Skagboys (25 page)

— What are you daein it for then?

— Ah’ve been feeling bad … sometimes ye feel so bad … it’s the only thing that helps …

So baaaad
…

— But ah feel bad! What aboot me! she says, her face going pinched and for a vaguely troubling second ah can see
both
Janey
and
Coke in it. — You sais ye would help me!

Ah look sadly at her, taking her trembling hands in mine. — You’re a beautiful young girl, and ah dinnae want ye takin drugs … God, she is a shattered angel, cast doon tae this dark and despicable hovel. — … Ah mean, ah’m meant tae be taking care ay ye … no making things worse for ye. Ah shake my heid and feel the blood moving slowly through it. — No way …

— They cannae git any worse! she bellows, then seems tae think ay her current predicament. — But … but … just a wee bit, like you sais, she begs again, — jist tae make things feel better …

I feel ma breath pulling fae my chest, the same tight, drawing resistance a syringe plunger makes when you pull it back, that lovely
sealed
tug … — Okay, but this is a one-off … this is fucked up … n it goes against ma better judgement … just a wee bit, mind, tae relax ye. Ah stroke the side ay her face gently. — Then we work oot how tae get Dickson …

— Thanks, Simon …

— Ye must feel that the whole world’s comin tae an end, ah nod as ah line up a fair auld dunt for her. — This’ll help ye, babe; this’ll take the pain away.

Her face is weak and bewildered as ah wrap my leather tie roond her thin, white airm and tap her vein up. Nice wiring she’s got n aw. This
wee
yin craves, needs, oblivion, and the only decent thing tae dae is tae oblige a damsel in distress …

Ah gie it tae her one way, watching her groan softly and melting back intae the couch. — That feels good … it’s nice … it’s barry …

Then ah lay her down, resting her head on the couch armrest, tae prepare her tae get it the other way. — But you’re the woman ay the hoose now, and you’ve got tae be strong for Grant. We baith need tae keep everything thegither here. For your ma’s sake and your dad’s memory. We’ll go and see her soon, ah tell her, sweeping that fringe ootay her eyes and back across her foreheid, — okay, darlin?

— Aye … she says, looking at me, eyes glazed like shiny silver coins.

— Is that better?

— Aye … it feels nice … ah never thought ah’d feel this good again …

— We’ll get Dickson; he’s ours. You and me, we’ll make that bastard pay, I whisper. Ah’m kneeling on the floor alongside her outstretched magnificence. Ah slide a hand under her heid, raising it up and slipping a cushion under it. — But just you relax the now. You’ve had a tough time. Want me tae lie wi ye … n hold ye?

A slow affirmative nod. — You’re right nice tae us … and her hand rises and caresses the side ay ma face. Ah bend in closer towards those big wasp-stung lips.

— Course I am. You’re nice tae be nice tae. Now gie’s a wee kiss.

She looks at me wi a sad smile and kisses me on the cheek.

— Naw, naw, naw, babe, that’s nae good. A proper woman’s kiss, like.

And those lips are on mine and that tongue is in my mouth, and for now it’s aw her work. Ah close ma eyes, briefly thinking aboot poor Janey, making soft toys in Corton Vale for the next few months. As the judge said, an example has to made of individuals who would seek tae exploit those in genuine need through fraudulent practices. I think he quoted the Home Secretary verbatim. But it’ll be an education for Janey, she’ll be licking mair fannies than a GPO clerk will stamps. But right now ah’m mair concerned wi her daughter’s tuition, cause it’s getting better with these long, wet kisses. Yes it is; ah’m certainly feeling nae pain. Cause she’s mine now. Ah break off and tell Maria’s sad, sexy, junked eyes, — Ah’ll never leave ye, no like the others. Everything’s gaunny be okay now.

A mournful smile moulds her features. — Ye mean that, Simon?

— Aye, I tell her, and ah’ve never been more sincere about anything in my fucking life, — I most serpently do.

Same Again

THERE’S ME GETTING
off the number 1 at the fit ay Easter Road ootside the Persevere pub when ah see Lizzie McIntosh running for the bus, tryin tae keep control ay her big art-college folder that’s being pushed and pulled by the gales. She is beyond gorgeous; sexy black boots ower woollen tights, a short red, black and yellay hooped skirt, or it might be a dress, ye cannae tell under that big broon overcoat, scerf n gloves. Her long broon hair’s one shade darker that the coat. — Hud on, mate, ah tell the driver, who’s about to pull away. Ah stick ma sports bag in on the platform in case he tries tae shut the doors, n git a sour look back for ma trouble.

Worth it but, cause she looks even better when she comes closer; hardly any make-up, just a bit ay eyeliner and some cherry lippy. — Thanks … Tommy … she gasps as she steps past Fearless Tommy Gun oantae the bus stickin her money in the slot. — Ah’m late for this do … She smiles at us. Ya beauty!

Well, faint hert never won fit bird, so: — That’s a drink you owe me, ah try it oan, you’ve goat tae, as ah watch the doors slap shut and the grumbling driver makes some comment before starting up the bus and pulling away.

It’s cauld; it’s still October but there was a frost on the groond this morning and the pitches might be frozen. Much worse, fae a fitba viewpoint, is this shitey wind. But Rents is doon for the weekend fae Aberdeen, and we’re oot the night, then at Easter Road the morn for the derby. So ah nash up tae my sister Paula’s, tae dump the bag and get some scran doon. Ah got invited for my tea but ah’m no sure about her husband, this moaning-faced cunt fae Coventry who seems totally depressed aw the time. We can aw get that wey, but ye cannae let them beat ye and grind ye doon. Pecker up at aw times.

That Lizzie but … phoar
…

So ah bolts the nosh doon n leaves my bag thaire and heads for the Volley, thinkin that ah’ll be the first yin in. Nae chance! Thaire’s a bunch sittin in the corner, wi Begbie haudin court, and he seems well chuffed tae see me. — Tommy boy! The very cunt!

— Awright, chaps? Ah nod at Rents, whae’s wearin a rid-n-black-hooped
Dennis the Menace
jersey, then Nelly, whae’s goat another tattoo oan his coupon, an anchor oan the side ay his cheek! The daft cunt. — Fuckin jailbait! ah joke, pointin tae it, then gie a mair distrustin acknowledgement ay that Larry, a twisted wanker that ah dinnae huv much time fir, and Davie Mitchell, an auld fitba mate ay mine whae works wi Mark at Gillsland’s.

We’re catchin up ower a few beers, huvin a crack. — D’ye git tae any Aberdeen games up thaire, Mark?

— Naw … Rents says. It’s like he’s stoned on hash aw the time. Sits wi a big daft smile on his face. Used tae rip the pish oot ay stoners and love speed n aw. Typical student cunt! — Cannae be ersed, he goes, fiddling with this spec case.

— You’ve no goat glesses, huv ye? Let us see!

— Naw, he says, n pits them in the inside poakit ay his jean jaykit. Must be embarrassed, poor fucker. Joinin the specky
and
ginger club that Keezbo’s in!

Lucky for him that Begbie’s talkin tae Nelly n Larry aboot tattoos, n they huvnae picked up oan it, so ah decide tae gie the four-eyed cunt a brek. Mark’s sound, but for a ginger cunt he can sometimes be a bit big-heided and vain.

Begbie’s bendin his ear now. — How’s that Geordie bird yir seein? Fiona? He turns tae the rest ay us, pointin oot Rents. — Still waters run fuckin deep, right enough! No fuckin shy, this cunt!

— Barry, man, she’s totally splendid, Mark smiles fondly. — She’s away tae Newcastle tae see her sister. It’s her birthday … ah mean, like, her sister’s birthday, ken?

— If her fuckin sister’s anything like her, pit a fuckin word in for me, ya cunt, Franco says.

— Will do, Rents goes wi that easy, wasted smile, but ye kin see that nowt would be further fae his mind. He turns tae Davie. — How’s the boys at Gillsland’s?

— Awright. Les was askin eftir ye. Young Bobby n aw, the wee fuckin dingul. Ralphy’s still as much ay a cunt as ever, but, Mitch laughs.

— That man … Renton mumbles, then sits up straight, — … that fucker
defines
cuntishness.

— Aye, says Begbie, in darker tones, n ye kin tell he’s goat something oan his mind, — thaire’s a loat ay thum aboot.

— What’s up? this Larry wanker goes tae Franco. Ah once had a run-in wi that cunt back at Leithy. He wis bullyin wee Phillip Hogan. Fuckin liberty-taker. Ye never forget these things.

Franco’s voice drops in that scary wey, when ye kin hear him even mair clearly than when it’s at its normal pitch. — Jist been hearin a lot aboot this cunt fae Pilton; the slag’s brother, he goes, — ye’d think he’d shut his mooth eftir the wey the other two brars came doon here n goat fuckin dealt wi.

— Aye, ah nod, pure thinkin aboot that poor cunt bleedin aw ower the taxi. That was fuckin excessive.

— Well, this dippit big brother cunt’s been gaun oan aboot how he’s gaunny dae this, n how he’s gaunny dae that. Cunt seems tae huv some fuckin rep doon in Pilton, Franco scoffs.

— So? Seems aw mooth tae me, ah goes, n Nelly nods in agreement.

The thought cheers Begbie up. — Well, if ah’d been fuckin well killed by every cunt that sais ‘you’re deid’ tae us, ah’d hud tae huv hud ninety-nine fuckin lives!

Ah’m aboot tae change the subject, then that Larry goes, aw snidey, — He’s meant tae be yin ay they karate boys. George Kerr-schooled. Black belt, they tell us.

— Fuck that, Begbie sneers, — some cunt kicks yir fuckin baws in, karate’s no gaunny dae nowt against that. Does it fuckin well gie ye baws ay steel, then? he asks Larry.

— Naw … he’s weasellin ootay it, — but ah’m jist sayin –

— Well, dinnae jist fuckin say, Begbie cuts um oaf.

Ah dinnae like where this is headin. Supposed tae be a few quiet peeves, then the big game the morn. Thaire’s ey a charged atmosphere at the weekend ay a derby game; it’s like a full-moon thing. — Ah think ye made the point, Franco, ah goes, n ah makes this chibbin motion n gits a wee grin offay him. — It’ll be aw bluster. These cunts’ll no be keen tae come ahead in a hurry eftir that.

— Aye, the cunt’s brother’s like a fuckin pincushion now, Nelly laughs.

Ah’m lookin tae Begbie but his coupon’s gone that staney wey again. Ah ken that look. — Aye, but ye cannae make the point enough wi some cunts, but. Ah’m still hearin garbage comin fae this big brother cunt’s mooth. It’s like the wey things ur fuckin well gaun these days, yuv goat tae fuckin well kill some cunt tae get taken fuckin seriously. He looks aroond the table n makes the declaration: — Wir gaun doon thaire tae huv a wee fuckin blether wi this Hong Kong Fuey cunt!

Ah feel masel swallyin hard wi nowt in ma throat. — When likes?

— Nae time like the fuckin present. Franco’s boatum lip curls doon. — Pey a wee fuckin visit. Huv a wee fuckin word wi the cunt.

Ah look aroond at the boys. They’re aw game. Even Mark, whae’s just doon for the weekend, smiles and goes, — Why not?

—
You’re
no comin, Franco goes.

Mark looks at him, aw biscuit-ersed. — How no?

— You’ve goat that fuckin college. Yir no fuckin aw that up. This isnae your business. You’ve goat yir mate thaire. He points tae Mitch.

Rents shakes his heid. —
We’re
mates, Franco. So it is ma business, he goes, but he’s distracted, lookin past Begbie tae the pub door. Every time it opens, his eyes are trained on it.

Begbie pulls Mark taewards him, airm roond his shoodirs. He’s lookin right intae they wasted eyes. — Is it fuck. Your business is tae dae well at that fuckin college n git the fuck oot ay here. Yir fucked oan that wacky baccy anywey, ya cunt. Some fuckin use you’d be!

Ah looks at Mitch. He’s one ay ma best mates but ah’ve hardly seem um lately. Ah say tae him and Mark, — Youse two wait here. Ah’ll be back inside an ooir.

Mitch nods, and Mark looks roond like he’s gaunny protest, then shrugs. As we down our drinks, he looks sort ay relieved and unhappy at the same time aboot huvin tae stey. Rents isnae a violent sort ay gadge but he has his moments. He chibbed Eck Wilson at the school and he smashed this boy ower the heid wi a boatil eftir that Hampden semi. These things really stood oot cause he’s normally no like that. He says he only gets violent when he’s really scared. Mitch is very handy in a swedge but he’s a Tollcross boy and this isnae his fight.

Nelly and Franco are maniacs and this Larry cunt, he’s just a bully. We get ootside n pile intae Nelly’s van, me n him in the back. We’re drivin doon tae Pilton n Begbie’s aw excited, giein us the instructions fae the front passenger seat. — Youse stey in the van n dinnae come oot till ah shout! Mind, wait till ah fuckin gie yis a shout!

— Ye sure aboot this? ah goes, cause it’s beyond real n ah dinnae feel very Fearless Tommy Gun tae be honest. Sometimes it’s right enough though, it takes bein a bit scared tae get ye gaun.

— Like ah sais, Franco roars, — ah’ll fuckin well shout if ah need backup!

Ah say nae mair, cause he’s made his point. Aw the wey doon, though, ah’m starin at Franco’s heid thinking aboot how many punches it would take before he went doon. The combo that would put him away; jab, jab, straight right, left hook, right uppercut, straight left, right hook, left hook. N that fuckin Larry … one good right hook would crack that thin gless-boned jaw …

Doon in the scheme we see these wee boys playin fitba oan this bit ay waste groond. Nelly’s rollin the windae doon. — Whaire’s it the Frenchards live, mate?

The wee guys look at each other, then one points ower tae some auld broon tenements at the end ay a street that are gittin done up, n painted white. — Ower thaire in the Rise. Number 12.

N ah ken the Rise; it’s a scabby narrow steep hill ay a street wi a church at the toap n some mingin shoaps at the bottom. We stops outside the hoose in front ay a skip, nearly full. Franco’s oot the van, pointing tae the right-hand flat oan the groond flair. — That’s the yin, he says, aw focused.

Then he’s scowlin around the street, n he goes tae the skip, rummages for a bit. His eyes widen when he clocks this railing that’s hingin oafay a buckled wrought-iron fence; like a car’s ran intae it n fucked it. He works it free n huds it in baith hands, waving it aboot like a club. Then he heads tae the hoose, leavin his cudgel against the hedge outside thair gate. Aye, thir oan the groond flair, ye kin see them watchin the telly in the front room, n ah cannae believe it when Franco picks up a brick fae the skip n jist fuckin launches it through the windae! Thaire’s an almighty crash follayed by some screams. Ah looks at Nelly n wir ready tae grab the daft cunt n git the fuck oot ay here.