Fresh (17 page)

He watched the Scouser turn off for The South. Sean headed for Glasgow.

He rested back into his seat and flicked the harness with one hand. Acting casual like some fat businessman or grocery-store owner leaving Mexico for the north. He drove past one of them raised bits that the feds sit on to watch out for slavers and drug smugglers. There was a trooper sat on a horse. He had a cigar sticking
out of his mouth and held a rifle across his horse’s back. He had a long look at Sean as he swiped a fly away from his face. Sean didn’t feel too safe. Sheriff Gambo’s voice wouldn’t count for much in this jurisdiction. No sir. This state trooper wouldn’t care what the city police were up to. He’d be pleased to capture a man with a wagonload of contraband. So pleased he’d have a confession kicked out of Sean in no time flat. He’d still be wiping the blood from his hands as he placed his promotion application on the sergeant’s desk.

But, safe or not, Sean didn’t even blink. He kept his eyes on the horizon and tried to stay as cool as Steve McQueen. He didn’t drive his wagon too fast. He didn’t drive it too slow. He kept at an even pace. Straight down the centre of the highway. Heading for home with a couple of keys. He tipped his cowboy hat to the trooper to show he was grateful for the protection of the law. The trooper nodded back and Sean took a draw on his roll-up. He felt his neck go stiff with the effort of looking ahead.

The sweat was starting to dry by the time he saw the turn-off for Easterhouse. He looked in the mirror and indicated left. He swung round till he came to the traffic lights and took the next right. Then he looked out for the phone box. About two hundred yards Archie had said. And there it was, right next to a lay-by. He pulled in and turned the engine off. He checked behind the seat to make sure the holdall wasn’t too visible. The last thing he needed was somebody to nick it while he was making the call. He got out the car, locked it, and went into the phone box. Archie answered after two rings.

Alright wee man?

Aye.

Ye should go and see Maggie’s wee sister, she was askin for ye when Ah saw her earlier.

The phone went dead and Sean put the handset down. It seemed really obvious now. Lizzie lived just round the corner from here. It wouldn’t take him five minutes to get there.

He stared at the phone. He took a couple of breaths. He picked it back up and made the call.

What’s happenin?

Ah’ve got the gear and Ah’ve to drop it off to Archie.

Where?

Ah’ll tell ye but Ah’ve got a condition.

There was a short silence before Gambo spoke.

What?

Let me get out of there before ye kick the doors in.

Ah’ll do my best wee man.

Sean picked at a lighter burn in the phone box operating instructions. He didn’t say anything.

Sean?

What?

Where are ye droppin the gear off?

Sean told him and hung up. He pushed his way out of the phone box and got back in the motor. He stretched the seat belt round his body and clicked it into place. He got his tobacco out and made a fag. The windows started to steam up and he realised Archie was waiting whether he wanted him to be or not. He tensed himself as he reached for the key and turned it until the starter coughed. He gave the accelerator a touch, pushed the
clutch in and put the motor into gear. He looked over his shoulder and drew into the road.

After wiping his forehead he put his cowboy hat back on and took a long drink from his canteen. He checked his compass and rolled further into Bundy territory. He faced what he had to do with a steely glint in his eye. One slip and he was dead. All it would take would be a bead of sweat to run down his face as he was negotiating with the outlaws and his scrotum would become a valued tobacco pouch. Hopefully the quality of the goods would keep the outlaws dazzled enough for him to make an escape into the wilderness.

It only took half a cigarette for Sean to drive to Lizzie’s. He parked the motor and grabbed the holdall out the back. He slung it over his shoulder and started walking up the path. A look up and down the street and he pushed into the close. It stunk of damp and piss. As he walked to the stairwell, he saw the orange cap from a syringe on the bottom step. The door creaked closed behind him as he climbed to the first floor.

A dirty nappy rested against the wall next to Lizzie’s door. He banged the letterbox and a baby screamed inside the flat. Lizzie answered. She had the baby resting on her hip and a front tooth missing. Sean hadn’t seen her in years but she didn’t seem too interested in him. Her eyes scanned the lobby and the stairs but they always returned to the holdall. She jerked her head back into the flat and Sean followed her in.

Archie was on an easychair, with his fingers drumming the armrests. Sean showed him the bag. Archie grabbed it and put it between his legs.

Sammy.

Sammy came out of the kitchen and saw the holdall.

The man from Delmonte he say yeah.

Archie pulled a polythene package of gear out the holdall and put it on the coffee table. He cut into it with his Stanley and scooped a bit of powder onto the end of the blade. Lizzie looked like a broken dog eyeing a man with a steak. Archie nodded his head. She put the baby on the floor and went into the kitchen for a spoon. He tipped the gear into the spoon and she cooked up a hit. She gave herself the injection and fell back into the couch. Archie laughed.

A good bit of gear eh? Ye always get good stuff from the Scousers.

The baby cried and tugged at the legs of its mammy’s jeans. Lizzie smiled and picked it up. The baby stopped screaming and nuzzled into her breast. Archie pointed at them.

Ah, mother and child. Is that no cute?

Sammy sniggered.

Fuckin junkie. Right, where’s the good stuff?

Never mind that McCann, get on with sortin these out.

Sammy pulled another package of brown out of the bag and put it on the coffee table. He went into the kitchen and came back with a set of scales and a packet of freezer bags. He poured powder into the scales and tipped the pan into a freezer bag. Before long, he had a few packages sealed up on the table. Archie’s phone rang and he pulled it out his pocket.

Aye no problem. Sammy’ll run it round later.

Archie picked a smaller package out of the bag and put it on the coffee table. He cut into it and took out a bit of white powder and sniffed it up his nose. He looked at Sammy.

D’ye want a rock then son?

Sammy spoke out of the side of his mouth.

Does the Pope fuck weans?

Well get it together then.

Alright boss.

Archie smiled like a wife-beater indulging the wee woman in front of an audience.

And have less of the sarcasm.

Sammy went into the kitchen. He came back polishing a jam pot with a dirty tea towel. Archie put some of the charlie in the jar and sat it on the coffee table. He reached into his bag and brought out a squeezy bottle of ammonia. He pointed it at Sean.

Imagine this cunt in yer eyes?

Sean could.

Archie squirted some of the ammonia into the jar.

They didnay teach us this in school chemistry.

He passed the jar to Sammy.

Sort that out.

Sammy’s eyes lit up when he grabbed the jar. He took it into the kitchen and Sean heard the microwave humming and pinging. Archie made an empty beer tin into a pipe. Sean looked at the living-room door and wondered when it would come crashing in.

Do ye need me any more?

No, but ye can stay for a pipe.

Ah would, but Ah want to get back home to Maggie.
Sammy called from the kitchen.

Under the thumb eh?

Sean looked at the kitchen door and Sammy came back through with some freshly prepared rocks.

Aye Sean, who’s the boss in yer house? Check the state of him Archie. He’s scared the wife’ll gie him a row if he’s out too long.

Archie looked at Sammy and narrowed his eyes. Then he looked at Sean.

Ah’ve never known ye to turn down a free pipe.

Ah just don’t fancy it the night.

Aye, ma arse. What’s goin on?

Sean couldn’t keep his eye off the living-room door.

Fuck-all man.

Look at him Sammy. His eyes are all over the place. Sammy picked up the tin and started to pick through the rocks.

Fuck him. Ah want a pipe.

Archie stared at Sean for another few seconds, then looked at Sammy with the pipe.

No. Fuck the pipe. This cunt’s up to somethin.

Sammy tutted and put it down. Sean started to sweat. Archie pointed at the couch.

Sit down.

Sean had another look at the living-room door and sat next to Lizzie. Sammy sat on the coffee table, looking at Sean. Archie leaned back and put his feet up.

So what’s goin on?

Sean leaned forward and Sammy pushed him back into the couch. Lizzie snored and spluttered. Archie stood up.

Have ye seen that cunt Gambo lately?

Sean felt a fart moving around in his guts.

Gambo?

Archie walked over to the window and looked out.

Aye fuckin Gambo.

Sean tried to look all innocent.

Ah havenay saw him for donkey’s years.

Archie sparked up a fag and walked back to the coffee table. He looked at Sean as he took a few puffs. Sean felt his head spin as he looked at his brother. The only sound in the flat was the
Coronation Street
theme tune from next door’s telly. The ash fell from Archie’s fag and landed on the carpet. He rubbed it in with his foot.

Sammy stood up.

Ah’m chokin for a fuckin pipe.

Archie looked at Sammy and shook his head.

Is that all ye think about?

Archie looked at Sean and had another puff on his fag. Smoke came out of his mouth as he spoke.

Tell ye what son. If there’s somethin goin on, ye’ll suffer.

Sean looked Archie in the eye.

Ah just want to get home to my wife.

Go on then. Fuck off.

Sean felt his hip click as he stood up. He straightened his jacket down over his waist.

Gie’s a phone when ye need me.

Archie picked up the pipe.

Sean?

What?

Keys.

Sean took the car keys out of his pocket.

Ye couldnay gie’s a tenner for a taxi home?

Archie pulled a tenner out and threw it at him.

Sammy, see him out. Make sure the door’s locked when ye come back. Ye cannay trust no cunt on this scheme.

Archie lit the pipe and Sean saw his face change to that of a baby with a belly full of milk.

He walked out the flat and down the stairs. His footsteps echoed round the close with the clicks of the locks on Lizzie’s front door. He pushed through the external doors and onto the front step. He had a breath of cold air and looked up the street. There was a car across the road with some men in it. He crossed the road and approached the car. In the passenger seat was Gambo. He rolled the window down as Sean approached.

Where is he?

In Lizzie’s.

Is Sammy with him?

Aye.

What about the gear?

That’s there as well.

Gambo nodded to the other policemen then turned back to Sean.

Good. Ye better toddle off home if ye don’t want yer name mentioned in dispatches.

The police driver poked Gambo in the ribs with his elbow and pointed through the windscreen. Sean looked and saw a van pull up. Half a dozen policemen got out the back door. They stood in a circle while a sergeant made pointing gestures towards Lizzie’s. Their breath cut
into the night air. Another van drew up and the driver got a dog out of the back.

Sean went to say something, then changed his mind and walked down the street.

The cold air bit into Sean’s fingers. He had to turn his back on the wind to roll a fag. He lit it and turned and walked as he took his first draw. He put his hands in his pockets and walked with his head down and the fag hanging out the side of his mouth. He walked fast. Every time he heard a motor he stuck his thumb out for a lift. But no fucker stopped. They probably thought he was a junkie from the local scheme. A smelly bastard with dirty clothes. Nails that have been bitten till they hardly exist and teeth half-rotten and camouflaged with plaque. No wonder he didn’t get a lift. They were scared in case he pulled a knife on them and took their wallets.

If somebody didn’t stop soon, he’d die in this cold. It would be like one of them adverts for hypothermia. A guy staggers through a snowy waste. A voiceover tells the audience that one of the symptoms is a loss of coordin ation. In other words the guy looks like he’s out of it. So the car drivers would fly past and have another reason to think Sean was a local junkie. Jesus. The poor guy was actually on his way to the graveyard. And nobody could tell. After a while he’d get really tired and decide to have a wee lie down. And the cars would still fly past, scared
to stop. Next thing he’s a frozen corpse and then everybody cares. The television crew come to the scene of misfortune. One of them presenters who looks like a social worker. Brown hair and the slight hint of a moustache. Her wee eyebrows would contract as she spoke into the microphone. The tragedy is that this poor man was lying here for three days before anyone thought to inform the relevant authorities. An unconfirmed police source said they would release the identity of the body when the relatives had been informed.

The big policeman would turn up at the door. One of the fat ones who can’t handle arresting drunks and street gangs. When Maggie answered, he would put his hat under his arm. He’d nod and say something soft. She’d stand aside and he’d drag a nightmare into the house.

Sean took a draw on his fag and spat into the gutter.

At least Archie wouldnay be there he said to the cars. He pushed his head down and walked faster. Every time he heard a diesel engine he looked up in case it was a taxi. But there were just cars and vans and the odd lorry.

Eventually a black cab appeared on the horizon. It was travelling back the way Sean had come. The orange light was on. He stuck his hand in the air and waved. The taxi slowed and curved round the road till it stopped at his side. The cabbie reached across the front and pulled down the window.

Where ye goin pal?

Royston.

He had a good look at Sean.

Show’s yer money.

Sean held up a tenner. The door clicked.

Get in.

He climbed in. His head hit the back seat as the cabbie dropped the clutch and they were away. He got his tobacco out and held it up to the eyes in the mirror.

Alright if Ah smoke?

Go ahead. Can ye can make me one as well?

Sean opened the pouch and pulled out his papers. There were only two left. He made the cigarettes and passed one to the front. The cabbie took it and sparked it up with a lighter he picked off the dashboard.

Cheers pal.

Sean sucked on his fag and blew the smoke against the window. He heard the driver cough.

Been out the night?

Just seein some pals.

Good night was it?

Sean rubbed a bit of ash off his trousers.

No bad Ah suppose.

Ah’ve had a few good nights up in Easterhouse myself. Ah remember one night about three years ago. Jesus. Ye should’ve seen the state Ah got in.

The taxi driver must have noticed Sean wasn’t interested because he shut up and leaned into the steering wheel. Sean wondered if they’d managed to get Archie into the cells without any broken bones or bitten policemen. If they’d started questioning him. If they’d told him his brother had stuck him in.

Ah remember the time before when Ah grassed on him. The relief Ah felt when Ah knew he wouldnay be turnin up all the time lookin for favours or to stash stuff. For the first time in years me and Maggie had a Saturday night we could just sit in and enjoy. We got a coupla cans and watched the telly. The next mornin Maggie got up and made me fried eggs on toast and brought it back to the bed. Ah couldnay believe my luck.

About a year and a half into his sentence Donna came home from school with a leaflet about a trip the teachers had planned. It was a week in London takin in the sights and museums and art galleries. Maggie thought it would be good for the lassie, but it was goin to be dear. She telt Donna she didnay think we’d be able to afford it. Donna ran up the stairs greetin coz all her pals were goin. Me and Maggie just sat there lookin at each other, wonderin what we’d done wrong.

We had a talk about it. Ah thought, Ah might as well gie the school a bell to ask a bit about it. Her teacher said it would be a great opportunity for Donna. That it would show her the size of the world outside Royston and maybe encourage her to go to university when she was older. University Ah telt Maggie when Ah was finished with the call. She smiled and nodded and said university aye.

So what could Ah do but take the two hunner for the trip out of Archie’s stash. It’s only money Ah thought, and by the time he’s back Ah’ll have it replaced. Thing was, Maggie gied me the third degree about where the money came from. Ah telt her Ah’d won it at the
bookies. She doesnay like me goin but she doesnay mind when Ah win.

Ye should’ve seen the look on Donna’s face when Ah telt her. It was a picture. She jumped up and nearly broke my neck with a cuddle. Ah gied her fifty bar spendin money as well. Ah couldnay have her showed up in front of all her pals.

We waved her off on a single decker that drove out the school gates just as the sun was risin. Then Ah telt Maggie about the wee surprise Ah had for her. A holiday. A cheap one. Just the two of us for a weekend campin at the side of Loch Lomond . Ah’d took a lend of my uncle Albert’s tent and that, and planked it in the house. It was a bit old but better than sleepin under the stars.

We just had to go home and pack up the stuff. A change of clothes. Some cans of beans, a loaf and a packet of ham. And half a dozen eggs. Then we jumped in a taxi to the bus station. A coupla hours on the bus and we were twistin through these country roads with the odd gleam of blue in the distance.

The bus dropped us near the camp site but it was still a fair hike to get to our pitch. It was good though. We could’ve been weans again on our first trip away the gether. Friday evening we pitched our tent and went to the chippy. After a good fish supper that was even tastier coz of the country air we bought a coupla bottles of cider and wandered down to the edge of the loch. We sat on a wall and watched the midges movin over the water. Ye’d see the odd splash as a fish jumped up tryin to grab one. My eyes filled with tears and Ah wished Ah had a pair of waders and Ah was out in the
loch fly fishin like a fuckin lord. The sun was just on its way down and the sky reminded me of that time in Largs. It was beautiful.

Ah reached my hand round the back of Maggie’s neck and pulled my fingers through her hair. She moved her head around and made a noise like she was eating the sweetest cake in the packet. She looked as beautiful as she was when she was seventeen.

When we’d drunk our cider we went back to the tent and Ah stood at the side and scratched my belly and had a piss while Maggie sorted the bed out. The midges were a bit cruel. But by the time we were all zippered up, and Ah’d killed a coupla the bastards that were inside, it was pure brilliant in there. We leaned back on our pillows and Maggie gied out a sigh. We had the torch stuck between our bodies and we did wee shadow puppets on the skin of the tent. The shadows started to get a bit saucy and the next thing Ah gied her a kiss. We ended up havin a shag and it was fuckin lovely. The best feelin Ah’ve ever had in my life. Even better than when Ah watched Donna gettin born.

Ah never wanted it to end. But it did.

Afterwards we lay there and Ah fell asleep with my cock still inside her. Ah woke up through the night and when Ah tried to stretch a bit my belly was unstuck from her back. Ah smelled her hair and felt my balls twinge ready for another go. She stretched a bit in her sleep and wiggled her arse and moaned.

But Ah heard a twig snap outside the tent and my cock went soft. Ah heard other noises like there was somebody outside the tent. Maybe it was a fox or
somethin, but as Ah lay inside the tent Ah thought about a big jungle predator sneakin around lookin for prey and a shiver ran up my spine. Ah knew then that as long as Archie was alive we were never goin to have a chance at happiness.

The taxi braked and his head banged against the glass.

Whereabouts in Royston d’ye want?

Sean looked out and saw they were nearly there. He scratched his head.

Just drop us at the bottom of Cadge Road.

What, the Royston Road end?

Aye that’ll be brilliant.

The taxi stopped at a traffic light and he thought he saw a flake of snow in the air. Then he saw another one. He sat up and looked out the front of the cab. He seen the odd flake dancing around the headlights. They were that small he could be imagining them. The cabbie tutted.

Looks like we’re in for another night of snow.

Sean nodded.

Aye. Ah’m sick of it already.

The taxi turned into Royston Road and Sean looked out the window. Orange snow swirled round the street lights. The driver put on his windscreen wipers.

There ye go pal, nearly there.

Aye thanks. Saved me a rough walk the night.

Whereabout?

Sean remembered he had no fag papers left.

Just drop me at the off-licence.

The taxi stopped and the guy turned round.

Nine pound.

Sean gave him the tenner and waved away the change. He got out and slammed the door. He pulled his jacket around himself and watched the red lights of the cab disappear into the night.

He went into the shop. It was like walking into a cage with a hatch built-in to pass the drink through. A Pakistani guy stood smoking behind the counter. Sean nodded to him.

Some weather we’ve been havin.

The guy leaned against the cage.

Aye it’s unreal. But what do ye expect for January?

Yer right enough.

What can Ah get ye?

Two packets of green Rizla.

The guy reached under the counter and slapped them on the counter.

Forty pence.

Sean put the money on the counter and put the papers in his tobacco pouch.

Cheers pal.

Go easy on the way home.

Sean pulled the door open and stepped onto the pavement. It was windy and the snow was whipped up the street like sand in the desert. He started the march home.

Sergeant O’Grady was miles away from a snare drum yet he could still hear it rattle in his head, keeping time,
making sure his boots clicked the pavement at an even pace. His shoulder ached under his kitbag but he knew if he put it down he’d have to go through the agony of stretching out his arm. He straightened his back and kept on moving. His medal-laden chest had faced the flashing swords of Indian tribesmen, the assegais of Zulu warriors, and the razors of Italian whores. The walk up Cadge Road was nothing next to these exploits, but it was going to be a cold march.

For one thing, his kilt didn’t keep him very warm. His legs were almost blue and covered in goose bumps. Forebears of his had marched all over the Highlands dressed like this with hardly a shiver. Sleeping out in the heather with a bit of tartan wrapped round their skinny bodies then up at dawn for a battle with the English. But Sergeant O’Grady was used to warmer climates. Jungles where the itch from leech bites made a man wish he was dead. Deserts where his lips cracked and his tongue felt like a piece of paper. And cities he had smelled before they appeared on the horizon.

He was tired of war. All he wanted was to go home and warm his legs by the fire, and have his missus and daughter sat on the couch beside him.

Sergeant O’Grady stood by his garden gate and sniffed the air. He was sure he could smell a touch of smoke in the wind. It worried him, but maybe it was just a trace of the last battle lodged somewhere in his nose. He looked up and down the street before pushing the gate open and walking up the path.