Filth

by Irvine Welsh

  Lennox is now sporting a huge, Zapata-style moustache: it seems to grow along with his charlie intake. I keep thinking that I can see bits of coke stuck in it.

  – No bad Ray, mair than five letters in that though, eh, I smile.

  What made Ray Lennox want to be all palsy-walsy and one-of-the-boys all of a sudden?

  – What about twenty-four across: ‘Lodge?’ Gus asks with an edge in his voice, turning away from Lennox.

  – File, Ray says.

  – Eh? Gus snaps challengingly.

  – Tae file a complaint. Tae lodge a complaint, says Lennox, all superior-like. – I’ll bet the first thing you thought of was masonic or orange! he laughs.

  – And ah bet it was the last bloody thing you thought of! Gus almost takes his heid off.

  – Eh? Ray asks, bemused, almost rocking back on his heels.

  I’m shaking with laughter behind my paper. Growl! Growl! Go for him old boy, go on and teach that smart young pup a thing or two! Go on old boy! You can dae it! Ruff ruff!

  – Dinnae think yir behaviour’s no gaun noticed in the craft, son, Gus says, pointing the finger.

  – What ye on aboot Gus? Lennox turns to me and then Peter, – What is this? We don’t respond, so he looks back at Gus.

  – Jist what ah said. No wise, son, Gus hisses, tapping his muppet heid, – no wise at aw. Then he turns away and leaves. Inglis follows him like he was his boyfriend. Yes, buftie boys are the biggest size queens.

  – What the fuck was that about? Ray asks.

  – Listen Ray, it’s what I’ve been telling ye aboot, I whisper confidentially as I see Gillman going into the photocopying room. – The young stag syndrome.

  Ray looks flushed. – He doesnae ken anything aboot the charlie, does he? he whispers eagerly.

  – I doubt it, I smile.

  I’m looking at my stars while, yes, I can almost hear it, the slow delicious sound of that wanker, Ray Lennox, stewing in his own fucking juices. My sign is Taurus, the bull. Fuckin appropriate cause that’s all I get aroond here, usually from that sad spastic Toal. Nope. Wrong! He is not a sad spastic, he ain’t that fuckin interesting!

  TAURUS (April 21 – May 21): The combined influence of Mars and Pluto, two rather volatile planets, together with your ruler Venus, indicates a time of smouldering passion. But seriously, don’t get too carried away as it could all end in tears. As for someone who is coming on strong today, you need to question their motives.

  The News of The Screws disgusts me after a while. It’s all shagging, drugs and crime triangles featuring fat schemies. I’ll have to get back to buying the Mail On Sunday. I used to get it for the politics, but I packed it in after Princess Diana’s funeral. Every person that was interviewed outside the Palace all seemed to be sad, nae-mates spastics, sort of Bladesey types. Then I read that the majority of people who attended were Mail readers. That terrified me into dropping the paper.

  I decide to go and see Bunty. – Ray, I’m going walkabout. If that docile mutation Toal is looking for me, tell him that I’m away to the Forum.

  – Will do Bruce. When will you be back?

  – A couple of hours or so. How, ye wantin ays tae bring back something fae Crawford’s?

  – Aye . . . I suppose a Cornish pasty wi chips, Ray says hesitantly, as if he is thinking of something more tasty.

  Peter comes back in. – Peter? Scran?

  It’ll be sun-dried tomatays, olives and feta cheese fir that big nancy-boy.

  – You gaun past Brattisani’s?

  – Could do.

  – White puddin supper then, he says. Probably sees the white puddin as a guy’s cock. Ah’ll fuckin well bet ye the cunt wants one awright!

  – Well, if you’re gaun by Brattisani’s, ah’ll take a fish supper,

  A Society of Secrets

  Bladesey’s hedge is cut more precisely than any of the others in the street. He’s neat, that’s what he is, is Brother Blades. Probably from a posh family but thick and thus only suited to prole white-collar work. Then again, could have come from an upwardly mobile, but not too upwardly mobile, working-class home where neatness and obedience is stressed as a virtue. And it is. Serve them all my days. This means that the same rules apply.

  I drop in accidentally on purpose, seeing as I’m in the neighbourhood and all that shite. It’s a cheerless morning. There’s a pinch in the air but it doesnae look like snow. My lips are chapping a bit, but I’ve applied the greasy stick.

  Bunty seems pleased to see me. She bades me enter and she’s got the kettle on. She’s wearing a thick angora sweater but these tits won’t be beaten, they still cry out for attention underneath it. She looks sour when I start to tell her what a great guy I think Bladesey is.

  – Yeah, sure, she says with contempt in her voice. This is too much of a woman for you Brother Blades. I’m sorry, but yes, the same rules do apply. She puts a pot of tea on a green plastic tray with two cups and a jug of milk and bowl of sugar. It’s been a long time since I had tea served this way, outside of the office. Every time I go to make a pot at home, there’s always used teabags lying in it and in the sink, and it just got too much hassle cleaning it all up. Besides, I never mind to get milk, though there’s generally beer in the fridge.

  I take a sip and raise my eyebrows.

  – He’s weak. That’s what he is. No backbone, she spits a bitter elaboration.

  Well, Brother Blades is in shit street alright. But I have to support the Brother here because to slag him off would show lack of character in her eyes, although I must do it as though I’m being loyal to him, rather than sincere, as that would show lack of judgement. – Cliff’s one of the best in my book, I tell her, forcing a look which I hope is pained and embarrassed.

  – He’s your friend and you’re faithful to him and that’s good, she says, swallowing the bait. – I sometimes wish I had a friend who was as loyal to me. Is that this masonic brotherhood I hear so much about? She drops her voice a little and stares flirtatiously.

  – Well, I hope you don’t hear too much about it, I smile back.

  – Oh not a great deal of interest. It sounds intriguing though, a secret society.

  – Not a secret society, a society of secrets, I wave my finger gently at her.

  – Oh I see. And there’s a difference is there?

  – Well, I don’t really know. But I do know one thing about the craft: it’s basically now a glorified drinking club for silly wee laddies if the truth be told.

  – You don’t seem like the silly wee laddie type, she smiles obsequiously.

  I’m getting the come-on here big-time. – It’s really just something that you get into on the force. It’s a way of meeting people who aren’t on the force, well, not necessarily on the force. You need that break from other policemen sometimes. We tend to be quite an incestuous mob, the shifts, you know. And the job can get quite demanding.

  – Yes . . . I imagine you see some pretty distressing things.

  – Yes, but you deal with it. It’s your lot and you have to show them all that you’re stronger than they are and you show that by not letting it get you down. Like you. You’re a very brave lady. You’re facing down this creep. Showing him that you’re better than him.

  – Sometimes I don’t feel so strong . . . I just wish that Cliff could be more help. He’s not exactly a tower of strength, she says, giving a little bubble, breaking down slowly. For all her tough talk this hoor cannae stand the heat. The Bruce Robertson heat.

  I’m over in one elongated stride and I’ve got her hands in mine. – You deserve somebody who could really look after you, a woman like you.

  – Thank you for being so kind . . . it’s hard not to feel isolated . . . Craig’s at a difficult age . . . I just don’t seem to have much of a life I’m afraid . . . God, I’m feeling sorry for myself and I hate that . . .

  I look deep into her eyes. – You’ll come shining through. You’ve got what it takes.

  – You really think so? she says
balefully. I love doubt in a woman. It’s nearly as sexy as determination.

  – Listen. I’m going to say something here. Something I shouldnae say. No. I’m not, I tell her, shaking my head slowly.

  – What? she says, sitting bolt upright.

  – No. It’ll only cause bad feeling and complicate matters . . . neither of us need that at the moment . . .

  – Please. Say what you have to. I want you to. Please. Her fingers ravel round mine and tighten.

  Please. Police. Me.

  I inhale sharply, then let it out with a long, slow pant. – Right. I will. It’s breaking me up what this freak’s doing to you because I’ve got strong feelings for you. There, I said it, I’m sorry, I shrug. I pull our hands apart. Then I stand up and raise my palms in a surrender gesture. I turn away and let a long silence hang. I go to the window and pull back the net curtains. There’s a white Nissan Micra on a double fucking yellow line. M reg. Where are the traffic spazmos?

  – Bruce . . . it’s okay . . . I hear a thin voice from behind me.

  I go and sit on the couch. I put my head in my hands and let my elbows rest on my knees. I put on a low, pained voice and say, – There’s nothing I can do or say . . . I’ve messed things up.

  – No . . .

  I hear her getting up and coming towards me. I feel her light touch on my neck. She’s massaging me, her thumbs kneading at the red liver-spotted back of my neck, and she’s crying in heavy, halting sobs. – I don’t know what to say . . . she bleats.

  I look up at her and let a tremble come into my voice. – Just tell me that you don’t feel anything for me, just call me a creep, no better than the scumbag who phones you up . . .

  – . . . No . . . No . . .

  – . . . because that’s what I am, a dirty, filthy, sick creep, talking like that to the wife of a friend, when she’s emotionally distressed, when she doesn’t know her own mind . . .

  – No! No! I do! I do know my own mind Bruce! I want to be with you!

  I pull her on to my knee, fuckin hell, there’s some weight on this hoor, and move her red, swollen face to me. Holding it a few inches from mine, I slide at her tears with the edge of my finger, like the windscreen-wipers on the Volvo. – Ah’m gonny brush these tears away hen, believe you me, ah’m gonny brush them away. Same rules apply, I whisper softly.

  At that point I hear a crackling from inside my pocket. I give her a disappointed look.

  – Foxtrot calling Z Victor BR, come in BR, over.

  – Roger Foxtrot, over, I groan wearily.

  – Specify location, over.

  – Twelve Carrick Glen Gardens, Corstorphine, over.

  – Please proceed to HQ, over.

  – Roger Foxtrot, I’m on my way, over and out.

  And I was, after I fucked Bunty in the bedroom. I took my time though, you always do with new fanny. What I usually do with a new bird is hole up with them for a weekend and spoil them with loads of foreplay, champagne, takeaways and undivided attention to all the preposterous shite they drivel. That usually does the trick for getting into them on a casual basis for months. The best thing to do is to give a new bird the very best possible time, and then she knows you have the capacity to do that again and she’s always looking inwards blaming herself for not being able to reactivate that passion in you. The best lovers ken that you only need tae be a good lover once with one bird. Get it right the first time and then ye can basically dae what ye like. Eventually they tipple that you’re just a selfish cunt, usually eftir a few years ay fruitless self-analysis, but by that time you’ve generally had your fill and are firing into somebody else.

  Bunty is a powerful woman, but Bladesey obviously hasn’t been doing his homework satisfactorily. I thought she’d take some satisfying but the dirty cow went off like an incendiary device. I suppose after Bladesey any performance would be more than suitable. As I get dressed after, I’m conscious of the smell coming from my flannels. I hope Bunty didn’t notice. I should have fucking well minded to put on the fresh ones I got from C&A’s . . . fuckin stupid bastard . . . what’s the point of getting them if you don’t wear them . . .

  Fortunately, she doesn’t appear to notice, and we say our lovers’ goodbyes and I head off.

  When I got back to the station it was only Gus wanting to know about the sweep for the fitba and the fantasy fitba league.

  Shearer’s goals last week at Tottenham put me in a nice position, just behind Peter Inglis and some uniformed spastic. I’m ready to pounce. Behind Peter Inglis. Mind you, ye dinnae want that cunt behind you!

  I’m thinking that I could handle another shot at that Bunty and I call her to arrange to come round to mines tomorrow, which I instantly regret, a real sign of weakness that was. The problem with hoors is not so much the getting into their keks, but the keeping them at arm’s length afterwards. Life can become complicated, which is fine; only simpletons live simple lives. Trouble is, mine’s is complicated enough right now.

  A Sportsman’s Dinner

  Karen Fulton is looking sexy today. She’s put on a bit of weight which doesn’t suit most women but she carries it well. Festive overindulgence perhaps, or maybe the classic sex substitute. That’s the best dieting plan, fuck ’em regularly! Nae time for munchin on fuckin biscuits then! Too much munchin oan carpets wi Drummond, that’s the problem there. Same rules apply. – Looking drop-dead gorgeous Karen, I tell her.

  She smiles at me, but there’s a touch of frosty lesbo coating which I expect is Drummond’s doing. All it takes is the probing tongue of one spacedyke for the impressionable to stray from the path of righteousness. But all it takes is some prime Scotch beef to get them back on the fast track, I kid you not. She’s long overdue a length.

  Anyway, Bulldyke Drummond comes in with Inglis and Gus Bain. She seems to have warned to Inglis since he’s been all but proven to be a sad buftie-boy. If being befriended by a fucking fag-hag doesnae establish the bastard as a rubberwrist, goodness knows what will. Inglis knows this and obviously hates her following him around.

  I’ve summoned the team in early doors today, and I can tell that some of them arenae too chuffed. As if I care: I’ve a very busy day. I’m seeing Bunty later, but first I’ve got an urgent appointment at Hector The Farmer’s oot at Penicuik, the old stomping ground, in a couple of hours’ time. We need all the light we can get.

  I give a brief lack-of-progress report on the Wurie case. Then I open up the discussion. – Okay folks, any news from your ends? Gus? I ask.

  – I’ve been keeping tabs on Setterington and Gorman. They’re still hanging around that bloody second-hand furniture shop all the time, Gus tells us. The old boy’s looking bitter; lost a bit of pep that yin! Could dae wi some fuckin charlie in him! Chop yirsell oot a line ay posh ya muppet-faced auld cunt!

  – Aye, Ray Lennox and some of the boys in D.S. are convinced that Setterington and Francis Begbie are dealing hard drugs from there. I’m chuffed at Gus’s expression of scorn at my mention of Ray Lennox’s name. – Just keep those beady eyes open Gus. Peter?

  – This mystery woman’s still no checking out. I’ve shown pictures to just about everybody from Jammy Joe’s, all the stewards and most of the party crowd, but it’s still no checking out.

  You are checking out as a sick perverted arse-buggerer of other men. – We still have this mystery woman in our lives . . . how exciting . . . I turn to Drummond: – Mandy my sweet, what news from our friends in the ethnic community?

  – I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to refer to female officers in that way, she challenges.

  – Absolutely right! I sing. – Apologies for any offence caused my darling, force of habit. Bad habit yes, but habit nonetheless. That’s why I rely on people like your good self who are so much more aware of those issues than I am to keep me informed of my transgressions in this important area . . .

  – I’m not your darling either, she says. Karen Fulton nods supportively. Drummond stares at me for a second, then she says, – Loo
k Bruce, you may think that I’m being pedantic, but it’s hard enough getting all the abuse under the sun out there from the public, without being patronised and sneered at by your own colleagues. All I want is equal treatment, that’s all.

  Do fuckin equal work then ya wee cunt and stop poncing around with wog groups.

  – Point taken. Now, what news from the Forum?

  She bleats on for ages about the hopes and fears for wogs in Lothian around this case. After we finish, Peter Inglis sidles up to me. – Needs a good seeing tae, that yin, he says bitterly, trying in vain to establish heterosexual credibility.

  Aye Inglis, right ye are. What are you gaunny dae? Strap a fuckin dildo on her and shag her up the arse? – Too right, I tell him. – She wants equal rights, get her tae dae equal work. I’d like tae see her go doon tae Leith and haul in Lexo Setterington or Ghostie Gorman or Franco Begbie. Whae’ll have tae dae it? You or me Peter. She’ll be shuffling papers or counselling some daft slag whose scumbag ay a felly’s tanned her jaw.

  It’s expedient to leave Inglis believing I’m his only pal on the force. He stands fomenting his rage as he looks across at Drummond who’s giving it loads with Fulton. Inglis is basically homosexual. I’m no saying that he’s the sort ay guy who would feel your bum in the lavvy or anything like that, but his psychology is homosexual. It makes sense to expose him. The same rules apply.

  – Who’s for Crawford’s? Gus asks.

  – Sorry Gus, I have tae nash, I announce, slinging on my overcoat. It gives off a stale, rancid smell, but at least I minded to change into the new C&A’s slacks. The material seems to irritate the rash on my inner thighs though. – Got a wee lead with a mate of Ocky’s. Might be something, might be nothing. Have to check it out but. See youse later.

  I hurry upstairs to the audio-visual section to pick up the tripod and video camera that Pete Loburn, the technician, is letting me take out for a few days. A good boy, in the craft. I hurry downstairs and load the gear onto the back seat of the Volvo. I have to pick up Claire at the Fish Factory before heading out to Penicuik for the shoot. Then I have to bomb hame and do some tidying up as I’m fucking Bunty over there this affie. I’m also, in a sense, fucking Bladesey. Fucking the poor wee bastard for good. It’s all go!