by Irvine Welsh
– A large brandy, he says to the barman.
– That’s a very distinguished accent you got there, I tell him.
He turns and looks at me with that queer-beast face: the mouth loose and rubbery, those dead, girlish eyes. It makes me feel proper sick n all, him looking me up and down, like I’m a piece of fucking meat.
– Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you. Drink?
– Eh, yeah. Whisky please.
– So, I suppose I should ask if you come here often or something equally bland, he smiles.
Filthy fucking old cunt.
– First time, I say. – To tell ya the truth, I felt I wanted to for a while … I mean, I’m sorry talking to you like this, but I thought that as, well, as an older bloke, you might be a bit discreet. I’ve got a wife and a kid and I don’t want them to know I’ve been here … to a place like this … I mean …
He raises his sick, manicured hand as if to shut me up. – I think we have what our economist friends might term a mutual coincidence of wants.
– You what?
– I think we both want a bit of good sport, but in secret, with discretion assured.
– Yeah … discretion. That’s what I want. Good sport, yeah. That’ll do me fine.
– Let’s get out of this fucking pit, he snaps, – this place gives me the creeps.
I feel like saying to him, well, you shouldn’t be such a sick old queer-beast then, should ya, but I button it, and we leave. Samantha’ll be waiting, back at the yard, where I gave her the keys.
For a bit I thought that this thing, old sick trousers here, wasn’t into going back over to the motor yard at the East End, but it seemed to turn the diseased beast on, the thought of fucking well slumming it. Well, we’ll see how much it turns him on in a minute.
We take my motor, and while we drive in silence I’m looking at that wrinkled, tortoise head in the mirror; he reminds me of that Touche Turtle cunt from the cartoons; and I’m thinking about how Samantha’s using me and I’m acting like a big fucking soft blouse but it don’t matter cause when you feel about someone like I feel about her you’ll do anything, anyfuckingthing for them and that’s all there bleedin well is to it and I’m going to fucking send this thing to the next fucking world, to a hell for the sick and diseased minds …
The Yard
I’ve got ABC on the car stereo and I’m just getting into ‘All Of My Heart’ which makes me feel so sad when applied to my own sort of personal circumstances. I feel like crying like a girl and I can tell I’m giving off a poof-house vibe because the queer-beast is asking me:
– Is everything all right?
We’re at the yard. I stop the motor.
– Yeah … I mean … you been around a bit, mate. It’s just that I feel confused. Just cause you n I are like going to do it, like, it don’t mean that we don’t love our own now, does it …
The sick fruit puts a hand on my arm. – Don’t worry. You’re just nervous. C’mon, he says, getting out the car, – we’ve gone too far to turn back now.
He’s right n all. I get out and head for the lock-up. I undo the padlock and swing open the doors. I shut them behind us, then I lead him through the back towards the garage.
Samantha clicks the lights on, and I wrap my hand around this Touche Turtle cunt’s scrawny throat and smack the sick monster in the face with my nut. Glasgow kiss, the old man calls it. I push him to the ground and boot him in the bollocks.
Samantha’s over and she’s like doing a dance on the spot and her little flippers are going like the ones on a pinball machine and she’s like a kid and she’s going: – You got him, Dave! You got the bastard! He’s ours! She boots the gasping beast in the stomach. – Sturgess! You are accused of drug crimes! How do you fucking well plead! she screams, bending down over him.
– Who are you … I have money … I can get you all the money you need … the wheezing beast moans.
She looks at him as if he’s a fucking lunatic. – MUNNEEE-… she’s screaching, – I DON’T NEED YOUR FUCKING MUNNEEE … what do I want with fucking money! I want you! You’re more important to me than all the fucking money in the world! I’ll bet you never thought you’d live to hear anybody say that about you, eh?
I’ve been locking us in with the padlock and chain, then going round the back and small-bolting the office door. Samantha’s still taunting the queer-beast, who’s begging for mercy like a big girl.
She nods to me and I pick up the queer-beast and drag him over to the table. His sick gob is dribbling blood and snot and he’s crying like a sad cunt, can’t even take his fucking punishment like a man. Not that I ever expected anything different from a trouser ponce.
I pull him across the big table, face down. I see a strange expression come into his eyes as this sick creature actually thinks I’m gonna fucking give him one up the arse … as if that was what we wanted him for. I bind his wrists to the table legs using electrical flex, and Samantha’s up on the table sitting on his legs, holding them down while I do them next.
I start up the chainsaw and this Sturgess cunt is screaming, but I hear other noises, and there’s a banging at the door. It’s the fucking Old Bill and it sounds like there’s loads of them out there.
Samantha’s shouting: – Keep them out, keep them fucking out, and she’s trying to manipulate the chainsaw into position with her feet at the front of Sturgess, who’s just fucking well beside himself, struggling against the bonds. That padlock and chain won’t hold the door for long. I can’t think of what to do, then I see the huge aluminium bolt-hole: fucking massive, but with no bolt. I slide my arm through it, the elbow past the join of the door and wall. I can hear some silly filth cunt’s voice at a loudspeaker but I can’t make out what he’s saying, all I hear is the song ‘Poison Arrow’ blasting inside my head. Because it’s her that broke my fucking heart, cause she knew how it would turn out right from the start.
And Samantha’s getting him, I can hear the searing of the saw, and the pain on my arm’s fucking unbearable; this arm’ll never be able to deck Lyonsy of the Millwall after this, as if it matters, and I look over to shout to Samantha: – Do the cunt, Sam! Go on, my gel! Do him!
The sound of the saw changes as it rips into the flesh of the queer-beast, just below the shoulder, and blood spurts and splashes across the garage floor. I’m thinking about the mess it’s gonna leave for poor old Bal, who won’t be best pleased, and that’s a funny thing to think about because the saw’s torn through Sturgess’s flesh and it’s grinding into the bone. Samantha, there on her arse, saw in her feet, ripping the screaming captive beast’s limb from him … God, she looks like she does when I’m giving her one and I hear another splintering and it’s me this time, it’s my fucking arm, and the pain is just so much I’m gonna black out but I’m catching Samantha’s look at me as I fall and she’s shouting something which I can’t hear but I know what it is, I can see it on her lips. She’s covered in his blood which is fucking well spurting everywhere but she’s smiling like a little girl playing in mud and she’s mouthing: I love you … and I’m doing it back and I’m blacking out and I don’t care because this is the greatest feeling in the world … fortune’s always hiding … but I found it cause I love her and I’ve done it … I’ve looked everywhere … the Old Bill can do what they fucking well like, it’s all over now, but I don’t fucking well care … I’m forever blowing bubbles …
pretty
bubbles
in
the …
The Undefeated
An Acid House Romance
For Colin Campbell and Dougie Webster
We’re the undefeated
TV in the shade
girls at all our parties
we have really got it made
Iggy Pop
Prologue
Ah am fuckin well fed up because there’s nothing happening and ah’ve probably done a paracetamol but fuck it you need to have positive vibes and wee Amber, she’s rubbing away at
the back ay ma neck saying it’ll happen when this operatic slab of syth seems to be 3 D and ah realise that I’m coming up in a big way as that invisible hand grabs a hud ay me and sticks me onto the roof because the music is in me around me and everywhere, it’s just leaking from my body, this is the game this is the game and ah look around and we’re all going phoah and our eyes are just big black pools of love and energy and my guts are doing a big turn as the quease zooms through my body and we’re up to the floor one by one and ah think I’m going tae need tae shit but ah hold on and it passes and I’m riding this rocket to Russia …
– No bad gear, eh, ah say tae Amber, as we dance ourselves slowly into it.
– Aye, sound.
– Awright, eh, says Ally.
Then it’s ma main man on the decks, and he’s on the form tonight, just pulling away at our collective psychic sex organs as they lay splayed out before us and ah get a big rosy smile off this goddess in a Lycra top, who, with her tanned skin and veneer of sweat, looks as enticing as a bottle of Becks from the cold shelf on a hot, muggy day, and my heart just goes bong bong bong Lloyd Buist reporting for duty, and the dance NRG the dance U4E ahhhh gets a hud ay me and I’m doing a sexy wee shuffle with Ally and Amber and Hazel and this big bone-heided cunt falls into me and gives me a hug and apologies and I’m slapping his hard wall of a stomach and thanking my lucky stars we’re E’d and at this club and not pished at The Edge or somewhere brain-dead no that ah would touch that fuckin rubbish … whoa rockets … whoa it’s still coming and I’m thinking now is the time to fall in love now now now but not with the world with that one special her, just do it, just do it now, just change your whole fuckin life in the space of a heartbeat, do it now … but nah … this is just entertainment …
Later it’s time to chill at Hazel’s gaff. Ally hits us all with some Slam which is all very nice except that he wants to spraff wildly and I’m in a dancy mood, naw, I’m in a shagging mood really. These Amsterdam Playboys do something tae ye behind your nuts. Woaf!
There are a lot of lassies back here. Ah love lassies because they just look so fuckin brilliant, especially when you’re E’d. It seems a wee bit obvious tae think that though, cause maist guys feel the same wey. Ah was reading somewhere about lassies being seen as either saints or whores. That’s too simple … that sound’s like shite to me. Maybe it was about laddies thinking of lassies in that way. Ah ask Ally about this.
– Naw, that’s shite, man, much too simplistic, he says. Ally’s got an amazing smile and his eyes seem to eat every word that comes from your mouth. – Ah’ve got ma ain classification, Lloyd. Lassies are either, one: Party Chicks; two: Straight-Pegs; three: Skankers; four: Party Chicks …
– You sais Party Chicks already but, ah told him.
– Let ays see … Party Chicks, Straight-Pegs, Skankers or Hounds, that’s the four types ay bird, he smiles, casting his eyes round the room. – Maistly Party Chicks in here, thank fuck.
– So what dae ye class as a Party Chick?
– Fuck knows … it’s obviously aw doon tae attitude, this whole classification … right … listen Lloyd, you necked that other pill yet?
Ah hadnae. Some crusties are burning incense in the corner and ah get a nice whiff which fills my nostrils and ah nod over at them. – Naw …
– Ye gaunny dae it soon?
– Naw … ah’m still up here, man. Ah might save it fir the fitba the morn, eh.
– Ah dinnae ken but eh, Lloyd … Ally pouts, looking like a toddler who’s had his sweeties taken away.
– Fuck it, special occasion, eh, ah say to him, as either he or ah or some other cunt says every weekend as every weekend is, indeed, a special occasion. We neck our pills and the adrenalin rush of just having taken more chems has set Ally off again.
– Party Chicks can be subdivided, man, intae like two groups: Hiya Lassies and Sexy Feminists. Straight-Pegs are women who dinnae touch drugs, eh no man, and they shag only dull twats like themselves who are intae aw that home-and-garden shite. These are mainstream straight-pegs, man, dead easy tae spot. There are alternative straight-pegs, the kind ay po-faced feminists who read the Guardian or the Independent and that and are intae career-development paths and aw that sort ay shite. You have to watch them, if they arenae dykes, man, you can sometimes mistake them for Sexy Feminists. No always, but sometimes.
This is magic. Ally’s off. – The Boyle Laddie is off on a mazy! ah shout, and a few other people come over as Ally continues his rant.
– Hiya Lassies are the best but, man, but mair ay that in a bit. Skankers drink a lot ay alcohol and shag draftpak guys. They dress crassly, and seldom, if ever, touch Class As, although mair Skankers are daein them now. They’re type of women whae go tae discos and dance around their handbags. Hounds are the lowest ay the low, man; they’ll shag anything and are often alcoholics. Hiya Lassies are called so because they always say hi-ya-uh … when they meet you.
– You say that aw the time, Amber, Hazel says.
– So? Amber says, wondering what’s going down.
– You have to watch though, Ally says to me, – because Skankers say this as well sometimes. It’s the wey they say it that’s important.
– Are you callin me a fuckin Skanker son? Amber asks Ally.
– Naw, man … you say hiya in a cool wey, he smiles at her and she melts. Fuck me if we arenae aw coming up again. – You’re a Hiya Lassie, and they are easygoing, young, salt-of-the-earth Party Chicks. The best acquire that certain edge and become Sexy Feminists; the worst get stuck with a closet twat and become Straight-Pegs. Tell ye something else, Lloyd, he sais, turnin tae me, in eighty per cent ay cases the man always gets straight and boring before the woman.
– That’s fuckin knob-cheese, Ally.
– Naw, Ally’s right, somebody chips in. It’s Nukes.
– See? It’s just that you’ve picked boring women aw your life ya daft cunt! Ally smiles and gives me a big hug.
Foaahh … ah’m cunted here, ah feel like I’m shiting my soul out of every pore in my face. – Ah’ve goat tae dance through this one or ah’ll sit cabbaged ay night … Nukes … help ays oan tae that flair, man …
– Ah’m blinded, man … blinded by the fuckin light … wis that no a song by some cunt … goat tae sit doon, Nukes groaned, a magnificent aura rising from him. Ah staggered towards the speakers.
– Aw Lloyd, man, stey here n spraff a bit, Ally says, his pupils getting blacker but his lids getting heavier.
– In a bit, Ally. Ah feel that disco vibe. Rock the disco tek, eh.
Ah leave Ally to dance with Amber and her mate Hazel, two definite Party Chicks by any classification, who look as deliciously cool and colourful as a couple of happy-hour cocktails perched temptingly on the bar of Old Orleans. After a shuffle, my legs get moving and I’m enjoying it all. More strange things start happening behind my genitals. Ah remember ah fired intae Amber at a party last year and looking at her made me wonder why ah hadnae done it again. Ah say to Amber first, – Listen, fancy hitting the bedroom for a meeting of, minds and the other bits?
– No, I’m no into sex with you. Ah fancy firing right intae Ally later on, he looks so fucking gorgeous.
– Yeah, yeah, yeah, ah smile, and ah look over at Ally with his Tenerife tan and have to admit that the cunt does look, eh, a wee bitty more than presentable; mind you, every cunt does on E. He’s gesturing over and I’m waving back at him. A big white
Not a whitey, though heartbeat, perspiration and heating have all definitely increased. Hit the Volvic. Can you feel it, crew!
– Fucking good tape, Ambs … make ays a copy … is it Slam? Is it?
She closes her eyes and then opens them briefly and nods at me seriously, – Jist a Yip Yap mixed tape, eh.
Whoa, yes to fuck …
– I’m up for it, Haze says to me.
– Eh?
– A shag, like. That’s what you were talking to Ambs aboot, eh. You and me, then. The bedroom.
Ah was
going to get round to asking her before ah goat diverted by … let’s just see … before ah was diverted by Amber’s KB; whoa ya fucker am ah in touch with my feelings or what, but it’s all right and ah shout: – Hey Ally, ah’m sexually jealous of you, and he pouts and comes over and gives me a hug and Amber does too so ah should feel good but ah feel a bit of a cunt for making them feel bad because ah discover that I’m no really sexually jealous of Ally who’s a smashing lad as Gordon McQueen on Scotsport would say but only he’s no oan it now it’s that Gerry McNee gadge that gets tae say it now, and the other radge who writes aboot the fitba n aw that’s on it as well, but as they boys would say: ah wish him every success, etc., etc.
– Amber’s saying she’s intae firing intae ye, ah tell Ally.
Amber smiles and pushes me in the chest. Ally turns to me and says, – The important thing, man, is that ah love Amber, he wraps his arm around her. – What happens sexually … that’s just detail. The important thing is, man, that ah love everybody that ah know in this room. And ah know everybody! Except these boys, he points to the crusties who are skinning up in the corner. But ah’d love these cunts as well if ah knew them. Ninety per cent of people are loveable, man, once ye get tae ken them … if they believe in themselves enough … if they love and respect themselves, eh …
Ah feel ma face opening up like a tin ay sardines as ah give Ally a smile and then ah turn to Haze and say, – Let’s go for it …
In the bedroom Hazel struggles out of her kit and ah get out of mine and we’re under the duvet. It’s too hot to be under the duvet but this in case any cunt comes in, which they will. We’ve got the tongues working hard and I probably taste very salty and sweaty cause she does. It takes me yonks tae get an erection, but that doesnae bother ays because I’m mair intae the touching oan E than the penetration. She’s gaun pretty radge though and ah manage tae bring her off using my fingers. Ah’m just lying their watching her orgasm like ah was watching her score for Hibs. We’ll just play that one back again, Archie … I want it tae happen for her seven times. After a while, though, ah start to feel something happen and ah have tae stop and get out and rummage through my jeans.