The Young Team

by Graeme Armstrong

  ‘How dae yi know that?’

  ‘Cos A seen him sneakin aboot wae Jamesy Maynard on the fly.’

  ‘Aye, that doesnae mean it wis him that stuck him in, Azzy,’ Tam says. ‘Fuck sake, son, yi cannae jump tae conclusions.’

  Tam doesnae want tae believe it. He doesnae like John much but it’s still his fuckin brother n blood n water, n aw that. ‘Then yesterday—’

  ‘Azzy, make sure yir sure before yi say any more, mate. A know there’s nae love lost between yees …’

  ‘Tam, A wouldnae dare say that if A wisnae sure. A wisnae sure until yesterday.’

  ‘How, wit happened?’

  ‘A hud a run in wae a few cunts n A ended up boxin. A took Wee Gunny n Briggy doon the street n your brother showed up wae Matty O’Connor in his BMW.’ Tam’s eyes go dark n his face looks fuckin sullen. He’s a cunt that believes in loyalty tae yir pals n the young team n aw that meant, across aw these years. A suppose A’m the same. A hud never faltered in ma dedication tae ma troops. A hud feared no man, stayed the course, kept the faith.

  ‘Wit wis he dain wae that fuckin prick?’

  ‘He’s sharin a run wae him – fur Maynard.’

  ‘So fuck, obviously he’s a wee fuckin snake. That doesn’t mean he set Broonie up. Business, int it? Cunts ir apolitical when it comes tae drugs n makin money.’

  ‘A asked him, Tam.’

  ‘N wit did he say?’

  ‘He fuckin as good as admitted it. The cunt laughed n telt me it wis Broonie’s fault anyway n that he tanned ma fuckin maw’s windae. A punched fuck oot him and that Wee Gunny. Then Matty whipped a blade on us n chased us. They wur fuckin backin him up n stood n done nuhin.’ Big Kenzie’s growlin the heed aff me. He’s git the fuckin dragon nostrils n his anger is cravin oxygen. Danny hus been subtly edgin back in his seat in case the big man started swingin fur me.

  ‘Huv yi told Broonie?’ Danny asks.

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘How no?’ Big Kenzie asks.

  ‘Cos A wanted tae tell yooz first. Broonie’s heed is fucked – he’ll want tae murder your fuckin brother so A thought it wis better yi heard it fae me first. Obviously Broonie brought aw these troubles tae his own door, but your brur completely fucked him n aw tae share a stinkin run wae fuckin Matty O’Connor!’

  ‘Azzy, you don’t need tae tell me, son.’

  ‘Should we even tell Broonie?’ Danny asks.

  ‘Mate, it’s no fur any us tae decide wit Broonie can n cannae hear. A’ll go n tell him that John’s no gonnae git let away wae it. He’s no gonnae do ma fuckin brother in either, but A’ll let him dance aw over the wee cunt’s fuckin heed cos that’s wit he deserves!’

  ‘Fair doos.’

  ‘A knew John wis a wee serpent but A never thought he wid dae this. He didnae know eld Stevie wis gonnae git hurt but he should ae fuckin realised that they wid go lookin fur Broonie n somebody wis gonnae get it.’

  The three ae us drive tae Broonie’s bit. We stop fur fags n beer on the way n none ae us ir lookin forward tae wit’s comin. Mare flowers n cards huv appeared n ir tied tae the fence wae string. Nuhin’s changed aboot the hoose. The curtains ir still drawn n there’s that mandatory darkness aboot it. The other windaes on the street ir flung open in the late summer warmth. Broonie’s hoose itself is in mournin. A head in the gate first n the troops follow me in. The front door is open n A walk in shoutin tae Broonie that it’s us. The telly is still on, mutterin a lament in the corner. Broonie is sittin on the armchair wae a cover fucked roon him like a monk’s cowel. There’s an empty bottle ae wine lyin n a half-ate Chinese – Broonie’s usual chicken baws, curry sauce n chips. He’s picked at it n fucked it doon, leavin a tidal wave ae the thick yellow shite spilled on the eld carpet.

  ‘Happnin … mate.’

  ‘Fuck aw, son. Big Kenzie n Danny ir here tae see yi.’

  ‘Aw, cheers, lads.’

  Tam struts in n sits doon on the couch opposite Broonie. Danny is hoverin aboot somewhere behind him. ‘Sit doon Danny, fuck sake!’ Tam says, shakin his heed. A start pickin shit up aff the floor, scoopin up the remnants ae the takeaway intae the bag n Broonie’s fag dout mountain aff the black carpet, ma mother’s son. A take the bag intae the kitchen n fuck it in the bin n grab an eld cloth tae wipe the carpet. Broonie looks fuckin dazed. ‘Crack they fuckin beer oot, Azzy.’ Big Kenzie shouts through tae the kitchen.

  A rip the slab open n start handin cans ae Tennent’s oot. They’re warm but they wid dae under the circumstances. We aw light a fag n n crack cans wae the usual fizz n spit, then wait n listen. ‘How yi hoddin up, son?’ Big Kenzie asks. Broonie doesnae answer. Big Kenzie crumples his smoke in two draws. The cunt always smoked hard. He skuds his beer n sits right in front ae Broonie n puts his arm roon him. He lights a couple ae fags in his mooth n gees Broonie wan. ‘Dae yi know who set yi up, son?’ he asks through the smoke.

  Broonie barely even looks at Tam, no breakin his somber meditation. ‘Naw.’

  ‘It wis ma wee brother.’

  In fur a fuckin penny.

  ‘How dae yi know that?’

  ‘Cos Azzy wis fightin wae him yesterday n he’s runnin aboot wae that fuckin Matty O’Connor.’

  ‘Why wid he set me up but?’

  ‘Cos he’s a greedy little prick, mate. They’re workin fur Jamesy Maynard noo.’

  ‘Cannae believe that. Azzy … ma main man. This cunt’s always in aboot it fur the troops, fur Wee Toffey. Yi awright?’

  A smile over at Broonie n wink. ‘Dae A look awright?’

  He gees us a half-smile back. ‘No a fuckin mark on yi.’

  Big Kenzie nods n hugs the cunt. ‘Exactly, son. That’s who the fuck we ir – we’re the fuckin YTP. So, here’s wit’s gonnae happen—’

  ‘A cannae let this lie, mate.’

  ‘Don’t worry aboot ma wee brother – you leave him tae me. There’s bigger fish tae fry in aw this. He didnae hurt yir da.’

  ‘A hurt ma da, Tam. It wis me, ma fault. Nae cunt else.’

  Danny gees Big Kenzie another beer n it goes doon in two drinks again, he stubs his fag oot n puts the dout in the can. ‘So fuck. You didnae kill him. That wis them. It wisnae you n it wisnae John. The two ae yees ir daft wee fuckin boys. It wis them who done it. They’re gangsters, Broonie, hardened fuckin criminals wae nae souls. Murderous fuckin bastards.’

  ‘A know that.’

  ‘Well then. If yi want tae git any cunt back then git them fuckin back.’

  ‘Wit we meanty dae against them, Tam?’ Danny says.

  Big Kenzie’s git that eld look ae fuckin madness aboot him. Nae hesitation, pure loyalty tae yir pals n those boys who used tae call themselves the Young Team, but A cannae help think aboot a pregnant Michelle, waitin at home fur him. Or Broonie, beareaved n on the cusp ae violence. A believed in the troops n the code but A also believed in self-preservation, fur us aw, and the possibility of peace.

  ‘Fuckin dae a bit.’

  ‘They’ll git every wan ae us if we dae that, n A’m no wantin any trouble at aw your doors. Wit’s done is done.’

  ‘Yi don’t need tae be noble, son. If we wurnae willin tae help yi, we wouldnae be here.’ Big Kenzie glances back tae see if there’s any protest fae us.

  There isnae.

  ‘Cheers, Tam. Cheers tae yees aw, fur being here wae me.’

  ‘Mon, we’ll go hunt fur ma wee fuckin brother n see wit he’s got tae say fur himself.’

  The four ae us bounce oot intae the motor. It’s been a while since A’ve been oot in a squad lookin fur trouble. A forgot the fuckin pleasure ae jumpin aboot wae yir boys, wan fur wan n aw that fuckin shite. Danny gees me a smile fae the back. A kin tell he’s thinkin the same thing. Big Tam is in the front n Broonie’s in the back. We’re cruisin roon the scheme lookin doon the streets n closes n garages where those wee cunts hang aboot n roll joints n drink wine. We see two cunts in tracksuits disappearin doon the lane. ‘That’s fuckin Gunny n Briggy, the wee cunts,’ A say, pullin the motor in
tae a space in front ae the garages. We aw bounce oot n split up, two between each row ae hooses tae catch them in the middle. Me n Danny ir sprintin doon after them n Broonie n Kenzie disappear doon the other side. The two ae them ir passin a joint between them. They turn when they hear our footsteps. The two wee pricks fuck the joint doon n try tae run. ‘CAMMERE, YA WEE FUCKIN FANNIES!’ Danny’s shoutin. Broonie n Tam appear at the other end ae the lane n they’re caught a belter. The two ae them fuckin shite it as the four ae us reach them.

  ‘We wurnae even tryin tae start yesterday, Azzy,’ Gunny says.

  ‘Fuck we wur only gawn tae git stuff aff Big Kenzie,’ Briggy says wae his daft half-stoned mumble.

  ‘A’M BIG KENZIE, YA WEE FUCKIN DICK! THE WAN N FUCKIN ONLY.’

  Briggy shites it n looks para as fuck. Gunny is the bold yin. His nose is still fucked fae ma headbutt n he’s git a black eye. ‘We cannae decide who he hangs aboot wae, kin we?’

  ‘Don’t be fuckin cheeky, Gunny wee man,’ Danny says, pushin him.

  ‘Or fuckin wit, ya big dick?’

  ‘Or the four ae us wull knock fuck oot yi!’ Broonie says.

  ‘Where’s Wee Kenzie noo?’

  Gunny shrugs his shoulders n smirks.

  ‘Aye well, yi fuckin certainly backed him up when Matty wis there, didn’t yi, ya wee fuckin scheme-hoppin rat.’

  ‘Cos you’re a slopin beasty bastard!’

  A don’t git the chance tae whack him cos Danny draws back n hits him five rapid. Gunny’s doubled over, huggin the fence. ‘Fuckin feeble, ya dafty.’ Broonie bounces up n toe-pokes him right in the chops.

  Big Kenzie grabs Briggy n screams in his face. ‘WHERE’S MA WEE FUCKIN BRUR? TELL ME NOO!’

  ‘He’s up the Orange Hall waitin fur us.’

  ‘See, that wisnae so hard, wis it?’

  ‘Naw,’ Briggy says, surprised. Big Kenzie headers him in the beak a belter n he folds n crumples tae the deck. He turns n boots Gunny right up the fuckin arse.

  ‘That’s fur grassin, ya wee cunts. Next time yooz run aboot wae a Toi wan A’ll fuckin kill yees. YOUNG TEAM, YA WEE FUCKIN NUGGETS!’

  We aw bounce back up tae the motor. A feel a wee bit sorry fur they wee cunts, but under the circumstances, fuck them. The Orange Hall is only two minutes up the road, so we fly roon. Broonie’s git a wee smile on his face. He’s laughin n repeatin Big Tam under his breath, ‘Young Team, ya wee nuggets. Quality …’ Maybe this shit is exactly wit he needed. The Young Team flyin aboot fuckin causin it like the eld dayz. It feels good after years ae lyin dormant, that burnin inside yi ready tae unleash, the last hurrah ae the YTP.

  Kenzie’s red Honda Civic Type R is parked in front ae us at the Orange Hall. Big Kenzie is on a roll noo – he’s marchin ahead ae us aw n before we even catch up he’s draggin his brother oot the motor n ontae the street. ‘Fuck yi dain, Tam, ya dick? Git tae fuck!’

  ‘Naw, A’ll no git tae fuck. Wit the fuck huv yi done, John?’

  ‘A’ve no done fuckin nuhin!’

  ‘Dealin drugs fur fuckin Jamesy Maynard, jumpin aboot wae FUCKIN MATTY O’CONNOR n tae tap it aw aff, settin wan ae yir best mates up.’

  ‘A fuckin didnae, awright.’

  ‘AYE YI FUCKIN DID, YA LYIN WEE CUNT!’

  ‘Fuckin prove it.’

  ‘Listen tae yirsel …’ Tam grabs Kenzie by the scruff ae the neck n drags him right in front ae Broonie. ‘Tell him that, eh? Fuckin tell him how yi didnae dae it. TELL HIM TAE FUCKIN PROVE IT!’

  ‘GIT TAE FUCK, TAM!’

  ‘Tell yir fuckin pal how yi betrayed him, ya miserable fuckin rodent. His fuckin wee da is lyin deid in the Monklands n you’re tellin yir fuckin boays tae prove it.’

  Me, Danny n Broonie ir standin watchin. John isnae even strugglin back noo. Tam pushes him hard n he falls on the deck next tae his motor. He looks like he’s gonnae greet. ‘Look, boys – Jamesy Maynard’s fuckin mad mental Scheme Runner. Wit a crazy bastard you ir! Git fuckin up.’ Kenzie stands up n Tam cracks him a belter n he falls. This time he dis start greetin. ‘Look at yi, ya pathetic wee weasel. Did A no tell yi tae git up?’ Tam drags him up tae his feet n roars in his face, nearly in tears himsel. ‘YEEV BROKE MA FUCKING HEART, JOHN! These boys ir more brothers tae me than you’ll ever be.’

  It’s hard tae watch n yi cannae help turn yir heed away fae it. Me, Danny n Broonie ir aff tae the side n A’m sparkin a fag tae smoke it away n passin them oot fur the troops. ‘That’s enough, Tam,’ Broonie says. We aw look at him surprised.

  ‘Naw, Broonie son, this is only the beginnin fur this wee dick. Everybody’s gonnae know how much ae a pussy ma wee brur is! Go, Broonie, fuckin smash him, mate. He deserves it.’

  Danny looks at me but A don’t know wit tae say. It isnae pleasant tae watch n it isnae achievin anyhin. If anyhin, Broonie looks indifferent.

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘Wit dae yi mean naw?’

  ‘Just leave him.’

  Big Kenzie straightens up n stands back, face still red n pulsin in anger. Hat aff tae the cunt, he’s done his bit.

  John’s sittin on the deck sobbin. ‘A’m sorry, awright? A didnae want any this fuck sake.’ Broonie doesnae say anyhin. He just extends a hand tae him. The three ae us ir lookin at each other, waitin tae see wit he dis. Even Wee Kenzie is lookin as surprised as us. His hand comes oot n Broonie pulls him aff the deck. He’s fuckin bubblin away n tryin tae kid on he’s no greetin. Broonie just pats him oan the back, nods n walks away. A shrug tae Danny n Tam. ‘Where yi goin?’ Wee Kenzie asks quietly, but Broonie doesnae answer n keeps walkin.

  Big Kenzie turns tae John when Broonie’s oot ae earshot. ‘You’re nae fuckin brother ae mine! Stay away fae ma hoose. Yir scrubbed, ya fuckin turncoat bastard!’

  Danny shakes his heed n walks away anaw, joggin tae catch up wae Broonie. A follow last n don’t even glance in his direction.

  The four ae us sit quietly in the motor n listen tae the rain against the windaes. A’m passin fags oot again, the only thing A kin think tae dae. Broonie seems different, quiet but thoughtful. Danny looks depressed sittin in the back wae him. Tam’s dragon nostrils ir slowly calmin doon tae their normal size. A dunno wit A feel really, just useless in a way. ‘Broonie son, we’re fuckin wae yi, cousin! Aw the fuckin way tae the end. Wit’s next?’ Tam says, turnin roon tae him n shakin his hand.

  Broonie looks peaceful, the cunt, n almost wise. He shakes it back n sits quiet fur a minute. ‘Nuhin’s next. It’s finished.’

  ‘Wit aboot Jamesy?’

  ‘Fuck him.’

  ‘Fuck him?’

  ‘Wit good is it gonnae dae, Tam? Ma maw n da ir gone. It’s just me noo. Just me n yooz boys. Yooz ir the only family A’ve git left. Nae grannies or that, nae cunt. A’m no gonnae ask yees tae help me n A’m no gonnae dae anyhin maself. A’ll bury ma da n try tae git ma life back. Wit’s left ae it anyway. A don’t want any more fuckin violence. A’m done wae it.’

  Naebody speaks fur a minute. Broonie just stares oot the windae at the rain. A remember the night his maw died. The polis caught us in the graveyard n took him away screamin fur his mammy but she wis gone n it wis nae good, cos she wisnae comin back. A remember me, Danny n Finnegan sittin talkin that night aboot Broonie n his hard life n how we couldnae really relate tae it. Broonie wis a young boy trapped in a never-endin cycle ae abuse, neglect n the indomitable will tae escape it usin the wrong means. That is Broonie’s life in a nutshell.

  ‘Long as yi know, we’re here fur witever, son,’ Big Kenzie says quietly.

  ‘Know wit yees kin dae?’

  ‘Anyhin, fuck sake, mate,’ Danny says fae the back.

  ‘Go n git a big dirty Chinese munchy box bought, a bottle ae fuckin wine each n a box ae cans.’

  Big Kenzie laughs n shakes his heed. ‘Aye fuck, A think we kin manage that, son.’

  ‘Long as yees come back tae ma bit n get on-it wae us. That hoose is too fuckin quiet without ma da bouncin aff every wall fuckin mad-wae-it.’

  We aw
laugh this time. Our laugh is an obligatory wan oot ae sympathy. Broonie’s is that laugh that is fundamental tae survival. A think he’ll be awright. It isnae a certainty, just a feelin. If anycunt is conditioned tae deal wae this madness, it’s Broonie. None ae us wid make it without our homes n the safety net ae our maws tae fall back on. Broonie’s skin is armour-plated thick, tough-made n borne oot ae struggle. Survival expert since the age ae five. Bear Grylls doesnae huv a fuckin look in.

  An Ancient Ritual

  We’re drunk but fuelled by some unseen force, misery n release once again. Me n Danny walked doon the woods wae a bottle ae wine each. The trees ir still full n green n the fields ir dry but the eld log we used tae sit on is rotted away tae nuhin. Yi kin see the remnants ae a hundred fires that hud burnt around it. There’s still eld melted wheelie bins lyin in solid pools, but the soil hus claimed them n started tae form a layer over the top. There’s broken green glass n the strewn yellow labels ae Buckfast bottles fae recent young teams. These woods ir full ae memories ae the madness. Suhin aboot this wee space makes us choke somewhere deep doon inside fur a joint ae solid n a few Reef or Sidekicks or Red Square tae go wae a bottle ae Tonic – tae go back n dae it aw again, but yi cannae go back, kin yi? There’s nae mad plans n adventures like years ago, nae troops n nae bottles doon the field or the bridge. Nae fires n glowin embers beatin the last light n us aw sittin smokin joints roon it in our ancient ritual. The end ae summer always hus a poignant feelin tae it.

  ‘Everyhin’s fucked up,’ A say hopelessly.

  ‘A know it is.’

  ‘Everycunt’s away noo, Danny. Dain their own things. Forgettin aboot each other.’

  ‘Mate, that’s wit happens, fuck sake. Yi think we kin aw just jump aboot the-gither shoutin fuckin Young Team our full lives? Obviously no, fuck sake.’

  The two ae us take a drink ae our wine.

  ‘Everycunt hus literally fucked right aff! Addison’s guyed it! Wee Broonie is keepin his heed doon, Toni’s deid, fuckin Finnegan is fuck knows where n then there’s us two fannies,’ A say.