Irvine Welsh - Filth

– Anyway, thank God for the presenter. He said there was no way I could have seen the incident as I wasn’t up with play. The guys at the press were great as well, played the whole thing down, didn’t let on that the switchboards were jammed with callers. Passed off the odd one or two as token Tim bigots who would say that anyway.

– These cunts are paranoid, Armitage laughs.

– A chief sports writer for one of the dailies told me at the Lodge, he says: normally we’d have made a bit more of a song and dance about it but it does nobody any good to keep running Scottish football down.

We then listen to Armitage going on a bit about the new Scottish Parliament. – It’ll be a good thing; mair opportunities for our people. Of course we’ll have tae deal with the Papes, but there’s nothing new there. The party in Scotland’s always had that horse-trading between the Catholic mafia and the craft. Ah wouldnae mind gieing them anti-abortion legislation in exchange for some plum chairmanships of working parties or committees . . . particularly licensing, he grins. – It just means that some daft wee hairy that gets knocked up the duff has tae get oan the bus tae Carlisle tae get cleaned oot. Hardly a staggering blow, I would have thought.

– Right enough, Ray nods, then turning to me whispers, – Fancy some coke the night?

I fancied some fucking coke awright, in fact I had some on me. Especially after Toal’s news, Drummond heading up the team. Toal. The cunt’ll not be happy until he turns me into a fuckin junky.

Me answering to a silly wee lassie?

shake off Bladesey after I’ve pumped the sorry cunt for more information about Bunty’s mental state. Then we abscond back to his flat. Ray’s place is furnished post-Thatcherite nouveau schemie single-shagger style. That is to say, no real style at all. It’s dominated by a red suite, a two-seater velvety love-couch and matching chair. It’s like a hoor’s room back in the Dam! I’m no sitting in that couch, Lennox should be so lucky. If it was fuckin Inglis, he’d be oan it like a shot! No that he would feel anything if it was Lennox that was up him!

Ray’s looking for the mirror, spoon and razor-blade kit I brought him back from the Dam. He reckons that it gives extra quality tae the chop and never uses credit cards indoors now. I realise that the set cost me the equivalent of twenty quid in UK cash and feel a resentment rise up in my chest. It was a moment of weakness giving Lennox a present, even if I only gave him it in order to encourage him to sort me out with posh. I idly press the tip of my fag against his velvet cushion, feeling a satisfying rush of adrenalin and a lump rise in my chest as it browns and parts on the first, second, third and fourth contact. Then I admire my handiwork, before quickly flipping the cushion over to conceal the four new holes.

Lennox returns and chops out some lines. He’s been on D.S. duty and has nabbed quite a bit of high grade, the lucky bastard. I’ve divided up the stuff I brought back from Amsterdam, and though it pains me to admit it, Lennox gear’s even better. The perks of the job. Okay for some. What about me? What perks do you get on topped coons? Going round community groups talking to chip-on-the-shoulder darkies who hate your guts. And that daft wee lassie Drummond sticking her oar in. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Big-time OT on this one mind you, especially with that docile mutation Toal’s breeks full of sludgy, soft shite. Same rules applying in that case, I kid you not.

– The last sniff I got off these morons I busted, I’m telling you Robbo, what a total waste ay time. There was so little coke in it, I should’ve just left the spastics to it and saved myself the fucking paperwork. They’d have felt a hell of a lot worse if they had done that rubbish than they did getting a poxy two hundred quid first offence fine.

Lennox is letting his mouser grow a bit. – That’s fucking disgusting. Two hundred poxy quid! Who was the magistrate?

– Urquhart. Surprise surprise, Lennox says, not looking up, firmly engrossed in the chopping up of the lines. He’s got patience Lennox, he knows that I want that line, but the cunt’ll play around until he’s got it as fine as fuck.

– Mr fuckin pat-oan-the-heid-and-penny-oot-the-poor-boax, my head’s shaking in disgust.

– Conrad fuckin Donaldson defending the cunts as well, Ray scoffs.

I smile at that name. I wonder how his wee lassie’s doing. We could handle another gam fae that little sweetheart. I kid you not.

Ray nods at me to come ahead. I’m on the first line, my twenty’s already rolled. I close one nostril and snort for Caledonia. It hits me hard. Good gear. Phoah, ya fuckin cunt that ye are. My mouth is instantly numbed and I start gabbing. – Listen Ray you should’ve heard that cunt Toal on aboot you the other day. It was Ray Lennox this, Ray Lennox that. I said to the cunt, there’s an awfay lot ay things getting attributed tae Ray Lennox here. I think Ray Lennox would be baulking at some of the stuff his name’s being mentioned in connection with.

– Eh? What’s this, Ray asks, looking at me tentatively.

– Between you and me Ray, I wouldnae be surprised if you get drafted into the team on this coon case.

– Like fuck! Ah’ve been stalking these fucking Sunrise Community hippies on this cannabis bust for months!

– I’m just saying Ray. You know these cunts, same rules apply. One other thing as well . . . this is between you and me likes, I drop my voice canteen-style, even though we’re in the privacy of Lennox’s gaff.

– What? says Ray, trying to be cool but obviously alarmed.

– Watch Gus.

– Gus Bain?

– Precisely.

– Gus is awright . . . he’s been good tae me . . .

– Of course he’s awright. He’ll have been awright tae you as long as he sees ye as a young laddie, as second fiddle. The thing is Ray, you’ve earned a lot ay respect in this department, and it’s starting tae get tae the auld boy. Ye ken what ah’m saying? I look Lennox in the eye. He’s getting the drift I want him to get. – It’s the young stag syndrome. Gus is set in his ways. One of the auld school. But he fears the new breed and he can be quite a vindictive old cunt and he’s been taking an unhealthy interest in the career progress and extracurricular activities to date of a certain Mister Raymond Lennox.

– You saying that Gus is a squealer?

– Known for it. Watch what you say about cousin charlie when he’s around.

– But I never say anything about charlie.

– Aye, well mind and keep it that way.

– Right . . . Lennox nods thoughfully. – I appreciate this Robbo.

This is all bullshit, but life is one big competition. Ray is a pal, but he’s also a potential or actual competitor and the only way to handle competitors is to control their level of uncertainty. That’s what life is all about: the management of your opponents’ uncertainty levels. We don’t want this cunt getting too big for his boots, thinking that he somehow counts.

It’s a troubled-looking Ray Lennox who snorts his line. The drug instantly restores that veneer of arrogance, but the seeds of doubt have been planted and the comedown will see the harvest of confusion just ripe for us to reap.

A Testimonial

I got in early last night but I couldn’t sleep. I’m back in the office early this morning but I’m totally fucked with that cocaine. I was wired. My sinuses are shrivelled and my nose is running constantly. My nerves are jangling. We’ll have to be stronger. That’s what makes me better than the scum, than the weak Ray Lennoxes of this world. I can laugh at all that shite. But I have to get it together. The phone goes and I jump and shake before lifting the receiver and predictably it’s that spastic Toal. This is all part of his psychological warfare but that imbecile has been desk bound far too long to be able to outmanoeuvre Bruce Robertson. Well, spazwit, we have news for you: the same fucking rules apply.