by Irvine Welsh
I sat for a while, drying my trooser bottoms against the radiators. Then I left and threw Winner's tag in the Almond and headed back up towards the scheme, stopping off at the Commodore for a pint on the way. I walked up to Silverknowes and had another pint in the golf club. Then I took a bus up town and looked aroond the shoaps, getting a no bad top oot ay X-ile, before heading home at teatime.
When I got in, they were all back. I tried to merge in the general air of gloom that filled the house although it was some effort. I kept hearing the auld man's voice: — But eh widnae jist vanish like that . . . the dug couldnae jist vanish oaf the face ay the earth . . .
Yes he could, Father.
Yes he could.
Winston made a mistake. He fucked aboot wi Roy Strang. Nae cunt fucks aboot wi Roy Strang.
Dad's investigations, which took the form of threatening and cross-examining locals, harassing the Drylaw polis, sticking up badly photocopied pictures of Winston (the black smudge he came out as in the copies looked uncannily like him just before he died) in shops and on lampposts, and freaking when kids ripped them down; all this failed to yield fruit.
Winston Two had gone.
Dad swore that he'd never get another dog again, but he was knocked out that Christmas when Kim and I got him a German shepherd puppy. Unlike his previous two Alsatians, this was a bitch.
He called it Maggie.
Please no Patricia, just talk to me, tell me who you've been shagging or what you've been watching on the telly, anything but that fu . . .
Even though there's something of the cad
About the boy . . .
— I wish I had a voice like that.
DEEPER
DEEPER
DEEPER– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – in through the away end. The water, we've been right through the water, but I only feel wet up to my ankles. Crazy.
Jimmy and I scale up to the top of the Green Hill. It's a long, arduous climb, but its summit affords a perfect view of Lake Torto. We get out our binoculars. There is a breathtaking display of pink as we watch the flamingos in the water. You could hear them, that toot-toot trumpeting sound. Like the horns of continental football supporters or fairground cars . . .
Just then Sandy says, never taking his eyes from the scene, — Look Roy, to the left.
There were a group of about a dozen Marabou Storks waddling along the shores of the lake, heading straight towards the flamingo colony.
15 The Flamingo Massacres
The Marabou Stork is one of the major dangers to the Greater and Lesser Flamingo. It walks along the shore, causing flamingo flocks to pack in panic; it then makes a short flight and stabs a selected flamingo in the back. Once disabled, the flamingo is drowned and then torn to pieces and eaten by one or several Marabous in three to four minutes.
The intervention of the Marabous has had a serious effect on colonies of Greater Flamingo by causing mass desertion (one recorded instance of up to 4,500 pairs by seventeen Marabous). Flamingos tolerate and may even repel from one to five Marabous, but six or more, always six or more, cause mass desertion. Nature is so specific in its arithmetic.
When it came to swedgin, we always broke up intae groups ay between six and ten. At the Underground at I brox we came upon the beasts. They were colourful, those scarfers. Ridiculous, but colourful, in their red, white and blue attire. Their badges and their buntings; Ulster and aw that wanky shite, needing an excuse, a silly toytown reason to muster up the kind ay force we'd learned tae love fir its ain sake, tae have on tap. They were yesterday's thing. They looked around nervously as we walked in our groups throughout their midst. We had nae colours; we wir here tae dae real business. No for the fitba, the bigotry, the posturing, the pageantry. That was just shite tae us. We wir here oan business.
The air was filled with the loud screeching cries of panic and death. Through binoculars, Sandy and I witnessed the carnage over at the north shore of the lake. Things were happening fast, I was losing track. More than that, I was losing control. I kept remembering something eke, kept seeing something else . . .
We scattered them and gave pursuit to a group ay young blue Christmas trees who looked as if they had come fae Fathell, Lanarkshire. These bloated, beery ugly Weedgies ran cowering intae a pub, but there wis nae escape for them. They looked different from us. Even though I'd always regarded myself as fairly hideous, those creatures were beyond the pale. We steamed in and wrecked the boozer. Ghostie had a Weedgie over the pool table and wis trying tae sever his meaty hun heid oaf wi a broken gless.
— Ah'll take your fuckin face oaf ya fuckin Weedgie cunt! he screamed.
Dempsey was trying to cram a bar ay soap intae the rat-shagger's face. — Get a fuckin wash ya smelly soapdodging Weedgie cunt. . . dae yous cunt's nivir fuckin wash . . . slum-dwellin fuckin trash!
Lexo had taken a couple ay thum oot, one interbred hun's face bursting like a ripe tomatay shot by an air pistol as his chunky fist made contact wi it. — Whair's aw the fuckin Glesgay hard men now, eh? Fuckin queers!
I had opened up one skinny hun's coupon with my sharpened carpet tile knife (Boston's of Leith Walk) and then knocked him over and was booting fuck oot the cunt under the juke-box on the waw. Ah remembered the auld man's records, Churchill's wartime speeches, and recalled him saying that the Germans were either at your feet or at your throat. It was the same with the rat-shaggers. Back doon tae they cunts and they're fuckin swarming all over ye, stand up tae them and they're shouting mammy daddy polis . . . I felt a bit bad about using the blade, no because ah had any reservations about improving hun features through plastic surgery, but because bladework was sneaky, like Weedgie shitin cunt's patter and we were intae toe-to-toe stuff in our crew. The jukie was playing Dire Straits' Romeo and Juliet, so obviously brain-dead mutant hun music . . . ah turned tae the half empty pub, only maist ay them wir shitein it tae leave, wi Norrie and Jacksie oan the door n ah shouted, — ROY STRANG'S THE FUCKIN NAME! REMEMBER THAT FUCKIN NAME! ROY STRANG! HIBS BOYS YA FUCKIN CUNTS! EUROPE'S NUMERO UNO! FUCKIN RAT-SHAGGIN BASTARDS!
What the fuck . . . I see a Marabou Stork, not our one, stab a young flamingo, then, after thoroughly sousing its prey underwater, swallow it whole.
Lexo turned tae the bar staff; an auld guy, a fat wifie n a younger guy, who wir just standing thair, shitein it, and went: — Six fuckin Becks then, cunt! Tae take away.
They served him and the wide cunt peyed for it as well. No tae have done so would have lowered us tae the level ay the soapdodger. We were, after all, Edinburgh snobs . . .but ah wisnae getting as much ay an adrenalin rush as ah used tae. We'd been daein too much ay this. Ah picked up a pool cue and jumped on the bar, thrashing the gantry and its bottles. There's something aboot the sound ay broken gless . . .
I was really losing it badly, and I was about to scream: STOP! JUST FUCKIN STOP ALL THIS when I saw our one, our Stork, and he saw us. The creature lowered its neck and made a short run, flapping to take off. It looked awkward and ungainly but continued its laboured ascent until it gained access to thermals where it rose rapidly to such a height it became almost invisible.
— Damn you, Johnny Stork, Sandy cursed.
Despite our quarry's getaway, I felt a strange elation in my bones. This was our beast's turf; the bugger would soon return.
— LIT'S HIT THE FUCKIN ROAD! Lexo roared, his neck straining, his face seeming tae be just one big black hole. He dispensed the Becks as we left the pub in ruins and its terrorised occupants nursing their wounds. Ghostie turned tae ays as we exited the pub and stole doon the road. — That wis no bad. Just under four minutes, eh, he said, pointing tae his stopwatch.
. . . I'm seeing clearly again ... we noted that quite close to us another couple of large Storks had insinuated themselves into a pack of squawking vultures who were devouring the unrecognisable corpse of an animal. It looked like the
body of a woman.
not like the body of a woman
no
no . . . it must have been something else. One of the Storks had a scrap of meat pirated from it by a large Tawny Eagle . . .
Another Stork stood on the outskirts of the group, running in frequently to snatch dropped morsels, but its bolder friends were in there with the vultures, tearing at the carcass with them. One was even attempting to dominate those other scavengers, with some success. In fact, the vultures' aggression seemed like posturing. They were scared of the Storks.
— Vultures appear aggressive, but have evolved elaborate threat displays to ward off rivals, Sandy observed, tuning into my thoughts as if by telepathy. — That way they avoid the risk of a fracture of the ulna in combat ... the ulna of course, being the inner of the two principal wing bones.
A broken bottle shattered behind us as a crowd of huns shouted at us. We turned and steamed in and they ran like fuck.
— Yes Sandy, I nodded, cleaning one of the lenses on my binoculars, because I can't trust my vision, — although the ulna is the larger of the wing bones it tends to fracture more frequently than the radius due to its lesser elasticity. Indeed, if I recall correctly, one survey showed that around twenty per cent in a pack of white-headed vultures had shown evidence of a fractured ulna.
Ah still hud the fuckin pool cue in ma hand; a mingin rat-muncher who had been left behind in his mates' retreat tried to block ma swing as I heard the bone in his arm crack and his shrill squeal fill the foosty Weedgie air . . .
— Yes, smiled Sandy, — it's amazing that they can survive.
— Fortunately, although it's one of the largest flying birds, the vulture has a very small bone weight, approximately seven per cent of its body weight . . .
— . . . thus enabling the creature to live off its reserves until the bones heal . . .
— Look Sandy! I cut in, — Over by the far shore!
Some Storks were circling around a wisp of smoke which came from the other side of the Green Hill.
— It's like they're flying over a settlement. . . Sandy said.
— Yes, but the only settlement there is Fatty Dawson's lodge in the Jambola. Let's check it out!
part four
The
Paths Of
Self-Deliverance
16 Respect
It's coming back to me. It's all coming back. I wish it wasn't but it is.
I don't suppose any of us stopped being on trial. It was her own fault; she fuckin well asked for it. Her and Lexo's; her the big fuckin teaser and him the fuckin sad pervert whae couldnae git a fuckin ride in a brothel wi a Gold Amex stuck in his keks. If ah hudnae got in wi that crowd, nowt would've happened, ah widnae huv goat involved. Except that she'd still've goat it fae some cunt, the wey she cairried oan. Nowt fuckin surer.
The first time I set eyes on her, I knew the type exactly. The Caroline Carson type; her that was at school wi me. Slags like that have to be taught a lesson, or they'll pish all over you. Fancied herself as the top girl, a big fuckin cock tease. Hung aroond wi the boys but nae cunt could git intae her keks. Lexo n me had talked aboot her, one eftirnoon, over a few Becks, as you tend tae dae. I think we were in The Black Bull, eh.
— A fuckin total ride that wee cow, he said.
— Legged it? I asked.
— Like fuck. Nae cunt's been up that sow, far as ah ken. KB'd every cunt. Tell ye one thing, see if she comes up tae Buster's next week n comes back tae Dempsey's perty, she's gittin her fuckin erse shagged. Even if she is a virgin, her fanny'll no be tight enough once ah've fuckin gied it a few strokes, he laughed.
I laughed along with the cunt.
I was thinking about the time I once went to get her up for a slow dance at Buster's. The music that night was dead loud likes, but I shouted, — Ye want tae dance? at her. She stood up and I followed her ontae the danceflair. The slag just kept walking, right across the flair tae the lassie's bog while ah stood thair like a radge in the middle ay the danceflair, every cunt sniggerin away. This was me, Roy Strang. A fuckin top boy we're talking aboot here. I remember that night, cause that was the night ah slashed that cunt Gilchrist.
Ah minded ay that time awright, as ah sat n spraffed wi Lexo. — The boys are entitled tae a line up, ah sais tae him.
She reminded me ay that time at school; aw they fuckin smart cows, aw the fuckin same. Well naebody takes the pish ootay me, nae cunt. I thought of her finally getting it, watching her hurt, watching her bleed, watching her say please.
Say please, you fucking slag, say please to Roy Strang. That's ma fuckin name, n nae cunt takes the pish. Say fuckin please, you bitch whore slut
say fuckin
The hoor must think that I never saw her look at me with Pauline, Ghostie's bird. Thought I never noticed her sniggering at my inverted face, my ears like a taxi wi the fuckin doors open. Of course, it was all behind ma back. Once we came back from South Africa and I'd chibbed that fat cunt Mathews, then taught the Carson slag a lesson, it was always behind ma back. But the point was that they were still at it. I didn't hear or see them, but I knew they were still at it. I just sensed it, felt it. They all had to fuckin learn who I was; aw the cunts. Like that cunt who thought he was hard at school, the cunt Gilchrist fae Pilton. He was the guy whae wis wi Ferguson, n Carson n The Big Ride; that fuckin soft fat slut that time at the chippy. I had just come back fae a trip doon tae Millwall wi some ay the boys. A barry time, we went pure fuckin crazy in London. It wis a brilliant swedge at New Cross: ootside ay the sheepshaggers they were the best opposition we'd ever had. We'd been spraffin aboot it, gettin hyped up remembering it, when I ran intae the Gilchrist cunt on the Mile, mouthin it wi his mates.
He wisnae the worse. He wis naewhere near the worse. But he wis thair, right thair in the pub whair I let him sweat for a little. Then I broke his nose by stickin the heid oan the cunt, and opened up his cheek with my Stanley. (Purchased where I always buy my weapons). It was just ma wey ay saying tae the cunt: My name is Roy Strang: mind that night wi the chips ya cunt?
All I'm looking for is a bit of respect. It's my fuckin entitlement.
Yeah, I fuckin saw her stolen stares when we went oan tae the Red Hot Pepper Club. Making me aware of my short legs, my big heid, my ears, every fuckin defect in my skin. Making me feel like a freak.
— Hi Lexo, if yir up fir gang-banging that wee sow, mind n cut ays in oan the action, I smiled.
— A sow's goat tae realise that if they hing aroond wi top boys, they huv tae dae the biz. Examples must be made, he grinned, his mouth cutting a crescent in that square head.
That wis it. That wis the extent ay our plotting; a daft, half-pished bit ay fantasising in a pub. Ah didnae ken the cunt wis serious: ah didnae ken he'd talked tae Cally n Demps aboot it.
It wisnae as if ah wis intae daein anything. I'd enough problems wi fanny as it wis; I'd made a bit of a cunt of myself at the work, eh. It was that Christmas; it wis pretty strange. There was this lassie called Sheena Harrower who worked at Scottish Spinsters'. She went to Buster's and knew some of the boys. I never ever went to work dos, but I wis spraffin wi this Sheena lassie in the canteen and she sais she was going. I fancied getting into her keks, but another couple of boys, Demps was one, I think this guy Alto was another; they'd been talking aboot tryin tae leg it n aw. For that reason I thought it would be better if I fired intae her at the Scottish Spinsters' do; leave the field clear n that. It seemed too good an opportunity tae miss.
She never showed up. I found oot later that that cunt Demps had met her in a pub the night before and fired in first. So that was me oan ma fuckin tod at a Scottish Spinsters' Christmas perty. It was really weird, seeing aw they straight-pegs oaf thir fuckin tits oan alcohol. Maist ay them wirnae used tae it and they were aw totally ratarsed.
Well, ah just fired back some cans oot ay boredom. It wis Scottish & Newcastle beer which wis shite; ah jist drank Becks normally, but it was there. They had this punch n aw, which wisnae bad. Befo
re long ah wis a wee bit pished. In fact I must have been really pished because I was necking with Martine Fenwick. I don't remember how we got started. It was radge because we never really goat oan n she wis a few years aulder than me, but she wis bevvied n aw.
I had some fuckin root oan ays; I jist wanted tae blaw ma muck in Fenwick, then split from the whole depressing scene. I thought about getting her back tae the office and intae the walk-in storage cupboard where we kept boxes of computer hardware and stationery. There was a table there and I'd be able tae gie her one across it. The problem was that the slag was intae letting me tongue her in public, but when she sussed I was trying to get her away, she knocked me back. My head was pounding like ma baws by this time, and I kept smelling this strong scent of urine. I snarled an insult at Fen wick and hit the bar.
After a couple of drinks, I pocketed this cheap plastic lighter which I spied lying on a table. Then I went for a wee wander through the deserted offices. Rummaging through one of the stockrooms I found some inflammable spirit, for cleaning electrical equipment. It was ideal.
I rejoined the party, which didn't last much longer before fire alarm went off and loads of drunken cunts staggered out into the street. Two fire engines came and doused the blaze, but only after it had gutted several offices. One doss cunt who had goat drunk and passed out was taken tae hoaspital suffering fae smoke inhalation. It served the dippit cunt right as far as ah was concerned. The fire damage was substantial and it led to a memo from the Personnel Director, banning the use of office premises for Christmas perties. For me that was sound, I had nae interest in these cunts' perties.
Shortly after this I was promoted. Jane Hathaway got a better job elsewhere, and, as they put it, 'took' Fenwick with her. Des Frost took over as the supervisor and I got his job. That was me made up to full Systems Analyst. It meant mair dosh, but I was just daein the same job really. It showed me how exploited I'd been in the three years I'd been there as a trainee. We got two new trainees, both young guys, one of whom was involved with the baby crew. There was a better crack in the office.
