Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [26]
— It’s nowt tae dae wi me mate, the corkscrew-heided cunt sais tae us.
— Mibbe ah goat it wrong likesay, ah tell um.
The woman and her man, thame thit caused the whole fuckin problem, we wir jist oot fir a quiet drink, ur skulkin oot ay the door.
— Fuckin bastards. That’s ma man, she shouts tae us as they leave.
Ah feel Tommy’s hand oan ma shoodir.
— C’moan Seeks. Lits git ootay here, he sais.
The fat cunt fae the darts team, he’s goat a rid shirt wi the pub name, a dartboard crest, and ‘Stu’ underneath it, he’s still goat plenty tae say fir hissel.
— Dinnae come in here n cause bother, pal. This isnae your local. Ah ken your faces. Yous ur mates wi that rid-heided cunt n that Williamson laddie, the one wi the ponytail. These cunts ur fuckin drug-dealin scum. We dinnae want that fuckin trash in here.
— We dinnae deal fuckin drugs, pal, Tommy sais.
— Aye. No in this fuckin pub ye dinnae, the fat cunt goes.
— C’moan Stu. S no they boys’ fault. It’s that cunt Alan Venters n his burd. They’re mair intae drugs thin any cunt aroond here. You ken that, this other guy wi thin fair hair sais.
— They should be daein that kind ay arguin in the hoose, no in a pub, another guy sais.
— Domestic dispute. That’s whit it is. Shouldnae be botherin people thit ur jist oot fir a drink wi aw that, Fair-hair agrees.
The worse bit is gitting ootside. Ah’m shitein masel in case wi git follayed. Ah’m walkin fast, while Tommy’s haudin back.
— Stall the now, he sais.
— Fuck off. Let’s git ootay here.
We move doon the road. Ah look back, but nae cunt’s left the pub. We see that mental couple up ahead ay us.
— Ah want a wee wurd wi that cunt, Tommy sais, ready tae start eftir thum. Ah clocks a bus comin. A 22. That’ll dae us.
— Fuck it Tommy. Here’s a bus. C’moan. We run tae the stoap n git oan the bus. We go upstairs tae the back, even though wir only gaun a few stoaps.
— How’s ma face? Tommy asks us whin we sit doon.
— Same as usual. A fuckin mess. That burd improved it, ah tell um.
He looks at his reflection in the bus windae.
— The fuckin slag, he curses.
— The pair ay fuckin slags, ah sais.
That wis fuckin ace ay Tommy hittin the boy, likes, n no the bird, even if it wis the burd thit hit him. Ah’ve done loads ay things in ma time thit ah’m no proud ay, but ah’ve nivir hit a burd. Whit Carol sais is shite. She says thit ah used violence oan her, but ah nivir hit her. Ah jist held oantae her so thit we could talk. She sais restrainin is like hittin, it’s still violence against her. Ah cannae see that. Aw ah wanted tae dae wis tae keep her thair, tae talk.
Whin ah telt this tae Rents, he sais thit Carol wis right. Eh sais she’s entitled tae come n go as she wants. That’s shite though. Aw ah wanted tae dae wis talk. Franco agreed wi us. It’s different whin yir in a relationship, we telt Rents.
Ah felt sick n nervous oan the bus. Tommy might’ve felt the same, cause we nivir spoke any mair. The morn though, we’ll be in some boozer wi Rents, Beggar, Spud, Sick Boy n aw thame, boasting like fuck.
Speedy Recruitment
1 — Preparation
Spud and Renton were sitting in a pub in the Royal Mile. The pub aimed at an American theme-bar effect, but not too accurately; it was a madhouse of assorted bric-à-brac.
— Fuckin weird man though, likesay, you n me gittin sent fir the same joab, ken? Spud said, slurping at his Guinness.
— Fuckin disaster fir me mate. Ah’m no wantin the fuckin joab. It’d be a fuckin nightmare. Renton shook his head.
— Yeah, ah’m likesay happy steyin oan the rock n roll the now man, ken?
— Trouble is though Spud, if ye dinnae try, if ye blow the interview oan purpose; the cunts tell the dole n these bastards stoap yir giro. Happened tae us in London. Ah’m oan ma last warnin doon thair.
— Yeah . . . me n aw man. What ye gaunnae dae, likesay?
— Well, what ye huv tae dae is tae act enthusiastic, but still fuck up the interview. As long as ye come across as keen, they cannae say fuck all. If we jist be oorselves,