Glue (34 page)

— Hibs . . . Dundee . . . Rab Birrell goat done . . . dinnae tell Billy . . . Gally spraffs oan.

— Eh goat done? Rab?

Gally nods. This dippit lassie’s hingin ontae him, lookin at me and smilin. She’s no skagged, she’s E’d oaf her nut, jist like that Brook twin. — N Larry stabbed Phil n we hud tae take Phil tae the hoaspital, this bird goes. — Muriel n Larry didnae git in but, eh-no Andrew?

Ah ignore her n grab Gally’s ears n make him look ays in the eye. — Listen the now, Gally, when ye say Rab goat done, dae ye mean by the polis or by some boys?

— Polis . . . eh battered a boy . . .

That’s one for the book, Rab Birrell gittin done. Eywis thought eh wis too much ay a shitein cunt tae ever git done for brawlin. Gally said tae ays that eh’s well up fir it at the fitba but. The thing is, what’s Gally daein gaun wi a mob tae the fitba, then gittin aw skagged up wi the likes ay Wylie? Oil n water, surely. This cunt is confused awright n eh’s no gaunny feel any better if eh kens ah’ve been knobbin ehs ex. — Try tae take it easy, mate, c’moan through here n sit doon. Ah usher him tae the chill-oot bit.

— We came tae dance . . . this bird whinges, wipin the sweat offay her brow. No wi Gally shi willnae, the cunt can hardly stand.

Gally slurs somethin aboot wantin tae buy some E’s. Ah take a couple fae him n make ma excuses, movin intae the hert ay the bass. The daft lassie kin look eftir him. Thir’s some barry-lookin birds, but ah’ve eywis jist liked chattin up lassies in pubs rather than clubs. The music ruins the art ay conversation.

Thir’s one in particular that ah like, real Italian-style Serie-A class. Eftir that bit ay fun in Italy, ah’ve decided that it’s mair upmarket fanny fir me fae now oan. Ye git involved wi schemie birds n it’s no bad at first, but aw this stuff wi Gail n Gally is far too close tae home.

Aye, her at the bar. She blew ays away when ah first clocked her. She looked fuckin gorgeous: a tight T-shirt on, leather trousers. Her hair flowing long and straight, as cool as, well, that full pint of lager in her hand. She
is
a vision, and now she’s headed right up tae jammy Carl Ewart whae’s standin spinnin ehs tunes fae behind the decks. Ah follay her.

— N-SIGN? Are you N-SIGN? she asks, and in quite a posh voice. The smart cunt’s joys ay being a deejay. — Yeah, eh smiles, and eh wis
just about tae say mair when she throws the pint of lager in the cunt’s face!

— NAZI SCUM! she shouts at um, and Carl’s aw shocked; eh just stands thaire speechless n drippin wi beer. It’s fuckin barry, Ewart’s puss is well shut!

The Brook lassie’s gaun ooohhh n tryin tae comfort Carl n sayin thit thir’s such a lovely vibe and how dae people huv tae spoil it, aw that shite, then everybody’s ower. Ewart’s gaun mental wi what the daft cunt sees as the sheer injustice ay it aw. Eh’s rantin a lot ay shite aboot him n Topsy; aboot it bein a daft bevvy wi some auld mates n stupid senses of humour, media manipulation and entrapment, n ehs precious politics, ehs socialistic, libertarian politics.

This bird’s hearin none ay ehs shite but, cause she’s still shoutin, at our somewhat soaked Mr Ewart, who then has to react tae the lager pouring over ehs vinyl and into the turntables and amps, so eh’s now frantically using ehs sweatshirt as a mop before the whole thing short-circuits.

Mark, one of the bouncers, is right over to them; her, her mate and a wired, clean-lookin dippit boy who could be her felly. Billy Birrell’s in, he’s seen it all and he’s right ower n aw.

Birrell tries tae tell the lassie tae leave, nicely ah thoat, n her felly squares up tae him. — Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin to? eh asks. It’s a wideo accent, but it’s pit-oan for the benefit ay the birds. Try as the cunt might, eh cannae help but ooze student fae every pore.

Birrell ignores um n says tae the lassie, — Look, just go.

She starts screaming at him now, calling him a Nazi n a fascist n aw that shite that posh students like tae call people, usually cause thir away fae hame fir the first time n they discover that they hate thir ma n dad and cannae handle it.

Billy’s as cool as fuck but. Eh kens eh’s goat nowt tae prove tae the likes ay them and eh just turns n walks away. The radge boy stupidly grabs ehs shoodir n Billy turns in a quick, instinctive movement and smashes the nut intae his face. The boy staggers back, blood spurtin fae ehs nose. The lassie freezes in shock. Billy looks at her while eh points at him. — Yir boyfriend’s goat a bit ay boatil. Eh deserves better than a dozy cow like you. Take um hame!

Mark the bouncer comes up, aw worried aboot Birrell. — Ye awright, Billy? Yir hand awright? Ye didnae huv tae punch the boy did ye?

— No way. Ah nutted um, Birrell explains.

— Good man, Mark says, aw relieved, n pats Billy oan the back. Mark’s a big fan ay Birrell’s n eh disnae want tae see ehs next fight pit back cause eh’s fucked ehs knuckles oan some daft cunt. Eh turns tae the studenty cunts. — RIGHT YOUSE, OOT! C’MOAN! YUV BEEN TELT!

Carl’s callin for everybody tae calm doon. Ah’ll gie the cunt ehs due; eh’s actually tryin tae smarm intae this bird. Eh’s gaun oan aboot it bein nae problem, jist a misunderstanding. The cheeky cunt even hus the nerve tae say tae Birrell, — That wisnae too helpful, Billy.

Billy raises his eyebrows at him, as if tae say: ah did it fir you, ya daft cunt.

Thir still giein it the big yin though, especially that bird that soaked Carl. Gally’s acroass now n shoutin at them, — Who the fuck are youse anywey . . . youse ur . . . youse ur . . . but eh’s that wasted thit eh’s jist makin a cunt ay ehsel.

Then poofy-fuckin-drawers Carl Ewart goes, shakin ehs heid, — Thir’s too much testosterone floatin aroond here . . .

If thir hudnae huv been aw that testosterone flyin aboot wi him n Topsy eh widnae huv goat in the paper in the first place, n eh probably would’ve been oan ehs wey tae ridin that student bird by now. Aye, thir’s eywis too much testosterone for him when it’s other people’s. Eh nivir seems tae mind it when it’s in ehs ain baws. Ah lap Carl up, but ah jist cannae help but think thit that wis barry what that lassie did tae the arrogant cunt.

Spin oan that yin, Mr Deejay!

The cheek ay that fucker is that eh owes it aw tae us. If eh hudnae been mates wi me n Birrell eh would have been bullied tae fuck at school, that’s a cert. Fuckin guaranteed, the fuckin Milky Bar Kid thair. And then eh widnae have hud the confidence tae ponce aroond behind a set ay decks like eh hud a cock the size ay the Blackpool Tower. Aye, the smart cunt thinks eh’s god’s gift tae fanny nowadays but ah kin mind ay when eh wis grateful tae any fuckin hounds thit wid gie um it. Used tae think eh wis it, wi that shite band him n Topsy hud, but top-quality fanny widnae look at um until eh goat ehs decks n ehs club nights n ehs wad ay cash.

This Premier-minge lager lassie’s still shoutin at Billy, even as her wee mate’s tryin tae take her oot. She’s the wee tug in tow: a dumpy wee bint in a black dress wi curly hair n quite blotchy skin. Aye, it’s no jist testosterone, thir’s a fair auld bit ay oestrogen flyin aroond n aw, n maist ay it’s comin fae that lager bird. Tae me that means an itch that
cannae be scratched, no by her felly at any rate. Eh’s still hudin ehs nose up. — Is nobody going to say anything about that, she points at him, — is nobody going to stand up to them?

This lassie’s goat a fuckin blocked drain awright, so the only thing tae dae is tae send fir Dyno-rod Lawson here! Ah moves forward, winking at Billy. — Is that how you get your kicks, Birrell, terrorising people, defending fascists? You can stick your club, ah spit, turnin tae the Cool Lager Lassie, her mate Curly-Wurly n the injured felly, — I’m out of here!

Sure enough, as ah step outside, they’re no far behind ays. Mark n ehs mate ur makin sure they stey oot n aw. The perr cunt’s bundled intae a taxi and sent hame, or up tae the A&E oan ehs tod. The bird that splashed Ewart is livid at the perr fucker. — He was bloody useless, she craws as the taxi speeds oaf.

— Are you okay? ah ask her.

— Yes I’m okay! she shouts at me. Ah stick ma hands in the air.

Her pal grabs her, then comes over to me, tuggin oan ma sleeve. — I’m sorry, thanks for sticking up for us in there.

The lassie that splashed Ewart is aw tense, she’s bitin at the skin aroond her nails. Ah wink at her, aw placatory like, and she gies ays a tense smile back.

— Listen, ah say tae her mate, — ah think your pal’s in a bit of shock. I’m going to get us another taxi. This lassie, the wee Curly-Wurly, nods thankfully at me.

Ah jump intae the street and shout one doon, divin in the back n hudin the door open. They look at me for a second, then pile in.

We’re heading back to their flat in South Clerk Street. Ah chat up the wee Curly-Wurly, thinkin thit if ah gie her the time ay day, ah’m double-bound tae be asked up. Sure enough, they invite ays up for a drink and a spliff. It’s a cooler pad thin ah reckoned, young professional rather than studenty. We sit and talk about clubbing and politics. Ah’m sittin back lettin thaim lead the conversation, but it’s typical studenty shite and ah huv tae admit ah’m findin it hard tae feign interest. The main objective is tae slip in the odd tellin glance, which ah do oan occasion. The lager-lout’s too wired tae notice, but her mate’s gantin on it.

They baith seem a bit jagged, as if thir oan a comedown, and they tell me that they’ve been canin it a bit since they went oot oan Friday night. — I wish we could get more fucking pills, the Lager Lassie goes.

Ah pills oot the couple that Gally gied ays and dishes them oot. — Take these, thir really good.

— Wow . . . snowballs. Are you sure?

— Be my guest, ah shrug.

— That’s really so lovely of you, the Lager Lassie smiles at ays. Ah act cool, cause this type ay fanny’ll jist cock-tease ye till yir baws explode if ye seem too keen.

Within half an ooir, thair up again. They wir callin the boyfriend guy aw the tossers under the sun, but now wir aw sittin wrapped roond each other oan the couch n the heatin’s up full n thir tellin ays how nice ah am, strokin ma face n hair n clathes n aw that. Balm tae the fuckin ego, this is. But ah’ve nivir really hud problems wi the ego, it’s the fuckin id ah’m interested in. Ah’m thinkin that ah should maybe try n screw the nut, but thir’s the auld amphetamined pervert in ma heid, blazin away aw sleazy n licentious n eggin ye oan tae further depravities. — Huv we goat a take-oan then, girls? ah ask. — Two a side, wi one man sent oaf, that’s the odds ah like!

They look at me, then at each other, and slowly but surely, the clathes start tae come oaf n we huv a great wee night tae wurselves.

In the night ah woke up and had a wee peek at they scarlet harlots. Sleep can be a cheatin cunt; it’s giein them a sortay bearing and demeanour ay innocence they didnae warrant. What the fuck is that aw aboot? Sleep my erse, it’s unconsciousness. Any undertaker could make a deid Charlie Manson look ‘peaceful’ in half an ooir.

Ah git dressed and oot intae the cauld night, feelin lonelier and mair guilty than I’ve felt in my life and longin tae see Viv. But ah’ve goat some scent and fluids tae get rid ay first.

This gaff certainly looks fuckin easy. Alec came through oan the surveillance, ah’ll huv tae gie the mingin auld toerag ehs due. Just as well, cause ah never goat a chance tae, no wi the Secret Squirrel pillin ays up like eh did.

— The hoose is completely detached and has a huge back and front gairdin wi a wooded driveway tae the side, leadin tae a garage. Ye cannae see the side lane from the road, cause ay the bushes n the
overhanging trees, Alec had explained, soundin like an estate agent. Eh disnae fuckin well look like yin, mind you.

After gaun past in the van a couple ay times ah get out and open the black-painted wooden gate and Alec gets set tae drive the motor right doon the side ay the hoose. Ah clocks that the back patio doors are expensive and double-glazed. Alec’s right though, the mug’s got a simple glass-panelled door in the side lane which ‘affords access’ tae the kitchen.

Alec’s puffin and heavin wi the auld van here. At first the daft bastard tries tae drive in head first which means we’ll have tae reverse oot in an emergency. No way. That auld wank is fuckin up badly, forgetting his ain rules. — Egress, Alec, mind egress, ah hiss, tappin the van windae.

Eh reworks the manoeuvre, reversin clumsily intae the driveway. As we go in and ah shut the gates, ah clock this auld blue van parked right ootside in the street. It’s aw beat up, even worse than ours. It looks abandoned, nae wey is that an unmarked cop vehicle. If it hus been dumped, it’s bad news cause it means that some nosey cunt roond here’ll soon be oan the blower tae the tow-away fuckers.

The risk factor’s gaun up awright.

Alec gets oot the van and eh’s lookin aw tentatively at the fuckin windae pane in the kitchen door. As we go in ah see the reason fir ehs worry. The cunt’s been smashed right in. — What the fuck’s gaun oan here? eh whispers. — Ah dinnae like this, lit’s git back in the van and get the fuck oot ay here!

Wir huvin nane ay that. — No fuckin way . . . some cunt’s tryin tae rob oor fuckin gaff! Lit’s git this sorted right oot!

We open the door and tiptoe intae the kitchen through the darkness. Ma boot scrunches oan some broken gless. As we walk across this tiled flair, all of a sudden there’s an almighty crash and ah almost shite masel. Ah realise it’s Alec, eh’s fell heavily oan ehs erse. — What the fuck . . . ah spit through the darkness at the clumsy drunken cunt.

— Ah slipped oan something . . . eh moans.

Thir’s a hell oaf a smell n aw, really fuckin pungent, and it’s that bad perr Alec begins retchin. Ah’m startin tae think that the filthy fuckin jake’s follayed through when ah realise that somebody’s shat across the flair, n that’s what Alec’s slipped in. — Dirty fuckin . . . eh gasps, as eh pebble-dashes the tiles wi puke.

Then in front ay us, ah sees this figure, standin in the doorway. Ah
catch a glint fae a shard ay moonlight and ah realise thir’s a knife in its mitt. A young boy, about eighteen, n eh’s shitein it. Tremblin, wi the knife wavin aboot in front ay um. — What dae youse want? Danny! Eh twists ehs heid n hisses up tae the stairs.