Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— Awright, chaps? Ah nod at Rents, whae’s wearin a rid-n-black-hooped Dennis the Menace jersey, then Nelly, whae’s goat another tattoo oan his coupon, an anchor oan the side ay his cheek! The daft cunt. — Fuckin jailbait! ah joke, pointin tae it, then gie a mair distrustin acknowledgement ay that Larry, a twisted wanker that ah dinnae huv much time fir, and Davie Mitchell, an auld fitba mate ay mine whae works wi Mark at Gillsland’s.

We’re catchin up ower a few beers, huvin a crack. — D’ye git tae any Aberdeen games up thaire, Mark?

— Naw … Rents says. It’s like he’s stoned on hash aw the time. Sits wi a big daft smile on his face. Used tae rip the pish oot ay stoners and love speed n aw. Typical student cunt! — Cannae be ersed, he goes, fiddling with this spec case.

— You’ve no goat glesses, huv ye? Let us see!

— Naw, he says, n pits them in the inside poakit ay his jean jaykit. Must be embarrassed, poor fucker. Joinin the specky and ginger club that Keezbo’s in!

Lucky for him that Begbie’s talkin tae Nelly n Larry aboot tattoos, n they huvnae picked up oan it, so ah decide tae gie the four-eyed cunt a brek. Mark’s sound, but for a ginger cunt he can sometimes be a bit big-heided and vain.

Begbie’s bendin his ear now. — How’s that Geordie bird yir seein? Fiona? He turns tae the rest ay us, pointin oot Rents. — Still waters run fuckin deep, right enough! No fuckin shy, this cunt!

— Barry, man, she’s totally splendid, Mark smiles fondly. — She’s away tae Newcastle tae see her sister. It’s her birthday … ah mean, like, her sister’s birthday, ken?

— If her fuckin sister’s anything like her, pit a fuckin word in for me, ya cunt, Franco says.

— Will do, Rents goes wi that easy, wasted smile, but ye kin see that nowt would be further fae his mind. He turns tae Davie. — How’s the boys at Gillsland’s?

— Awright. Les was askin eftir ye. Young Bobby n aw, the wee fuckin dingul. Ralphy’s still as much ay a cunt as ever, but, Mitch laughs.

— That man … Renton mumbles, then sits up straight, — … that fucker defines cuntishness.

— Aye, says Begbie, in darker tones, n ye kin tell he’s goat something oan his mind, — thaire’s a loat ay thum aboot.

— What’s up? this Larry wanker goes tae Franco. Ah once had a run-in wi that cunt back at Leithy. He wis bullyin wee Phillip Hogan. Fuckin liberty-taker. Ye never forget these things.

Franco’s voice drops in that scary wey, when ye kin hear him even mair clearly than when it’s at its normal pitch. — Jist been hearin a lot aboot this cunt fae Pilton; the slag’s brother, he goes, — ye’d think he’d shut his mooth eftir the wey the other two brars came doon here n goat fuckin dealt wi.

— Aye, ah nod, pure thinkin aboot that poor cunt bleedin aw ower the taxi. That was fuckin excessive.

— Well, this dippit big brother cunt’s been gaun oan aboot how he’s gaunny dae this, n how he’s gaunny dae that. Cunt seems tae huv some fuckin rep doon in Pilton, Franco scoffs.

— So? Seems aw mooth tae me, ah goes, n Nelly nods in agreement.

The thought cheers Begbie up. — Well, if ah’d been fuckin well killed by every cunt that sais ‘you’re deid’ tae us, ah’d hud tae huv hud ninety-nine fuckin lives!

Ah’m aboot tae change the subject, then that Larry goes, aw snidey, — He’s meant tae be yin ay they karate boys. George Kerr-schooled. Black belt, they tell us.

— Fuck that, Begbie sneers, — some cunt kicks yir fuckin baws in, karate’s no gaunny dae nowt against that. Does it fuckin well gie ye baws ay steel, then? he asks Larry.

— Naw … he’s weasellin ootay it, — but ah’m jist sayin –

— Well, dinnae jist fuckin say, Begbie cuts um oaf.

Ah dinnae like where this is headin. Supposed tae be a few quiet peeves, then the big game the morn. Thaire’s ey a charged atmosphere at the weekend ay a derby game; it’s like a full-moon thing. — Ah think ye made the point, Franco, ah goes, n ah makes this chibbin motion n gits a wee grin offay him. — It’ll be aw bluster. These cunts’ll no be keen tae come ahead in a hurry eftir that.

— Aye, the cunt’s brother’s like a fuckin pincushion now, Nelly laughs.

Ah’m lookin tae Begbie but his coupon’s gone that staney wey again. Ah ken that look. — Aye, but ye cannae make the point enough wi some cunts, but. Ah’m still hearin garbage comin fae this big brother cunt’s mooth. It’s like the wey things ur fuckin well gaun these days, yuv goat tae fuckin well kill some cunt tae get taken fuckin seriously. He looks aroond the table n makes the declaration: — Wir gaun doon thaire tae huv a wee fuckin blether wi this Hong Kong Fuey cunt!

Ah feel masel swallyin hard wi nowt in ma throat. — When likes?

— Nae time like the fuckin present. Franco’s boatum lip curls doon. — Pey a wee fuckin visit. Huv a wee fuckin word wi the cunt.

Ah look aroond at the boys. They’re aw game. Even Mark, whae’s just doon for the weekend, smiles and goes, — Why not?

— You’re no comin, Franco goes.

Mark looks at him, aw biscuit-ersed. — How no?

— You’ve goat that fuckin college. Yir no fuckin aw that up. This isnae your business. You’ve goat yir mate thaire. He points tae Mitch.

Rents shakes his heid. — We’re mates, Franco. So it is ma business, he goes, but he’s distracted, lookin past Begbie tae the pub door. Every time it opens, his eyes are trained on it.

Begbie pulls Mark taewards him, airm roond his shoodirs. He’s lookin right intae they wasted eyes. — Is it fuck. Your business is tae dae well at that fuckin college n git the fuck oot ay here. Yir fucked oan that wacky baccy anywey, ya cunt. Some fuckin use you’d be!

Ah looks at Mitch. He’s one ay ma best mates but ah’ve hardly seem um lately. Ah say tae him and Mark, — Youse two wait here. Ah’ll be back inside an ooir.

Mitch nods, and Mark looks roond like he’s gaunny protest, then shrugs. As we down our drinks, he looks sort ay relieved and unhappy at the same time aboot huvin tae stey. Rents isnae a violent sort ay gadge but he has his moments. He chibbed Eck Wilson at the school and he smashed this boy ower the heid wi a boatil eftir that Hampden semi. These things really stood oot cause he’s normally no like that. He says he only gets violent when he’s really scared. Mitch is very handy in a swedge but he’s a Tollcross boy and this isnae his fight.

Nelly and Franco are maniacs and this Larry cunt, he’s just a bully. We get ootside n pile intae Nelly’s van, me n him in the back. We’re drivin doon tae Pilton n Begbie’s aw excited, giein us the instructions fae the front passenger seat. — Youse stey in the van n dinnae come oot till ah shout! Mind, wait till ah fuckin gie yis a shout!

— Ye sure aboot this? ah goes, cause it’s beyond real n ah dinnae feel very Fearless Tommy Gun tae be honest. Sometimes it’s right enough though, it takes bein a bit scared tae get ye gaun.

— Like ah sais, Franco roars, — ah’ll fuckin well shout if ah need backup!

Ah say nae mair, cause he’s made his point. Aw the wey doon, though, ah’m starin at Franco’s heid thinking aboot how many punches it would take before he went doon. The combo that would put him away; jab, jab, straight right, left hook, right uppercut, straight left, right hook, left hook. N that fuckin Larry … one good right hook would crack that thin gless-boned jaw …

Doon in the scheme we see these wee boys playin fitba oan this bit ay waste groond. Nelly’s rollin the windae doon. — Whaire’s it the Frenchards live, mate?

The wee guys look at each other, then one points ower tae some auld broon tenements at the end ay a street that are gittin done up, n painted white. — Ower thaire in the Rise. Number 12.