Pure Angst

by Stephen Scarcliffe

  George had barely noticed him as he approached. He was standing there fixated on the huge tits of Lucy, a red-headed nurse who looked like she would give you a diddy ride you’d never forget. As Billy handed out the drinks he turned to his own focus for the night, Cherie, an office bird in a sleek backless dress, with blood red lipstick, a devilish smile and frizzy blonde hair. What a body.

  “There ye go gorgeous.”

  “Better no be spiked.” She flashed a cheeky grin and he grinned back as he sipped his pint.

  “Nae need fer that is there?”

  “Awfully sure of yerself you eh?”

  Billy laughed as he took in the strobes that were sending the rushes up the back of his neck into overdrive. Wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, that was for sure. He checked his watch anxiously, wondering where the rest of the cavalry was. The job should have been done and dusted by now and he was down to his last fiver. He realised he needed a cash injection, and fast. She didn’t look the type to hang around for long otherwise.

  “So what is it ye said ye did again?”

  “Construction. Me and George run our own firm. Set up jobs all around Edinburgh, eh. Got a couple of our boys comin along any moment. They’ve been on a joab the night just along the road.”

  “Aw aye doin what?”

  The job Billy was talking about was the mugging of a known high roller who had been taking thousands on a weekly basis in the casino just off Lothian Road. It was a casino they had been scoping out for a couple of weeks and by now they knew roughly what time he would leave and what route he would take home. It was just another of many ploys to make money from one week to the next. Wee Jimmy practically lived off stolen credit and switch card details. Joe had a line on pirate videos that proved popular in the local boozers till he was kicked out for violating the instructions on everyone’s latest hired tape cassette. Billy’s strength lay in the planning and delivery of house and shop break-ins. George on the other hand split his time between collecting debts for his old man and getting up to this and that with the rest of the Muirhousers. Between the lot of them there was always some kind of scheme in the pipeline.

  As Billy moved in for the kill, having softened her up with his relentless speed-fuelled chat, wee Jimmy appeared out of nowhere, puffing and panting, his freckled forehead red with sweat. The moment was ruined.

  “Ye fancy giein us a minute?”

  “There’s been a problem,” said Jimmy.

  “Eh?”

  “We tried tae catch the cunt but he wis too fuckin fast.”

  Billy pushed a confused looking Cherie with a tweak of her arse before taking Jimmy to the side, where a frantic looking Joe was already explaining to George.

  “Dinnae tell me yous fucked it up?” said Billy, prompting Joe to stop in his tracks. They looked at one another before looking sheepishly back at Billy and George. Billy threw his head upwards, staring at the ceiling in disbelief as the implications of the fuck-up sank in.

  “Ah’m tryin tae get a ride here, Ah’m doon tae ma last fuckin fiver. Ah wis countin on that fuckin dough!”

  “Me too,” George said as he stamped his heavy size ten with frustration.

  “Aye awrite fer yous, sittin in here bevyin on while we dae the dirty work eh?” said Joe bitterly.

  “It wis a two man joab, ye said it yersel! This was yours Joe, yours an Jimmy’s, an yous would ay taken the lion’s share an all. But now there’s fuck all fer any cunt. Fuck!”

  “Cunt how dae ye think Ah feel? Ah would have been doon at the pro’s right now gettin ma welt sooked. Instead Ah’m standin here without a bolt, starin at yous cunts,” said Jimmy.

  Billy glanced over at Cherie and Lucy, who appeared to be growing restless.

  “Fuck it.” He swaggered over, riding on an impulse that was bulging as heavily as what was inside his pants. By the time he surfaced after whispering in her ear, she had an expression on her face that suggested she wasn’t impressed.

  “Do you think I’m some kind of tart?”

  He laughed out loud. “Only windin ye up darlin.”

  She smiled. “Get us another drink and we’ll see.”

  “BILLY!” He turned his head as he heard Jimmy’s yell. By the time he bounced back over to the lads the mood had changed.

  “Here! Just dipped the pocket ay some fannie at the bar. Piece eh piss! Cunt had 60 quid in his wallet,” said Jimmy as he handed him a score.

  “Jimmy Ah could fuckin kiss ye ya ugly wee bastard! Perfect timin!”

  Billy’s luck had taken a rapid upswing, and so had the music as The La’s belted out “There she goes”. As he stood at the bar anxiously waiting for his two drinks, he felt the rushes circulating again around his neck area now that he was able to relax. He was conscious it was George’s round, but George was too busy snecking the face off of Lucy and Billy didn’t have time to hang about. The note would cover a pint and vodka, with hopefully enough left to cover a taxi back to his flat in Muirhouse where he would bang the arse off Cherie till the sun came up. Speed cock had never been too much of an issue for Billy. He’d heard friends moaning about it but if anything, for Billy the good old Lou Reed had the opposite effect, with the only downside being a frustrating difficulty when it came to the vital climax. As he turned, his face dropped as he noticed three bouncers circling Joe and Jimmy.

  Fer fuck sssss...

  “4.20 please,” said the barman.

  Billy slammed the fiver down on the bar, grabbed the two drinks and prepared himself.

  “Listen we have it on good information that your friend stole someone’s wallet. It was witnessed, and it’s been reported at the door,” said the bouncer as his colleagues stood behind him with their arms firmly crossed.

  “Well where’s yer proof?” said Billy, as he locked his hands behind his back defiantly.

  “If he lets me search him, I’ll have my proof. If he hasn’t taken it he’s got nothin tae hide has he?”

  “No danger. Your no searchin nae cunt. Ah havnae stolen fuck all.”

  Billy turned and watched his hopes of a ride for the night slowly but surely smoking away. Cherie was staring on in disgust, as the dog’s abuse spilled from Jimmy’s angry lips like second nature. As if the fact he had lifted a wallet right out of someone’s pocket wasn’t enough to put her off. George reappeared from the toilets, wondering what all the palaver was about.

  “Listen, I don’t need to put up with this shite. If you won’t let me search you then we’re gonnae need to keep you all here while we phone the police and report a theft.”

  “Here girls, dinnae listen tae him. We’ve no stolen fuck all. Been stitched up!” shouted Billy, but he knew it was pointless. That ship had sailed.

  “Listen, ma mate says he never stole no fuckin wallet, so he never stole no fuckin wallet. Now thanks tae yous cunts ma ride’s just gone oot the windae, so what we gonnae dae aboot it?”

  Said George. The head bouncer stepped in front of him.

  “Listen, I’m losing my bloody patience with you bams. My colleagues are tryin tae be nice about this, but I’m no so nice. So here’s the score, if that wallet’s not in my hand in five seconds with all the money intact, then forget the police, I’ll be servin up my own justice.”

  Billy exploded with laughter at the statement. He was some size, standing about six four with large sloping shoulders that formed a pyramid shape, atop which sat an egg shaped bald head with a hook-like nose that was just itching to be burst. He reminded Billy of the big angry headmaster from that Pink Floyd video, but his cringy statement could only draw one comparison.

  “Who’s this, the big boss man?” said Billy, as Joe edged forward in his usual goofy fashion, keen to get involved.

  “Aye man all the way fae Cobb County Georgia eh?!” Joe’s laughter was cut short by a heavy spade-like hand that clattered his jaw sideways. The bouncer’s smugness didn’t last long as George launched himself at him with a powerful head butt on the chin which sent him sprawling backward into h
is stunned accomplices. Within seconds they all waded in, sparking a full scale brawl that sent bystanders diving for cover. It careered its way to the front doors, where wee Jimmy got himself launched over a table before vaulting back over like a relentless little terrier whilst Billy used the heavy red rope to clatter another bouncer with the steel railing that was supposed to divide off the queue.

  After the bouncers managed to force them out into the street Billy stood in front of them with his arms outstretched in defiance. They watched as the head doorman’s colleagues restrained him with great difficulty as he kicked and screamed at the doorway. The moment of glory was short-lived however, as the familiar sight of a meat wagon powering it’s way down Princes street prompted them to scatter in all different directions.

  11

  Billy flew down George Street as fast as he could with two bizzies on his tail, the thought of a night in the cells, speeding out his nut providing ample motivation. After snatching a look over his shoulder to see he had created enough distance for himself he took a sharp turn onto North Castle Street and zigzagged across the road, forcing a black Volkswagen Golf to halt in his tracks and beep its horns as he stuck his V’s up in passing. After taking a right onto Queen Street he spotted an opportunity as the long row of sand-stoned terraces with their black fencing came into view. The image of some sorry bastard landing arse first on top of one of the similarly blunt spikes at Flora Stevenson’s primary flashed through his mind as he fixed his hands to the spaces in between and propelled himself over. Luckily it wasn’t to be his fate as he landed on the concrete at the bottom, the moment of hard impact taking him off his feet as he collapsed to the deck next to the bins. He lay there, puffing and panting as the sweet sound of the two bizzies flying past registered. He pulled himself up against the wall, conscious he needed to keep out of view in case anyone from the property had heard or seen him.

  He emerged cautiously after a good fifteen minutes of waiting and ensuring the danger was gone, breathing a sigh of relief the moment he landed on his feet at the other side of the fencing. After brushing his Levi’s down he made his way round the corner and back onto North Castle street before stopping dead the moment he saw her on the other side of the road. She was standing there in a fitted white top and tight blue denims with a small matching denim coat. Long tousled brunette hair, a shapely figure with child-bearing hips, and long legs. But it was her bright shining eyes that were sucking him in. He hesitated. She looked too good to even consider acknowledging a scumbag like him, and yet she had flashed more than one glance across the road at him as he stood there, dumbstruck.

  “Are you lost?” She shouted across at him. He felt his face glow, for once lost for words.

  “Eh, naw! Naw Ah’m jist.” She pointed to her earlobes and raised her hands in the air as the sound of passing traffic rendered his words pointless. He wandered across the road, feeling awkward, a bag of nerves. There wasn’t a hint of badness in her eyes, just pure honesty and kindness the likes of which he had never encountered. He stood in the heat of her gaze, feeling exposed, unworthy, as if he would melt away to nothing but a puddle of muck if he stood there too long.

  “Ah, I’m Billy.” She shook his hand lightly just with her fingers, before eyeing him curiously.

  “Lyndsay. So...”

  “How ye doin awrite?”

  “I’m fine.” She said in soft tones, before peering about the street. He was losing her, he needed to step up his game, and fast.

  “So, whats a stunning Bird, Ah, Ah mean girl like you doin standin in town on her ain? You should have a queue ay guys right up tae George street there.”

  “Cheesy.” She chuckled awkwardly. Shot down in flames. “But nice all the same.”

  Phew...

  “If you really want to know, I’ve been stood up.”

  “What absolute clown has stood you up?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she smiled, revealing dimples that had been obscured till now.

  “Ah’m serious. He needs a slap whoever he is.”

  “Doesn’t really matter now does it. What’s your excuse anyway?”

  “Aw me? Ah- Ah lost ma pals.” She giggled.

  “Lost your pals? You look a bit too old to be losing your pals? They get lucky and leave you stranded?” He grinned.

  “Naw, nowt like that. Ah-Ah dont suppose ye fancy grabbin a...” She looked over his shoulder as a taxi pulled up behind.

  “That’s my taxi.” He stood there trying to find the words as she stepped past him and climbed in, but simply didn’t have it in him to ask if he could join her. Who was he kidding? She was far, far too good a sort for him.

  Aye that’s right. Too good fer you. Waster that ye are, dinnae kid yerself...

  “Fuck you Dad.” He muttered to himself as he watched the taxi moving off, her smiling face disappearing before him. He turned with bowed head, stuffing his hands inside his pockets, wondering where the rest of the gang had got to, and whether or not they had been as lucky as him. He stopped mid stride as a car horn sounded, and turned to see the taxi was at the bottom of the street.

  He ran as fast as his legs would take him to the sight of the unknown beauty still smiling at him as she wound down the window.

  His heart leapt in his chest as she handed him a piece of scrap paper with the name Lyndsay and a telephone number scribbled underneath.

  “Not in the mood tonight. But give me a phone and who knows. Maybe some other time.”

  Then like that the taxi was gone. He marched back up the street, feeling so light on his feet and swept away in the moment that if the meat wagon was to pull up in front of him right now and whisk him away to St Leonards it wouldn’t matter a fuck, because he had her number. Lyndsay, the most stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on.

  12

  George had been doing the collections and enforcing rackets for his old man since the age of seventeen. At first it had proven a rush, and a major ego boost. Going out with big Uncle Goggs, rattling cages, proving his worth as a Donaldson to be reckoned with, but as he kicked a rusty old bicycle frame out of his path, with shite and litter surrounding him on either side at the foot of Burney’s Court, he realised he was growing restless. The money wasn’t great to say the least and whilst Dougie had him set up with a wage at the bookies, at the age of twenty he wanted more. He had been hitting the gym the past couple of years as a way of trying to keep his stomach down, this nagging insecurity having proven a secret thorn in the side since youth. The base amphetamine he ingested on an average weekend bender was another strong contender in the weight control stakes. His downfall was the ability to throw back ten to twenty pints or more over the weekend at a rate friends and family found staggering, not to mention his penchant for the chippies. Nevertheless, he soldiered on, challenging himself on how many 60/70/80 kilo reps he could hammer out on the bench press, and how many of the same weight or more he could squat. What he really enjoyed however was rattling those bags and pads. Big Phil McKenzie was always trying to get him along to his boxing club in Leith, figuring that if he got half a chance to mould that ferocious brute power into a sharp well tuned machine he might have a champion on his hands. George wasn’t overly fussed though. What Phil didn’t grasp was that George had scored more KOs up the town and on the streets than Iron Mike himself and that was where George’s interests lay, on the streets and within the underworld, not in a boxing ring. But George wasn’t all brawn, he had more than that to offer, and he was anxious not to fall into the category of “The Muscle” like Goggs had over the years.

  As they stood at the door of the latest money dodging chancer on the list, Derek Rennie, he realised he would need to make his feelings known to the old man and pronto. “So, who is this cunt?”

  “Derek Rennie. Full blown junky, been on it fer aboot ten year eh, right fuck up. Used tae punt gear fer yer auld man years ago on account of the fact he was shovellin so much intae his veins.”

  “Ten fuckin year man.”

 
“Aw aye, this cunt’s a veteran. His bird Shirley croaked it off an overdose a few months back. Cunt came hame an found her lyin face doon in a pool ay her ain shite, nae colour or nowt. Best ay it is, he wis makin a good go ay givin up the stuff at the time an aw. He’d started goin tae some church up the road. They had um involved in some project, helpin cunts that had been in his situation. What’s the first thing he does when he finds her? Straight tae Ryan Lockhart lookin fer some gear. Since then he’s been takin it non stop. Problem is now he’s that fucked up oan the stuff he can barely even gather is thoughts the gither as tae how he’s gonnae git is hands oan is next hit. Cunt’s fucked eh.”

  “What’s the score wae Willie nowadays? Dinnae see um fer dust an when ye do he looks like a fuckin vampire.”

  “Aw dinnae get me started on him George son. Spendin aw that time wae the Lockharts shiftin gear that’s what’s done it. Once some cunt gets the taste...”

  “Ah hear he’s joined the darts club now, is that right?”

  “Aye but no a fuckin word tae yer auld man George. Dougie would go crazy if he found oot. Ye ken what he’s like. Willie’s been like a son tae um aw is life.”

  “Aye,” George reflected as Gordon thumped his fist against the front door several more times.

  “Just you make sure you stay away fae that stuff awright? Use yer fuckin heid son, it’s bad news ye ken that.”

  “Nae chance, dinnae worry aboot me.”

  “Deek! Open up!” Gordon thumped the door with authority several more times. “NOW!”

  Gordon waited several seconds. “Open up now or Ah’m gonnae boot this fuckin door down Derek! Right!”