James Kelman - Greyhound for Breakfast

Oh, sorry.

Naw, it’s alright!

Are you wanting something? The girl got up from the seat.

A wee niece of mine, he said, she was like you — nose always stuck inside a book!

The girl smiled.

What kind of sandwiches have you got then?

Well, there’s only lettuce and tomato left now.

Lettuce and tomato. .

We had roast beef and gammon earlier on.

Oanny shrugged. The lettuce and tomato’ll do fine hen. It’s for three. Plus two coffees and a tea — have you got tea?

Yes.

Thank God for that!

She returned with the stuff on a tray and Oanny applied the milk and sugar from the jug and bowl on the counter. He pulled out the small wad of notes.

There’s no charge, said the girl.

What?

For a meal you would have to pay but sandwiches and coffee come free of charge.

Aw aye, I see. Thanks hen. . Oanny started separating the saucers and putting the cups onto them, then he manoeuvered things about on the tray.

Can you manage? she asked.

Aye — I’m no decrepit altogether!

I wasnt meaning that. It’s just that if you leave the saucers the way they were then everything’ll fit till you get to the table.

Of course, aye. Oanny took the cups back off the saucers and returned the things back onto the tray. He nodded. He noticed a medium-sized bowl to the side of the counter. There was quite a lot of money inside it. Before lifting the tray he peeled two singles from the small wad and he put them in beside the rest. It was probably tips people left because the sandwiches came free. He hummed a tune while carrying the tray back to the table. The lassie was nice. But so bloody young! She hardly seemed old enough to be out at this time never mind working in a bloody casino. And these dresses they were wearing, hers was too tight, and the tops of her tits could actually be seen. It was a wonder the punters ever remembered to pick up their winnings! Not that there would be much winnings in a place like this. Take away the lassies and what did you have, one big con from top to bottom.

What you laughing at?

What?

Fat Stanley grinned whilst in the middle of munching a sandwich, a sliver of lettuce at the corner of his mouth.

Just thinking about something, replied Oanny. He gestured at the sandwich. No kidding ye but that’s what Ellen should be doing I mean a lot of cunts dont fancy a bowl of fucking soup but give them a sandwich and a cup of tea and that. . He shrugged.

I agree with you Oanny.

Plus you’re killing two birds with one stone, you’re cutting out the fucking riff-raff. That’s what fucking draws them, the soup, they think it’s the Salvation Army! Songs of fucking Praise they’ll be giving us next!

Fat Stanley and Victor both grinned.

Victor stuck the last portion of his sandwich into his mouth and he munched it with his mouth shut, glancing about the room, and when he finished it he wiped his lips.

Still hungry? asked Oanny.

Who me — naw.

The lassie’d give us another couple of sandwiches.

I’m no bothered.

Oanny nodded. What about yourself Stanley?

Fat Stanley shrugged. I’m no bothered either.

Mm. Ah well. Oanny sipped at his tea, half of his sandwich still remaining on the plate. He took out his cigarettes and gave one to Victor, offered one to Fat Stanley who moved to take one, then hesitated.

Eh, d’you mind? he asked.

Course no, fuck sake here, help yourself. . Oanny screwed his face up to avoid getting smoke in his eyes while getting his cigarette alight. Tell you something, he said, Rollo’s place is getting really bad. I mind the time if you cleaned the fucking school you were talking about a monkey, and that was on a bad night.

Somebody else won as well but, apart from Alec, said Victor.

Still and all, two hundred quid, it’s not much. Oanny nodded in the direction of the private members’ room. And I’ll tell yous something else, he said, half the cunts ben in that casino, they’ll no even know there’s a game of poker going on! And that’s the way they want it, the house. Because poker’s like chemmy, it’s a punters’ game. That’s how you dont see a chemmy table in here cause they dont fucking allow it that’s how.

No percentage, muttered Victor.

No enough of one, aye. Oanny nodded after a moment.

Fat Stanley yawned. Well. . he said, think I’ll go and have a looksee. Eh Victor?

Aye.

What about yourself Oanny?

Nah. Did Alec take that Record with him?

Aye.

Tch. Oanny shook his head but added: Maybe get a loan of one off somebody. Here, he said. And he withdrew the small wad and handed it to Victor who nodded slightly, sticking it into his trouser pocket.

*

Oanny had not seen the pair enter. He glanced around the lounge. Nobody else was sitting down. Fat Stanley said, They’re wanting to shut up shop.

Are they?

It’s a case of hint hint.

Ah well. Oanny yawned and lifted his cigarettes and matches from the table.

That roulette! Fat Stanley grinned. No kidding ye Oanny it’s hell of a fast so it is. You could lose a fortune.

Dont tell me yous fell for it!

It was blackjack I played, said Victor.

Just as deadly. It’s no like fucking pontoons you know!

Victor frowned.

Oanny was opening the cigarette packet and shaking his head. He glanced at Victor as he started getting to his feet. You might know but a lot of cunts dont. They turn a blackjack and think they can take the fucking bank! I mind one time in Newcastle. .

I know the difference.

Oanny gazed at him.

We were winning a few bob at the beginning, said Fat Stanley. Hey but see these Chinese! No kidding ye Oanny punting in scores so they were. Some of them must’ve been losing a bloody fortune!

Mugs! Oanny sniffed noisily. Fucking house games!

Victor cleared his throat, and he moved in the direction of the exit. Fat Stanley followed, pausing now and again to stay within a stride of Oanny. Before they arrived within earshot of the doormen Oanny tapped Fat Stanley on the side of the arm. Hey big yin, he whispered, did somebody actually say they were going to shut? I mean direct, did somebody actually tell you?

Aye.

Aw.

One of the younger doormen stood by the glass door with Victor. When he saw the other two approach he unlocked it and held it open for them.

Raining? said Oanny.

Aye, replied the doorman.

Were yous busy?

Eh, no bad.

Oanny nodded. Is this you finished for the night then?

Aye.

You’ll no be sorry!

The doorman nodded. Fat Stanley and Victor were out on the pavement. The other two doormen were standing by the table with the signing-in book.

Oanny sniffed, rubbed his hands together. Aye, he said.

After a moment the doorman said, Goodnight.

The key was turned in the lock behind him. Oanny continued onto the pavement; he muttered, Bloody cold eh!

Fat Stanley nodded. He had his bunnet on now and the collar of his coat was upturned. Victor had his shoulders hunched and he shivered. Fucking freezing! he grunted and then he shuddered and spat out onto the street.

Oanny stood for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders a few times and kept his feet moving on the spot. Finally he gave a loud shiver, slapped his hands together and crossed to the opposite pavement, the other pair following. He stepped into a shop doorway and tried the doorhandle. Shut! he said.

Fat Stanley smiled briefly. He and Victor huddled in out the rain.

Oanny brought out the cigarettes, gave one to himself and Victor, one as an afterthought to Fat Stanley. Might as well take it, he added, it’s the last!

Fat Stanley shrugged.

Just then the door of The Edwardian was unlocked, and the sound of cheery voices. A group of young men and women, dressed in ordinary clothes: employees — probably they had lockers to keep their evening wear in. Umbrellas were raised then they all headed along towards the high-rise car park. The door was locked behind them.