Pure Angst

by Stephen Scarcliffe

“That right aye? No so much that ye’d stick a scorebag up yer erse tae help a mucker out eh?”

  “Willie Ah got fuckin strip searched on the way in. There’s no way they’ll let a Donaldson come intae this prison waeout makin sure we’ve got no gear, ye mad?”

  Willie’s head dropped into his hands. “Ah’m starin at a life sentence here. All over a wee bit money for your auld man. Couple ay fuckin grand.”

  “Well Willie Ah hate tae say it but Ah never recommended takin a shotgun along and opening fire like it’s bloody Sunday.”

  “Ye came doon tae ma flat an filled me up wae fuckin preemo ching. What dae ye expect? Ah went stormin ootae there thinkin Ah wis fuckin Tony Montana, man.”

  Sean laughed, but it was clear Willie wasn’t seeing the funny side as he stared back at him.

  “This fuckin amusin tae you is it?”

  “Not at all, mate. Look, fuck, what dae ye want me tae say? We’ve tried our hardest tae get tae the husband but it’s fuckin impossible. He’s under police protection, cannae get near the cunt, the case is too high profile what with the race thing.”

  Sean sat forward, searching for something, anything, he could give Willie in the way of hope. “Look, Ah know you’re in a really tight spot here mate. If there was somethin, anythin Ah could dae...”

  “Aye but there’s somethin Ah could dae in’t there?” Willie sat back in his chair and flung a leg up on the table, his demeanour calming some.

  “What ye talkin about?”

  “You ken fine well what Ah’m talkin about. They’ve been pressin me hard an Ah’ve no given thum shit. But desperate times call fer desperate measures—”

  “—Don’t talk fuckin crazy, Willie.”

  “If Ah give up your auld man Ah could be out eh here in a lot less time. And they’ll make sure Ah’m comfy tae.”

  “Willie, you listen tae me...”

  “Naw, you listen tae me! Right? Ah’m the one that’s callin the shots this time. It’s cause ay yous that Ah’m in this fuckin mess. You see tae it that I have heroin flowin intae this prison like a fuckin fountain, or Ah’m takin ye’s both down with me. You and yer fuckin auld man. That clear enough fer ye? Mate?”

  “Aye. Mate.” Sean locked eyes with Willie for a surreal moment, not knowing who or what he was looking at anymore. It wasn’t Willie that was for sure, or maybe it was. Sean had heard it said in some film at some point that a man only showed his true colours when all hope was lost and desperation set in. “You’ll get yer gear, mate.”

  32

  Willie woke in a panicked sweat to the sound of a tapping on his cell door. Who the fuck was it? One of The Asians? Felt like the walls were closing in around him, the stomach cramps were unbearable, and the dreams. When he was able to get any sleep that was. Everyone he had ever stabbed, slashed, shot, or scalped haunted him day and night. Most of all that crazy wee Asian woman. She didn't even need a dream; she appeared all the time. The previous night he could swear he had seen her crawling along the ceiling like a little rat, with claws for fingers. Then she just sat there in the corner, staring at him, that nasty little rodent. Muttering those prayers or whatever the fuck they were under her breath.

  Fuck knows what would happen if she croaked.

  The only thing that could make her go away was smack. He needed it. Felt like he could scratch the skin and flesh from his face in yearning for it.

  There it was again, that fucking tapping at the door. It was probably just his terrors.

  “FUCK OFF!”

  He pulled the thin little quilt over his head and squeezed it tight, feeling the sweat drench it within seconds. He tightened his grip on that little tool he had sharpened for himself as he heard that noise again. That muttering, getting closer and closer, he wished he could rid it from his ear drums. He was petrified to remove the quilt just in case she’d be sitting there in front of him, ready to pounce.

  “FUCK!!”

  The door opened. He flung the quilt from his face and jumped off the bed clutching his tool, ready to stab the life out of whoever was there.

  “Woah! Woah! Fuckin hell!”

  The screw cowered in the corner as Willie glowered over him, ready to plunge him right in his fat, fucking face.

  “Settle down or Ah’ll need tae sound the alarm!”

  “What the fuck dae ye want!?” said Willie, puffing and panting, his chest pounding.

  “Ah’ve got somethin fer ye.”

  “Eh?”

  “From Sean Donaldson.”

  Willie lowered his balled-up fist, as the screw slowly pulled himself backwards and extended a hand. There it was. A wrap of that precious brown.

  He had wondered in his darker moments whether he had been too hard on his old pal, but clearly it had done the trick because there it was, his ticket to a few hours of rest from the terrors that were surrounding him on all sides. He didn’t even notice the screw leaving the cell before he scurried underneath the mattress and collected his works. Finally, some proper gear.

  “Oh ya beauty! Fuckin choking, man.”

  He frantically wrapped the rope around his arm and punctured that big inviting vein that was screaming out at him, injecting a large helping into his arm. He shook and quivered as he fell backward onto the floor, his eyes flickered upward, his pupils appearing completely white. It hit him like a breezeblock, at a hundred miles an hour, and pulled him downward and away from reality.

  33

  Sean stared at himself long and hard in the mirror as he sat there in his bedroom. The suit looked good, but he looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot from tears, his nerves were on end, he couldn’t get his hand to stop shaking. But Willie had become a liability. Threatening to bring down his old man after all these years of separation and even worse, Sean himself, after everything he’d been through. He had tried his hardest to hold onto this thought in the hope that it would make the burden easier to bear, but his head was so strung out he couldn’t hold onto it long enough to stop the guilt from pushing through.

  He picked up the white rock and crumbled some of it into the pipe with his trembling hand. It felt a necessary elevation in his drug usage. The powder just wasn’t doing enough to blot shit out, and heroin was unthinkable.

  One of John’s henchmen had schooled him on freebasing a while back on a bender in Glasgow and now he had begun requesting a small order of crack on the regular along with the consignments of normal coke.

  He flicked open the zippo and lit the pipe. The harsh fumes hit the back of his throat hard, forcing him to throw his head forward, coughing uncontrollably, spitting on the floor. Once he’d regained some composure he stood up and straightened his tie with his steadying hands, his head feeling light as a feather, as the hit grew in intensity.

  The funeral was in an hour at Warriston Crematorium.

  34

  After several attempts Billy managed to guide the key into the hole and get the door open. As it opened he collapsed to the hallway floor, letting out what had descended from singing into drunken chanting. He burst into the living room, lifting his hands above his head in all his wasted glory. A mangled pair of sunglasses rested on his face.

  “There she is, eh! Ma wee doll face! How ye daein?”

  “Not good.”

  “Why the long face?” he replied, speech slurred.

  “Don’t rile me, Billy.”

  “Aw chill oot darlin eh.” Billy weaved his way across the floor and fell down on the couch next to her. “Aw come on, darlin gies a cuddle eh.”

  “In that state? Yer stinkin Billy. I dunno how much more of this I can take. I was cooking you a meal tonight, or don’t you remember?”

  “S-sorry.”

  She turned away and shook her head.

  “Aw come oan. Here.” He went into his coat pocket, pulling out a pile of crumpled ten and twenty pound notes and throwing them onto the floor. “Order us a takeaway eh. This me gettin the silent treatment?”

  “What do you think?”

&nbs
p; “Och, gies a break. Ah’ve been workin aw weekend.”

  “Partying more like.”

  “When did you turn intae ma auld dear eh?”

  “Look I don’t need to listen to this shite, can you phone me a taxi to Morningside please?”

  “Fuckin hell, you’re nae fun anymair. Dinnae even huv a drink anymair.” Billy sank back into the couch with his hands in the air, before letting them slowly drop to his sides.

  “Ye wantae know why? You really want to know why I’ve not had a drink recently?”

  Billy lay back on the couch and flung his feet up, too wasted to take his trainers off.

  Lyndsay shook her head, looking out of the window as the tears welled up in her tired eyes. She sighed as she made her way across the room. She moved his hand away from his face and carefully removed the twisted, broken pair of sunglasses that had managed to get tangled in his blonde curtains. He was out cold and breathing heavily in a deep comatose sleep. She knew that dropping the heavy television in the corner of the room on his head probably wouldn’t lift him out of it. As she tried to turn him over onto his side, he instinctively pushed her away in his sleep, knocking her off balance and onto the living room floor.

  “Prick!”

  35

  The following day as Billy stood, eyes shut, with the shower on full blast, he reflected on another insane weekend. He stood, basking in it, not giving two fucks how long it was taking to warm up, just revelling in the cool spray as it eased his weary bones. Then, it dawned on him.

  The meal. Bastard...

  There simply was no space in this crazy existence for a female, so what had he gone and done? Given her a key to the flat. He still loved her like nothing on earth, but the rapid surge in his drug usage and distribution, was keeping him out all weekend, every weekend, squeezing her out and reducing her to an afterthought at worst, and an inconvenience at best. His initial analysis had been bang on the money. She was far too good for the likes of him. Luckily, he had still been out for the count when she had left for Jenners. He wasn’t sure if he could have coped with the onslaught in such a fragile condition. He turned the shower off, climbed out and wrapped a towel around himself as he pondered what the day would hold. He was due money from a number of sources, so no doubt Jimmy would be getting a phone call for back-up now George was out of the picture.

  He dried himself off and threw on a pair of jeans before grabbing his red Ralph Lauren jumper from the wardrobe, contemplating whether it would be too heavy with the July sun battering down. One thing he knew was he needed to get rid of the splitting headache that was sheer torture, so he went into his top drawer, snatched a lump of bass, crumbled some off onto the dresser and tipped some bicarb out next to it. He boshed it up into a big line and arsed it in one go. The perfect way to shake away the cobwebs on a Monday afternoon, get back on it.

  The time was worrying him. Lindsay would be finished in a couple of hours and she would be fixing to terrorise his landline till he picked up, so it was time to head to the shops and see who was kicking about. As he ditched the red jumper and swooped in for his white Calvin Klein v-neck T-shirt, the phone rang.

  As Billy marched up Lothian Road that evening, closely followed by Joe, Jimmy and Danny, his mind raced as to why he had been asked for.

  He entered Lord Tom’s, bobbing his head to the sound of the Stereo MC’s shouting about getting themselves connected. Several heavy looking boys dominated the bar, glued to the Rangers re-run playing on the TV above it.

  Clark appeared, leading them to a table at the back next to a stone pillar that was tattooed with flyers. Two stunners were sat there, instantly kindling an urge in Billy that once again put that speed cock pish out the window. One had long curly blonde hair, dark red lips and a slinky black Versace dress. The other was Spanish looking with long bronze thighs, cropped brunette hair, a shiny white D & G top and a frayed red skirt.

  “Do you two wantae make yersels scarce for a bit?” said Clark, as Billy nodded his head at him.

  “Dinnae tell me you’re intae baith ay thaim?” said Billy, a respectable moment later.

  Clark smiled as he took a sip of his gin and tonic. “The brunette.”

  “Fuckin tidy mate. The erse oan that by the way,” said Joe as he ogled them from behind.

  “Ye mind if we talk about this little something in private?” said Clark. Billy signalled to a slightly aggrieved looking Joe.

  “What’s the crack then?” said Billy as a pint arrived in front of him.

  “Well first of all, big dues on the output. The way you’ve run the Venue, very impressive,” said Clark as he adjusted his specs. “Said I might need a favour last time we spoke. It’s a biggie, though.”

  “Aye?” said Billy as he lit a fag.

  Clark casually looked around the pub before discreetly producing a small photo from the pocket of his long black coat. He placed it down on the table in front of Billy. “I need this greedy fat chappy to disappear.”

  Billy took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair.

  “I know it’s a bit of a bombshell. And trust me it’s a last resort. Paul Goddard. He’s had a big presence in Fife and South Queensferry for a number of years, heroin and hash mainly. Launders his money through a chain of chip shops. Now that ecstasy’s got such a big presence in the Capital he’s trying to make inroads, cut off supplies. Needs to be nipped in the bud before it’s too much of a problem, if you catch my drift.”

  “An what’s in it fer me exactly?”

  “Thirty grand. Fifteen before, fifteen after.”

  “It’s a tidy earner but it’s a big fuckin ask. This is fuckin murder. An how do I know this cunt’s family isnae gonnae come after us if we do this? Got enough fuckin enemies, me. Fuckin sleep wae one eye open every night.”

  “They don’t know you from Adam. They’ll have no idea who’s hit and why. This guy has a ton of enemies too, a known grass with a penchant for underage laddies.”

  Billy squinted his eyes at Clark as he stroked his chin.

  “I can give you his route to work, where he goes on shopping runs, the whole shebang. His routines are like clockwork, obviously thinks he can’t be touched. Look Billy, I know it’s a big one this. But I need to get the wheels in motion before this bastard really starts hurting my business. It’s on a need to know basis. If you’re taking any accomplices, they’re the ones you fill in on the details, no-one else. This is a delicate matter, needs to be discreet...”

  “Wait a minute. Just slow down a sec. You’ve got a bunch ay heavy hitters up at the bar there. Why me?”

  Clark shrugged his shoulders as he took another sip of his gin. “Joe’s got a lot of heat on him the now from police down South, and locals now too. Got eyes on him all the time, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. And he’s trying to set up a security firm.”

  “I take all the risks so your hands are clean, eh?”

  “Billy, you’re an opportunist. And this is a big opportunity. If you do this for me I can guarantee you full uninterrupted access to some of the biggest events in the city once Joe takes over the security. Full access, no looking over your shoulder.” Clark sat forward. “If you take this on you’ll be one of the biggest ecstasy dealers in the city by the end of the year, mark my words. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted? To step out of the shadow of the Muirhouse old school. The way you tackled Dale Alscott proves you’ve got ambition. I’m offering you everything you’ve been striving for on a silver fucking platter.”

  Billy smiled. “I’ve dished oot mair tans than Ah can shake a stick at, but murder? That’s a whole other kettle of fish. Ken what Ah mean? No sure Ah need that in ma life.”

  He stubbed out the last of his fag, smoke seeping from his lips. “Let’s see the photae again?”

  Clark placed it down on the table. Goddard had shifty looking eyes, thick sideburns, with a grandad cap on and a massive stomach. Wouldn’t be hard to take down if he was on his own.

  “How dae ye know he’s a be
ast? An how dae Ah know you’re no jist feedin me that line tae get me tae sign up?”

  “It’s a rumour. Where there’s smoke there’s fire and all that. And I have it on good source, but, take it for what it is.”

  Billy took a large swig of his pint. “Ye’ll have ma answer within a couple ay days.”

  As Billy slipped the photo into his backtail and stood, Clark produced a card from his pocket. “A wee token of my appreciation fer the numbers you’s have been shifting. Blair Street Sauna. Whatever you and your pals need will be on the house. Blonde, brunette, black, whatever.”

  “Nice one. Ah’ll be in touch.”

  36

  Billy took in the comfy looking detached and semi-detached houses in Grigor and up towards Crewe Toll later that night from the passenger seat of Danny’s car. He pondered the gulf between what he was moving past and the graffiti covered ghettos of Muirhouse just up the road. The thoughts raced through his mind faster than the car itself, like speeding lights, as he gazed out of the window at the other cars passing by, feeling the warmth of the ecstasy radiating throughout his body.

  “Turn it up, Danny!” he screamed, yanking at the volume knob as he tried in vain to force a louder noise out of the speakers.

  “Yer gonnae make ees crash ya fuckin lunatic!”

  “Mind an stop at Vicky Wine Danny boy!” shouted Joe as he perched his gurning jaw against the top of the driver seat, drumming his sweaty hand against the outside of the car door. “Ah’ll huv they decks blarin when we git back!”

  Billy wound the window down as they drove past the garage. He stuck his head out, feeling the euphoria overtaking him. His vision started shaking, leaving tracing shapes all around. It was fast becoming too hard to hold on to any thought for longer than seconds as they descended into a wild blur of image and emotion.

  The following day Billy sat there in that same passenger seat as a plane roared overhead, pounding his senses. The eccies were slowly but surely wearing off, leaving the after-effects of the amphetamine that had run like a constant strain underneath the MDMA for several days. Grinding teeth, a thumping heartbeat, a film of pasty sweat across the surface of his skin that wouldn’t budge. His body had run like a steam train from Friday right through to Tuesday fuelled by chemical after chemical, and now the comedown was kicking in with force, halting the train in its tracks.