Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— What’s he on about? Marriott asks Nicksy.

— Fuck knows.

This cunt thinks we’re junkies like him. Dinnae think so somehow; there’s a big difference between a wee habit where ye smoke it and occasionally bang up, and being a total career drug addict, the soul-dead puppet ay some prick whae disnae gie a fuck aboot ye .

Marriott starts slavering on again, in that maundering self-obsessed smackheid wey. — As soon as you’re marked, you get the fuck back into town and start hustling for your fix, cause if you’re seen trying it on when Curtis is on shift, if he don’t get you, we farking well will, he says, bug-eyed, lookin and soundin about as intimidatin as Larry Grayson in a tutu. — Don’t give him any reasonable cause ta search yer or he’ll have you buck naked with his gloved hands up your arse pulling yer dinner through your intestines with half the Essex constabulary in attendance.

Ah catch Sick Boy rollin his eyes in a mock-theatrical gesture that indicates the idea isnae withoot appeal. Marriott reacts tae the chucklin conspiracy and goes genuinely dark; he’s no messin around tae try n get an effect any mair. — Then it gets really messy, cause the chaps find out and you’re welded into a leaky oil drum and lost at sea.

If he was bullshitting or exaggerating aw ay us now feel disinclined tae call his bluff. Ah feel ma gaze shift tae ma lap, then tae Nicksy.

Marriott gets up, he’s hardly touched his cereal, but he rests ower the table, his knuckles white. — Keep in control or you ain’t gonna get any farking change outta me, he snorts and heads off.

Sick Boy’s shaking his head. — Who is that prick? What have you got us intae here, Nicksy?

— Well, you shouldn’t have signed up for it, Nicksy moans.

— I’ve signed up for sweet fuck all. The cunt outlined a proposition. It sounded good. Now it doesnae. End of. Ma buddy Andreas can get tons ay broon. If we’re haulin it through the customs for fuckin sweeties …

Sick Boy lowers his voice, as it seems it’s now Cream Shirt’s turn to hover. Presumably the boat is ready to fill up again and we should be preparing tae set sail on the high seas for merry England. He clears his throat, ubiquitous clipboard in hand, points to his watch, then pirouettes on his Cuban heels and heads off.

— Fuck, Sick Boy scorns, — cannae fuckin breathe on this boat without being accosted by faggots. The official economy, the underground economy, it makes nae odds; every cunt wants tae ram it up yir erse, he declares. — Aw well, better git moving. Another filthy morning beckons. Action stations!

GRIM STUFF THIS wet and dreary morning, man, gaun tae see Franco in the nick, likesay. Ah’d arranged wi June, his ma n his brar Joe a time tae go in when naebody else wis thaire, ken. It’s a twelve-month stretch, but he’ll be oot in six. Aye, a couple ay Lochend boys were oan the peeve eftir the fitba, n Franco’s logic wis seein as Cha Morrison chibbed Larry, he hud tae slash two Lochend laddies. But the boy he goat wisnae really a mate ay Morrison’s n it turns oot that he’s Saybo’s cousin. So it’s caused a bit ay a split in the ranks, wi Saybo no gaun in tae visit the Beggar Boy in HMP Saughton. Aye, Ali saw um earlier that night, sais he wis defo oan the warpath.

So we visitors ur aw cauld n wet, as we pit oor stuff intae wee boaxes, oor keys n watches n that, no thit ah’ve goat a watch, likesay, but ye ken whit ah mean. They gie ye a wee token fir it, then we go through tae sit at they tables n chairs, wi the screws supervisin. Whin Begbie appears, ah huv tae say he looks in barry nick. Even mair filled oot through pumpin prison steel. The only thing he seems really gutted aboot is that Cha Morrison’s in Perth, he was really lookin forward tae lockin claws wi that cat. As he says hissel, that wis the only reason he wanted tae dae jail time. He asks us aboot Leith n that, then sortay jist starts giein us a right hard time for bein intae the gear.

Jist as ah’m kinday thinkin ay it bein a mistake tae come, it’s likesay he jist sortay gits tired ay it aw. — Listen, thanks fir comin … he goes, — it’s jist that it’s shite seein people visitin. Nowt fuckin happens in here, n ye end up no fuckin wantin tae hear aboot what’s gaun oan ootside.

— Right, man … ah nods, cause ye kin see the cat’s point, ah nivir liked people comin tae see me whin ah wis in Doc Guthrie’s, ken?

— So dinnae waste yir fuckin time visitin. Yi’ll no git any conversation oot ay me, he looks round tae whaire the guards are standin, — n it’s no exactly like wi kin git oot fir a fuckin peeve. Any news, go n see muh ma, n she kin fuckin well bring it in tae us.

Ah must huv looked a wee bit pit oot, n, well, sort ay underappreciated, man, cause he looks at whaire the plaster oan ma airm used tae be n goes, — Dinnae fuckin well pit that greetin-faced look oan, like um fuckin tellin ye oaf; ah’m no fuckin tellin ye oaf! It’s good ay ye tae come, right. Ah’m jist sayin: dinnae fuckin well waste yir time comin in n expectin a fuckin conversation oot ay me.

— Right … sound. Eh … Hibs did awright oan Setirday.

— Ah ken how fuckin Hibs did, Spud. Thuv goat fuckin papers n telly in here, ya daft cunt, the cat shakes his heid.

Ah sortay try another approach. — Did ye see that programme the other night aboot the apes ay Gibraltar? That wis barry, man. Ah’d nivir thought aboot apes before, well, ah’d thoat ay thum, likesay, but no really thoat aboot thum, if ye ken whit ah mean. But this really made ye think, ken? Thaire wis this one ape –

He pure raises his hand tae silence us, like he’s a Roman emperor or something. — Nivir saw it, he sais, endin the conversation. Then he goes, — How’s the airm?

— Barry, man, brand new, like it nivir happened.

— Telt ye it wis gaunny be awright! Fuckin fuss tae make aboot a broken airm! Ya cunt, ah thoat ye wir fuckin deid the wey ye wir kirrayin oan!

— Right, eh, sorry, man, ah goes, then ah tells him that Rents and Sick Boy send thair best fae London, which is kinday a lie cause they jist take the pish when his name gits mentioned, but jist as a sortay mates thing, likesay. No thit the Beggar Boy wid likesay appreciate that but. The thing is, though, underneath it aw, ah think he really is gled tae see us. It’s jist the gadge’s wey, ken?

But seein a caged man isnae very good fir the soul, likesay, so ah’m delighted tae git oot they prison gates n back intae the real world. No thit it’s much better oot here. If thaire’s nowt tae dae in the nick, it’s sortay the same ootside, withoot the waws. But at least in the chokey the three square meals ur provided, ken? Boredom, man. It’s like a wee tap inside ye, drippin oot acid intae yir gut. Eatin away at aw yir organs. In bed at night it’s the worst. Ah try an stretch ma limbs out, but before ah sortay ken it ah’m aw cramped again, ma fists balled, talkin a load ay weird, scared stuff tae masel. Cannae be good fir a cat, man.

N ootside its aw nash, stoorie and bomb wi some cats, likesay, ken? Could never dae wi hurryin aboot masel, even though ah wis ey a dead fast runner at school. Bit bein twenty-one n huvin the key tae the door but, you’ve jist goat tae sit back n mellow oot, likesay. Too much chargin aboot: it’s killin us aw, man. The rat race n that. Stressed if yuv goat a joab, stressed if ye huvnae. Everybody oot fir themselves, at each other’s throat n daein each other doon. Nae solidarity nae mair, ken? The work is ower, it’s aw gaun, n thaire’s nae particular place tae go.

Ma mooth’s been feelin awfay dry the day, but ah pit that doon tae that weird broon skag ah got at Johnny’s last night. Thought the cat wis extractin the urine when he brought it oot, cause it looked mair like cocoa powder thin Salisbury Crag, ken? Ah wis aboot tae start singing: ‘Cup hands, here comes Cadbury’s!’ But he sais it was aw he could git. Ah lifts ma shirtsleeve n deeks at this scratchy sore oan ma airm. Ah poke it n some yellay pus oozes oot. Ah jist rolls that sleeve doon sharpish; aw, man, ah cannae even look at that …