Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [127]
Tae me surprise, the cunt wis exuberant for somebody thit hud recently loast a leg. — Rents! Ma man! How ye diddlin?
— No bad Johnny. Look, ah’m really sorry aboot the leg, man.
He laughed at ma concern. — Promising fitba career up the creek. Still, it nivir stoaped Gary Mackay, did it?
Ah jist smiled.
— The White Swan winnae be in dock fir long. Once ah git the hing ay that fuckin crutch, ah’ll be back oan the streets. This is one bird’s wings that cannae be clipped. Thill take ma legs bit nivir they wings. He wrapped an airm roond his shoodir tae pat tae whair his wings would huv been if the cunt hud any. Ah think he believes thit he does. — En this bord you kenot chay-ay-ay-ay-aynge . . . , he sang. Ah wondered whit the cunt wis oan.
As if readin ma mind he sais: — Ye goatay try that cyclozine. Shite oan its ain, but see whin ye mix it wi the methadone; phoah ya cunt! Best fuckin high ah’ve hud in ma puff. That includes that Colombian shit we hud back in eighty-four. Ah ken yir clean they days, but see if ye try nowt else, try that cocktail.
— Reckon it, aye?
— It’s the fuckin best. You ken the Mother Superior, Rents. Ah believe in the free market whin it comes tae drugs. Ah’ve goat tae gie the NHS its due though. Since ah hud this pin oaf n went oan the maintenance therapy ah’ve started tae believe thit the state kin compete wi private enterprise in oor industry, n produce a satisfyin product at low cost tae the consumer. The methadone n cyclozine combined; ah’m tellin ya man, fuck me. Ah jist go doon, git ma jellies fi the clinic, then look up some ay the boys thit git the cyclozine oan script. They gie it tae the perr cunts wi cancer, fi AIDS, likes. A wee swap, n every cunt’s chuffed tae fuckin bits.
Johnny ran oot ay veins and started shooting intae his arteries. It only took a few ay they shots tae gie um gangrine. Then the leg hud tae go. He catches us looking at the bandaged stump; ah cannae stoap masel.
— Ah ken whit yir thinkin, ya cunt. Well, they nivir took the White Swan’s middle leg!
— Ah wisnae, ah protest, but he’s pullin his dick oot ay the toap ay his boxer shorts.
— No thit it’s much fuckin use tae us, he laughs.
Ah note that his knob’s covered in dry scabs, which indicates that it’s healin up. — Seems tae be dryin oot though Johnny, they abscesses likes.
— Aye. Ah’ve been tryin tae stick tae the methadone n cyclozine n stoap the injectin. Ah thoat whin ah saw the stump thit it wis an opportunity, another access point, but the hoespital cunt sais: Forget it. Stick a needle in thair n that’s you well fucked. The maintenance therapy’s no too bad though. The White Swan’s strategy is tae git mobile, git clean n then start dealin properly, jist fir profit rather thin use. He pulls oot the waistband oan his shorts n scoops his scabby gear back in.
— Ye want tae gie it a fuckin bye, man, ah suggest. The cunt doesnae hear a word ah’m sayin.
— Naah, the aim’s tae git a fuckin bankroll thegither, then it’s oaf tae Bangkok.
His leg might have gone, but his Thailand escape fantasy’s still intact.
— Mind you, he sais, — ah dinnae want tae wait until ah git tae Thailand before ah git a fuckin ride. That’s whit this reduced dosage shite does fir ye. Ah hud some root oan us the other day thair whin the nurse came roond tae dae the dressin. An auld boot n aw, n thair’s me sittin wi a bairn’s airm wi an aypil oan the end ay it.
— Once ye git yirsel mobile Johnny, ah venture encouragingly.
— Like fuck. Whae wants tae shag a one-legged cunt? Ah’ll huv tae pey fir it; a big come-doon fir the White Swan. Still, yir better peyin fir it wi burds. Keep the fuckin relationship oan a strictly business footin. He sounded bitter. — Ye still knobbin Kelly?
— Naw, she’s back up here. Ah didnae like the wey he said that, n ah didnae like the wey ah responded.
— That cunt Alison came roond the other day, he sais, revealing the source ay his spite. Ali n Kelly ur best mates.
— Aw aye?
— Tae