Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

— You shut the fuck up!

— A mate gied ays it, ah explain. — Said it was the ultimate trip. Said that as an artist, ah should experience it.

He looks tae Mel, then back at me. — I’m fucking warning you…

— Now ah nivir really liked drugs. A peeve, aye, sound, ah smile at him. — A wee bit ay ching. But this stuff, couldnae really caw it a drug as such –

— Harry! Please! Mel shouts. — This is lunacy! We have two little girls in their beds! We need to work this out!

This cop cunt laughs in her face. — What can you work out? You, who can’t even see what you fucking married! I used to be in love with you. Wanted to be with you. He laughs in that daftie sneer again. — Now? Now I pity you. I pity the useless, pathetic cunt that you are!

Ah fuckin hate the way some American cunts call lassies cunts. Fuckin offensive, that shite. Ah’m tastin ma ain blood doon the back ay ma throat, as ah try tae breathe steadily in through ma neb. That sweet Pacific air comin through the metallic scent. Nowt like it. — That’s a bit sad, mate.

— What?

— Ye cannae be in love wi somebody whae isnae in love wi you. It’s no love, it’s just a fucking noncey sickness in the heid. You’re no well, pal, I say. — Get treatment. Doesnae need to be this way.

— Jim, no, please… Mel’s urgin ays tae be quiet, let her do the talkin.

— You?! You call me fuckin sick in the head! You?!

— Listen, ah tell him, no likin the wey Mel’s lookin at ays, like she might half believe this radge, — do what you like with me but leave them out of it, Mel n the kids. They’re not the issue. That’s what ye always wanted, me out the road. Make it happen.

— Jim, no! Melanie squeals, drawin Hammy’s attention back tae her.

— It’s too late for that, the cunt tells her, then eh’s back tae me. — You tell her. Tell her what you done! Coover! Santiago! Tell her about them! Tell her who you are!

Ah’d go tae the fuckin grave before ah’d grass masel up tae Mel aboot removing they two rapist trash. — Tell her what, ya fuckin bam?

He jumps forward and his pistol butt cracks down on my beak this time. A bolt ay searing pain shoots up tae the centre ay ma brain. It feels fuckin good. The sickness maist cunts would feel rising in their guts, ye just laugh at that shite n away it goes. Ye huv tae make friends wi pain. Ah see them aw in ma mind’s eye again. Like they were in that DMT trip; Seeker, Donnelly, Chizzie, Coover, Santiago, Ponce, naebody really seeming that upset. Just enjoying the feast…

But the mood was sort ay… disorganised. It was like this grand stately dining room, but it felt like a bus terminal or railway station, somewhere that would take ye somewhere else. There wis this overriding idea that we needed tae just sit doon and get on wi the meal. Finish it, so we could move on, go somewhere else. Ah wonder where. Ah’m thinkin that it would be good tae try that DMT again, maybe see if we could take it tae the next fuckin level.

— Harry, stop, please, let us go! You’re a police officer, Harry! Melanie’s screams cut through ma thoughts.

— And what use was that? What respect did I ever get from you, from cunts like you, for that?

— I respect the police, I respect the law, Mel says, calm, reasonable, and finding strength again fae somewhere. — This isn’t the law, Harry!

The cunt seems tae think aboot this for a second or two. — You go with this fucking murdering old jailbird, who’s not even from here, he points at ays withoot looking at ays, which gits ma fuckin goat, — and you talk about the goddamn law. That is rich. You really are a piece of work.

I’m staring at him. The blood trickling slowly doon the back ay ma throat. I’ve never hated anything so much in ma life. Ah pull in a deep breath. — Uncuff ays, ah say, nearly in a whisper. — A fuckin square go then, ya shitein cunt.

The cop pervert looks at ays like ah’m a radge. He cannae understand a fuckin word. — What are you talking about, fool? Then he puts his gun tae Melanie’s head.

— Noo… Melanie shuts her eyes.

— Please… I hear a small voice coming fae inside ays. It’s no ma ain. It is ma ain. — Don’t hurt her. If you loved her like ye say ye dae, you cannae hurt her. Please…

— Tell her, Hammy screams at ays, his eyes doolally. — Tell her what you did or I’ll pull the fucking trigger!

Ma heid is startin tae clear n ma eyes ur getting intae focus.

Hammy pivots n slowly points the gun at me. At least it’s away fae Mel . — Now I’m gonna blow your fucking head off. You’re too much of a selfish asshole to deserve to see your kids grow up… or even your fucking wife grow up, you sorry old motherfucker, n eh turns tae Mel briefly before whiplashing back tae me. — You will never know what is gonna happen next: to her, or your kids. Tell me, how does that feel? His face is grinning right at ays.

Nowt ah kin dae but spill n beg, and then…

And then ah see him…

Standing just behind the copper.

My old mate. In his hands, the baseball bat I got fae Karl Gibson. The ex-Dodgers boy who got ays tae make that mutilated heid ay his former coach. The story eh telt, how eh hit the home run tae win game one for the Dodgers in the World Series. And there the cunt is, half in shadow, the bat raised…

RENTON…

… He takes a swing and skelps Hammy right across the side ay his pus. The polis cunt goes doon and the gun fires off, a shot ringing oot. Renton is right on Hammy, on top ay him, battering the cunt. The most amazing thing is that it isnae even a fight. It’s a fuckin massacre. Renton’s heid smashes repeatedly into Hammy’s nose. Then his elbays. He grabs the bat again n wedges it on Hammy’s windpipe. Renton . — THAT’S IT, RENTS! KILL THE CUNT! YLT!!

— I’M A CAW-CAW-CAWWP… the dopey cunt gargles.

— I’m a fuckin social worker, ah think Renton sais, n he isnae letting up until the cunt’s eyes roll right intae his heid. Even though Rents wisnae a fighter, ye kin see that schemie flint in they squirrelly, shifty, sunken eyes. That ruthless snide streak that would never hesitate and surrender any advantage life throws at ye by accident. This Hammy Hamster cunt is fuckin well out for the count! I’m trying tae git tae ma feet in this fuckin chair…

— Stop, Mark, Mel begs, — he’s done!

Renton eases the pressure and looks up at us, panic in his wide eyes. He’s spooked himself now, at where he’s taken this. The cop cunt is fuckin spangled, right enough. Renton takes the cunt’s pulse oan his neck. — He’s still here, he says in a gasping, euphoric chant ay excitement and relief.

— Thank God you came, Mark, thank God you came… Mel blabbers, pale and disbelieving as she stares doon at Hammy, his face bloodied and pulped.

Rents’s eyes are everywhere before they settle on me. — Where’s the keys tae they cuffs?

— The cunt’s poakits, ah tell him.

Renton goes back tae Hammy and fishes oot these keys on a chain. Tries a couple before they work. He frees Mel first. — Oh, bless you, Mark, she goes n flings her airms around him, then she turns tae me, and does the same, as Renton takes oaf ma cuffs n starts windin that rope oaf ay ays. Ah stand up too quick and feel like ah’m gaunny cowp ower n be seek, but ah fight the impulse doon. — Rents… what the fuck are you daein here?