‘Mate, it needs tae stop somewhere. It’s gittin oot ae fuckin control.’
Toffey doesnae understand yit. At sixteen, yir still a Young Team wan through n through. Daft as a brush n mad fur it. He husnae started tae endure the bad that’s inevitably comin. He’s still young, sittin in a tracky n a wee guy in the face.
‘Well A’ve git suhin tae tell yi.’
‘Spit it oot then!’
‘That Patricia’s bad news, mate. She’s still been fuckin aboot wae that Jamie Peters.’
‘Wit makes yi think that, youngster?’
‘Cos A saw hur wae him the other night.’
‘Aye right.’
‘Fuckin swear doon.’
‘Where?’
‘In his BMW, the flashy cunt.’
‘When?’
‘Fuckin Wednesday there, Azzy. She’s seein yi both, man. Git hur tae fuck.’
The door swings open n we both jump. Patricia’s standin n A kin tell by hur face she’s just heard Toffey’s revelation. Ma maw wis always bad fur lettin cunts just walk up the stair. She looks like she’s gonnae go fuckin tonto.
‘You’re a fuckin lyin wee cunt!’
‘Awright, Patricia. Just calm doon, fuck sake.’
‘Naw A won’t calm down! If you’re gonna sit n listen to that yi can fuck off.’
‘Who the fuck yi talkin tae?’ Toffey says wae a growl, bold as brass.
‘You, ya wee fanny! Azzy, yi know for a fact I’m not seein Jamie anymore.’
‘Wit wid Toffey lie fur?’
‘Maybe cos he wants yi to be wan of the Young Team! When yi clearly don’t give a fuck anymore n yir tryin to move on.’
Toffey is shakin his heed n pullin faces. Patricia is standin wae hur arms crossed in the doorway, ragin, wae a dash ae red across hur cheeks.
‘Well fuckin wan ae yees is lyin! N A cannae see why Toffey wid!’
Patricia comes over n sits wae me on ma bed. ‘Don’t listen to him, Azzy! He’s just tryin to get yi involved in shite! Danny’s got yi in enough trouble without believin wee-guy stories.’
‘Aye well, funny, Monica told us much the same hing.’
Hur face changes tae a deeper shade ae pissed aff. ‘Monica? As in the lassie who still clearly fancies you but is more interested in hur wee college boyfriend! N put it this way, A’ve not said anythin to you about you being in hur bit a few times. That’s up to you. You’re allowed pals.’
Wee Toffey is still shakin his heed n lightin another fag.
‘Are you still here, wee guy?’
‘Shut it, ya mad bint!’
‘Azzy, you seriously going to let him talk to me like that?’
‘That’s enough, son. Fuckin both yees calm doon, awright?’
‘Azzy big man, don’t believe a fuckin word she says! She’s a lyin bitch n she’s takin it aw ways behind yir back! Don’t believe the act, she’s at it!’
‘Fuck you, ya wee fuckin dick! Away n play wae yir fuckin pals down the park n leave the adults to it!’
‘A’ll adult yi! Ya fuckin scudbook!’
Patricia slaps the face aff him n ma wee pal looks like he’s gonnae blow. ‘AZZY, A’LL FUCKIN DO HUR! Gee the fuckin word, mate! We’ll say she fell over hur handbag! Fuckin cow, A’ll smash you!’
A try no tae laugh, n calm the scene doon. Wee Toffey’s loyalty is unfalterin n A’m inclined tae believe him before hur any day ae the fuckin week. ‘Yi better go, son. A’ll speak tae yi after.’
‘Aye well, wear a johnny, mate. She’s probably fuckin riddled wae aw sorts. Ya manky no-good fuckin midden!’
Toffey marches away doon the stairs, ragin. A’m lightin another smoke after the fuckin drama. Patricia lights wan angrily anaw n comes right up tae ma face. ‘Azzy, A phoned Jamie to come n get his stuff out my bit. He gave me the usual sob story n A told him to fuck off.’
‘So that’s how yi wur wae him?’
‘Aye. A’m done with him, honestly. A’m aw yours.’
‘There wis nae need fur that wae Wee Toffey. He wis only lookin oot fur me. He’s wan ae ma best wee mates oot the younger wans.’
‘Azzy, yi need to stop hangin aboot wae all these stupid wee guys. They’re gettin you into some bother! Everybody’s lookin fur Danny cos Si. Do yi actually realise that? When yi gonna fuckin grow up?’ She runs hur index finger doon ma cheek tae mock slash me. ‘Is that what yi want?’
‘Patricia, don’t fuckin start! That wisnae ma fuckin fault.’
‘A know that, but they don’t care.’
They. She says it like she’s sayin ‘we’. She hud sat wae aw them in their parties n motors n gaffs, suhin unimaginable tae aw us. The thought ae Patricia sittin wae them n shaggin wan ae them wis awready pushin it tae the limit. Nae go-betweens, scheme-hoppers or turncoats in the fuckin YT.
‘Well, fuck them. If they want Azzy Williams they kin come n git their fuckin go.’
‘Calm down, He-Man. Why don’t we just get away fur a bit?’
‘Wit yi mean?’
‘A’ve been meaning to say to yi. My aunt’s moved in with hur boyfriend down in Newcastle. She’s asked me if A want hur flat in Gateshead fur a few month. Riverside, minted place, son.’
‘Wit? Me n you doon there?’
‘Aye, why not? Is anything keepin yi up here?’
‘No really,’ A say after a minute.
‘Well then. Yi could get away from it fur a few months n see how yi feel.’
‘A’ll think aboot it.’
PART V
Slab
SHOCKING 36 MURDERS TAKEN PLACE IN LANARKSHIRE OVER THE PAST TWO YEARS
New figures reveal South Lanarkshire is ‘murder capital’ of Scotland.
Gary Fanning, Hamilton Advertiser
The Blue Light in the Toilet
It’s grey n could be any other month in Scotland. Just that daytime grey, overcast n heavy. Me n Big Kenzie ir sittin quietly, smokin n starin oot the windae at spring tickin over n failin tae ignite. Tam is twenty-two noo. Yi kin see he’s gittin elder, less interested n committed tae being a dafty. He works hard n enjoys a few pints. It’s obvious he’s changin n isnae so burstin wae that madness n reckless desire tae git in bother or git oot his heed. He’s talkin aboot holidays n other things he wants tae dae n hus met a wee burd. A’m keen tae meet the lassie. Tam seems different when he talks aboot hur – there’s a different glint in his eye. Maybe she wid help the big man screw the nut. Yi couldnae be the tap man forever. Eventually, even YT legends huv tae call time n move on, or perish.
‘Aye, Michelle is hur name, sir.’
‘Wit’s she like?’
‘Some laugh. Tall, pure healthy n kinda gingery – bit like Gemma! You still shaggin her?’
‘Nah, mate, patched.’
‘Aye, she fuckin burnt you, Sonny Jim! Always happens, she’s fuckin high-end. Better men than you huv hud their heart broke by hur. Wis she the fantasy ride everycunt dreams ae?’
A just wink. ‘Think yees wull end up gawn then?’
‘Just seein fur noo but see wit happens. A wis needin a fuckin wee burd n that. Company tae settle doon away fae aw the shite. A’m meetin her when she finishes, if yi want tae come doon a stoat.’
We pull intae the supermarket car park n jump oot Tam’s silver Golf GTI MK IV, the 1.8T fleein machine. Michelle is meetin us in the cafe across the road fur lunch. Before we cross the road, the big man pulls me intae the bus stop. Suhin’s caught his eye n he’s starin doon the street. A follow his line ae sight. Big Eck is standin talkin tae a wee shifty-lookin cunt. A barely seen the cunt noo n him n that past contingent ae the elder troops ir mostly gone – Taz, Whytey, Big Ryans, Bailey n McColl. Yi never see any them. Tam is standin starin through the opaque shelter, aw scratched wae graffiti n tippexed. The cunt Eck is wae looks like a wee rogue, a fuckin jag-a-bag. He’s wearin eld jeans wae holes in them n a faded Adidas jumper wae a leather jakit on top. If yi irnae lookin closely, yi wullnae see the pass. Hand up tae the mouth, then no quite a handshak
e but a brush past. The two cunt’s hands barely touch n they’re aff walkin in opposite directions. Eck’s lookin over his shoulder n side tae side before he sticks suhin in his gub. He jogs down towards the supermarket where we just came fae. A turn slowly towards Tam, cos now, tae us both, it’s obvious. His face is sullen in realisation ae suhin long rumoured. ‘Fuckin mon,’ Big Kenzie spits towards the bus shelter n walks back down towards the car park.
Eck is headin fur the entrance, walkin wae purpose towards the front door. He looks incongruous amongst the other shoppers hustlin n bustlin plastic bags n trollies. He disappears intae the foyer ahead. A’m a few paces behind Tam n A kin just make oot our eld mate bobbin in the crowd. The security guard growls at us when we walk in. He’s a fat eld cunt wearin his hat low like a sergeant major. Eck disappears doon the corridor wae the toilet signs n the baby-change facilities. Kenzie’s marchin ahead ae me. He stands n waits at the door fur a minute. We both know the sketch. Neither ae us want particularly tae verbalise the thought though.
The door creaks open slowly. The toilets ir quiet apart fae the buzz ae the lights. The two above the sink ir yir usual square yellow wans, but the two above the cubicles ir a shade ae royal blue. There’s the spark n scratch ae a disposable lighter. He doesnae hear two sets ae trainers meetin the linoleum floor. Yi kin smell the flint’s smoke n the cheap, industrial bleach. Tam stands back n boots the cubicle door open in wan swift go. Eck lets the end ae his belt fall n looks up wae his black mouth aghast. He lets oot a half smirk n sits back on the pan. The belt is wrapped tightly roon his arm but there’s nae blue veins tae be seen, just our eld mate wae a spoon, a needle n syringe n a wee dirty-lookin wrap restin on his lap. Junky paraphernalia.
Takin smack is a capital offence tae us. We wur born in the nineties n in the time since heroin hud made its mark n is fuckin hated in the schemes. Cunts who take it ir outcasts, nae doubt fuelled by the AIDS crisis – which tae us wis just PSE in school n no really seen as a heterosexual, non-heroin takin, majority problem. It isnae really a conscious thought, but it’s hardwired intae us fae generations past that this is an evil thing. If any yir troops take it, yi wur told by elder wans tae leather them n banish them fae the young team, otherwise cunts wid call yees aw junkies n that is unthinkable.
Eck knows that himsel. He sticks the needle intae an orange translucent cover n sits it back on the cistern n slips the belt aff his arm. He puts the brown wrap in his pocket n sits back in resignation. That’s the red rag that Big Kenzie is waitin fur. A hear a sharp intake ae breath fae each nostril. There’s nae words spoken. Eck’s lookin at me fur respite but A’ve nuhin tae add n A stand lookin at ma shoes. Tam takes a step back n volleys the heed aff him. Trainer toe meets nose n splatters over the plastic cubicle wall. A see thick red sprayed over pastel magnolia. Tam unleashes fury on his face, punchin n kickin wildly. A try tae pull him back. He spits on the floor next tae his eld best mate n turns tae leave. The door flies open n the security guard bursts in n rugby tackles Tam tae the deck. Another two workers ir tryin tae wrestle me tae the ground in the toilet. A put the first on his arse n follow a thunderous right wae a lightnin left tae his pal. Both ae them fall like a set ae skittles. Noo it’s me tacklin the guard n Tam kickin him in the face on the deck. We’re aw shoutin our heeds aff n A’m pullin Big Kenzie back tae his feet n oot the door.
We try tae walk oot casual. It’s nae use. There’s another three shop workers shown up noo cos the shoutin n commotion, aw big cunts tryin tae grab at us. A’m flyin rights oot on the shop floor n cunts ir tryin tae grab me. It’s a riot. Even helpful passers-by ir intervenin n grabbin at us, assumin that we’re shoplifters on the run. We’re runnin fur the exit n two polis in hi-vis jakits run in. Big Kenzie gets grabbed aff a fat wan n he’s caught a beaut. The other wan slide tackles me tae the floor n A’m gittin pulled oot fae under a table wae insurance leaflets n two shocked big wumen in yellow n black fleeces. The two ae us git dragged back tae the toilets in cuffs. ‘Is that the two?’ the first screw says tae the guard, his mate holdin paper towels tae his burst nose.
‘Aye, that’s the wee bastards!’ N that’s it. A glance at Eck being lifted up – he’s dazed n doesnae really know where he is. The last thing A see before A’m marched oot is a wee pool ae blood, dark purple under the blue light in the toilet.
Toffey and Other Suites
It’s the usual pish in the cells. A’m sittin in ma white socks, filthy noo wae black soles fae the mockit floor. A’ve git the blue mat, bare walls n concrete step fur a bed. Ma wee curtain sheet is roon us like a nun’s wimple. A’ve no even git the alcohol-related drowsiness that A kin just crash oot n forget. A’m stuck here tae brood n ponder ma condition n fate. What wid the repercussions be fur this stunt? A’m eighteen noo. They irnae goin tae take any pish excuses aboot being a wee guy. We’ve been charged wae actual bodily harm, assault, resisting arrest, vandalism n, tae tap it aw aff, a fuckin breach ae the peace. We wid needty see wit the PF wid make ae that. A’ve never been tae the jail but that’s nae guarantee against a custodial shoved right up yir arse. The polis ir sayin this n sayin that, aboot how evil we ir n how we attacked a vulnerable addict in a toilet and became violent wae security, police and members ae the public who intervened, fire n fuckin brimstone. A feel shite fur Eck. Their clique hud drifted fae us in the last years. Bailey, Whytey, Eck n McColl hud aw been on it, allegedly. Yi never repeated rumours like that but, no aboot yir ain team. It’s still taboo. While we fought n drank, took pills n went tae the big raves, they headed doon a significantly darker route n wan n aw faded away tae nuhin.
There’s a strange sanity tae it aw fur us, like aw this is a natural continuation ae those first rights ae passage. The days ae being wee neds in a gang ir long gone. People our age ir movin on n gittin on wae their lives. Yi huv polis officers, trainee teachers n aw manner ae good professions acceptin cunts our age. Wit ir we dain? Still hangin on tae suhin which is awready behind us. Sittin wae our school pals drinkin n takin drugs n chasin that eld buzz. It’s an ideal, a nostalgia. Collective loyalty n belonging. The notion ae that collective union hus slipped away fae us. Those who keep chasin it beyond our age ir trapped in never-never land forever.
A dream back tae the days wae us aw oot roon a wee fire wae bottles n the troops aw there. That wis the start ae aw this, but suhin hus changed n gone sour along the way. Wit happened tae aw ma eld pals, the wans who used tae mean suhin? Wit promises did the next stage ae life offer? Tae keep goin doon this road tae nowhere, a deeper darkenin ae everyhin that hud come before? Tae git a scheme burd pregnant and doom yir weans tae the same inescapable cycle ae degradation, acceptance and repetition? A don’t want that, A know that noo. A’m trapped n forced in these useful moments ae incarceration tae dwell on aw this, tae think it aw through n confront that persistent self that awaits yi, when the colour n noise ae the madness ceases n yi start tae see the truth. A look at the graffiti ae ghosts scratched intae the walls n mourn, thinkin aboot Monica, if she could see me noo. Cos she’s probably on a night oot wae Dominic in Glesga – Merchant Square or Ashton Lane – gittin food n drinks n dressed-up nice. Here A’m ir, sittin wae ma white cotton socks, turned black, in a cell like a condemned man, awaitin his fate. A take the red pill ae awakenin n there’s nae goin back, cos once yi wake up, yi kin see it everywhere n it’s obvious. There’s nae light at the end ae this tunnel. Ma thoughts ae freedom ir ironic, sayin they’re comin straight fae a Strathclyde Police custody suite in Coatbrig polis station.
Twenty-six hours later, the black door opens n A’m handed ma trainers. Big Kenzie is waitin in the reception fur me. We’re given our pink slips n turfed oot without our jakits, which huv been confiscated fur evidence, in case we plead not guilty at our diet. Wae CCTV n aboot twenty witnesses, it wid be a quick day in court, guilty wae nae discount. It’s fucked. We walk oot intae the brisk March night n head fur home. Our phones ir dead n there’s nae bus fae here so we’re walkin up the road. Tam looks a bit guilty. ‘A’m sorry, ma
te. A know you didnae need that pish. A feel shite aboot it.’
‘Don’t worry aboot it. It’s just wan ae they things.’
‘A know, mate. Yi didnae deserve aw that, especially wae yir troubles awready n tryin tae sort yirsel oot.’
‘Wit kin yi dae, mate. A know yi wur ragin.’
‘Fuckin gutted. Imagin it wis your best mate, sittin there jaggin. Like Danny or that. You’d fly aff the fuckin handle anaw. A seen red, cuz.’
‘Don’t sweat it, big yin. Club fur a pint?’
‘Aye fuck. Nuhin else fur it.’
Yi kin only see snow on the highest peaks ae the hills noo, the faint outline ae white in the darkenin skyline. They’re always here lookin over yi. Yi wid never be lost, as long as yi huv them tae use as a reference point, like a guidin star. They disappear every night, but come back wae the sun risin in the opposite direction towards the east n Edinburgh. In an hour the sun will disappear behind them, the Campsies formin a black silhouette against the sky tae the north-west. The roads huv grown quiet n settled doon fur the evenin. Only a few motors huv passed us n we walk alone n unperturbed.
A’m breathin in the fresh air deeply through ma nostrils. We’re marchin along wae that liberated feelin. Strange, how even a night’s incarceration kin leave yi feelin appreciative ae the freedom yi take fur granted. A glance towards Big Kenzie, lookin older n wiser aboot it aw. Ma mind goes tae Michelle, who probably waited fur us and left alone. A feel sad aboot that n A want tae meet hur n see ma eld pal wae hur. Someone special hus the power tae change yir life fur the better. A hope she’ll dae that fur him. He’s a mental bastard, but always a good cunt.
We’re nearly there, walkin by rough-casted council hooses n unkempt gardens wae metal fences. Beyond the park n the eld bridge, by the shop n the lane, the orange backs ae blinds n curtains glow in the dark. We reach the Orange Hall n bounce in. The place is quiet. Nae music is playin fae the jukebox n there’s nae laughin or singin tae be heard. The warmth greets us when we walk in the door n our arms n hands sting fae the cold ootside. We’re faced wae aboot ten heeds in the bar n the usual eld punters. Aw the troops ir here. Broonie n Briggy ir standin by the pool table but no playin. Carlyle n Dalzell ir there anaw. Gunny, Danny n Kenzie ir sittin on the benches. Addison is sittin wae Big Rose, Finnegan, n Toni n Amanda. Monica is standin right in front ae me. A look at Big Kenzie n shrug. Yi never seen everycunt in here. ‘Wit’s the occasion troops?’
The Young Team Page 17