8
Sean brushed away the coke residue from his dashboard as he emerged in the eerily quiet Western General car park. He was honoured Uncle Dougie had tasked him with this latest role, seeing it as a sign that bit by bit he was being trusted with more responsibility within the firm.
After checking his Rolex, Sean tensed up, fidgeting in the agonisingly slow lift as it crept its way up to the correct floor. Dougie had stressed he needed to be there for seven on the dot as any wandering doctors might grow suspicious if he turned up after visiting time, and it was now creeping on for ten past. He inhaled the dank hospital smell and strode purposely down the hallway towards Ray Jamison’s hospital room. Ronnie Slater, Dougie’s bent scum, eyeballed him angrily as he appeared, tapping frantically at his own watch as Sean slipped inside the doorway.
The ironic thing, Sean thought to himself, as he stepped up to the hospital bed, was that Ray Jamison actually looked healthier than he had done when he’d appeared at his flat door a couple of weeks earlier. Less speed, more food, Sean deduced as he grabbed an apple from his bedside table and took a large chomp.
Jamison’s eyes began to flicker open as Sean chomped harder and harder.
“Awright Ray.”
As soon as Jamison opened his eyes fully he opened his mouth to scream, halted only by Sean’s hand, which he clasped firmly around his mouth, jamming a finger against his lips as he took in the panic in his eyes.
Sean clenched a fist and aimed it at his face, grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor and took a seat right in front of him.
“How the fuck did you get in here? There’s police outside.”
“Aye funny that eh? How ye holdin up anyway? How’s the back?”
“Ah could be in a wheelchair fer the rest of ma life. Ah’m twenty-five year auld.”
“Aye well ye’ve got Kevin MacDonald tae blame fer that, no Dougie, awright?”
“He threw me oot a windae. Look Ah need tae sleep.”
“Plenty time fer sleep Ray. Yer in hospital, all ye do is sleep. A bit of stimulatin conversation won’t do ye any harm eh? Besides there’s somethin Ah need tae talk tae ye aboot. Word on the street is you’re thinkin about goin up in court against a man you really shouldnae be testifyin against.”
His face drained of all colour as the gravity clearly set in.
“Look, what happened was an unfortunate occurrence indeed. My uncle’s got a temper, what can Ah say.”
“Please, Ah’m tired.” bleated Ray. “Ah cannae cope wae this. Leave me alone please.”
Sean sat forward, rapidly losing patience. “Ah’m no going anywhere until you give me the answer Ah’m after. Do you think the polis give a fuck about you? They couldnae care less whether you walk or no, as long as they get what they want. You’re just a fuckin pawn tae them ye ken that? Ye might think they’re after yer best interests, ye might think they’re tryin tae help ye but yer wrong. You ever thought about what happens afterwards? We’re no in America pal an Ah cannae see you gaun intae the witness protection programme. An that’s what they’ll have tae dae tae protect ye. If Dougie was tae go doon dae ye think we’re just gonnae crawl under a rock and ferget this ever happened? Do you really want tae spend the rest of yer life lookin over yer shoulder, paranoid? That’s if you even make it tae the trial. Dougie can get you just as easily in here as he can out there.” Sean snapped his fingers. “Have yer lights turned out. Have you thrown outae this fuckin windae tae. This isnae some run of the mill joker you’re dealin wae son. This is a heavy fuckin guy, a major player in this city. Do you think he’s gonnae let you or anyone else jeopardise his business?”
Sean sat back in his chair, calming down on the hard press. “Look, Ah’m the nice guy awright? Ah’m the nicest guy yer gonnae meet, believe me it gets worse. Ye were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Dougie could turn back the clock an dae things differently he would, but he cannae. What’s done is done. Ye’ve just got tae make the best of the cards ye’ve been dealt. Ye see this?” Sean pulled a small powder-filled vial from his top pocket. “Top quality cocaine straight off the rock, preemo gear, rare as fuck. Beats that base ye’ve been takin.” Sean grinned. “That can be yours. All the best gear, all the best clothes. You name it, Dougie will look after ye. I’ll look after ye. We’ll even help pay fer yer back treatment, get ye back on yer feet again. Make sure no-one fucks wae ye. All ye need tae do is tell the police ye’ve had a big change of heart.”
Sean adjusted his collar as he entered The Gunner that night, before wading through the heavy handshakes and pats on the back as he felt a chuffed smirk pushing at the corners of his mouth. The man of the moment it appeared. He accepted a pint from Gordon Trevor before finding himself synched into a powerful headlock from the big Frankenstein bastard. He surfaced, with gritted teeth, to the sight of his best mucker Willie Graham grinning like a maniac with two shots lined up.
The place was rammed for a change. It felt like the regulars were filtering back in now that the firm were back in good spirits. They could relax and breathe easy without the frightening prospect of an angry, unpredictable Dougie/Goggs combo hanging off the end of the bar like timebombs ready to go off in everyone’s face. The mood had changed, for now at least. That, and it was karaoke night. Big Agnes was belting out Sweet Caroline, her many chins wobbling, prompting Sean to spit a mouthful of beer out in laughter as Willie dug him in the ribs and laughed along. Even the young team were there in force, making a nuisance of themselves, hassling the older crowd for pints and vodkas, their shifty eyes darting around for fear of getting collared and flung out onto the freezing streets. Still, it was just the same old Gunner, Sean thought to himself as he threw back his shot and took a swig of his pint. Same old Gunner, nothing new. He scanned the vicinity, and quickly realised there was nothing worth taking home, not by a long shot. This meant town would fast be beckoning. Buster Browns, bright lights, cheesy Wham hits, peroxide blondes in their tacky outfits, cheap and nasty glamour. All ended one way and that was with Sean battering his end away in triumph, sweat dripping from his clenched jaw as he went at it like a sewing machine.
“Few drinks tae be polite then we’re up that toon Willie mate, fuck this. Fuckin auld guys’ boozer man, what action we gonnae get in here? Besides some dirty fae the scheme.”
Willie looked about before leaning in close.
“Sort me oot wae a line ay yer gear, an Ah’ll take a dirty fae the scheme all night long Preemo.”
Sean smiled.
“Aye an then a trip up the gum clinic oan Monday tae check the damage.”
A couple of minutes later they were holding down their favourite cubicle as Sean tipped a pile of coke onto the cistern and began swiping out the rockstars.
Suddenly there was a loud slapping at the door, forcing Sean to instinctively throw a barrier around his precious gear.
“Hey! Who’s in there?” Sean rolled his eyes.
“George, what ye wantin?”
“What ye’s up tae?”
“Grown-up shit, nowt fer you tae worry about.”
“Let us in.”
“Away an hassle someone else George, come oan eh?”
“Just let us in.”
Sean lost his patience and flung the door open to reveal George and his pal Billy poking their noses into the cubicle with curiosity. Willie gave George a light skelp on the back of the head.
“Beat it ya wee cunt.”
“What ye’s wantin? There’s nowt fer ye in here,” said Sean.
George tried to edge his head in to see what they were doing, just to feel it being pushed backwards by his cousin’s hand.
“What ye daein Sean?”
“Like Ah says George, grown-up shit, nothin you can afford anyway. No fer a good few years.”
“Here ya wee cunt.” Willie handed him a barely touched pint of Tennent’s. “Make do wae that ya nippy wee bastard.”
George grinned as he began necking the pint, halted only by his pal Billy as he yanked
it from his hand mid swig, forcing some of it to spill on the toilet floor as they both started giggling.
Sean slammed the toilet door shut and directed his attention back to the coke, swiping out another couple of lines with his bank card. As he did so he was distracted by the noise of taps running and the sound of more childish giggling outside the cubicle.
Two seconds later a soaked ball of toilet paper smacked against the wall just above, forcing them to duck for cover. By the time Willie had opened the door to chase after them, they had scurried back into the pub.
“Wee fannies eh?” said Willie between sniggers as Sean pointed down at his tracksuit with a confused look on his face.
“Anyway what’s this all about man? Fuckin tracksuits an that, it’s a night oot, no a game ay five a sides.”
“Hey dinnae knock this man. This is a proper original Adidas tracksuit man, fuckin quality gear.”
“Ye started coachin like?”
Willie grabbed hold of Sean’s suit jacket. “Ye gaun tae a weddin?”
“Ah’ve a wardrobe of suits even better than this one in the hoose. Ah’ll hook ye up mate.” Sean sniggered before eagerly rolling up a twenty and snorting his line.
“Cunt dae ye think Ah want your cheap shite eh? Least this is proper authentic shit, know what Ah mean? No a fuckin garden rake!” sneered Willie as he snatched the note. As Willie bowed his head to take the line there was another thump at the door, this time heavier.
“Fer fuck sake, what now?” groaned Sean with frustration.
“Sean, your uncle’s wantin ye through the back, pronto,” said Bob Callum.
“Sounds serious,” joked Willie as he wiped the powder away from his nose.
Sean felt a palpable state of anxiety descend on his gut as he stood watching a grim faced Dougie, a glass of whisky clenched tightly in his hand as he drummed a fist on his left thigh.
Lighten up Uncle Dougie, fuck sake. Only saved yer bacon...
Dougie poured more alcohol onto the degrading rocks of ice sitting at the bottom of his glass. “Enjoyin yerself are ye?"
Dougie smiled dangerously. “Ye swagger in here like yer a big shot, lappin up aw that praise, but nobody realises that you could have cocked up the whole fuckin thing.”
“Eh? Everything’s sorted is it no?”
“Ah told you tae be in that hospital at seven on the dot. Ronnie Slater says you turned up at twenty past wae yer eyes poppin oot yer heid!” Dougie smashed the tumbler hard on the ground, Sean jolted backwards, pressing his clammy palms hard against the keg as his heart thumped against the buttons of his shirt. “Call that sorted, son? Cause Ah fuckin dinnae! Now Ah’ve got tae work hard on that cunt tae git um back oan side! Fuckin gettin right cauld feet! Your father, my brother, is currently serving fifteen fuckin years in Barlinnie. Do you want me tae end up in the tin pale an aw!?” He rose with menace, as Sean felt his insides gripped with terror. “You’d better pray that none ay the hospital staff reports that they saw someone walk in aboot twenty minutes efter visitin hours. You better pray that this shit doesnae go south, cause if it does, if I get fucked up all because you had better things tae dae than get through those doors at the time I told you to, you’ll be dealt with, family or no fuckin family. Think yer a big man jumpin aboot flashin the cash, takin aw that ching? Dinnae forget Ah’m the one who makes aw this possible! The money, the drugs, the birds, Ah’m the one who lines they pockets, ME!”
“Ah-ah know that Uncle Dougie,” stuttered Sean.
“If it wisnae fer me ye’d be just like the rest of thum. A lowlife scumbag, hangin aboot street corners, you and fuckin Willie! Takin smack every day, an stealin off yer ain!”
Sean felt himself flinch as Dougie stepped forward and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eye. “You’ve got a clever head on those shoulders, use it.”
“Aye Uncle Dougie. Ah will. Ah promise...”
“Ah cannae have unreliable people behind me. Stakes are too high son.”
“Nae mair fuck ups Uncle Dougie, ye can count on me, ah promise.”
Dougie stared through him with stony eyes, before easing off to Sean’s relief.
“Sit.”
Sean sat down with caution, unnerved at Dougie’s switch like changing of the guard. After Dougie took a swig from the bottle of whisky he passed it to Sean who glugged it back graciously, feeling it ease his paranoia some.
“Been speakin tae John Spencer over the last few days. Turns out there’s a hefty shipment of Pakistani Smack comin intae Scotland. Far purer than the pharmaceutical shite we’re used tae gettin. Johns gettin edgy about lookin after so much ay it fer any longer than he needs tae, wants tae get it offloaded quick.” Dougie sat forward. “A far stronger product, at a seriously knocked down price Sean. This is a fucking goldmine.” Sean watched Dougie’s greedy eyes mulling over the profits at stake, as he wondered why he was being made privy to such high level chat.
“We can't hang about an risk missin the boat though. Ah want you an Willie tae go an pick it up an bring it through.” Sean gulped.
“An Ah want ye both tae run the distribution.”
“Both of us?”
“Aye. Its time tae move ye up son. Willie knows how tae cut the stuff and handle the dealers, easy enough fer ye tae pick it up but there’s gonnae be far too much ay it fer him tae handle on is own. An Ah don’t trust a Lockhart wae that kindae weight. So that’s why Ah’ve decided tae bring you in. Ye’s can run it together.”
“Ah-Ah dinnae ken what tae say.”
“How about, aye?”
“Of course Uncle Dougie. Like Ah says ye can count on me.”
“Good. Now what ye waitin fer, git yer arse through there. Have a drink. Enjoy yerself.” Dougie grinned. “You’s have got somethin tae celebrate as well now.”
9
The jagged black fabric scratched and rubbed at Billy’s face as he pulled the balaclava over his head in the back of a rusty old van at the back of Pilton AstroTurf. They had made a united decision that the balaclavas were necessary, given the fact there would be at least nine witnesses on that pitch, and anyway they hadn’t cost a bolt. Joe Harrison had managed to conceal them within his Reebok hoodie, with the dopey old shop tender at Leith Army Store none the wiser earlier that day.
Billy had been as surprised as the rest of the young team when Kevin MacDonald had resurfaced, swaggering about Pilton, boasting about his conquest a month earlier. Well there were no glue fumes, or merrydown to confuse matters this time around. Billy was stone cold sober, as was George and everyone else in that van, with nothing but adrenaline, nerves, and the thought of revenge to spur them on, on MacDonald’s own turf as well.
As they took to the pitch Billy clocked him amidst the shouts and screams. He was doubled over, coughing up phlegm, and mopping sweat from his brow as they darted towards him. Billy’s vision was just fine this time around. All he could see was one Kevin MacDonald, not two or three, as the terrified Piltoner tried in vain to pull his broad frame up the fencing, with all colour draining from his panicked features. Billy plunged him as hard as he could right in the arse, and by the time he had been dragged down to the Astroturf by his hair he had been sliced down his arms, under his armpit, and down his two calves as they circled him like a group of small piranhas, taking pieces at will.
Billy stood, poised, as George prised open Macdonald’s arms with force, before crouching over him and slashing him right down his face as he kicked and struggled in vain. MacDonald’s demented girlfriend screamed her lungs out from the sidelines as they slowly calmed their assault. He turned onto his side, writhing about, his ripped old Stranglers T-shirt now drenched in blood as his teeth gnashed in the night air, with condensation coming in bursts.
Wee Jimmy Thomson stepped up to the fencing and pushed his face against it, aiming a cold stare through the mesh at Kevin MacDonald’s distraught girlfriend, silencing her in an instant, the screams replaced by silent terror.
As they turned to
leave, Billy looked about the pitch for any sign of the rest of the two teams, but there was none, with a streak of vomit and the scattered contents of an Umbro sports bag the only things left of them.
They banged their fists against the side of the van, denting it as hard as they could in unified glory as Danny Walker drove it away from the crime scene. Word soon got out that the Muirhouse young team were coming of age.
Another 4 years later...
10
Billy could barely make out any blue in and around his black pupils in the mirror behind the optics as he muscled in to the front of the bar and demanded a round at Carbolic Frolic. He cringed as Vanilla Ice came on the speakers, before cringing some more as he took in the sight of several boys dancing about in their massive, baggy jeans and tie-dye tops like complete fannies. They had no grit, no balls. They wouldn’t dare set foot anywhere near Pennywell Shopping Centre on a Saturday night, or even a Tuesday afternoon for that matter. They were fresh faced, sheltered and untouched by the hardships of life. As Billy turned back to the mirror behind the optics he took in his own sharp features. Intense, fierce, hardened, as he swept back his blonde curtained hair and felt the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand on end from the speed. Mummy and Daddy would no doubt pay for their college fees, their houses, then later on their weddings too, but Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t buy them the gold chains that hung round his neck, resting loosely against a skin-tight Calvin Klein T-shirt that showed more style than any of those phantoms could shake a stick at.
It was 1991 and fashion was changing rapidly, but Billy’s stayed the same. Smart, tight fitting Levis, none of these baggy jeans, and smart, simple, well made designer shirts and T-shirts all the way. The base he had gubbed half an hour earlier was coming on strong and by the time the barman came back with two pints and two vodka and cokes he was bobbing his own head to Ice Ice Baby as his leg rattled away, his jaw chomping with force at the three Wrigley’s he had stuffed in his mouth moments earlier. He nodded his head at the barman with a hint of aggro as he gathered up the round and barged his way through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor.
Pure Angst Page 4
