Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

— Well, it looks like ah’m fuckin helpin you oot, bud, ay? Renton says, shaking, his teeth hammering thegither in shock. — What’s gaun oan here?

Mel’s still got a hud ay me, but suddenly ah see the blood. Ah wriggle oot her grip. His fuckin bullet caught her in the airm. — Ye okay?

— It’s only a graze, she says, and wraps an auld rag roond it. She looks tae the door n goes, — The girls, n she runs through.

Ah picks up the shooter that Hammy cunt droaped when Rents tanned the fucker’s pus. Ah’m careful no tae touch the handle. The barrel’s still hoat in ma fingers.

Renton sees ays looking at the cop’s body. He’s still half oot, groanin oan the deck, baith eyes rollin n tryin tae focus, blood pishin oot ay his mooth.

Renton kens what I’m thinking. — He broke in, ah tell him. — He’s been stalking Mel. Obsessed wi her, since school. A weirdo. He’s a cop, an ex-cop, but an alkie.

— The polis’ll do the cunt, Franco.

— One fuckin shot but, ay? Self-defence. Solve the whole fuckin problem!

— It’s his shooter, Frank. He’s fucked. Dinnae shoot the cunt, you’ll jist fuck it aw up.

Ah thinks aboot this. Hauls in a deep breath. He’s probably right. Ah pits the gun doon oan the bench. — AH’LL FUCKIN KILL THE CUNT! N ah step forward, ready tae stomp that heid intae that concrete flair, till the skull cracks n grey shite spills oot ay it, till ah kin smell the cunt’s brains…

— JIM, STOP! Mel has come back through, and she’s ower grabbing ays by the airm. — The girls are okay, she shrieks at ays. — They slept through it all! Just call the police!

— It’s the way tae go, Franco, Rents smiles, like he’s comin up oan a fuckin ecky.

— Aye, right… n ah pull in some mair gulps ay air.

— Honey, he’s an ex-cop and a stalker. The trauma is back in Mel’s eyes. — This is for the police! You must see that!

Ah’m lookin at Hammy Hamster, still tryin tae git ma breathin sorted oot. The rush ay blood tae the heid, like the tide comin in, the same sort ay sound ah heard when ah fucked they two wide cunts oan the beach, the ones the cop cunt wis talkin aboot… it slowly starts tae recede. Ah look at the cunt oan the deck. It wid be easy…

Naw… jist breathe…

— Mel’s right, Franco, Rents says, bug-eyed n excited, makin a fist ay a scrapped and swollen mitt. — Think ay the life he’ll have in prison as an ex-copper: ungreased butt-fuckings every day. He’s gaun tae a place a lot worse than death, Franco!

Mel looks at Rents in a vaguely chastising way, as ah haul in another deep breath. — You eywis kent how tae get roond me, I say tae um, and I walk ower tae Hammy’s groaning body, swing ma leg back and boot oot three ay the cunt’s front teeth with one blow.

— JIM, NO! Mel screams.

— Sorry, doll. Ah move away, nodding tae her and then Renton. — Fuckin polis it is then, ay, n ah pits ma hands on her trembling shoodirs. — I know it’s primitive, but there’s no way he’s touching you without me getting a lick in. Wis never gaunny happen.

— Enough now, she commands.

— Of course.

Renton is connected tae 911 right away. — Hello, I’d like to report a break-in, kidnapping, assault and possibly attempted murder.

Then Mel’s calling the lawyer, the boy who has a copy ay the tape and whae’s been pit in the picture. Wi Hammy bein filth it’s the smart move. We sit there, Hammy shackled wi his ain cuffs, lying on the floor, face bleeding over the concrete. The visible side is misshapen and reddish black, both his eyes slits in swollen red bulbs. Aye, Renton fuckin well pummelled the cunt pretty good. Wisnae fuckin aboot wi they elbays. Could have done wi that style fae the shitein cunt up the toon in our youth, instead ay daftie here huvin tae sort everything oot. Still, fair play, better late than never. I envy the cunt every single fuckin lick he goat in. If it was doon tae me, ah’d set aboot the cunt wi the tools, n pit in a steady shift till thaire wis nowt left.

The lawyer gets here aboot a minute before the polis and the first thing he does is supervise them gettin that cunt oot ay the hoose. The Hammy Hamster fucker goes quietly, like he’s in shock, mutterin tae ehsel. It’s Mel whae’s daein maist ay the talkin tae the polis. Ah just sits doon n speaks whin spoken tae. Ah tells them that he was obsessed wi her, and seemed tae think that ah wis some kind ay serial killer. — It’s utterly bizarre stuff, ah tell them, thinking ay how Iain, the bad boy ay Scottish art, back in the New Town, would respond in such a situation. Ah’m sucking in ma breath at times, but ah’m as polite as fuck tae they cunts. If your instincts are bad, ye train yersel by acting counter-intuitive, daein the reverse ay what ye feel like daein. Mel and Rents are as plausible as fuck. He eywis wis a smart cunt. He’s goat that managerial tone, that in control shite gaun oan. The lawyer sits thaire, looking intently, occasionally nodding but no really saying anything, but ye know that just wi him being there the polis play by Queensberry rules n dinnae overstep the mark. This is how coppers should be, but ah’ve never hud them like this before.

When the polis leave, the lawyer debriefs us before he goes n aw, and then Mel goes tae check oan the bairns, whae, eftir sleepin through aw the aggro, got woken up by the cop car sirens. Like there was any need for aw that fuckin fuss when the cunt had been taken care ay!

It leaves me and Renton in the front room. Ah take him tae the kitchen and make him a cup ay tea. — Dinnae keep peeve in the hoose, ah tell him when he pills a wee face. — So, what’s aw this aboot?

— They cannae fuck aboot wi the YLT, mate, he sais, half laughin, the bones ay his face defined in the moonlight comin through the windae. Always was a skinny cunt.

Ah hus a wee giggle at that, as ah pours, intae they Hibs commemorative Scottish Cup mugs ah goat fae Terry. — I meant what brought ye here?

— You wouldnae believe this, he smiles, — but ah came here tae have a row wi ye aboot the money. Was even gaunny offer tae fight ye for it! Seems a bit pointless now.

— You’d huv fuckin done me now, mate, ah laughs, taking another sip ay tea. — Violence just isn’t my bag any more. Never led me anywhere but jail. Ah looks him up and doon. — But when did you git tae be such a tidy cunt?

— That’s thanks tae you as well, Renton sais, his sly eyes burning away. — Was practising for you coming for me. Then it happened and a car got in the way first. Just as well, cause I fuckin froze!

— Well, thank fuck ye never this time. Come wi me, ah tell him, and pick up the pot, milk n mugs, n stick them on a tray. We go back intae the studio, and tae my desk in the recess, where ah set it down. Ah pull an envelope out the drawer. It’s his money, the fifteen grand, still in UK dosh. — Ah wis gaunny gie ye it back, ah tell um, although that’s no exactly true. Fact is, it was gaunny sit in my desk forever, tae remind ays that there’s other ways ay getting even wi a smart cunt. — Jist wanted tae hud oantae it for a while, teach ye a wee lesson aboot rippin yir mates oaf. How it feels, ay?

— Thanks. He takes the envelope and slaps it against his thigh. — Helps me out a bit. Means a lot. And, aye, lesson learned, he goes.

Ah sortay realise that ah’ve been a bit hard oan the cunt, cleaning him oot wi the Leith Heads , cause eh came through big time. And ah suppose eh really did just want tae make things right, even if ah wisnae struck oan the wey eh went aboot it. — Good, cause ah’ve found a buyer who’s interested in the Leith Heads . If ye ever fancy sellin them, like.

— Seriously?

— One ay ma regular collectors. Boy named Villiers. Very wealthy. If you’re of a mind to sell I’ll get you what ye peyed plus twenty-five per cent on top.