‘A know, mate, fuck it’s been a while. A done awright doon there, wis workin n done an HND at college.’
‘Fuck sake, nice wan. Yi always wur a brainy wee cunt. Sah, where’s the catch?’
‘Me n Patricia finished.’
‘Always knew that wee scudbook wis a wrong ’un.’
‘Thomas, fuck sake …’
‘Sorry, hen, but she wis. Always runnin aboot wae aw us n they fuckin Toi wans at the same time. Wee scheme-hoppin cow! Dis yir maw know yir up?’
‘Naw, no spoke tae hur. Just left Stacey’s bit there.’
‘Ufft! She’ll be bealin!’
‘Aye she’ll be worryin n aw that. Seen much ae the troops?’
‘Wee John isnae workin yit. He’s runnin aboot dain stuff fur the McIntires wae Broonie these days. Usual patter.’
‘Aye, tell us aboot it! Wit aboot Danny?’
‘Phhft! Danny’s a fuckin house mouse noo, sir. No seen the cunt fur months. Think he’s still aboot wae aw them but he’s no wit he used tae be the cunt. Heed’s frazzled wae the fuckin gear. Skinny noo.’
‘N Broonie’s runnin aboot wae Kenzie?’
‘Wee fuckin Broonie Beefcake! Wanty see him noo. Fuckin solid, the wee cunt. Wee baldy tank, drivin an Audi A3!’ Big Kenzie’s patter’s always class. ‘Your other wee mates Finnegan n Toni ir in a bad way, sir. Two ae them run aboot like junkies noo, mate. Bad craic.’
‘Sounds like things huv changed.’
The front door gets chapped n opens. Michelle goes tae git up but Big Kenzie is awready on his feet. She catches ma eye before she’s shoutin, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me,’ a voice comes back. A know who it is. A’m slidin back up the couch again, waitin on Wee Kenzie’s arrival. Tam walks back in n stands just in front ae him. Kenzie looks elder, thin fair hair still gelled, n wearin a Lacoste tracky. A normally wore jeans n that noo.
‘No way.’
‘Happnin, Kenzie.’
‘Phhft! Fuck you dain back up here. Thought you wur too good fur the boys, eh?’
‘Fuckin nane ae that, John, ya wee dick.’
‘Naw, Tam. A’ll say wit A fuckin want. Azzy fuckin Williams fucks aff fur aboot four year n just turns up n says “happnin”. Nae chance. Yi kin fuck aff back doon tae England, ya slopin bastard.’
‘If you’re gonnae start yi kin get out ma house, John.’
‘A’m sorry, Michelle, but it’s the fuckin truth,’ John says, flappin his arms aboot like a fuckin turkey.
‘Least Azzy wis tryin tae sort himself out – he moved away wae his burd, what dae yi expect?’ Michelle says, offended fur us.
‘Exactly, ya fuckin wee dick. Don’t dare come in ma fuckin gaff n start geein ma pals cheek or A’ll smash fuck oot yi, ya wee trumpet.’
‘Tryin tae say you’d hit yir ain brother before a fuckin stranger? Didnae hink so.’
‘Want tae find oot? Two ae us wull take yi oot the front n kick fuck oot yi. Azzy’s nae stranger here. He’s wan ae the real cunts.’
‘Calm doon, Tam. It’s awright. If yi wanty fuckin faw oot wae me, John, then fuck yi. Yi kin piss aff.’
‘Aye we’ll see, ya dick. Don’t dare try n bounce back up here n start dishin it oot.’
A’m on ma feet noo n awready yi kin see Kenzie fillin his nappy, the wee cunt. Aw mouth as he fuckin always wis. Tam winks at me n holds an open hand up tae me. ‘It’s awright, Azzy. Let the fuckin wean huv his tantrum. Aw the boys wull be glad tae see yi anaw, dunno wit yir takin the fuckin huff fur, fanny baws.’
‘Cos.’
‘Well then, if any them huv git anyhin tae say tae Azzy, they kin say it tae me anaw. Awright? A’m the fuckin gaffer!’ Big Kenzie says, puffin his chest oot.
A’m laughin n even Michelle smiles a wee bit tae hurself.
‘Aye nae bor, eld yin! We’ll see. You’ll be changin nappies – leave runnin the scheme tae me.’
‘Runnin the scheme? Yi couldnae run a raffle, ya fuckin jobby! Aw yi ever did wis run, so you’ve plenty experience! Eh, Azzy? Should be callin him the Roadrunner instead ae that skinny fuckin polis!’
A’m laughin n flappin ma hand, aw mooth. A gee him the fuckin look. He cannae keep ma eye contact n he shites himself.
‘Shut the fuckin door on yir way oot. Dunno wit yir here fur anyway, ya wee dick. Yir no wantit.’
‘Aw aye, that’s remembered then, Tam, ya prick.’
‘Piss aff, wee man. Huv you no git a scheme tae run? HA! Mad Jambo McKenzie – the Scheme Runner … yi better watch, Azzy, fuck! This cunt’s heavy runnin the scheme n aw that!’ We’re aw laughin like fuck. Yi cannae help it. Big Kenzie’s a funny bastard. Wee Kenzie is ragin.
‘Aye, aye, Azzy, wulnae be that when Matty n that find oot yir back. They’ll rip your fuckin heed aff fur hittin his burd. You’re stull due wan fur that n yi fuckin deserve it ya beasty bastard!’
Yi always know when Tam is gonnae whack somecunt. Yi see him takin the dragon breaths through the nose n tensin up. It comes quick n he springs oot wae a right n sends John tae the deck. A cannae see him behind the couch but A kin hear him fuckin whimperin like a wean. A kin see blood on the wall behind him fae his beak. Michelle looks ragin. ‘FUCK SAKE, THOMAS! STOP IT!’
‘Tellin yi, John. Yir tryin ma patience, son. Ma burd’s fuckin pregnant n you’re comin in here startin on our pals. Git tae fuck, ya fuckin liability.’
‘Right. A’m away.’
He doesnae look back. Just skulks oot the door n away. Big Kenzie is calmin doon, his breaths gittin less deep, that eld madness retreatin wae it.
Persona Non Grata
Friday night is the most alive yi see this place. The ritual is well under way. It’s just turnin five n there’s loads ae traffic racin doon the hill, the shops ir bouncin. The weans ir oot playin on their bikes n a few late stragglers fae school walk up wae their backpacks swingin halfway doon their arse. Aw the workies ir standin ootside the pub n the latest young team ir waitin fur their bottles. A didnae recognise any they wee guys. The wee cunts noo wear stylish shit, jeans n even fuckin chinos, rather than our polyester trackies. Some ae the wee cunts huv body warmers on, a new trend. There isnae a Berghaus jakit or a fitbaw tracky in sight. A laugh as A drive by the wee cunts. Cunts wid huv slapped yi if yi came oot lookin like that in our day, wee bodywarmer n chino mafia.
A’m headin fur the Orange Hall oot ae habit. Aw the motors used tae park there fur a few joints before the Friday plans came the-gither. A’ve still no seen any the other troops. A knew the writin wid be on the wall but, after Wee Kenzie’s pish earlier on. He’d be tellin everycunt, the wee prick. A’m starin oot the motor windae, dreamin aboot aw this, when the passenger windae gets chapped. The motor door gets yanked open. A’ve nae time tae react.
‘HAPPNIN, AZZY BOY!’
‘Awright, Broonie mate!’
‘Kenzie’s just been roon fuckin greetin aboot gittin a slap aff the big man. Callin you fur aw sorts.’
‘Aye, fuckin bet he wis.’
‘A telt him tae stop fuckin greetin n that yir wan ae the boys fur life, fuck sake. Yi hud tae bail or yi wur gonnae get it! A understond, mate. Don’t worry, A’ll say tae everycunt yir back n fuckin kickin!’
That’s wit A’m worried aboot. Broonie’s holdin a big paw oot tae shake n A grab it n pull the cunt in fur a hug. A cannae believe the size ae him. He’s put on aboot three stone in muscle. The cunt’s arms n legs ir chunky as n he’s wearin G-Star jeans, brown Rockport boots n a smart Duck n Cover jumper. He’s lookin flashy as fuck n hus an Armani watch on n a chunky gold sovvy-ring on his finger. ‘Cheers, mate. Yir lookin well, fuck sake. Yi makin moves, son?’
The cunt booms a fuckin laugh in ma direction. ‘A wish, cuz! Just been dain the gear fur Marcus n that. Git hunner quid tickets there tae shift. Got maself some fuckin new clobber n a nice brief.’
‘Aye so A kin see! Been hittin the gym?’
‘Aye fuck. Been hammerin it fur over a year noo. Everycunt thinks A’m on the fuckin ro
ids, man.’
‘A take it yir no then?’
Broonie beats his chest like a fuckin ape. ‘No a drap ae water in there, ma boy!’
‘It’s good tae see yi, ya cunt.’
‘You anaw, Azzy, ma main man!’
Broonie pulls a joint oot fae behind his left ear n goes tae light it. ‘Is that sound, cuz? You still aff it?’
‘Aye batter in, just stick the fuckin windae doon n don’t make a mess.’
‘A know, A’m fuckin bad fur it! Got a lighter by the way?’ A shake ma heed n hand him ma wan. He sparks the thing up n starts puffin it oot the windae wae a big smile on his face. Smells like right stinky stuff n it fuckin chokes me noo wae the reek aff it.
‘Longs that you’ve been aff it noo?’
‘Nearly three year aff aw drugs, mate.’
‘Fuck sake, sir! That when you guyed it n perched?’
‘Aye, mate. Long time.’
‘Newcastle, eh? Wit’s it like doon there then?’
‘No bad, mate. But no home.’
‘Oh aye. How’s the lovely fuckin Tricia?’
‘We’ve finished, mate.’
‘Aye? Nae fuckin chance! Wit fur?’
‘Just cos, man.’
‘Ah they’re aw the same, mucker!’
‘Wit aboot you, Broonie Beefcake? How’s yir eld da?’
‘Wee fuckin Stevie’s his usual self, mate. Kicks aboot in the painter’s rig oot n never paints. Still on n aff the sauce. He gits better fur a while then gets worse again. Always a see-saw, know wit A mean? Aw quiet mostly fur me, cuz. A wis shaggin this wee burd fae Coatbrig n A got rubber wan night n pumped Big Rose! Fuckin tell any cunt n we’re done!’
A burst oot laughin, fuckin pishin maself. That wisnae an image yi wanted tae dwell on. ‘Fuck’s happened tae Danny? Big Kenzie wis tellin me he’s in a bad way wae the gear.’
Broonie takes a last long draw ae his joint n flicks it. ‘Heed’s fuckin pan-fried, man.’
‘How dae yi mean?’
‘Takin they fuckin panic attacks n aw that. Cunt’s scared tae leave the hoose. Pure paranoia, son.’
They’re suhin A know aboot. None ae the boys knew A hud taken them. They wur ma personal demon. They’re complex n when they huv a grip ae yi it’s a battle. Yi kin heal fae them anaw but. When life’s periphery is happy n yi exercise n enjoy yir work n huv good relationships n nae drama or tragedy – yir mental health improves. Funny that eh … It’s always a matter ae current compression, stress, pressure n past trauma. Start improvin in these areas n magic happens. Yi feel yirself again n yi kin feel good.
‘A see.’
‘Yi should go n visit him, mate. Sure he’d appreciate it. Just cos everycunt’s busy n always dain shit he gits forgotten aboot. Fuckin shame fur him really. Think Maria n Brian ir worried.’
‘Nae wonder, man.’
‘Aye fuckin shame, he wis a good cunt.’
Past tense. Noo, he’s damaged goods n likely fuckin discarded by aw his drug-dealin buddies. A’ll go n see the cunt soon fur maself. ‘N wit aboot Finnegan n Toni?’
Broonie shakes his heed n holds his hands up in the air. ‘Fuckin finished wae the two ae them. Honestly, Azzy, fuckin tramps! A geed them a loan ae a big note, fuckin hunner quid fur messages n electric n they done us! Gonnae slap Finnegan when A see him. Last time A spoke tae him he wis fuckin greetin n aw that. He’s in a bad way, mate. Full ae the fuckin scoobs, fuckin valium, diazepam, witever he kin git, man. Phones me lookin fur them n telt him tae git tae fuck. Party drugs only, know wit A mean? Fuckin blues, cunts think yir a fuckin junky if yi sell them! Cunts say they’re both on-it.’
‘Cannae believe that, man. Finnegan’s maw n da ir fuckin awright tae.’
‘Oh aye, man. Cunts huv went right doon hill.’
‘Wit’s happnin tae everycunt, man?’
‘A’m dain better, son!’ Broonie says wae his big labrador smile.
‘A’m glad, mate. Wit yi uptay the night anyway?’
‘They’re aw comin doon tae pay their tick n git a jar in the Orange Hall before A start runnin aboot.’
‘Who’s aw oot like?’
‘Just fuckin Briggy n Gunny n aw that. They usually come a run wae me n roll the joints while A chase cunts! Backup anaw, in case any cunt starts.’
‘How they gittin on?’
‘Usual patter, cuz. There’s Wee Gunny comin up the noo!’
Wee Gunny isnae that wee anymore. He wis always wan ae the mad cunts fae the younger wans. Yi could tell who wis who, the cunts who didnae sook up tae the elder wans n hud a touch ae madness aboot them. Even Wee Toffey, their tap man, wisnae cut fae the same cloth. His wee mate Briggy comes fae a bad home where his maw n da didnae work n drank. He wis the thin-haired wean who didnae wear the best ae gear n wouldnae dae well cos his folks didnae bother. They bounced aboot oblivious tae the more sensitive promises ae life beyond here. Tragedy, but absolutely run ae the mill.
‘HAW YOU, YA WEE DICK! OVER HERE!’ Broonie shouts.
Gunny bounces up tae the motor. ‘Who’s that yir wae? That Azzy?’
‘AYE FUCK, JUMP IN!’
‘Naw A’ll no!’ the wee cunt shouts n volleys the motor door. ‘OOT YIR FUCKIN MOTOR, YA PRICK!’
A’m oot n on ma tiptoes, ready fur action. He might be mental tae other cunts, but he’s still a younger wan tae me.
‘Gittin Tam tae fight yir fuckin battles, ya big pussy. A’ll no be fuckin backin doon, ya beasty bastard!’
Broonie’s in the middle between us, tryin tae calm it doon. ‘FUCKIN CHILL OOT! Big fuckin deal if Tam whacked his wee brur!’
‘A’ll fuckin smash you, ya wee dick!’ A say wae ma heed doon n ready tae go.
‘Come ahead then, ya fuckin slopin bastard!’
‘Gunny, A’ll stand back n let Azzy smash yi if yi don’t shut it! He’ll be two minutes wae you, ya wee cunt.’
‘Fuck up, Broonie. He fuckin ditched you anaw!’
‘Naw he fuckin didnae ditch anycunt! He wis the wan fuckin bold enough tae go n smash fuck oot Matty and his fuckin cow ae a burd fur the boys n fur dain Wee Toffey! Did yir hero Wee Kenzie dae anyhin? Eh? Besides – wit’s good fur the goose, is good fur the gander. Mad slut, man, fuck them!’ Broonie’s powers ae reasonin seem tae calm Gunny doon fur a minute. He seems tae let that thought penetrate his wee angry heed n the shoulders go doon.
A wis the only wan who done anyhin. A wisnae proud ae it, but it hud tae be done.
‘So fuck, he stull sloped.’ The wee cunt is oot ae steam n grinds tae a halt. A know fur a fact Kenzie wull huv been away fillin his heed full ae nonsense. It wis typical ae Wee Kenzie tae git somecunt dafter tae fight his battles fur him. A kin hear his shite patter comin straight back oot Gunny’s mouth.
‘Yi calm, son?’ Broonie asks him.
‘Aye well, A’m only stickin up fur Kenzie.’
‘John’s fuckin lettin you run aboot n dae his dirty work cos he’s git a problem wae Azzy n he’s too much ae a fuckin shitebag tae dae anyhin aboot it! He’s just jealous cos the tap man hus fuckin returned tae the Y T fuckin P.’
‘Right, sorry fuck, Broonie. A’m no tryin tae git wide, big man.’
‘Fuckin say sorry tae Azzy, no me, ya wee dick!’
‘Sorry, Azzy.’
Broonie waves his hands aboot in an appeal fur diplomacy, like a Roman senator. A want tae punch that Wee Gunny cunt in the mouth but A leave it, this time, n just breathe.
Old Friends
A’m sittin starin oot ma windae intae the street. A hud left Broonie n Gunny earlier at the Orange Hall. The rest ae the troops wur due but after ma reception A thought it wid be better tae make ma reintroductions slowly. They started their mad rush tae chase tick in, chasin up aw the wee cunts that owed them money then goin tae meet the McIntires tae pay them. Cunts thought they wur mental sellin shit n talkin the talk like gangsters. The brutal truth, drugs ir misery n nae bravado or chat or new age wisdom or scientific fuckin reasonin kin ever convince me otherwi
se noo. A cannae listen tae that shite anymore. It started tae drive me insane n A feel a rage deep within me aboot the whole miserable occupation.
The door goes doon stair n A bounce doon tae git it. A think again aboot Wee Kenzie, likely fuckin postin aw over the internet that A’m back. Maybe the cat’s awready oot the bag n this is the Toi tae huv their go or another wan ae ma eld pals wantin tae fuckin start. ‘Who is it?’ A ask without openin. Nae answer. A kin see a lassie. Fur a minute A shite maself anaw, in case Patricia hud drove up here n wanted tae huv it oot wae me aboot leavin so abruptly. Maybe it’s oversellin it tae think she would bother.
A pull the door open slowly tae huv a peek. The lassie turns. ‘Hi.’ Monica’s changed. She’s twenty-four noo n looks aw grown-up. She’s aw dressed up wearin a wee grey blazer, white top, skinny jeans n heels. The studenty look n the band T-shirts ir away. A feel like an underdressed prick, just in a bog-standard T-shirt n jeans. She looks as if she’s headin oot fur the night intae the toon.
‘Yi comin in?’
‘If that’s OK?’
‘Course!’
She walks up the stairs n stands opposite me in ma hall, where we used tae nip each other. A cannae help smilin at hur. Yi kin see she’s changed. She looks elder n A kin see her checkin me oot. We huvnae seen each other in those full three year. We text a couple ae times but just chat, nuhin heavy. ‘You want a tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’
‘Still milk n no sugar?’
‘Still sweet enough,’ she says wae a wee smile. A’m away boilin the kettle n A feel like a silly wee laddie, pure excited cos a nice lassie is in yir hoose. Some lassies always make yi feel like this, the good wans. She’s different in almost every way tae Patricia. They looked n carried themselves differently. A feel different aboot each. A think back tae Tam n Michelle earlier. Could A ever imagine maself dain that wae Patricia? Nae chance. But Monica? Maybe.
‘Stacey told me you were back.’
‘Did she now? Two ae yooz huv always been pally.’
‘Just cos we both care about you.’
‘Ma two favourite lassies.’
The Young Team Page 20