Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

N it’s true, cause ah’ve sort ay kent um for years. N eh’s no ey been trustworthy ehsel, but ah’ve no either. Mibbe he’s changed n aw. Ye huv tae gie folks the benefit ay the doubt. He’s giein me a second chance, so ah’ve goat tae gie him yin. Ah’ve nowt tae lose. — Aye, sound, n ah reaches ower n takes the envelope, like that boy in Mission: Impossible , the wee gadgie in Hollywood that wis in Top Gun wi the barry bird wi the great hair that ye nivir hear nowt aboot now. The tape or whatever’s inside disnae self-destruct but, so it’s aw good! — Ah wisnae tryin tae be wide, or cast any aspersions, Mikey, that wis jist me daein ma due diligence, ken?

— Nae offence taken, bud. Goat tae keep the heid screwed oan. Ah’d be much mair nervous giein the joab tae some daftie that wisnae askin they sort ay questions. Gies ays confidence that ah’ve picked the right boy for the mission!

N eh pure yazed the word mission , which makes ays feel barry. We clink glesses. — Aye, man, ah’ll dae it awright.

— Great, kent ah could count oan ye, ma auld mucker, Mikey goes. — N Spud, try n tidy yirsel up a wee bit, ay, mate?

Ah ken that Mikey’s no bein wide, eh jist doesnae want ays likesay standin oot gaun through Checkpoint Charlie or wherever it is. — Wi this dosh, the answer tae that is basically, aye, catboy.

I love dance music, but draw the line at DJs: pish situation tae be in when you’re a manager ay them. It never used tae be like that – some DJs were fuck-ups, aye, but most weren’t, they were just people who loved clubs and dance music. That changed when those entitled straight-peg millennial cunts took ower – a very general rule of thumb, and aye, exceptions abound but: the more money they get paid, the mair ay a prick the DJ is. So as I made poppy, I worked with mair grandiose, vainglorious arseholes, then, after I built his career, one ay the fuckers sacked me – Ivan – long-haired, silent Belgian cunt – it happens – it’s no a hard-luck story, ah’ve done okay, jist an illustration that you need a thick fucking skin in this game. I have to get those DJ cunts out their fucking beds in the afternoon, procure them drugs fae scumbag promoters, sometimes pull them oot ay the fuckin jail, and even mair galling, argue the toss with corporate lackeys about publishing royalties. But the worst ay it: I have tae try tae get the bastards laid – this is no always as easy as it soundzzzz –

Lying on my bed in a truly sybaritic penthouse suite in this Vegas hotel. It’s divided into two bedrooms, each with a marble bathroom, and a large living room with a luxury kitchen and an ornate fireplace. Of course, it’s on account and a tax write-off, but I’m so jet-lagged after this Edinburgh–London–Amsterdam–Barcelona–LA–Vegas travelthon that I scarcely know where the fuck I am or what I’m meant to be doing, in fact I’m unable to grab hud ay a single thought. Despite having slid just one solitary Ambien (and a Vallie) down the hatch, this fucking laughing gas they pump intae the room, tae keep ye at the tables doonstairs twenty-four/seven, ensures sleep remains beyond ays. All I can dae now is lie back and catch up on Game of Thrones . Then a rap on my door, and I pull my carcass off the bed and let Conrad in. The Technonerd felly comes right tae the point. — I cannot sleep now, and I will not later in the morning in Los Angeles. I need to be with a woman!

— Fine. I freeze the image on the screen, and sit up, my head woozy. Dinnae ken if I buy Jon Snow coming back from the dead, but that’s a straightforward task compared tae mine. Conrad was a leanish young Dutch boy just two years ago. Then he started spunking a fair chunk ay his new-found wealth on food, and the cunt isnae that discerning. What’s sadder than a young millionaire ordering the limo tae pull up ootside a fuckin McDonald’s? When you’re the daft cunt that has tae go in and buy the shit that’s sending his cash cow tae type 2 diabetes. He literally cannae stoap eating. It’s aw tae dae wi the munchies, cause eh smokes tons ay weed. Now, at twenty-two, the cunt is a wheezing tub ay lard. I can feel my ain arteries furring just by standin next tae him.

— But the woman has to be dark-haired, Conrad’s round, entitled baby-face insists, the whistle of his Dutch voice exacerbated by the thin gasp ay burgeoning respiratory disease. — And she has to have medium-sized breasts; they cannot be small, but they must not be too heavy and pendulous. No implants. And lips that are full, but natural –

I cut him off. — Conny, you’ve obviously been wanking off tae porn. Just cut tae the chase and show me the adult entertainment performer who is blessed tae be the object of this superstar DJ’s desire.

He looks briefly at me as if irony is something he almost gets, and pulls out his phone. Fortunately, the porn star has a website and does escort services, and is based in LA. If I can deliver her it saves me spending fucking years in a futile search for a lassie that looks like her. When you’re doing this on behalf of somebody else , it’s the most spirit-crushing employment imaginable. It will cost a pretty penny but that sad little twat is the one bringing in the cash, which makes me just about the most pathetic cunt in Christendom. — If you want this yin, it’ll have to wait till the wee small hours of the morning, when we get back to LA. If your needs are immediate, there’s an agency here in Vegas I can call –

— Fuck those tacky Vegas bitches, they just see money, he snaps.

— Well, that tends tae come with the territory. Like prostitution, ken? At least Conny, being Dutch, gets it when I say ken. In Dutch the verb kenen is also ‘to know’.

— But it is no good if they cannot act with sophistication.

Of course he’s right; the most successful hoors are those who dinnae act like they are. That’s why the high-end escorts get top dollar: it’s the emotional labour they excel at. Conrad believes Vegas is too replete wi one-off out-ay-towners, rather than repeat business. He looks crabbily at me, opening a packet ay crisps fae my well-stocked kitchen area. His suite is next door and he’s probably already cleaned oot its contents as well as hammered room service. — Set me up with this Brandi girl tonight, he says, grabbing a PowerBar as he leaves.

It takes ays twenty minutes to get in touch and conclude the deal, even wi the usual ‘client confidentiality’ speech thrown in. The woman is very cool and businesslike, dispensing wi the breathless baby-doll tones once ah tell her I’m working on behalf ay some other cunt. I then call Conrad. — She’ll be waiting at the Standard around 4 a.m., when we get back to LA.

I hit the hay and believe that I’m actually about to drift off, when the cunt is back hammering at my door again. — I still cannot sleep.

— Here… I go to my drawer and pull out some Ambien. — Take two ay these. I drop the wee browny-orange pills intae an upturned duvet-like hand. I don’t feel good about doing this. I’m trying to sack those bastards myself, so it’s a bit naughty passing them on.

— Okay… and why am I staying at the Standard? I like the Chateau Marmont, he moans.

Too fucking bad: I have a discount deal with the Standard . — Fully booked, bud, I lie, knowing he’s too lazy tae check, — and besides, the honeys, the Glen Hoddles and the Hollywood starlets all party at the Standard these days. It’s hot again.

— West Hollywood or Downtown?

— The West Hollywood one.

Conrad’s doughy fingers rip open a packet of gum. He offers me a stick. I decline. — They say the downtown Standard is more awesome. He opens two gums and crams them into his mouth.