Dead Men's Trousers

by Irvine Welsh

  The ride gets good when I hit Ventura as the road hugs the coastline, the breaking waves lapping up along the shore. My shades are on, the window is rolled down and I’ve keyed Begbie’s address into the GPS. This hire drives nicely, responsive tae my touch on the wheel, as I weave smoothly in and out of traffic.

  I need that money. I need it tae be able to build a life here, and I need it right now. No in six months’ time when Conrad’s royalties come in, cause that will be my last payday there. He’s building up tae say something; he’ll be off tae a bigger manager, like Ivan did.

  So this is how it has to happen. Franco’s beaten me at what I value most – art – and now I have tae have this dash wi the cunt; face him on his home turf of violence. If I stand over him, the battered artist, I’ve won the duel. If he beats ays tae a pulp, I’ve also won: I’ve shown the cunt up for what he is, and what he’ll always be. And me? What am I? Spud, God rest his soul, is more creative than me. He produced something more detailed, clever and meaningful about our life on skag than anything that was in my diaries. I’m glad I sent it off to that publisher.

  I play my messages back over the car speaker. Conrad first:

  What is going on? I need you to phone me! I am in Los Angeles! There are things we need to talk about! Where are you?!

  Muchteld:

  Mark. This is not good. You have been been absent with the track coming out. Conrad is pissed off. You need to deal with this and everything else at Citadel. Call me.

  Fuck them all. I’ve bigger fish to fry. I’m fighting for my future, and also my son’s and my dad’s.

  When I get on the turn-off for Santa Barbara, I pass fresh roadkill by the side of the highway. It looks like a domestic pet; a cat or a small dog. I think ay Begbie, and how one ay us is fucking getting it.

  39

  BEGBIE – HOSTAGE

  It’s just got dark. There’s the cool breeze coming oafay the ocean, and that scent ay eucalyptus fae the trees in the garden. Mel is in the hoose, putting the kids tae bed, and I’ve just stepped out tae take the trash tae the dumpster in the alley at the back ay the yard. Have tae gie the cunt his due, he’s fuckin quiet enough. Hear nowt till I feel the gun barrel. Naebody’s stuck one ay them in the back ay ma neck before, but ah ken what it is right away. — Just walk back in here, he sais, pushing it harder against ays.

  So we cross the yard and enter the kitchen through the back door. Probably this is where I should pivot and ram the nut on the cunt. But he might pull the trigger. Aw I’m thinking of is Melanie and the girls, through in their beds. So when ah realise we’re gaun intae my workshop, which is attached tae the house, ah’m no resisting, as it’s the furthest point fae the bairns’ bedroom. Ye sometimes get a chance, one chance, in a situ like this. Ah made a mistake ay no striking right away, but ah didnae git a sketch ay the cunt tae tipple how gone he was. — You … he turns me round, — put your arms behind you.

  The cop cunt. Harry the fuckin Hammy Hamster.

  Ah comply, as I’ve nae doubt he’ll pull the trigger. His voice is tellin ays he’s fucking away wi it. That he’s gone tae a place in his heid where he’s set out the path ay action and willnae deviate fae it. Clipped, precise and certain. What d’ye dae at times like these? Obey and hope something turns up, n if it does, grab the fucking opportunity.

  He gets me tae sit in one ay the metal chairs ah keep for visitors. They replaced a couch, as I didnae want people getting too comfy in ma place ay work and distracting me. He moves behind ays. — Put your hands through the back of the chair.

  As I comply I feel the metal harshly clasping ma wrists. A long time since I’ve known that sensation. Nowt like it for making yir guts sink. Ah kin hear the bats squeakin ootside in the trees.

  Then he’s got a length ay rope and I’m thinkin This cunt is gaun for a revenge hingin, but he’s winding it roond ays, securing me tae the chair. He heads tae the door. Ah’m about tae scream: Get the fuckin bairns oot and run like fuck, now, but he turns tae me, his eyes hidden in shadow. Under that slash ay darkness, ah see his lips, set tight. — Don’t fucking move or shout out or you will hear gunshots. I guarantee it.

  And he goes away. The bats are silent now. Amazing how they settle so quickly. This is the hardest bit. Every fuckin fibre ay ays wants tae roar oot a warning, but this cunt really does look ready tae start shootin. Ah think aboot they two wee lassies, lying dead, lifeless, in their ain blood, smashed by bullets. Mel the same wey. My knives are by my workbench, attached tae the waw by a magnetic strip. I start tae inch the chair back in that direction. Suddenly the sound ay tense whispering, and ah’m thinking: dinnae let the cunt get tae the point where he’s left himself nae option but tae shoot ays. Save ays for the fuckin payback. Then, thank fuck, eh’s back in wi Melanie. Her hands are cuffed behind her back, but she doesnae seem injured. Tears are running doon her cheeks as she looks at ays, imploring through her shock, but ah kin dae nowt, except concentrate like fuck on ma breathin, as she’s pushed intae the identical chair next tae mine. It’s aw ah can dae tae look at her, for the shame I feel aboot no being able tae protect her and the bairns.

  This Hammy Hamster cunt stands in the doorway wi his gun pointed at us. Eyes focused but wi that glaze that aw men ready tae hurt need tae pit between them and their prey. Mel pleads softly with him, keeping her voice firm and professional. — Please don’t hurt the children …

  — That’s down to you, he snaps, moving towards ays.

  It’s hard tae witness. Ah’m no keen tae stoap a bullet, but ah’ll take yin for them. — Leave her and the kids out of this, I tell him, trying tae stand up in the chair. — This is between you and me.

  It’s funny, but ah hear Mel scream oot before ah feel any pain. — No, please! she yells as the cunt connects the butt ay the pistol wi the side ay my jaw, and pushes me doon.

  — Don’t wake your kids, the cunt goes, makin it sound like a threat. — Now you, he looks at me, — you tell this stupid fucking whore all about the man she married!

  Ah keep quiet. Ah look up at the ceiling fan. Then doon at the concrete flair. Sensing the knives behind ays, wi the hammers, chisels, n aw the other sculpting stuff.

  — Tell her!

  — Harry, please, Mel begs, as ah’m lookin ower the other tools in view, like the gas canisters and the acetylene torch, off tae the side. — It doesn’t have to be like this, she goes, aw breathless. — You say you care for me! How is this caring for anybody? And she’s greetin, tryin tae keep control ay hersel. The fear is nearly overwhelming her.

  — I thought you were strong, he sneers at her, pacin up n doon in front ay us, — with that proud, stuck-up-bitch way you had. But I was wrong. You’re weak, soft in the head. Easy meat for evil bastards like this scumbag. He points at ays. — This asshole broke into my home! Tried to kill me! Tried to fucking well hang me with a noose! My own garden hose! Have you told her that? He bends doon and screams in ma face: — HAVE YOU?!

  Ah feel his gob on ma cheek.

  — What? You’re fantasising, mate. Ah shake ma heid. — Auto-asphixiation, was it? Jerk off, did ye?

  — TELL HER! And he batters me in the pus again with the gun. Ah feel ma cheekbone depress.

  Breathe …

  Pain’s never bothered ays much. It’s jist a message. Ye kin put pain outside ay yirsel. The eyes, teeth n baws are hardest, but ye can dae it.

  Mel screams out again. — No, Harry, please!

  There are stars, aw different colours, dancing in front ay ma eyes. Ah tries tae blink them away as ah focus on this cunt. — Ever done DMT?

  — You shut the fuck up!

  — A mate gied ays it, ah explain. — Said it was the ultimate trip. Said that as an artist, ah should experience it.

  He looks tae Mel, then back at me. — I’m fucking warning you …

  — Now ah nivir really liked drugs. A peeve, aye, sound, ah smile at him. — A wee bit ay ching. But this stuff, couldnae really caw it a drug as such –

  — Harry! P
lease! Mel shouts. — This is lunacy! We have two little girls in their beds! We need to work this out!

  This cop cunt laughs in her face. — What can you work out? You, who can’t even see what you fucking married! I used to be in love with you. Wanted to be with you. He laughs in that daftie sneer again. — Now? Now I pity you. I pity the useless, pathetic cunt that you are!

  Ah fuckin hate the way some American cunts call lassies cunts. Fuckin offensive, that shite. Ah’m tastin ma ain blood doon the back ay ma throat, as ah try tae breathe steadily in through ma neb. That sweet Pacific air comin through the metallic scent. Nowt like it. — That’s a bit sad, mate.

  — What?

  — Ye cannae be in love wi somebody whae isnae in love wi you. It’s no love, it’s just a fucking noncey sickness in the heid. You’re no well, pal, I say. — Get treatment. Doesnae need to be this way.

  — Jim, no, please … Mel’s urgin ays tae be quiet, let her do the talkin.

  — You?! You call me fuckin sick in the head! You?!

  — Listen, ah tell him, no likin the wey Mel’s lookin at ays, like she might half believe this radge, — do what you like with me but leave them out of it, Mel n the kids. They’re not the issue. That’s what ye always wanted, me out the road. Make it happen.

  — Jim, no! Melanie squeals, drawin Hammy’s attention back tae her.

  — It’s too late for that, the cunt tells her, then eh’s back tae me. — You tell her. Tell her what you done! Coover! Santiago! Tell her about them! Tell her who you are!

  Ah’d go tae the fuckin grave before ah’d grass masel up tae Mel aboot removing they two rapist trash. — Tell her what, ya fuckin bam?

  He jumps forward and his pistol butt cracks down on my beak this time. A bolt ay searing pain shoots up tae the centre ay ma brain. It feels fuckin good. The sickness maist cunts would feel rising in their guts, ye just laugh at that shite n away it goes. Ye huv tae make friends wi pain. Ah see them aw in ma mind’s eye again. Like they were in that DMT trip; Seeker, Donnelly, Chizzie, Coover, Santiago, Ponce, naebody really seeming that upset. Just enjoying the feast …

  But the mood was sort ay … disorganised. It was like this grand stately dining room, but it felt like a bus terminal or railway station, somewhere that would take ye somewhere else. There wis this overriding idea that we needed tae just sit doon and get on wi the meal. Finish it, so we could move on, go somewhere else. Ah wonder where. Ah’m thinkin that it would be good tae try that DMT again, maybe see if we could take it tae the next fuckin level.

  — Harry, stop, please, let us go! You’re a police officer, Harry! Melanie’s screams cut through ma thoughts.

  — And what use was that? What respect did I ever get from you, from cunts like you, for that?

  — I respect the police, I respect the law, Mel says, calm, reasonable, and finding strength again fae somewhere. — This isn’t the law, Harry!

  The cunt seems tae think aboot this for a second or two. — You go with this fucking murdering old jailbird, who’s not even from here, he points at ays withoot looking at ays, which gits ma fuckin goat, — and you talk about the goddamn law. That is rich. You really are a piece of work.

  I’m staring at him. The blood trickling slowly doon the back ay ma throat. I’ve never hated anything so much in ma life. Ah pull in a deep breath. — Uncuff ays, ah say, nearly in a whisper. — A fuckin square go then, ya shitein cunt.

  The cop pervert looks at ays like ah’m a radge. He cannae understand a fuckin word. — What are you talking about, fool? Then he puts his gun tae Melanie’s head.

  — Noo … Melanie shuts her eyes.

  — Please … I hear a small voice coming fae inside ays. It’s no ma ain. It is ma ain. — Don’t hurt her. If you loved her like ye say ye dae, you cannae hurt her. Please …

  — Tell her, Hammy screams at ays, his eyes doolally. — Tell her what you did or I’ll pull the fucking trigger!

  Ma heid is startin tae clear n ma eyes ur getting intae focus.

  Hammy pivots n slowly points the gun at me. At least it’s away fae Mel. — Now I’m gonna blow your fucking head off. You’re too much of a selfish asshole to deserve to see your kids grow up … or even your fucking wife grow up, you sorry old motherfucker, n eh turns tae Mel briefly before whiplashing back tae me. — You will never know what is gonna happen next: to her, or your kids. Tell me, how does that feel? His face is grinning right at ays.

  Nowt ah kin dae but spill n beg, and then …

  And then ah see him …

  Standing just behind the copper.

  My old mate. In his hands, the baseball bat I got fae Karl Gibson. The ex-Dodgers boy who got ays tae make that mutilated heid ay his former coach. The story eh telt, how eh hit the home run tae win game one for the Dodgers in the World Series. And there the cunt is, half in shadow, the bat raised …

  RENTON …

  … He takes a swing and skelps Hammy right across the side ay his pus. The polis cunt goes doon and the gun fires off, a shot ringing oot. Renton is right on Hammy, on top ay him, battering the cunt. The most amazing thing is that it isnae even a fight. It’s a fuckin massacre. Renton’s heid smashes repeatedly into Hammy’s nose. Then his elbays. He grabs the bat again n wedges it on Hammy’s windpipe. Renton. — THAT’S IT, RENTS! KILL THE CUNT! YLT!!

  — I’M A CAW-CAW-CAWWP … the dopey cunt gargles.

  — I’m a fuckin social worker, ah think Renton sais, n he isnae letting up until the cunt’s eyes roll right intae his heid. Even though Rents wisnae a fighter, ye kin see that schemie flint in they squirrelly, shifty, sunken eyes. That ruthless snide streak that would never hesitate and surrender any advantage life throws at ye by accident. This Hammy Hamster cunt is fuckin well out for the count! I’m trying tae git tae ma feet in this fuckin chair …

  — Stop, Mark, Mel begs, — he’s done!

  Renton eases the pressure and looks up at us, panic in his wide eyes. He’s spooked himself now, at where he’s taken this. The cop cunt is fuckin spangled, right enough. Renton takes the cunt’s pulse oan his neck. — He’s still here, he says in a gasping, euphoric chant ay excitement and relief.

  — Thank God you came, Mark, thank God you came … Mel blabbers, pale and disbelieving as she stares doon at Hammy, his face bloodied and pulped.

  Rents’s eyes are everywhere before they settle on me. — Where’s the keys tae they cuffs?

  — The cunt’s poakits, ah tell him.

  Renton goes back tae Hammy and fishes oot these keys on a chain. Tries a couple before they work. He frees Mel first. — Oh, bless you, Mark, she goes n flings her airms around him, then she turns tae me, and does the same, as Renton takes oaf ma cuffs n starts windin that rope oaf ay ays. Ah stand up too quick and feel like ah’m gaunny cowp ower n be seek, but ah fight the impulse doon. — Rents … what the fuck are you daein here?

  — Well, it looks like ah’m fuckin helpin you oot, bud, ay? Renton says, shaking, his teeth hammering thegither in shock. — What’s gaun oan here?

  Mel’s still got a hud ay me, but suddenly ah see the blood. Ah wriggle oot her grip. His fuckin bullet caught her in the airm. — Ye okay?

  — It’s only a graze, she says, and wraps an auld rag roond it. She looks tae the door n goes, — The girls, n she runs through.

  Ah picks up the shooter that Hammy cunt droaped when Rents tanned the fucker’s pus. Ah’m careful no tae touch the handle. The barrel’s still hoat in ma fingers.

  Renton sees ays looking at the cop’s body. He’s still half oot, groanin oan the deck, baith eyes rollin n tryin tae focus, blood pishin oot ay his mooth.

  Renton kens what I’m thinking. — He broke in, ah tell him. — He’s been stalking Mel. Obsessed wi her, since school. A weirdo. He’s a cop, an ex-cop, but an alkie.

  — The polis’ll do the cunt, Franco.

  — One fuckin shot but, ay? Self-defence. Solve the whole fuckin problem!

  — It’s his shooter, Frank. He’s fucked. Dinnae shoot the cunt, yo
u’ll jist fuck it aw up.

  Ah thinks aboot this. Hauls in a deep breath. He’s probably right. Ah pits the gun doon oan the bench. — AH’LL FUCKIN KILL THE CUNT! N ah step forward, ready tae stomp that heid intae that concrete flair, till the skull cracks n grey shite spills oot ay it, till ah kin smell the cunt’s brains …

  — JIM, STOP! Mel has come back through, and she’s ower grabbing ays by the airm. — The girls are okay, she shrieks at ays. — They slept through it all! Just call the police!

  — It’s the way tae go, Franco, Rents smiles, like he’s comin up oan a fuckin ecky.

  — Aye, right … n ah pull in some mair gulps ay air.

  — Honey, he’s an ex-cop and a stalker. The trauma is back in Mel’s eyes. — This is for the police! You must see that!

  Ah’m lookin at Hammy Hamster, still tryin tae git ma breathin sorted oot. The rush ay blood tae the heid, like the tide comin in, the same sort ay sound ah heard when ah fucked they two wide cunts oan the beach, the ones the cop cunt wis talkin aboot … it slowly starts tae recede. Ah look at the cunt oan the deck. It wid be easy …

  Naw … jist breathe …

  — Mel’s right, Franco, Rents says, bug-eyed n excited, makin a fist ay a scrapped and swollen mitt. — Think ay the life he’ll have in prison as an ex-copper: ungreased butt-fuckings every day. He’s gaun tae a place a lot worse than death, Franco!

  Mel looks at Rents in a vaguely chastising way, as ah haul in another deep breath. — You eywis kent how tae get roond me, I say tae um, and I walk ower tae Hammy’s groaning body, swing ma leg back and boot oot three ay the cunt’s front teeth with one blow.