“Are you gonnae make this a problem?”
Billy didn’t answer.
“Ah says: dae you have a problem wae anythin I’ve just said?”
“Would it matter if Ah did?”
“Ah’m gonnae gie ye a few days grace then Gordon here comes round tae go over the particulars an collect our share. So I’d suggest ye get yer house in order in that time frame an work out who’s due what.”
As Billy sat back in his chair he locked eyes with Gordon who had been staring a hole right through his head. “Dougie Ah’m gonnae go through him the now if he doesnae look away, Ah swear it.”
“Come oan Gordon, save it. Aw aye an dinnae ferget Ah’ve got a few acquaintances workin fer the Police Department, that would give their right arm tae ken who wis behind that job, if ye catch ma drift? So I’d advise ye come up wae our share in a timely fashion, gents.”
Billy smoked away furiously at a large joint as he thundered towards the shopping centre later that day. He was still speeding out his tree from the three wraps he’d ingested earlier and he was chomping vigorously on several Wrigley’s he’d stuffed inside his mouth, merging peculiarly with the taste of the joint. He was too furious to even notice. “Fuckin joke! Fuckin joke man. Forty percent he’s wantin, forty fuckin percent! What right has he got tae demand that? Threatenin tae shop us tae the CI fuckin D! Greedy schemin bastard.”
“Come oan Billy ye cannae say that aboot here man.” Danny Walker looked about the shopping centre nervously.
“Ah’ll say what Ah fuckin want.”
“He says forty percent aye?” said Jimmy.
“Aye.”
“Well who’s tae say what forty percent is? Fuckin just bum them off wae any auld number. Stick in fifty quid each. How are they meant tae ken? Fuck it.”
“Jimmy, chances are they’ve found out the cost ay what’s gone missin. Specially If he has cunts on the inside, Dougie’s no daft. He wouldnae make a move like this waeout havin planned it first. No be usin that wee prick again anyway. We'll be seein him at some point.” He pointed at Joe accusingly. “Wernae half in a hurry tae get ootae there you, eh? Just leave me tae take the heat while you sit there starin at the groond?” Billy shook his head in disappointment and looked away.
“Fuck off. What am Ah meant tae dae? It’s Dougie an Gordon we’re talkin aboot here. Ah dinnae like this any mair than any other cunt, but at the same time Ah dinnae wantae end up getting cut up or nailed tae a fuckin wall. Cause that’s the kindae things they dae.”
“Aye the whole area’s shit scared ay thum eh? That’s how they get tae walk about an dae what they want, through fear and silence. Cause nae cunt’s got the baws tae stand up tae thum. A whole area ay shitebags. Well Ah’m no feart ay thum.”
“Well goan then Billy. Go through one ay their doors, take one ay thum oan an let’s see how far ye git afterwards.”
“Aye Joe cause you’d be backing me up right enough eh?” Billy rolled his eyes at Harrison before looking away as he blew hard at the end of the joint to try to stop it from sideburning.
“Billy you ken Ah’ve got yer back. You ken Ah’m in fer ye wae jist about anyone, but no wae these cunts. There’s a reason they run this area. These cunts are serious, man. You ken that as well as Ah dae. We aw ken the stories, man.”
“Well when are we gonnae get serious eh?” Billy looked around at the faces of his friends one by one. “We jist gonnae stay small time forever? Oan the steal, getting bullied aboot by auld men that should have had their day a long fuckin time ago?”
“Fuck that,” said wee Jimmy as he spat harshly on the concrete.
“Exactly Jimmy, fuck that. In Dougie’s own words we’re no young laddies any mair. We’re men, an it’s aboot time we started actin like it. Bout time we started takin responsibility.”
“What ye sayin Billy?” asked Danny Walker.
“Ah’m sayin let um have is forty percent. Let thum think they’re in control. That they’re the big shots. Then it’s time fer a change. Where’s the big money nowadays eh?” Billy held up his joint as a symbol of what he was saying. “Drugs. That’s where the real cunts make their money, no fae stealin. Ye turn over a jewellery store ye’ve got a bit cash tae dae ye a few weeks, then it’s gone, kaput. Then ye spend the next however many weeks searchin fer the next score, an scrapin by, while ye sign on an pick up yer dole check. What kindae an existence is that? Wae drugs on the other hand yer talkin steady cash flow, status, respect.”
“Dougie’s got this whole area sewn up Billy, who would we sell tae? Hate tae rain on yer parade like,” said Danny cautiously.
“Who says we need tae sell it here? We start off small, elsewhere if need be, build our custom, then once we’re makin good money we can sell it wherever the fuck we like. It’s no fuckin rocket science laddies. What choice dae we have? Got enough bodies behind us, let’s put something together an make some real fuckin dough.”
“What about George?”
“If there's money tae be made George will be there, trust me. How much dae ye think he’s makin fer is auld man? Fuckin pennies! Heard um moanin about it enough. Bottom line is, first things first, we need a supply, one not connected tae Dougie. So let’s every cunt keep our ears tae the groond.”
14
George ignored the bitter rain hammering against his helmet as he pulled it off his head and climbed off his motorbike on Glasgow’s Sauchiehall street. The streets were busy, dozens of folks out to try and scavenge what they could from the last of the January Sales, braving the cold and the rain. Clearly George’s outburst of frustration had achieved the desired effect with Dougie. All of a sudden he was being invited through to sit in on the arrangement of a large scale drug deal, holding court with John Spencer, the guy that as far as they were concerned was at the top of the chain. George felt calm and relaxed, eager to take another step up the ladder. He often heard the older generation remarking about how well his head was screwed on, and the fact he carried a wisdom that went beyond his years. George didn’t need to mouth off or act the big shot, because everyone knew what he was capable of. This was the reason why the Bull didn’t and never had done blades, a fact he prided himself in. With hands like fucking sledgehammers, what was the need? Violence aside, George was a good observer. He had learned plenty about the business from a young age simply by keeping his gob shut and his ears open, and now he felt it was time to start putting it into practice.
A wasted Willie Graham emerged from the back seat of Sean’s BM, dragging himself out by his hands, his drawn in face and vacant eyes hidden beneath a Reebok cap, his light blue lacoste jumper looking too big for him all of a sudden. He still had enough energy to aim a lazy feint at Georges stomach, prompting George to throw a couple back, grinning as Willie acted knocked out against the side of the car, his arms akimbo.
“Ye got me big boy. Sat oan me. Suffocated.”
“Wouldnae take much, look at ye, aw skin an bone,” joked George as Willie flung an arm around his shoulder. They stopped there smiling and joking as a grim faced Dougie emerged from the passenger side.
“Enough ay the carryin on like bairns when we get tae the boozer you two. An you.” Dougie aimed a stiff finger at Willie. “Fuckin smarten up. Driftin in an ootae consciousness aw journey.”
“Heavy night Dougie, what can Ah say.”
“Aye an it will be a much heavier night the night if you show me the fuck up the day. Should have bloody well left ye at Harthill service station.”
“Am good. Dinnae worry aboot me.”
“Better be.”
As Willie walked off in front with Sean who was compulsively checking his watch every few seconds, Dougie leaned in close to George.
“Time tae make the intro then son, you ready? This is what ye’ve been pinin for after all. More responsibility an all that”
“Course I’m ready. Why wouldnt I be?”
“No reason.” Said Dougie as he pulled his raincoat hood up over his head. “Jist be careful what
ye wish for, eh.” George stopped in his tracks, his father’s words rankling.
“Whats that supposed tae mean?”
“Jist a figure of speech son. Mon, we’re late.”
They reached the pub within 5 minutes of negotiating Glasgow’s grid like city centre streets, passing by two young girls with matching buns held up by multi-coloured scrunchies, fighting over a Walkman and its headphones as they went, trying their hardest to keep it sheltered from the downpour. The girls stopped their tussle as Sean passed by, as if lightning had struck right in front of them.
“You’re tidy by the way!” shouted one of them before bursting into a fit of giggles as he passed by and into the Variety Bar, aiming a smirk over his shoulder at George as they went.
“Mair your age Georgie boy?”
“Aye, right ya cunt.”
They were met by large, brown, marble pillars, a dusty bar, black leather seats that stretched round circular tables. A proper old man’s joint George thought to himself. They made their way through the thick smoke and huddled circles of drinkers supping their pints of lager and bitter as Elton John’s “Don’t let the sun go down” played out from the juke-box. George had to take a second look when he saw him sitting at the end of the bar. He was perched on a bar stool, studying a paper through stern eyes as he puffed on a thin rollie, a whiskey on the rocks sitting in front of him. He had on a faded brown Corduroy coat. His thinning jet black hair was slicked backwards on top, with shades of grey coming through on the sides that extended into matted sideburns. He blended in effortlessly, just like a regular punter, someone’s old man, popping in for a pint after finishing his shift at the steel mill, but this was anything but your average punter. This was a guy that ran a multi-million pound Heroin enterprise with tentacles that stretched through to Edinburgh. A guy that ran a slew of local businesses, car-washes, scrap-yards and more, one of the most feared and respected gangsters in the city. George had half expected silk shirts, Rolexes, flash and swagger, but he realised now that was just naive. That was films, this was real life. This was a guy that clearly wasn’t interested in drawing attention to himself, and more at ease doing his business in murky corners and dark shadows. John Spencer stood up as Dougie approached and synched in a firm handshake before introducing him to a stocky, hard looking gentleman with a goatee beard and a tall wiry young guy in a grey hoodie and jogging bottoms with a baseball cap on probably not much older than George. He had a hawk nose, and small slits for eyes. Had the appearance of one of those English bull terriers with the long white faces, ugly fucking things. George clocked the unnerving expression on his old man’s face as John Spencer embraced Sean in a hearty hug. He knew the deep insecurity his old man was feeling around the imminent release of his older brother David, George’s uncle, Sean’s Dad, after 14 years inside for armed robbery. He knew it was David who brokered the initial meet between Dougie and John Spencer from his jail cell a decade earlier, a move in the interest of both parties. For Dougie it was a chance to progress from “hard man” and serious robber, to hard drugs and kingpin status. A steady supply rolling along the M8, and with it a consolidated control of the northside of Edinburgh having seen off the threat of his main rivals the Mcdonalds from Pilton. For John Spencer it was a chance to expand his growing empire into new territories, having outgrown his north Glasgow stronghold. In the middle, of course, you had David, who had certainly earned throughout his time inside thanks to the move, however, George knew all too well that his father was a power hungry control freak who after 10 years of lording it over the streets of Muirhouse, his streets, had absolutely no intention of giving up half of his empire to his big brother upon release. The problem with this picture of course was Dougie and John was mainly business, David on the other hand? He and John had done time together, shared a cell, they were close. And George knew it was precisely this close relationship that was giving Dougie sleepless nights, as much as he would claim otherwise.
“This is my son, George,” said Dougie. George nodded his head and shook his hand. He was struck by a winding scar that started behind John Spencer’s ear and ended at the corner of his mouth, all the while wondering what the other guy looked like, and if he was still breathing. Spencer had eyes that could charm you one second before turning to stone the next. Might not have looked much on the surface, but George could see all he needed to in those eyes.
“Ye no sayin hi tae yer Uncle John, Willie son?”
“Pleasure as always John.”
“Christ what’s wae these baseball caps eh?” John pointed to the laddie next to him. Pasty faced, angry looking, like he had a massive chip on his shoulder he couldnt get rid of. “He can git awey wae it cause ay his age, but fer fuck's sake yer a man Willie, an ye come intae ma bar wearin a cap? Fuckin act like a man eh? No a kid.”
A nervy silence descended as John Spencer aimed a cold, unrelenting stare at Willie, who reached for the cap with shaking hands.
“Ah’m sorry John Ah’ll take it off eh. Didnae mean any disrespect.”
“Hey Ah’m only playin wae ye! Wear a fuckin tea cosy fer all I care. Ye’ll still look jist as ugly.”
After Spencer ordered a round of drinks in, talk quickly turned to particulars regarding the next consignment of Heroin scheduled to make its way onto the streets of Muirhouse. Then, having hashed out all the details and put it to bed for the moment, talk turned to a new topic altogether.
“These junkies arnae gonnae be around forever,” said Spencer. “Their a dyin breed. Ecstasy, now there’s the future. Kids are gaun crazy fer it, aw that electronic shite? Nows the time tae get involved, while the markets wide open, nows the time tae create a presence, ye know? Move with the trends, diversify, somethin you’ve always had a dab hand fer Dougie let’s face it.” Spencer jerked a thumb towards the laddie, a relative of some kind perhaps, looked like he was being kept close, groomed for the business. “Young Alan here sells thousands ay thum, him an is pals oan the estates, movin in on all these raves and clubs tae, spreadin like wildfire in’t it?”
“What does it do to you?” said Sean. “Out of curiosity.”
“Fuckin dynamite by the way,” replied Alan. “Like nothin ye’ve ever experienced. Just a half a wee tablet an yer pure melted aw night man. Dancin, talkin non stop, shaggin, whatever ye wantae use it fer, like the ultimate drug. Aw ye need is wan, or half a wan, an thats you till the sun comes up. It’s that fuckin strong man. Everywans gaun pure mad fer it by the way. Jist makes ye feel like pure love.”
“Awrite, you,” said John awkwardly. “Dinnae be feelin too much love fer yer fellow man or we’ll have a problem.” Alan laughed nervously as he scratched his neck.
“Gettin big through in Edinburgh tae. Now’s the time tae jump on, ride the swell of the wave,” said John.
“A lot of money in it by the sounds of things Uncle Dougie,” said Sean.
“Definitely. Sounds like the winds of change are blowing.”
“Indeed,” said John. “Biggest drug craze since the smack at the start ay the 80's. Difference is this comes without that stigma. The fuckin griminess, mucky fingernails, needles, junkies, goin intae yerself, detaching. This is a party drug, more accessible, brings folk out their shells ye know? Has the opposite effect.”
“Sounds like another way ay escapin the fuckin rape of a Tory Government,” remarked Dougie as he sipped his whiskey.
“Heroin helps thum escape. Ecstasy? Helps thum rebel, and stand up, so they think at least. Give the bastards a big old noisy fuckin headache, drivin thum mad. Tories would probably prefer they were on Heroin. Dyin slowly, quietly, fadin out,” John replied. Dougie shrugged his shoulders.
“Rebel, escape, party, pass out, all equates tae the same thing where we’re concerned doesn’t it?” Dougie turned to Willie who was drifting again, his tired eyes closing in on themselves, spaced out on a cocktail of smack and downers that was rapidly getting the better of him. Like the symbol of that sleeping enemy, fading into obscurity George thought to hi
mself. Sean shook his head as he fiddled with his cufflinks, clearly feeling deeply unimpressed himself at his best pals sliding descent, especially in existing company.
“Willie? Ye with us?” piped up Sean, losing patience as George kicked him subtly, knowing that if he didn’t buck up his ideas he’d be getting dragged out the back by Dougie.
“W-What?”
“We were saying, it sounds like there’s a lot of money in those pills?” Sean said slowly and deliberately as Dougie looked on with gritted teeth, clearly aggrieved at the poor showing.
“Aw aye, sounds good, aye.”
“Heavy night kiddo?” said John.
“Somethin like that John. Am good though. All good.” He wiped at his face.
“Maybe yer man could do wae a wee half? Bring um back tae the land of the livin,” Alan said with a sneer.
“Aye, goan then. Test the goods. Let me stick it up Thatcher’s farter fae all sides,” Said Willie, rousing a barrage of laughter that seemed to ease the frustration at his poor showing. “See, I am listenin, dinnae worry aboot me.”
“Sounds like somethin I could run?” said George, tired of taking a backseat, sensing the time was right to put himself out there. As all eyes turned on him, he put his pint down on the bar, lifting his head up above his shoulders, rising out of his own shell as he crossed his arms, striking a stance of power, eager to make a strong impression. “The ecstasy that is. Could put a mob together to run it, no bother. Move in on those events at Ingleston I’ve heard about, take over. If no-ones controllin the market yet who’s gonnae stop us?”
“One step at a time,” said Dougie before glaring at George. “Baby steps.”
“Cannae fault these young ones fer their tenacity Dougie eh? Showin he’s got ambition tae carry on the family name.”
Dougie slowly nodded his head as he stared into the bottom of his whiskey in a ponderous fashion.
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