‘Broonie? It’s Azzy, mate. Yi there?’ Nae answer. A walk through the eld scullery n intae the livin room. It husnae really changed. There’s still the yellowed walls, the eld tatty suite n a chipped coffee table. Fur a change it’s quiet, apart fae the low mutter ae The Jeremy Kyle Show in the corner. A kin vaguely make oot folk screamin at one another n it cuts intae me, ma ain stress hormones on high alert. Yir easily spooked at moments like these, those brain chemicals tryin tae forewarn yi ae some unknown, yet constant, impendin doom. Broonie is sittin starin at a bare wall wae an eld family photo on it. A’d never noticed it before but Alice n Stevie ir sittin on either side ae a young Shaun, both showin aff an eld yellow tin ae Tennent’s lager, like hoddin Simba up tae the pride. He doesnae acknowledge me tae start wae n A feel like A’m interruptin a silent n angry vigil.
‘Happnin, mate,’ Broonie says, still no lookin in ma direction. A light two smokes n hand him wan n watch him put it tae his mouth n drag it till it crumples. He smokes it aw without flickin it then drops the dout on the floor without lookin n stamps it.
‘No much, eld son.’
‘No much.’
‘A just came tae see if yir awright.’
‘A’m awright.’ He looks anyhin but n hus a mad look aboot him. It isnae the quiet sorrow A expected.
‘A’m gonnae fuckin git them.’
‘Their time wull come, mate.’
‘Aye n it’s comin fuckin soon. A swear doon, mate, A’m gonnae fuckin stab fuck oot them.’
A want tae say suhin tae calm him doon, but it’s nae use cos A’m sure A wid be sayin the same under the circumstances. Maybe he hus tae say this, tae play it oot in his mind n realise that his loss is enough. Revenge wulnae bring Stevie back. Nuhin wid bring Wee Toffey back either. Many times A hud felt the same way, that another act ae senseless violence wid somehow soothe yir troubled soul. It’s just an eye fur an eye, eld as the stones n stull goin strong.
‘Mate, that’s no gonnae help matters.’
‘They killed ma fuckin da!’ he screams, half animalistic rage, half pain. Broonie puts his heed in his hands n weeps. There’s nuhin A kin say tae take away the pain. It’s awready played oot in his heed n the ridiculousness ae it hus finally sunk in.
‘Stevie wid ae rather it wis him than you. It wis you they wur after. You’re still here, mate. Don’t throw yir fuckin life away goin lookin fur these cunts.’
‘Yi think?’
‘Of course, fuck sake. Yir da died tae protect yi.’
He’s lookin up among tears.
‘A hudnae … thought aboot it … like that.’
Whether it wis true or no, it seemed tae be helpin. On dark days like these, in the spirit ae diplomacy, yi wid say anyhin tae calm yir friend who wis sufferin. There’s nae malice in a lie like that. ‘Yi know yirsel, Broonie. These cunts don’t mess aboot. But when the debt is settled, that’s it. Yi kin leave it aw noo n don’t need tae watch yir back. It’s over.’
‘Yi think so? Think they’ll come lookin fur me?’
‘Naw, mate, A don’t think so. That’s it finished noo.’
The Side Effects of Fun
The drugs which hud kept Danny in zombieland fur the last year ir finally releasin their grip. The room is spotless noo apart fae the usual Celtic shite aw over the walls. Danny is clean shaven, fully dressed n upright. He’s through the worst ae the storm. When yi reached a week clean aff everyhin things started tae ease aff. Yir countin weeks instead ae days, hours n minutes. Relatively, yir sufferin comin aff them is nae time at aw compared tae the length ae yir abuse. Yi kin tell he’s barely slept cos he looks exhausted but he’s talkin fast, jumpin fae wan thing tae the next, no really wantin a conversation, just somecunt tae absorb this energy, rather than it bouncin aff the walls. ‘Mate, cheers fur puttin up wae that absolute shite last time honestly. Ufft, that wis bad but honestly. A wis depressed right oot ma fuckin nut, son. Honestly, man.’
‘Danny, it’s aw good, bro. A’ve been there.’
‘It just crept up on us, cuz, n before A fuckin knew it A couldnae git oot ma bed or git washed or nuhin.’
‘It’s they fuckin blues, mate. Just cos they’re prescription doesn’t mean they’re no dangerous. They fuck yir barnet right up!’
‘Aw tell me aboot it, man. It’s the fuckin dope anaw. You know how bad it is wae aw they panic attacks n aw that.’
‘A know, mate. A’ve no took anyhin fur years.’
A tell Danny aboot Stevie Broon n aboot somecunt smashin ma maw’s windae. We both look momentarily depressed. ‘Fuck me, man. Poor Broonie. He’s gonnae want tae kill cunts. Any fuckin good news fur me?’
‘A know, mate. Good news is hard tae find aboot here. A’ve been back seein Monica. Dis that count?’
‘You love hur, mate. Don’t even try tae deny it!’
‘A heavy like hur—’
‘Phfftt! Yi love hur, Casanova. Love, no fuckin like.’
‘Aye, calm it!’
‘Sure your mad love life wull sort itself oot as always. A just cannae believe aboot Broonie, man, honestly. A wid be wantin tae kill cunts anaw. A don’t think A could dae nuhin.’
‘Wit’s that gonnae achieve, mate? Broonie wull end up deid anaw. Don’t encourage him.’ That bull needed nae red rag.
‘True.’
A say ma cheerios n Brian n Maria wave tae me fae the livin room. They look instantly younger n more alive themselves as they wave n shout ‘Cheerio, Alan son!’ His maw mouths a thank you! Yi didnae suffer alone. Yi dragged yir eld folks right through the mud wae yi.
A hear somecunt whistlin up the street when A’m walkin back tae the motor. Two cunts swagger over the road wae their hoods up. ‘Happnin!’ A shout n try tae see who it is. A git that wee wave ae paranoia n A grab ma Clipper in ma fist. A relax when A see it’s Gunny n Wee Briggy. A huvnae seen Briggy since A came back up the road. ‘Happnin, lads.’
‘Awright, Azzy,’ Gunny says.
‘Wit’s fuckin happnin, Big Azzy? Long time no see!’
‘A know, kid. Fuckin years int it! Wit’s been happnin?’
‘Awk no much, big man. A’m no workin or that yit. Couldnae git an apprenticeship.’
Briggy wis only a wee guy at sixteen when A left. He must be nineteen noo. He isnae a wee boy anymore either, like the rest ae them. He’s filled oot n his voice hus changed. He’s lookin a wee bit rough roon the edges but, kicked-in trainers n still wae a tracky on. Gunny’s git a pair ae jeans n a Henri Lloyd jumper on. Far as A know, he’s been runnin aboot wae Kenzie sellin shit, a wee enforcer fur that pussy bastard. Briggy’s probably the one buyin it n runnin aboot skint. ‘Fuck sake. Where yees aff tae anyway?’
‘Headin doon the street if yir no dain nuhin?’ Gunny says.
‘Aye, A’ll gee yees a run.’
‘Cheers, Azzy boy.’
Gunny bounces in the front n Wee Briggy dives in the back wae nae questions. It feels like a barely know the younger wans noo. ‘Where’s yir other wee muckers?’
‘Who?’ Gunny asks.
‘Carlyle n Dalzell, fuck sake.’
The two ae them seem tae look at one another. ‘No seen them fur years.’
‘Two ae them ir wee fuckin posh cunts noo.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Cos they’re wee fuckin posers that just go intae the town n that. Always runnin aboot wae burds n cunts no fae aboot here.’
‘Wit dae they work as like?’
‘Emm, fuck knows, man. College or uni or suhin.’
‘Fuck, is that no good? Sounds like they’re dain well.’
‘Dunno,’ Briggy says.
‘Fuck them! The YTP boys ir still runnin it here!’ Gunny shouts.
A laugh but ma heart’s no in it. A wish it wis the other two sittin in ma motor. A’d rather huv heard aboot Carlyle n Dalzell’s careers that they’re makin fur themselves. The cunts they hang aboot wae probably huv decent jobs n nice burds n plans. Compared tae those two, Gunny n Briggy ir just wee dicks still bouncin
aboot the scheme. Maybe that’s wit cunts thought ae me when they wur movin on themselves. A momentarily hate maself n the way A talk n aw the time A’ve wasted. It makes me wonder wit a lassie like Monica sees in me n A feel worthless, a fuckin fanny drivin intae a town full ae fannies wae two dicks sittin in ma motor. These powerful feelings ae disenchantment strike me as we drive along the eld high street – shutters doon at midday n the charity shops n the bookies n the chemists n the eld pubs wae the eld cunts forever smoulderin outside.
‘Where dae yees want drapped?’
‘We’re jist meetin somecunt n headin back up if that’s sound?’
‘Yees didnae say that.’
‘Aye … well we kin walk if it’s no sound.’
‘Where yees goin then?’
‘Down the back ae the Chinese.’
This is fuckin typical. Cunts only ever tell yi the tip ae the iceberg. If they hud asked Azzy, wull yi take us doon tae drop stuff aff? A wid huv said nae fuckin chance. A wisnae ever interested in sellin drugs n A wis a million miles away fae that noo. Every second that ticks by in these wee cunts’ company A kin feel maself gittin more pissed aff n agitated. ‘Long’s this gonnae take?’
‘Chill oot, mate. It’ll only be a minute fuck.’
A black BMW rolls intae the car park n pulls intae a space further doon. ‘You two better be fuckin kiddin.’
‘Wit?’
‘That better no be who A think it is.’
‘It’s sound fuck, it’s Kenzie.’
Right enough, Wee Kenzie bounces oot the passenger door n runs over tae the side windae. Gunny slides it doon. A’m growlin the heed aff him. ‘Wit’s happnin, boys?’ he says, aw smug charm.
‘Nuhin much, mate. Wit’s happnin?’ Gunny says back.
‘Fuck all, Gunny son. Awright, Briggy. Awright, Azzy,’ Kenzie says, pure cheeky.
‘Naw, A’m no awright.’
‘Awk wit you sayin noo, ya clown? Here comes the fuckin college lecture, boays!’
‘Who’s that yir wae?’
‘Wit?’
‘Yi fuckin heard me.’
‘Aye, it’s Matty fuck. We’re sharin a run aff Maynard noo.’
‘It’s Matty fuck? The cunt who slashed your fuckin brother?’
‘Calm doon, Azzy. Nae cunt’s tryin tae start anyhin,’ Gunny says.
‘Yooz two – git fuckin oot.’ The two ae them huff n puff n bounce oot the motor n start walkin over tae the BMW. ‘Aye isn’t this fuckin cosy. Aw yooz runnin aboot wae that fuckin bam.’
‘Aw, Azzy, shuuut up, mate. We’re no needin a Sermon on the Mount aff you, ya slopin bastard.’
‘You’ve git some fuckin baws,’ A say, laughin. ‘Did yi hear wit happened last night?’
‘Naw how?’
‘Stevie Broon?’
‘Wit aboot him?’
‘Somecunt murdered him.’
‘Aye right.’
‘Aye, right. So dis Broonie know yi set him up?’
‘Wit you talkin aboot?’
‘Yi know exactly wit A’m fuckin talkin aboot. Grassin him intae Maynard?’
‘Nah, mate, A dunno anyhin aboot that—’
‘A’M NO YIR FUCKIN MATE! You’ve always been a fuckin snake but this is a new low even fur you. A hope you fuckin dwell on Stevie Broon, cos it’s your fault.’
‘Mate, Broonie shouldnae be runnin aboot bumpin gangsters. It’s no ma fault if it’s caught up wae him, is it?’
A bounce oot the motor n Kenzie stands. He knows his wee terriers Gunny n Briggy wull back him up, no tae mention his new fuckin bum chum Matty. ‘Think this is a game, ya wee fuckin dick? You’ve ruined yir pal’s life fur the sake ae shiftin a few fuckin tickets. Dae yi no care?’
‘Naw, n dae yi know wit? It wis me that panned yir maw’s windae, ya fuckin beast!’
A’m only a couple ae feet away fae Kenzie. Briggy n Gunny ir over hangin in the windae ae the BMW. A fly fur him n whack him ten rapid. The fuckin pussy isnae even tryin tae fight back. He’s hidin his face n shoutin over tae the rest ae them. Hawners! Hawners! A manage tae git him aboot four clean punches tae the face n his eye n nose ir aw burst n cut. Gunny is first over n he tries tae swing fur me. A grab him n header him right in the beak n he falls tae the deck burst open, nose splattered. Wee Briggy is hesitant n A really don’t want tae hit him. ‘Don’t you fuckin try it, son.’
‘Wit yi startin fur, Azzy?’
‘Shut yir fuckin hole, bawheed!’
The 3 Series door opens n Matty bounces oot. He looks elder anaw n he’s been in the gym. That cunt is smiling n A’m suckin in air through gritted teeth, supplyin ma muscles wae that vital oxygen. Adrenaline coursin through ma veins causin the chemical reactions, fight or flight n that sick-makin, dancin feelin in yir stomach, pulse in yir tongue n temples. Ma hands ir shakin n A’m ready tae fight. There is nae flight in the YTP.
‘Look who it fuckin is! Azzy fuckin Williams … back in town wae the boys!’
‘Yi miss me or suhin, ya fuckin bunnet?’
‘Oh aye, A’ve been missin you awright! No forgotten wit yi did tae ma fuckin burd either before yi left! Breakin a burd’s nose, ya fuckin beast.’
‘Aye well, A’d dae it again, n if you wur a real fuckin man yi wouldnae ae let yir burd git touched.’
‘A real man like Azzy Williams who smashes burds?’
‘Been smashin aw your burds fur years, ya cunt. Ask JP! Wit yi fuckin waitin fur?’ A say wae ma arms wide. Kenzie, Gunny n Briggy ir aw standin oot ae range waitin fur the big show.
‘Listen, see if yi think you n Danny ir furgotten aboot, you’ve git another thing comin, son.’
‘Me n Danny wull run yooz aboot fuckin riot like we always did.’
‘You’ve no git yir big pals Tam n Eck tae look after yi noo but.’
‘We don’t need anycunt else. We’re the tap men noo.’
‘That’s where yir fuckin wrong. Even yir younger wans work fur me noo n yir elder wans huv fucked aff. Me n ma brur ir fuckin runnin things. We’re runnin the fuckin show. Tap men … phft! Yees ir dead men walkin.’
‘Aye nae bawhair, Al Ca-phoney, you n Wee Kenzie, the Scheme Runner! N Si, yir cardboard gangster ae a brother who cannae even fight. Mon then, Matty! If yir so fuckin mental, let’s be fuckin huvin yi! The fuckin Azzy boy wull punch fuck oot the three ae yees!’ A’m ready tae fly fur him but his hand goes tae his hoody pocket n he whips oot a huntin knife, a big camouflage serrated fucker. Ma heart dis that wee fuckin leap when yi know yir beat. There’s nae contest noo n A’m fishin in ma back pocket fur ma keys rapid.
‘Wit wur yi sayin, hard man?’
‘Aye, typical fuckin O’Connor brother. Cannae even take somecunt a square-go when yir offered wan.’
‘Yir gonnae fuckin get it, Azzy. You n that fuckin Danny Stevenson ir dead.’
‘No if we git you first. Or yir fuckin brother.’
‘Yi wit?’ Matty sprints fur me n A run back tae the motor n beep the locks shut. He’s whackin the windae but A’ve started up n A’m in first gear n sinkin it. He’s stopped n is walkin back tae his motor. A stop at the end ae the street n slide doon the windae. Kenzie is smilin but he’s git a sore face n Gunny n Briggy ir standin behind him.
‘Just wait till Broonie n Big Tam find oot wit you’ve done. Yees ir gonnae fuckin get it! N you two ir fuckin scrubbed ya wee scheme-hoppin, turncoat bastards! YT FUCKIN POSSE!’
Survival of the Fittest
It’s just gone half three on Friday afternoon. The streets ir quiet noo apart fae a few weans runnin aboot. Soon the place wid come alive again, a spark ae life roon these eld streets n that eld feelin that comes wae it. We’re thrivin aff the static in the air, that spell that Friday seems tae cast on yi, banishin calm thought n reason n fillin yi wae that eld madness that’s both venom n antidote tae our current condition n tribulations.
Me n Danny bounce in the motor n head up the tap ae the scheme tae Tam’s bit. Danny is back on his feet n through the most violent week ae withd
rawal. The rest is the acceptance, the replacin yir time wae wholesome habits n continuin wae the willpower n positive energy, when those long days start tae kick in n yi realise yi huv nuhin tae dae n nae pals tae dae it wae. It’s the replacement that’s critical tae yir survival aff them. Yi need a hobby, cunts used tae say. Hobbies ir sometimes hard tae conceive after years ae the streets n drugs n drink. Well-meanin people didnae account fur the alienation fae the normal that our lifestyle created. The sufferin of young Scottish males largely untold, behind bravado n the expectation that yi hud tae fulfil the role ae hardman n no even huv the feelings yir meant tae talk aboot.
The big yin bounces straight oot n intae the motor. ‘Hail! Hail! Danny bhoy! Long time no see. How’s life?’
‘No bad, mate,’ Danny says n catches ma eye n winks.
‘Yir lookin well, eld son.’
‘Same tae you, fuck sake. This the baby weight?’
‘AHHH, YA WEE CUNT!’
‘Only jokin, big yin, yir fuckin stunnin!’
‘Cheers, Danny son … So, pleasant as this wee reunion is, A take it this isnae just a wee blether?’
‘Did yi hear aboot Stevie Broon?’
‘Course A did, man. Me n Michelle went n put a card through the door n a bunch ae flowers at the gate.’
‘We’ll dae that later on …’ Danny says, lookin a bit guilty.
A pull three fags oot ma packet n pass them aboot. Then A fill the big man in on gittin caught aff Maynard ootside Broonie’s bit n the hospital.
‘A fuckin telt yees aw! They’re aw fly, fly bastards that use wee boys like yooz. Question is, troops, who fuckin stuck him in tae Maynard?’
Deep breath time. ‘It wis your wee brur, Tam.’ Danny looks shocked. Deep doon he still hus loyalty towards Wee Kenzie, even though he took advantage ae Danny in the same way. It’s his eld partner in crime. They wur at it fur years the-gither.
The Young Team Page 26