n nods tae me, but Begbie disnae introduce us. Eh lits her git an iron fae a cupboard n waits till she goes oot.

— Fuckin Lexo tryin tae pey ays oaf wi sweeties. Ah goat the cunt fuckin telt, ah goes tae um, me n you wis partners until ah heard fuckin different . . . Franco’s choppin oot some lines ay ching now. — Eh jist stoaped seein ays in the jail, nivir said nowt aboot this fuckin Thai café or the partnership bein fuckin well dissolved. That means thit half ay that fuckin café’s mine. Eh fuckin well turns roond tae me n starts gaun oan aboot aw the debts eh hud tae pey oaf tae set that fuckin café up, bit ah jist turns roond n says tae the cunt, wir no talkin aboot fuckin money here, wir talkin aboot fuckin mates. It’s the fuckin principle ay the thing.

Ah’m lookin at a big breidknife oan a choppin board oan the worktop. It wid be perfect, man, but no here . . . no wi that lassie n her bairn in the hoose. Ah takes a line.

— That’s the fuckin last ay the ching, eh goes n pills oot the mobby, — bit ah’ll git some mair.

— Naw, ah’ve goat some up at mines, chum ays roond, will pick it up then git a beer.

— Barry, ya cunt, Franco goes, flingin oan ehs jaykit. Eh shouts through tae ehs bird: — That’s me gaun oot fir a fuckin bit, right, n ah follay um n wir oot ay the door.

Eh’s still gaun oan aboot Lexo. — That cunt . . . eh’d better watch ehs fuckin step or ah’ll fuckin kill the big cunt.

Ah’m sortay tremblin inside, but no that feart, mibee it’s the ching, so ah goes: — Aye, ye kin dae that awright, Franco. Ye did the Donnelly boy.

Franco stoaps in ehs tracks in the street n gies ays a stare thit’s jist pure arctic, man. That wis ehs manslaughter sentence. It was him or Donnelly, everybody said it, n Franco hud bad injuries, plunged twice, cause the boy tried tae dae um wi a sharpened screwdriver. — What the fuck are you sayin?

— Nowt, Franco, c’mon, lit’s git this ching then ah’ll take ye for a drink, man.

Begbie looks at ays for a second, then starts movin oaf n we head up tae mine. We get up the stair n ah’m makin a show ay lookin through poakits fir the ching. Ah goes intae the kitchen n lays oot some knives. Ah’m hopin that this gadge is quick. — Come ben here, Franco, ah shouts.

Franco comes through tae the kitchen. — Whaire’s that fuckin ching then, ya useless cunt?

— Aye, ye did that Donnelly, ah goes.

— You dinnae ken the half ay it, Spud, eh laughs, aw creepy like, n eh snaps oan ehs mobby. — Ah’ll git us some gear, ya useless fucker, then eh’s punchin numbers in.

— Chizzie the beast, ah goes. Franco snaps the phone shut. — What’re you fuckin well up tae? Begbie’s startled n eh looks at me, and eh could chill ower Hades wi that look, man. Ye see they eyes n it’s like thir’s nae skin tae ye any mair, man, nae clathes, yir jist a beatin, pumpin mass ay blood which is aboot tae lose its shape n jist spill tae the flair.

Mibee it’s the coke n the nerves bit ah’m tellin the Begbie cat the story, the plan, and how he’d be daein me a favour. But eh’s livid, man, just pure livid, so ah decides that it’s plan B. Ah nod at the blades laid oot oan the table and ah goes: — Hey, Franco, man, ah forgoat tae gie ye somethin . . .

— What . . .

N ah rams the nut intae ehs face, man, bit ah hit ehs mooth instead ay ehs beak. Fir a split second, ah feel that charged-up wey n ah almost git what the Begbie boy sees in this violence gig. Ah stand thair, in a fightin pose, jist lookin at um. Tae ma shock, eh disnae steam ays. Eh touches ehs lip, sees blood oan ehs finger. Then he stands and looks at me for a bit.

— YA FUCKIN SICK CUNT! Begbie spits, then leaps forward n smashes the heid intae ma face. Ah’m topplin back as this shard ay pure pain like white electricity seems tae shoot right tae the centre ay ma brain. Ah’m bein hit again n ah sortay find masel oan the flair withoot mindin ay fawin. Ma eyes ur fill ay water n ehs boot flies intae me n ah cannae breathe n ah’m pukin up, ma boady’s shakin in shock n thir’s blood gaun doon the back ay ma throat. Ah dinnae want this . . . jist dae it quick . . .

— . . . dae it quick . . . ah groan.

— Ah’m no gaunnae fuckin kill you! You’re no gaunnae die! IF YOU TRY TAE GIT ME TAE FUCKIN WELL KILL YE, YIR FUCKIN DEID! . . . YIR FUCKIN . . .

Begbie freezes for a minute, as ah force masel tae look up, n try tae focus oan um n it’s like eh’s gaunnae laugh, but eh screws up ehs face and punches the waw. — YA FUCKIN CUNT! WE DINNAE GIE UP! WE’RE FUCKIN HIBS! WE’RE FUCKIN LEITH! WE DINNAE FUCKIN DAE SHITE LIKE THAT! eh sortay pleads, n goes softly: — Littin ivray cunt doon . . . Spud . . . Then eh looks aw fuckin mental again. — Ah see yir fuckin game! AH SEE YIR GAME! TRYIN TAE FUCKIN WELL USE ME, YA CUNT!

Ah try n pill masel up oan ma elbay, try tae git it thegither. — Aye . . . ah want tae die . . . it’s likes ay me that Renton gave the money tae, no you . . . eh held oot oan you. Ah spent the loat. Oan junk.

Ah cannae see um now though, ah kin jist see the kitchen strip light, but ah kin feel ehs stare. — You . . . ah ken what yir tryin tae dae . . .

— Spent the fuckin loat, man, ah smile through ma pain, — sorry, catboy . . .

Franco wheezes like ah’ve kicked um in the stomach n ah’m gaunnae say mair whin ah feel this blow tae the side ay ma face n thir’s this awfay, awfay crack like ma jaw’s broken. The pain’s sickenin, but sort ay deadnin. Then ah kin hear ehs voice, n that weird sort ay plead again, man. — You’ve goat Alison n the bairn! How will it affect thaim if ye die, ya selfish wee cunt?

Eh’s bootin me n thir jist rainin in but ah cannae feel thum, n ah’m thinkin aboot it aw . . . Alison, wee Andy . . . n ah’m mindin ay that summer, the two ay us by the Shore, the Water ay Leith, her in that summer maternity dress, me pattin her lump, feelin the wee kicks ay the bairn. Me sayin tae her, wi the tears ay joy n baith oor eyes, that that kid’s gaunnae dae aw the things thit ah’ve nivir done. Then it’s like in that hoaspital whin ah’m huddin um fir the first time. Her smile, his first step, n ehs first word, which wis ‘dad’ . . . ah’m seein aw this n ah want tae live, Franco’s right, man, eh’s right . . . ah raise a hand n gasp: — Yir right, Franco . . . yir right, ah groan, but wi aw ma hert. — Thanks, mate . . . thanks fir sortin ays oot. Ah want tae live . . .

Ah cannae see Franco’s face, it’s aw jist swirlin darkness, no wi ma eyes ah cannae, but wi ma mind ah kin. N it’s cauld n evil n ah hear um say: — Too late fir that now, ya cunt, ye should’ve fuckin well thoat aboot that before ye goat fuckin wide n tried tae fuckin yaze ays . . .

N eh sinks the boot in again . . .

And ah’m tryin tae moan oot, man, but it’s like ah’m away and nothing’s working n ah’m slippin . . . it’s dark . . . then thir’s cauld n ah’m bein slapped awake n ah’m thinkin thit it’s a hoaspital but it’s Franco’s face. — Wakey, wakey, cunty baws, didnae want ye tae miss the fuckin fun! Cause you’re gaunnae die awright, ya cunt, but it’s gaunnae be fuckin slow . . .

N a fist goes intae ma face again n aw ah kin see is Alison smilin at ays, n the wee man, n ah’m thinkin aboot how ah’ll miss thum n then ah hear hur Ali screamin: — DANNY! WHAT’S HAPPININ . . . WHAT UR YE DAEIN TAE UM, FRANK!

She’s in the hoose wi the bairn and aw naw . . . n Begbie’s roaring back at her: — HE’S FUCKIN SICK! HE’S A FUCKIN SICK CUNT! AH’M AH THE ONLY FUCKIN NORMAL CUNT IN THIS PLACE? GIT UM TELT!

Then ehs oaf, oot the door and Ali’s greetin, she’s doon cradling ma heid. — What happened, Danny? Was it drugs?

Ah’m spittin blood. — A misunderstanding . . . that’s aw . . . Ah looks up at the bairn, eh’s greetin now, aw feart. — Uncle Frank n me wir jist playin, pal . . . jist playin . . .

Ah’m tryin tae keep ma heid up, tryin tae be brave fir thaim, but the pain’s everywhaire n everything is spinnin slowly n ah feel masel gaun under and blacking oot, fawin intae a whirlin dark pit . . .

65

Scam # 18,750

I
’m having a drink with my old buddy and new partner in the City Café, breaking the good news. Renton, who’s been looking like he’s put on a bit of podge, is staring at the letter I’ve handed him, then at me, with undisguised awe. — I don’t know how the fuck you pulled this one off, Simon.

— It’s all down to the showreel I ran off and sent them, I explain. I can tell by his look he thinks it was down to that cunt Miz using his influence. Let him think what he likes.

Renton shrugs and breaks into an admiring smile. — Well, we’ve done it your way so far and it’s no worked out too bad, he tells me, examining the letter again. — Full exhibition at the Cannes Adult Film Festival. That is a result by any standards.

Normally, flattery is the most fragrant balm to the ego, but when it’s spilling from the Rent Boy’s lips you’re always bracing yourself for that follow-up kick in the chops. We’re discussing the setting up of our film’s website, www.sevenrides.com, and what we want to go onto it. My main objective, though, is to ensure that we have product to sell. That means that some mug has to sit in a warehouse in Amsterdam and stuff videos into boxes. And I only know one person who claims that they have loads to do in the Dam.

So we head off on our little jaunt but it’s far from pleasant, sitting in a warehouse doing dogsbody work. The place feels horrible, claustrophobic. When I get back to Edinburgh I need a session out at Porty Baths, so I swallow hard and incur the hideous taxi cost all the way out there. Renton accompanies me as far as the city centre and grudgingly chips in a tenner.

Sitting in the tank of the aerotone baths at Portobello, enjoying the warm waters and the pummelling sensation of the jets, I’m thinking that this has been one of the main things I’ve missed in London over the last decade. Ah, the aerotone baths at Porty pool. It’s impossible to explain to the uninitiated the sheer trance-like, luxuriant mode one slips into here, way beyond any sauna or Turkish baths. So deliciously old school, this big Jules Verne tin tank with its dials and valves and pipes. The old mingers who come in during the day love it here.