“Sir?” said the croupier, bringing his attention back to the game.
He sized up his options in a matter of seconds before deciding it was time to go for broke. All on red, lose and he would cut his losses and go home, win and he was laughing. What the fuck was he thinking? He was so desperate to whisk Eleanor away that he was dumping all his eggs in one basket. She had him rattled, that was for sure. Should have known bringing her along was a bad move. He was starting to wonder if that tidy little piece of snatch that had the ability to raise him to attention in an instant was a bad luck omen. A fucking curse.
Fuck it...
He flung the pile down and watched as the ball tottered agonisingly round the wheel, teasing at the slots, as the sweat poured down George’s beetroot face which was glowing as red as the red he had gambled on.
“Black 33.”
“FUCK! FUCK!” George snapped. He banged a fist heavily against the table, causing several piles of chips to topple over to gasps from all around, as the other players jumped in their seats.
“Now come on sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down or...”
“Or WHAT!?”
He turned to a slick-haired high roller in a horrible Hawaiian shirt who had been puffing clouds of smoke all night.
“You an yer fucking cigar smoke putting me off! Stinkin man!”
“Steady on big chap.”
“Big chap, aye?” A hefty shove was enough to send the man tumbling off his stool, landing with a thump on his side, the air gushing out of him as the cigar bounced along the faded red carpet. George stamped on it angrily as he heard the croupier frantically radioing for back up.
All surrounding noise and fuss was instantly drowned out by the sight of Eleanor leaning over the bar exposing her cleavage to the barman as he flexed his muscles. He made a furious beeline towards them with clenched fists, having built up a head of steam now that no-one was going to stop in its tracks.
“Hey Ah’m jist havin a laugh wae um!” she said as he picked her up with ease and dumped her down several feet away, before turning his attention to the barman.
“You wae the silver fucking tongue, Ah’ll rip it oot yer throat an make ye swallow it if you dinnae wind those fucking beady eyes back in yer heid!”
“Hey what’s the problem man? We’re just talking,” he replied with a smirk on his face.
“You’re ma fuckin problem. Cunt! Look at her one mair fuckin time, Ah dare ye! You chose the wrong fuckin night and the wrong fuckin lassy pal!”
Two doormen arrived behind him. One of the men put his hand on George's arm. He shoved him away and pointed a finger in his face. “Step off, ya fuckin bam.”
“George, calm it. Ye’ll get yersel lifted!” shouted Eleanor in vain.
“Why don’t you listen to your girlfriend. Do yourself a favour and calm down!”
George turned toward Jody, a young doorman who had previously done a couple of shifts at the Vaults. “Jody, why don’t you tell that cunt who he’s dealin wae.”
Jody moved towards his colleague and whispered in his ear, causing him to back away.
“Aye, fuckin thought so. Just try an chuck me out, we’ll see what happens.” He turned his attention back to the barman who was now pressed against the back of the bar area, forcing the bottles to shake. “You, Spaniard. Fuckin El Matador. Ootside, NOW!”
“Leave it, George!” yelled Eleanor, but it was pointless.
“No so fuckin smug now are ye?”
“George, please man. Take it easy. Come back another day will ye?” said Jody.
“Ah’m no goin naewhere till that cunt behind the bar comes outside fer a square go.”
As George smacked a hand against the bar, fast losing patience, he sensed bodies behind him. He turned to face, unable to conceal the grin.
Here we fucking go...
“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived then eh?”
One of the bouncers stepped towards him with open hands. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re threatening staff and making people feel uncomfortable.”
Eleanor tugged at his arm. “Come on George, let’s leave. There’s six of them.”
“How about Ah take you outside fer a square go instead?” He nodded his head at the head doorman. “In fact Ah’ll fucking take yous all on right here.”
George snatched a heavy glass ashtray from the bar, ready to mow down anything in his path before lunging for the head bouncer’s face.
The next in line moved hesitantly towards him, catching a heavy left hand for his troubles, followed by a dull blow in the back of the head with the ashtray. He smashed the third aggressor clean in the mouth with the rim and watched on with twisted glee as his head snapped backwards, before taking a quick breath as he steadied himself.
After he let out a raging war cry, they all charged at the same time, backing him up against the bar, and just managing to hold him there kicking and screaming. The ashtray bounced to the floor as all six of the doormen forced him with great difficulty towards the doorway at the top of the stairs. As he felt the oxygen getting slowly squeezed out of him from a tight headlock, he tried his hardest to muscle out of their grip, but there were six of them, and the more he struggled the tighter the headlock became.
As they tried to force him down the stairwell, he bit down as hard as he could into the arm around his neck, forcing the bouncer to yell at the top of his voice before releasing his grip. George broke free, planting a hard headbutt right on his nose, watching him crumble backwards as his colleagues scrambled to get further up the stairs and out of harm’s way.
“MON THEN?! WHO’S FUCKIN NEXT?!”
They looked at one another as George stood there at the entrance puffing and panting, itching for more.
“Boy’s a fuckin maniac!” said one of the bouncers as Eleanor appeared at the top of the stairs screaming to be let through.
The two bouncers at the top of the steps parted as she bounded down the stairs, and tossed him his bomber jacket.
“George, let’s go! Ye’ve made yer point. None of them want any piece of it.”
He felt that explosive burst of rage slowly cooling. He looked up the stairwell, grinning at the fear in each of their eyes. These moments gave George a sense of power that no drug could rival. Hardest cunt in Edinburgh, who dared prove otherwise? The Bull had just bored a hole right through six bouncers single handed and Eleanor was right, they didn't want any part of it now.
He calmly pulled the coat over his heavy frame and brushed it down. He broke out laughing before thundering out onto Shandwick Place to the sound of the door being slammed shut and bolted behind him.
A rampant hen party dolled up like nurses came bustling past. The fat hen reminded George of most of his exploits pre-Eleanor. They obscured his view just enough for him to lose sight of the new standard. He could have sworn she’d been right by his side when he’d left.
“Eleanor!” he shouted, feeling that dreaded burst of panic in his chest, before catching sight of her stomping up Princes Street. He took after her, nearly upending a trailing hen in the process, as a car screamed to a halt in his path.
“Fuck off George! Fucking screwball,” she snapped as he caught up.
“Hud on just a minute, ye were chattin up the barman right in front of me!”
“Had tae get yer attention somehow! Didn’t know you were gonnae try and panel the guy and then take on all the bouncers! I don’t need a jealous nut job in my life, I’m sorry.”
George stopped in his tracks. “Well ken what? Ah dinnae need you either. Catch ye.”
He heard her calling out his name as he marched in the other direction back down Princes Street with the wind whistling at his ears through the black railings of the Gardens, but his pride was too dented for him to stop. She could do the chasing and grovelling. He wasn’t going to play the mug. For now, it was out of sight out of mind.
Besides, he had money to win back.
39
He cou
ld hear Davy’s loud piercing cackle as he approached the back of The Gunner after bouncing out of the taxi. Dougie had warned him against going to his uncle’s card games, said it was just a way for him to get people in his pocket. As he rammed the rest of that shite, council ching up his beak and tossed the wrap in the dirt however, Dougie’s warnings weren’t having any effect. All sense had left him. Still smarting from a hefty loss in the Rutland, he was eager to end the night on a high.
The door swung open after several knocks to reveal a paranoid Sean, looking jumpy and erratic.
“Fuck sake George, that was a fucking polis knock was it no? In ye come, man.” Sean’s eyes were pinned, darting all over the place. He looked edgy, unable to rest in his own skin. His normally sharp appearance had deteriorated in the months since Willie’s death and he looked rough and dishevelled. His shirt was covered in deep creases with the collar twisted inside out. Looked like he was seeping sweat from every pore.
He led George through to the pub where Davy was cracking jokes with big Al Godfrey the Ferryboat owner, who studied his hand.
Davy stopped what he was doing as George approached. “Dougie junior, ma wee nephew. Tae what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Was wondering if Ah could get in on the action? Took a hefty loss at the casino, wantae try an make some back.”
Davy stroked the grey jagged stubble on his pointed chin. George felt as if he was being sized up. He could see the plotting in his uncle’s eyes.
“Two hundred buy in. If ye can cover that then pull up a chair, George. Join the party.”
Davy began shuffling the cards in a rapid yet neat fashion as George took a seat, feeling the urge to cough as the thick layer of passive smoke caught the back of his throat. Felt strange seeing The Gunner so empty and dark, with just a lamp lighting up the table where the poker was taking place. Sean was standing at the end of the bar, oblivious to the game, muttering quietly under his breath as he obsessively counted the same pile of notes over and over.
“Texas Davy. That’s what they used tae call me in the joint, George,” he said proudly. “Ye’ll be familiar wae Texas hold em bein the gambler that ye are eh?”
“We’re no in Texas though are we? Can we no just play normal poker?”
Davy stopped shuffling for a second and looked up at George with a grin sneaking across his face. It was clear he thought George was out of his depth. Maybe he was; time would tell. “That’s what they played in the joint an that’s what we play here. Two card poker, simple, easy tae pick up fer beginners like.”
George grabbed the whisky bottle from the table and glugged some back, growing tired of his uncle’s patronising tones. It had been a long night and he wasn’t in the mood. “Dinnae worry about me, Uncle Davy. Just deal the cards, eh.”
“Oooohh, no nonsense here Al, eh? Jist like his old man. Dougie never was one fer small talk. Ma wee nephew’s a chip off the auld block eh.”
An hour in and George was floundering. He was now into Davy for five hundred and most of his profits had been gambled away, including Dougie’s cut. He wiped at his eyes as he felt the strain, brought on ten fold by Davy’s endless Barlinnie stories, big Al Godfrey hanging on his every word like a fucking vulture on his shoulder, nodding constantly, feeding his ego.
“What’s the matter Georgie boy, tough night?”
The sound of that high-pitched cackle pierced at George’s worn and irritable senses. He knew he should call it a day, the only thing stopping him being the thought of facing the old man empty handed. Worse still the fact half of it had gone in his uncle’s fucking pocket. He noticed Sean disappearing to the toilet again. George felt sluggish from the whisky. He needed some gear to sharpen himself up for one last run, and John’s was the best.
As he entered the toilet he heard a lighter striking several times. Two seconds later he could hear Sean coughing his lungs out, spitting on the floor.
“Sean?”
The toilet flushed, the door opened, Sean stood there looking white as a sheet, as the fumes gathered around him. That handsome face had been replaced by a twisted, gaunt looking wild-eyed stranger. It was more obvious now that they were standing nose to nose.
“What you up tae?”
“What ye daein through here?” said Sean as his eyes began darting all over the place again. George looked over Sean’s shoulder to see what he was trying to hide in the cubicle. The fumes were pungent.
“Right George, come on eh, nowt tae see here. Let’s get back through.”
Now he looked seriously rattled. Like he was desperate to cover up whatever it was. The curiosity was too much. George barged past, looked down and there it was stashed under the toilet seat. A glass pipe with charred foil through which the smoke was seeping out.
“What the fuck, Sean. Crack?”
“Ye cannae tell any cunt George Ah swear it, right?”
“How long ye been daein this shit?”
“Since Willie. Ah jist, Ah jist, fuck knows man, Ah jist need it tae escape, eh. Ah’ll get off it Ah will.”
“Escape what Sean? Cunt died ay an overdose. Got naeone tae blame but himself. He fucked it all up, now what, you jist gonnae go doon the same route aye? Get a grip man, look at the nick eh ye. Fuckin smokin crack.”
“Ah could have stopped it man. Ah could’ve.”
“Stopped what?”
“There was nothin Ah could dae, had tae happen, had tae dae it.”
“Sean yer ramblin man. What the fuck ye talkin aboot? What could’ve been stopped? What did you have tae dae?”
George grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. As Sean looked back at him with a look of brokenness that no drug could mask, the door opened to reveal Davy standing there stony-faced.
“Fuck’s goin on here?”
“Just talkin tae ma cousin is that awrite?”
“No when we’ve got a game tae play.”
As George moved past his uncle he caught him throwing Sean a seething glare. Sean had been on the brink of saying something, that was clear, and from the look on Davy's face it was something serious. George took a swig of the whisky as he sat down at the table, pondering.
Had tae dae it. Had tae happen...
He didn’t want to even imagine what those words could mean. He took another swig of the whisky and gave his spinning head a shake as Davy appeared, followed by a sheepish looking Sean, staring down at the ground as he went. Someone had been on the end of a roasting, that much was obvious.
“Right. Where were we?” Davy gave Al a firm nudge as he sat there snoring away, but he wasn’t budging.
“Looks like it’s me an you then George, big Al’s out fer the count. I can lay ye on another five to six hundred if ye want, but then it becomes a loan. And ye pay vig until it’s paid off.”
“It’s a grand, Ah’m sure Ah’ll be good fer it.” George picked up his cards. Two queens. Finally some luck.
“Or we can make things a bit mair interestin. Raise the stakes a wee bit.”
“What ye talkin aboot?”
“How about, the Vaults and The Gunner. Winner takes all? You lose I take your door at the Vaults. We take over the business in there and you step away. You win. And you keep yer door at the Vaults, plus ye get the deeds tae this place. Winner takes all. Ye man enough for it?”
George stared back across the table in disbelief as Davy focused on his hand.
“You’re off yer heid.” George looked towards the bar, where Sean was now sitting, staring into space with a walkman blaring into his ears.
“Nae point lookin at yer cousin. He’s no interested. This is between me an you ma wee nephew. No got the balls fer it?”
“First of all, less ay the wee nephew. Yer back on the scene after fifteen year. Cunt Ah wis six year auld when you got put away. Ah dinnae ken ye. So ye’ve no earned the right tae refer tae me as yer wee nephew. Gordon’s mair of an uncle than you. Far as Ah’m concerned yer just some guy that’s waltzed back intae all our lives an started caus
in problems where there wisnae any before. And secondly,” he looked around the place and laughed, “what the fuck would Ah want wae this shit tip? Come oan eh. Ma auld man flung ye this just tae keep ye from bitchin an moanin but fat lot ay good that done.”
Davy placed the cards face down before rubbing his hands firmly together.
“Some mouth on you, son. Daddy no teach ye tae respect yer elders, naw?”
“How about we raise the stakes even higher then. How about – if Ah win, you walk away fae us altogether. Leave Muirhouse. Go an noise up some other folk an let me go back tae what Ah wis quite happily daein before you came along.”
“You’d love that wouldn’t ye. You and Dougie. That right tubsy?”
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
“What’s wrong wae ye boy? Yer startin tae sweat.”
George tried to shrug off the comment as he felt the rage growling away down below. He looked down to see the two queens crumpled in his right hand. And then looked up at his grinning uncle, who was clearly getting off on it. Like he was poking a bear in a cage.
“Just like a young Dougie. No quite sure how tae take being on the receiving end. Doesnae like it when the heat’s on. Temper, temper son. Found yer weak spot have Ah? That very same weak spot as yer auld man.”
“Maybe ye have. Just keep pushin at it an see what happens.”
Davy smiled as he looked down at his hand. “Sean away an pit some chips oan. Looks starving, the fat cunt.”
“AYE!” George hoisted the table off the ground, as bottles, money, cards, and glasses flew into the air.
Sean pounced in between to try and prevent Davy’s head from getting torn off, whilst Al went flying backwards in his chair before scrambling out of harm’s way.
“Get oot ma fuckin way Sean! NOW!”
“Settle doon George! This ends badly fer everyone, we both know this!”
“No giein a FUCK!” George barged his cousin out of the way just to find his uncle backing him off with a chair, wearing a pathetic grin on his face that George was itching to wipe off. He looked for an opportunity to lunge forward without catching a chair leg in the throat, forcing Davy backward as more tables and chairs toppled over in his path. It was time to put the old fossil in its place.
Pure Angst Page 18
