Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— Thanks, ma wee pal, Terry goes, n ehs eyes ur aw misty.

— Terry, what in hell’s name are you doing? Ronnie shouts. — It’s this goddamn putt for the game! The Bowcullen, goddammit!

— Ah’m aw nervous but, Ronnie, Terry goes.

— Take deep breaths, you can do this!

Terry looks at Ronnie, then Jens and Lars, and eh bursts oot laughin. — Aw nervous that they poor boys are gaunny commit suicide when ah pits this yin away!

N eh goes ower, aw casual, n no nervous at aw, n takes the last putt. . It seems tae be gaun too fast; then it hits a wee bit ay slope n slows doon. . it’s gaun taewards the hole but it birls roond the mooth. . then. .

IT FAWS! AYE SUR, IT FAWS RIGHT INTAE THE HOLE! AYE SUR, IT DOES! AYE AYE AYE AYE AYE! Ronnie lits oot a roar n grabs a hud ay me! — YESSSSS!!!!! We’ve done it! WE’VE WON THE WHISKY! Ronnie’s eyes ur bulgin oot n Terry comes ower aw casual, n the three ay us ur in a big embrace. — THANK YOU, GOD! Ronnie shouts at the sky. — GOD IS AN AMERICAN! he shouts ower at the perr Danish boys, whae look awfay soor-faced, aye sur, awfay soor-faced.

— Mibbe it means eh’s a Scotsman, Ronnie, cause ay Terry sinking the putt, ah goes.

— Maybe it damn well does, Jonty! Hell yeah!

We pill apart n Ronnie goes tae Terry, — What the hell was going through your mind when you took that shot?

— Aw ah thoat ay was aboot every burd that ah’ve looked at since this hert news, and ah jist focused on the hole. Aw thit wis gaun through ma mind: you’re fuckin gittin it! It’s like the scud, they ey sent me in tae dae the difficult shots, like the triple penetration cause ah nivir loast ma boatil. Lisette’s lying under Curtis, whae’s right up her, n Bum Bandit Jonno’s in her erse. Thaire’s aw they bodies in the wey, n the camera, n nae gap tae push it intae. So they send fir Juice T. Ah git it right in thaire, every time, ey thoat ay masel as the George Clooney ay scud. Gowf’s the same; ye go for the hole n nowt gits in yir fuckin road!

Ronnie laughs n ah does tae n we’re aw cheery. — You know, Terry, you drive that ball the same goddamn way every single time. That swing looks a little awkward, you look like you’re taking a shit, but it’s a thing of flawed beauty. It can’t be taught. You really do make love to that course; you pound, pump, caress and leave.

— Aye, aye, aye. . ah goes, but ah kin see Lars isnae happy, n him n ehs mate go away, as the other boy hands Ronnie the boatil!

We gits back in the cab n wir drinkin champagne! Ah thoat we’d be drinkin oot ay the whisky in the funny boatil but Terry goes, naw, this is better, even in a paper cup!

It’s barry cause it tastes like good lager, thick lager wi tons ay gas, but aw sort ay sweet, like a lager tops!

Ronnie n me toast like it wis New Year or whin Herts won the cup. — We should go back to my hotel, eh sais, — and get more of this goddamn champagne.

— Goat tae run a wee message first, it’s oan the wey in, ay, Terry goes, but aw sort ay snappy.

— Terry, we got a result! Don’t be so goddamn uptight! Ronnie sais, hudin up the funny boatil ay whisky that looks the same colour as rid wine.

Terry keeps lookin at what’s behind us in the mirror aw the time. — Ah’ll be happier when ah’ve droaped oaf this twenty grams ay ching tae this cunt doon the Taxi Club.

— A two-bit drug deal! You are carrying twenty grams of cocaine around, with everything that’s happened to us? Ronnie shouts. — Gimme a fuckin break! Drop me off at the hotel, now!

— It’ll take ays twenty minutes tae git tae the Taxi Club n meet this boy, Terry goes. — Huv some fuckin balls!

— But it’s a goddamn drug deal!

Ah’m watchin thum gaun at it, one yin, then the other.

— So? It’s still fuckin business. What does business take? George Bernard Shaws! Huv a bit ay fuckin pride: wir stickin it tae they polis cunts! These wankers, they pilled ye in. They took the pish, Ronnie. N they called ye a shitein cunt cause ye kept phonin them during the storm. They’ve hud yir caird marked since then. Then fucked ye aboot tryin tae find that second boatil ay whisky. Terry turns ehs heid roond. — The fuckers are probably doon some Masonic club right now, drinking shots oot ay it!

— You really think those assholes would have the audacity –

— Ah’d pit nowt past those fuckers. Stick it tae the cunts, mate!

— Right, let’s goddamn do this! Ronnie punches ays oan the thigh. — Take me to this faggot-assed club where it’s all going down! And give me a fuckin bump of that shit! We done kicked Scandinavian ass!

— That’s ma man! Jonty, see this cunt here? Terry points back at Ronnie. — Business takes baws n he’s goat baws ay fuckin steel. Watch n learn, wee man, eh sais, n ah feel the Ronnie boy sort ay pumpin ehsel up next tae ays in the back seat. Terry hands um ower a caird in a bag ay devil’s poodir. Ah turns away, in case they try n gie it tae me. Aw aye, ah does that, cause it makes ye ride other people’s lassies. Aye sur, it does. Cannae be daein wi yon.

— YEE HA! Ronnie shouts oot, n eh seems tae be feelin good.

So ah asks um, — See, in New York, huv they goat McDonald’s thaire?

— Of course they have. They have McDonald’s everywhere. It’s an American franchise!

— Bet thir no as guid as the yin in Gorgie but! Naw, thi’ll be like they snobby up-the-toon yins if thir in New York! Aye sur, that they will. Aye aye aye.

— What in hell’s name are you talking about, Jonty?

— Snobby McDonald’s, Ronnie, aye, snobby McDonald’s, ah goes, then, n it jist comes oot, — snobby Ronnie McDonald’s. . N ah starts laughin at that mistake n Terry does tae. Ma hand goes tae ma mooth n ah hope Ronnie doesnae think ah’m sayin eh’s a clown even if eh looks like yin wi that sort ay reverse clown hair, aw stickin oot oan top wi nowt at the sides, cause that’s jist what Jinty wid say. . but ye cannae say that, naw sur, ye cannot. .

But Ronnie’s jist sortay laughin n shakin ehs heid. — What in hell’s name — are you goddamn crazy?

— McDonald’s. . jist sayin. . Ronnie McDonald’s, aye sur, aye sur. . n wir aw huvin a rerr laugh, but ah tell thum thit ah’m no touchin the devil’s poodir, naw sur, ah am not.

— Wise man, Ronnie says, lookin at Terry and laughin, — this goddamn motherfucker is gonna be the end of me, and they start laughin again n ah dae n aw.

So wir drivin back intae Embra, n headin tae Powderhall n the Taxi Club! Terry promised me he’d take ays thaire: the cheapest pint in toon! Aye sur! Hank said tae ays once: ‘Ye willnae git in there withoot me signin ye in.’ But ah will! Ah’m wishin eh wis in there tae see it now! Barry-barry!

Wi gits inside n Ronnie’s lookin no too comfy but Terry leaves ays wi a peeve n tells ays eh’s gaun tae the bogs for a line ay that awfay poodir. Ronnie’s lookin at um n sayin, — Terry, don’t you think you’re doing a lot of cocaine for somebody with a heart condition?

— Aye, but we won, mate.

Ronnie high-fives um. — We kicked ass! N eh follays Terry tae the lavvy.

Ah sortay agree wi Merican Ronnie but, cause ah believe it wis that poodir thit switched off Jinty’s light. Mind you but, ah’m no sayin hur ma, Maurice’s wife, did the same, no sur, ah am not cause that’s no fir me tae say. N ah dinnae think cocaine wis invented back then fir Edinburgh, back whin she wis alive. Ah want tae ask Ronnie if it wis invented back in America, in New York n that, but ah’m no happy wi Terry n him daein this funny stuff cause Barksie does that. Eh gied it tae Jinty n she wid still be here n no wi the ghost trams if he hudnae gied hur it. Devil’s poodir: aye sur, that’s what ah call it. Aye sur: the devil’s poodir.