Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

The beg’s gaun no too bad but, the festive period is eywis decent. Cats aw fill ay good cheer n booze, and wi the weather bein that cauld, it sort ay turns aw they indifferent herts, ken?

So ah’m happy wi ma twelve quid sixty-two pence bounty. Four hours in the cauld, still below minimum wage, even if ye do git peyed fir jist standin aroond. It’s funny, but whin ye start the John Greig, ye pit oan that coupon: that sad, baleful pus that screams ‘help ays’ tae the world. By the end ay the mooch, whin the cauld has crept intae yir bones, ye dinnae need tae fake it any mair. So ah’m aboot tae pack up whin ah realise thaire’s a figure standin ower ays. Likesay lingerin, no makin any attempt tae chip a coin intae the auld styrofoam. Ah pure dinnae want tae look up, cause sometimes ye git a radge or a wideo giein ye hassle. But ah hears the friendly tone, — Awright, Spud, so ah raises ma heid.

Man, it’s Mikey Forrester starin doon at ays. — Mikey! How goes? ah asks. Cause ah’ve goat tae say that Mikey boy seems a wee bit doon at heel n aw, wearin a tatty fleece, jeans n trainers. Ah’m kinday surprised, man. The last time ah seen him, the Forrester gadge seemed tae be daein well; aw tin flutes n long coats fae wannabe gangster central.

— Good, Spud, Forrester goes, but ye kin sortay tell the cat’s tryin tae summon as much enthusiasm as he kin, ken? — Ah’ve got a wee bit ay graft, if yir interested. Involves good food and travel. Fancy a pint?

Ah’m aw lugs in this situ, man. — You’ll have tae be the cat in chair, like, Mikey. Ah’m a bit short ay the hirey’s gadgie, ah tells a wee fib. Cannae afford tae use that twelve quid oan beer, man: thaire’s beans n toast fir me n dug food fir Toto tae come ootay yon haul.

— I gathered that.

— They let ye in wi dugs in that place ower the street there, ah points tae the pub.

Mikey nods and we head ower the cobblestanes intae that awfay welcome howf. Ken whin the heat jist blasts oot? Ye cannae beat that, man, even though it’s like the maist miserable time for a wee while, while the body pure adjusts. It’s like that fulum ah saw once whin they wir in space n hud tae wrap up in likesay tinfoil n jump fae one ship tae another, wi nae suits oan or nowt. Even jist a few seconds ay that cauld. It’s the decompression time. Git they hands n taes warmed up. It helps wi Toto curlin up oan ma feet as Mikey shouts up two pints ay San Miguel lager.

When eh sets thum doon oan the table, eh goes, — I’ve gone intae a wee partnership wi Victor Syme, then eh adds in a low voice, — Vic’s back, like.

Ah’m pure no sae keen oan this gig now, man, cause Syme’s well kent as a bad cat, n ah dinnae think it’ll be Mikey that’s runnin the show here. So the wee alarm in ma heid’s gaun: aw-aw, aw-aw…

— Thaire’s decent spondoolays in this, and it’s a piece ay pish.

But, well, let the cat ootline the deal but, man. Does nae herm tae listen tae what the boy’s goat tae say, ay. — Is thaire any chance ay a wee poppy advance oan the fee fir this joab, man? Things been a bit slow, likesay.

— I’m sure we kin work something oot. No want tae hear my proposition first but?

— Eh, aye, ah goes, suppin mair ay the pint. But ah’m awready jumpin aheid ay masel, thinkin thit things are lookin up but, n it’s aboot time the boy Murphy caught a wee brek. Everybody else, even the maist marginalised kittens in the basket, seems tae huv left ays behind. Boot in the hee-haws fir the auld self-esteem, man. No kiddin ye. But tae be wanted again, for anything, it feels barry.

So the Forrester felly is tellin ays that aw ah need tae dae is pick up a wee package and droap it oaf. If ah wis tae git a cash advance ootay Mikey, thaire’s mibbe some new troosers, n a pair ay trainers wi some tread oan thum oot ay it. Ah dinnae ken aboot Mikey but; likesay whether the dude is trustworthy or no. Goat tae dae the fieldwork here, man. — The delivery but, it’s no collies, man, is it? ah asks um. — Cause ah’m no like one ay they drug smugglers, no way, Jose.

Mikey shakes that shaved dome, then runs a hand ower it. It’s like eh tries tae copy aw they gangsters, the likes ay Fat Tyrone n that. — Ah swear, bud, it’s nowt like that, the Forrest Fire explains. — Aw ye need tae dae is fly tae Istanbul and a boy’ll pick ye up at the airport and gie ye a boax tae take tae Berlin oan the train. You git the package thaire, ye gie it tae another boy. Under nae circumstances, and the cat looks awfay, awfay serious, — dae ye try n open the boax.

— Sortay like that fulum, The Transporter ?

— Exactly.

— But, eh, what is in it, likesay?

Mikey gies ays a grim smile. Looks around, lowers ehs voice, leans intae ays. — A kidney, Spud. A human kidney: for a life-saving operation.

Uh-oh. Ah’m no sure aboot this, man. — What? Is that no illegal, smuggling body parts, like the invasion ay the bodysnatchers n aw that?

Mikey shakes ehs heid again. — This is aw kosher, buddy boy. We’ve goat a certificate for it, the lot. Ye cannae open the boax cause it’s aw sealed n sterile, wi the kidney packed in ice or some frozen cauld chemical that isnae ice but works like ice.

— It isnae ice?

— Naw, but it works like ice. Like what they’ve invented tae replace ice.

— Replace ice… Whoa, man, no sae sure aboot that. Ice is pure natural like, well, it’s usually made artificially in fridges like, but in its natural state in the polar regions –

Mikey waves ehs hand n shakes ehs heid. — Naw, Spud. No in likes ay drinks n that, eh laughs, hudin up his pint. — But it works better freezin organs.

— Keeps thum tip-top till auld transplant, likesay?

— Bang on the money! Ye open the boax n the cunt starts tae deteriorate n it’s fuckin useless, ay?

— But the transportation ay this, man, is it no a bit dodgy?

— Well, ye cannae take it through airport security, but ye kin git it oan trains easy enough. A boy meets ye wi it at the Istanbul airport and you just jump oan the train tae Berlin. Another gadge picks it up, you bounce tae the airport in a Joe Baxi n head hame, five hundred bar richer. N that’s eftir ah front ye another five hundred bar right now. Cannae say fairer than that.

Five hundred bar… right now… — Whaes kidney is it?

— A doner’s.

— Like some deid gadgie’s?

— Aye… well, no necessarily, cause ye can live fine wi just one, Mikey says, then goes aw thoughtful. — It might be somebody daein this for one ay thair family. Ah dinnae ken. Ah’m no gaunny say tae Vic Syme… n eh looks at ays n droaps ehs voice, — ah’m no gaunny say tae the boy that runs the saunas, where’s this came fae and where’s it gaun? Ma motto is ask nae questions n yi’ll git telt nae lies. Here’s aw the paperwork, eh sais n passes ays a certificate.

It looks like something ye could git oaf that Internet, likesay download, so ah suppose that makes it sortay official enough. — It’s goat tae be snide though… Vic Syme, likesay… ah goes. Dinnae ken the boy but that jungle cat has the rep ay bein a sabre-toothed killer.

— Well, mate, there’s ey gaunny be risks, n it’s obviously black-market goods, it’ll be some private clinic daein the op, aye. But the job’s yours if ye want it, Mikey sais. — Aw ah kin say is that they’ve been daein a lot ay this sortay stuff and thuv no hud any bother yet, n eh pits an envelope stuffed wi readies oan the table.

Ah think aboot this, a wee adventure, and lit’s face el factos , thaire’s nowt else doon fir ays. — No sayin nowt against naebody, Mikey, but ur they people, likesay Vic Syme, ur they trustworthy, ken? Ah’m no wantin in if naebody is trustworthy.

— Spud, you ken me, Mikey shrugs.