Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

— It’s no aboot money, ah cut the cunt off, shakin ma heid. — It gits oan ma tits the wey people think everything’s aboot money. Boy wis mair than a mate, eh wis faimlay. Okay, sometimes he got on ma nerves, but he was faimlay. You never liked him. Probably reminded ye too much ay yirsel, ay, mate?

Syme looks up at ays n gasps oot, — What d’ye mean…?

— They tell ays they called you the Poof at school. They battered you. But you fought back, mate.

The Poof, as ah now think ay Syme, looks at me and nods. Like ah understand him. — Aye… they did.

— That wee laddie, he’s eywis inside ye, waiting tae git oot.

The Poof looks at his baws n cock, bleedin through his fingers. Then up at me. — Please…

— Ah dinnae want tae see him. That fuckin wee poof. Ah want tae see you. Tell ays tae fuck off! Tell ays that you’re Victor Syme! TELL AYS!

— AH’M SYME, he roars. — VICTOR FUCKIN SYME… His eyes go doon tae his baws again. — VIC… VICTIHR… Victor Syme… He starts tae bubble.

— That’s no what ah’m seein. Aw ah’m seein is the Poof.

— Please… ah’ll make it up tae ye… for Murphy. For Danny. His family. Ah’ll see them awright!

Ah raise ma hand. — But pittin him aside, there’s another reason ah’m daein this, ah smile. — Which is: ah just like hurtin people. No killin them, that bit ah’m no keen oan, jist cause it spoils it aw. If they’re deid, ye cannae hurt them any mair, ay?

— Well, you’ve hurt me awright, ah’m sorry aboot Danny… Didnae ken he wis connected… Ah kin make it up tae ye, he whines, lookin doon tae his baws, — now ah need tae git tae the hoasp —

— Ah dinnae like killin people, but it makes things messy leavin them lyin around in bits, ah cut the cunt oaf, — so sadly ah’m compelled tae go aw the wey. But mind thit ah dae this purely for the love ay it, rather than the money. So call ays an artist, or a psychopath, makes nae odds tae me, ah goes, hurlin another knife intae the cunt.

It sticks in that soft bit between the shoodir n the chist, n Syme faws oantae his back, littin oot a long groan. — Ah didnae keh-heh-hen…

Ah’m right oan him, smashin the next blade intae his gut, tearin at the flesh. — Ignorance… ay the law… is nae excuse. You’ve goat something ah need… It belongs… tae ma mate!

Takes ays fuckin ages tae git them oot, n ah’m surprised that the cunt holds oan that long. Fuckin guts, they spread oot like fuck. Dinnae expect a big pile ay giant pinky-grey spaghetti tae spill oot ay the cunt n slide acroass the flair. Fuckin state ay that, but. Then, eftir draggin Syme’s boady intae the cleaning supplies cupboard the lassie n Terry telt ays aboot, n lockin the door, pocketin the key that’s awready in thaire, ah has tae wash doon the cagoule, the waterproof trousers and the shoes, n gie the place a good mop n clean. Feel sorry for the cunts that work here, cause it’ll be fuckin mingin soon, wi it bein summer.

When it’s aw done, ah text Terry:

Still cannae get ower that game, amazing how it aw went tae plan .

Right back:

GGTTH. That Davie Gray winner…

Me:

Even better on the replay. Left the opposition destroyed. GGTTH!

It’s about ten minutes later when ah git the text:

We’ve got McGinn, super John McGinn .

Which tells ays that Terry’s parked back doon his shag lane at Scotland Street. So ah head oot the door, collar up, beanie doon over the brows, skerf roond the mooth, just another guilty punter who played away fae hame. Coast’s clear: bus must have come. Ah get tae the cab and we speed off tae the airport. When we arrive, Terry hands me two commemorative Hibs Scottish Cup mugs. — Wee pressy.

— They snide?

— Of course they are.

— No sure ah’m wantin them. Dinnae like the idea ay being mixed up in anything illegal, ah sais. We get a barry giggle at that. As ah say goodbye tae Terry, ah feel that sense ay loss and regret that ah ey dae on such occasions, realisin that ah’ll never see they throwin knives or that fuckin sword again. They have tae be destroyed or planted on some noncey paedo sex case that Tez has awready earmarked. But ah’m upset, as that sword n these knives, they just fuckin handled that well. Unusual tae git a weapon ye huvnae had any time tae practise wi, that just feels so right, never mind two . Fuckin craftsmanship. In a perfect world ah’d be able tae keep them, but thir jist jailbait. Gutted though – yir only as good as yir tools.

The lassie is waiting at the airport and I pay her off, slipping the folder intae her bag. — What’s your plans?

— I’m going home.

— Where’s that?

— Bucharest.

— That’s what ah should dae, book a rest, ah tells the lassie. She looks at me like ah’m a radge. — I’m gaun home too. Got an early flight the morn. The night ah’m treatin masel tae that Hilton Hotel here, cause ah couldnae git a first class at short notice withoot the cunts takin the pish.

— So where is your home?

— California.

She heads away and I buy a newspaper, that Independent , and walk ower tae the Hilton. Ah pey in cash, checking in as Victor Syme, using his driver’s licence as ID. Ah look fuck all like the cunt but the photae is shite n the lassie barely glances at it.

They’ve goat Sky in the room, and thaire’s golf oan. Ah dinnae mind watchin golf oan telly cause it’s barry when some cunt fucks up an easy put. I call Melanie, tell her Elspeth’s okay, and I’m looking forward tae getting hame. The papers are aw full ay that vote the morn aboot leaving the EU. One thing ye can guarantee is, whatever happens, things’ll be shite for maist cunts. The wey ah look at it is that it’s a short life, look at poor Spud, so ye might as well just dae what makes ye happy!

Gutted tae have missed his funeral, but this is a better wey tae pey ma respects.

Each tae their ain.

Sometimes it’s mair complex than just daein the right thing. It’s working out what the right thing is when every cunt’s dangling wrong yins in front of ye. I’ve made the call that the right thing for me is tae keep the Santa Monica gaff and stay clean. So instead of bringing out Conrad’s new track, I left it to Muchteld, while I engineered three generations ay Renton to be together.

Taking Alex fae Amsterdam, out ay social services and the care home, tae my dad’s place at Leith, was quite an ordeal. But I decided possession was nine-tenths ay the law. Instead ay one ay our regular outings tae the Vondelpark for ice cream and coffee (that was a fucker ay a battle, autistic kids are programmed tae routine), I took him tae the passport office. Then, after dropping Alex back at the amusement park, as I call the home, I went tae the seaside tae visit Katrin and tell her ay my plans.

— It is good you are taking this interest, she said in her usual offhand way. She obviously didnae gie a fuck, and indeed, was happy tae have him out ay the way. I couldn’t believe I’d spent so many years sleeping in the same bed as this stranger. But I suppose that’s the nature of love: we are either creatures ay the present and have tae live with the trauma and misery if it goes tits up, or doomed tae loneliness. I might no have taken much interest ower the fifteen years ay his life, but it’s still a fucking sight mair than she ever did. When it was obvious that there were issues with Alex, she had said wearily, — It is useless. There is no communication.

Her coldness and detachment always intrigued me when it was just the two ay us. Then there was somebody else, who was totally dependent on us, and it didnae play so well. She basically fucked off and lumbered me with the kid, taking an acting job wi a touring theatre company. That was us done. I found Alex a place in a care home, so I could keep working.