Irvine Welsh - Filth

I see that those suit and tie spastics who were in front of us on the plane have sat down and are having a beer.

Then I clock that greasy lippy cunt, the arsehole that pulled me up on the plane, Mister Happy Families. He’s on his own, heading for a pish. I get up.

– Where are you going? Bladesey asks, a little alarmed.

– Business, I tell him. He raises an eyebrow in exasperation.

I follow the wise cunt into the toilets. It’s just me and him. I let him pish and shake it out before he turns to face me. He looks puzzled for a moment, then his face contorts in recognition. – You . . . he sneers, dropping his hands by his side. – If you want trouble . . .

A bit of a cowboy this cunt. Good.

– I can assure you sir, that the last thing I want is trouble. I want the opportunity to explain myself to you. I pull out my ID. – Detective Inspector Robertson, Edinburgh and Lothians Police, I say quickly. Well, I will be an inspector soon.

– What’s this? he says with a slight panic in his voice.

– Sir, I’m torn between wringing your neck and shaking your hand. Shaking your hand because I’m a family man myself and you were right to object to my crude and disgusting talk. Wringing your neck because I was working undercover in conjunction with my Dutch colleagues. My foul conversation was an attempt to draw in the two men sitting in front of me. Do you know anything about child pornography sir?

He nods uncomprehendingly.

– Snuff videos? I enquire.

– No . . . I . . .

– When little children disappear off the streets in Britain, they spend the last few hours of their miserable lives being abused and tortured in deserted warehouses and barns. This is video’d for the porn trade on the continent; Amsterdam, Hamburg etcetera. That’s where those beasts in front of me were heading with their wares.

– You mean . . . those gents in the suits were . . .

I nod sombrely. – We planned to try and engage with those monsters to uncover their operation. We had to resort to that filthy talk in order to try to get on to their wavelength, to make contact. I could see they were almost ready to communicate with us, when, all of a sudden, a well-meaning but misguided member of the public comes along . . .

The idiot stands and looks at me for a bit. – Oh my God . . . what have I done Inspector . . .

– You’ve not helped our cause, it has to be said.

– Is there anything I can do to help? Anything!

– Sir, I came here to apologise to you as a husband and a parent for my language on the plane. The language I was forced to use in this investigation. I’m not asking for any assistance in a police matter. I want you to know that I hated talking like that, especially in front of your wife and child, but if you’d seen those videos, seen how those children are debased, made to suffer . . . I’ve been on the force for a good many years. I just feel so strongly that these bastards should be nailed. I’ll do anything to get them!

– I want to help. Please Inspector . . .

– There is one thing you can perhaps do . . . no, I can’t ask you, it’s outrageous.

– No, I insist! I should have thought!

– You weren’t to know sir, I shake my head.

– Yes . . . but I caused your cover to be blown.

– The situation is not irretrievable. We can still get them.

– Yes, and I want to help!

I raise my eyebrows and exhale. Another guy comes into the toilet, so I pull my man over to the wash basins and lower my voice. – Listen, you’re obviously a good citizen sir, but this is high risk. What happened on the plane made me the centre of their attention. What has to happen is another altercation of some sort. Sir, I’m asking you to go into that bar and noise the bastards up. Call them for everything, tell the whole world what they are. Then they’ll be ruffled, furtive and looking for friends. I’ll be on hand to befriend them. Their cover will be blown and they’ll get careless, I smile grimly, looking at my friend in the eye. – Have you got the bottle for it sir?

– Oh, don’t you worry about that Inspector. I’ve got the bottle alright. I’ll show that inhuman scum what it’s all about!

I go with the guy into the bar. I see the businessmen sitting having a drink. I stand back and saunter away over to the newsstand outside the bookstore and watch from behind it. The wee bastard goes right up to their table and leans over, resting his knuckles on it.

– How’s business? he asks.

– What?

– I’m asking you how your sick business is, you filthy pair of animals! How is it then? The greasy wee cunt booms at the businessmen, – Eh? The pair of youse! Oh aye, I know your game!

– What is this . . . what do you want . . .? one of the guys asks. Everyone’s looking round.

– I know what you dirty bastards are up to!

The guy’s wife comes over, – Terry, she screams, – what’s wrong?

– I do not know what this is. Who is this man? One of the suits looks petrified with shock.

– These people, he spits out, – are dirty sleazy bastards . . .

– I don’t know what you are talking about . . . we are on business . . .

– Oh is that what you call it? Is that what you call making those fucking videos? Porn merchants! CHILD PORNOGRAPHERS! He’s looking around and pointing to the two businessmen. Then he grabs one of the guys by the lapels and the other stands up and pushes him. Two security guys are over in a flash and they overpower the spazwit and lead him away, arm up the back, polis-style.

– Terry! his wife screams. He turns to her and briefly catches my eye and pleads, – That man will tell you, he’s a police officer . . .

– I’m sorry, I say to one of the guards, – this guy’s a bit of a nutter. He started on me on the plane. He seems a mite confused, I tap my head.

Airport security drag the protesting, bemused clown away, as his shocked wife follows with the child who is now screaming. Bladesey comes over trying to figure it out.

– No time to lose Brother Blades, it’s time for our connecting flight to the Dam, I tell him. – You know Bladesey, there’s some right fuckin nutters about.

Cok City

We’ve checked into the Cok City Hotel which is in Newzuids-voorburgwal, Amsterdam’s second red-light district, handy for hoors if you’re too lazy to cross the Damrak. I’m not though, and I soon give Bladesey the slip and head out exploring. Serious hooring is a solitary activity.

It’s too cauld for shoes, especially slip-ons, but you have to be dressed for hooring and you cannae be daein with the excruciating hassle of lace-up boots. In spite of the chill, just the sound and feel of my soles on the cobblestones of the canal streets is enough to give me a semi.

I’ve gone into a cinema and paid for a hi-tech booth. The green light is off and the red light is on. I’m snug. It’s not too bad, the film, a sci-fi effort about two extraterrestrial space-dykes who kidnap nubile virgin schoolies from an American town; from schools, discos, outside shopping centres etc, and condition them into lesbianism through forcing them into repeated sex acts. The long-term plan of the crafty alien dykes is to make men superflous and Earth into a lesbian planet, ruled, of course, by them. A stud detective and his crew of sexual athletes have to save the young schoolies from carpet munching and bring them back over to the right side, through the power of their cocks. Eventually, after fucking the schoolies back into heterosexuality the ace detective faces his greatest challenge in a conflict with the superpowered cosmic lesbos. He has to bring them over to the other side. It turns out to be a happy ending for all. The dyke spacegirls find out that they love cock, but the cop admits that lesbianism is a turn-on for men, provided the women are good-looking and they can watch. So they decide to join forces and exterminate all homosexual men.