A Decent Ride (11 page)

N she comes through wearin ma fuckin ‘Sunshine on Leith’ T-shirt, settin oaf mair warnin bells. As ah eywis say, the time ye git nervous aboot lassies is no whin yir tryin tae git
thair
fuckin knickers oaf thum that night, but whin yir tryin tae git
your
fuckin T-shirt oaffay thum the next mornin! Guaranteed!

She’s a fit burd awright. The collar-length black hair n the make-up, goth as fuck but sexy, n jist a wee bit hefty n that mid-thirties wey whin they start tae go oaf, which ah fuckin love! That’s when a lassie
really
gits fuckin shag-happy! So it’s a big change fae the torn coupon the other night, as she flops oan the couch wi a crocodile smile.

Ah looks at her. — So how dae ye feel now?

— Well shagged.

— Still suicidal?

— No, she goes, aw thoughtful. — Just angry.

— Well, feel angry at the cunts that gied ye a hard time. Dinnae take it oot oan yirsel. If ye dae that they’ve won.

She shakes her heid. — I know that, Terry, but I can’t help being
me
. I’ve received all kinds of counselling, all sorts of advice, I’ve been on different medication –

Ah pats ma groin. — This is the medication you need, hen. Guaranteed.

— God, she laughs, — you really are insatiable!

— Aye, ah goes, — too right. But that’s no important, ah winks. — The question ye should be askin yirself is: ‘Am ah?’

AH WIS NIVIR
much guid at the skill, sur. Naw sur, naw sur, ah wis not. N ah eywis felt bad aboot that. Ah pit that doon tae real faither Henry spendin a loat ay time workin away n Ma gittin too fat tae leave the hoose. Oor Hank went tae the skill, n Karen n aw. That real faither Henry, he says tae us, — Yir a wee bit slow, Jonty, so the skill’s no gaunny make any difference, no like wi Hank n Karen.

Ah nivir said nowt but it hurt ays. It hurt ays deep in the chist, like if ye could open up yir chist n thaire wis spiders in thaire. Spiders that crawl aboot oan wee legs n make ye feel aw funny inside. Aye, eh pit spiders in ma chist, that eh did, sur. It didnae dae thum that much good, mind, oor Hank n Karen. Mind you, Hank drives a forklift truck now, so that’s no too bad but Karen jist looks eftir Ma. A waste ay that social care course she did. It made ur aw qualified, sur; aw qualified tae look eftir tons ay people in thair hooses, no jist her ain ma in her ain hoose. An awfay waste, aye sur. Jist yir ain ma whin yir qualified tae look eftir tons ay mas; aye sur, that it is. Aye.

But ah jist used tae sit in the graveyard, readin the stanes, unless it wis too cauld, then ah’d go tae Boaby Shand’s hoose, fir a cup ay tea n a wee heat. We’d watch the racin oan telly n bet wi each other. Then ah stoaped gaun cause Boaby eywis won. ‘Ye dinnae git the odds, Jonty son,’ he’d tell ays. Well, ah goat thit the odds wir stacked up against me winnin, ah goat that awright, sur, did ah no?! So ah stoaped hingin aboot wi Boaby. Eh wis awright, a Herts boy, but eh got called a Fenian bastard cause thaire wis a Bobby Shand in the RIA. Then ah went n left Penicuik fir Gorgie.

Ah like Gorgie, but.

Ah like the McDonald’s. Aye sur. The Chicken McNuggets ur the bit ah like best, sur, aye they ur. Ah like the wey whin ye bite intae thum thir aw chewy, n no that greasy wey like a Kentucky Fried Chicken kin sometimes be. Ah like a Kentucky Fried Chicken whin ah’m in the mood but, usually eftir a few peeves, aw aye sur, that ah dae. Jinty ey prefers a chippy. Ah keep tellin hur that she should be mair adventurous. Ye should be mair adventurous, Jinty, ah’d joke tae hur. Aye sur, mair adventurous. But ah like a McNuggets fir a chynge, aw sur, fur a wee chynge. But see this new Eftir Eight McFlurry, ah like that Eftir Eight McFlurry n aw! Jist as a treat oan a Tuesday, but, cause yuv goat tae keep yir money. Funny thing is, ah dinnae really like a Big Mac that much. Ye kin git awfay bagged up eftir a Big Mac.

BAWBAG: LOAD AY
fuckin pish. That wis nivir a hurricane! A total fuckin non-event, that cunt: fuckin well playin at it. Thaire’s a bit ay a mess oan the streets, wi upturned rubbish n that, kicked-ower signs n traffic cones, n one or two broken windaes, but nowt different tae what pished-up cunts dae every fuckin weekend!

Ah’ve droaped oaf a couple ay messages in toon, so ah pop doon tae Liberty Leisure n check oot how The Poof’s business empire’s daein. That Saskia’s still hingin aboot; Polish burd, awfay sexy, eywis wears tight, glittery tops, n a short skirt, like she’s gaun clubbin, but mibbe a bit too fragile n lost-lookin tae be in this game. — Nae Jinty? ah asks her.

— Nup, she nivir came in, Saskia goes, soundin sortay Scottish but wi an East European accent. — Mibbe Bawbag got her!

Ah’m sortay laughin at her patter but this other burd, that Andrea, lookin right at me, says, — Maybe he did.

Ah like Saskia n Jinty’s style, but ah loat ay the lassies here dinnae seem tae be that happy, n ah think ah ken the reason: that wee cunt Kelvin is definitely creepin thum oot. He comes oantae the scene n the laughter stoaps. Ah dinnae like that, yuv goat tae be cheerful at work. Especially if yir work’s fuckin shaggin!

— Business is a bit slow, ay, he says.

— Aye, this Andrea goes, which cracks me up, cause she says it in an English accent and she’s a sortay Chinky burd.

— Git in thaire then, eh goes, noddin tae one ay the rooms, — ah’ve goat a length fir ye.

The cunt looks at me wi a big grin. Ah feel like punchin the skinny wee cunt’s muppet heid in. Even though that Andrea is a bit ay a cow, ye kin tell the lassie’s really scared as she heads oaf, followed by that sleaze bucket. Ah dinnae like aw that shite. Suggest a ride tae a burd, aye, but
commandin
a lassie tae ride when she cannae refuse, well, that’s no fuckin right. As they vanish, Saskia shoots me this fearful look, like she wants me tae dae something. What can ah dae? It’s fuck all tae dae wi me, ah jist came doon tae help oot The Poof, n it’s his fuckin brother-in-law. Ah says tae her on the quiet, — Let ays ken if Jinty shows up.

— But you can call here.

— Ah dinnae want tae talk tae laughin boy, ay, n ah nods through tae where Kelvin’s probably heapin the misery on Andrea. Ah keep ma voice doon, cause the lassies seem tae hate Kelvin, but in this kind ay set-up thaire’s eywis a grass.

She looks at me for a second, n scribbles doon her digits oan a slip ay paper.

Ah gits back in the motor, no feelin sae happy. Ah punches in Saskia’s number and texts her:
Any news about Jinty, give me a wee shout. Terry X

Aye, thaire’s some no bad rides thaire n The Poof says fill yir fuckin boots, it’s oan the house. But fuck that; even if it’s oan a free pass, ye want tae be wi a burd that’s intae it, like that Jinty, no yin that’s jist punchin the fuckin cloak. Besides, a welt like this, they should be fuckin well peyin me fir
ma
services! Guaranteed! That Jinty kent the score, n ah’m wonderin when she’ll be back in.

A text flies back, fae Saskia:
Yes and please the same if you hear. S.

Nice lassie. But ah’m no for prostitution at aw. It’s no right that lassies like that Saskia are pit in the position whaire they huv tae sell thair bodies for cash. Much better money makin a few porno flicks wi the likes ay me n Sick Boy. Ah dinnae want tae mention that though, in case it gets back tae The Poof, n eh accuses ays ay poachin his employees, or worse, tries tae git involved in aw oor shit. I’m way too tangled up wi that cunt awready.

Pillin up Easter Road n ah sees that new manager boy, him that came ower fae Dublin, comin oot a shop wi an
Evening News
, so ah toots n gies um a wee wave. Goat tae be an improvement oan that last useless cunt. Ah picks up a fare oan London Road. It’s another moosey-faced cunt, whae’s soon askin ays, — How’s it wir gaun this way?

— Trams . . . one-wey system . . . re-routed . . . council . . .

The phone’s gaun, n it’s that Suicide Sal. So ah meets up wi her in Grassmarket, whaire ah’m droapin oaf this miserable fucker. Tight cunt gies ays a fifty-pence fuckin tip. Control’s oan starting thair bullshit:

PLEASE PICK UP FARE IN TOLLCROSS.

But it’s no Big Liz, so they kin suck ma fuckin boaby, if the cunts could git thair erse-tight lips around it. Ah type in:

JUST PICKED UP A FARE IN GRASSMARKET.

Sal gits intae the cab, n she’s lookin a lot better now. Like thaire’s a bit ay life back in her eyes. Nowt like a decent fuckin ride tae restore perspective! Guaranteed!

The greatest thing aboot shaggin a burd in the back ay a
real
taxi, like the hackney cab: after yuv rode her, she cannae git in the front wi ye. Thaire’s that nice bit ay distance, ken? — Whaire’s it we’re gaun for a ride? ah goes, turnin roond. — You’re gittin it good style, every hole filled. Brought a wee pal along. Ah huds up the vibrator thit ah usually keep under the seat.

She arches a sly brow. No daft that yin: kens that move sets oaf a definite baw-tremor. — So are all Edinburgh taxi drivers drug-abusing sexual perverts?

— Only the yins worth talkin tae!

She hus a wee giggle at that. — We can go to my hotel. I’ve a room at the Caledonian until tomorrow, then I have to go back to my mother’s at Porty.

— Barry, ah goes. — Lit’s live it up while yuv goat the space!

Ah like a cowp in the back ay the cab, but a bit ay deluxe suits ays doon tae a tee. One thing ah’ve learnt ower the years, if fate gied ye a welt like a hoarse, no a hoarse’s cock, mind you, but the actual
hoarse
, ye fuckin well yaze it. But if he gied ye a tongue like Doaktir Who’s skerf, yuv goat tae fuckin well deploy that bastard n aw. So wir up in this smart room oan the bed. Ah’m right doonstairs, lickin away like a Jambo at plate gless, n gittin a bit fruity wi the vibrator. Sal’s a bit tense n wary at first, but some lassies jist need a wee bit help in being sexually liberated. Everything’s negotiable. As ah eywis say: fuck off means naw, naw means mibbe, mibbe means aye n aye means anal. Guaranteed!

So wir soon sweatin away n she’s gaun mental, climbin oan toap ay us, jist aboot ripped the fuckin rug oaf ma chist at one point! Jesus fuck almighty! Aye, it turns oot a rerr wee session. It passed what ah call ‘the absent camera regret test’. That’s whin yuv done a load ay scud movies’ worth ay ridin, n ye think: ‘ah wish tae fuck ah’d recorded this yin.’

Wir lying thaire in the kip, n wi order a boatil ay rid wino n a sanny oan the room service. Shouldnae be drinkin n drivin, but ah’ve goat a wee livener in ma tail tae sort ays oot. Sal’s talkin aboot leavin London, n gettin a place back up here. — I’ve had it there, she says, fixin me in a kind ay look that ah’m no that sure aboot. Ah mean, ah cannae say nowt, it’s doon tae hur whaire she lives. Ah feel like tellin her: dinnae fuckin think aboot movin on account ay me! Ah’m no that gadge, ay. Mental burds; needy, crazy, strength-sappin n soul-destroyin, aye, but mair often than not barry fuckin rides. Eywis good tae spend a bit a time wi thum: eywis a relief tae git the fuck away fae thum!

So the whole day’s taken up wi the Ian McLagan, n ah’ve a goat a big fuckin grin oan ma coupon like an oil slick oan a coral reef, as ah gits back intae the cab. Ah sees a lassie in a red coat pass, wi black hair, n for a minute ah think it’s that wee Jinty, but it’s no. So ah gies Saskia at the sauna a quick bell, but thaire’s still nae sign. Then thaire’s a call fae Ronnie. — Can we do Haddington tomorrow? I mean, will it be safe to travel?

— Aye, of course it will.

— Will the emergency travel restrictions be lifted?

— There’s nae travel restrictions. The hurricane’s away, ay.

— You guys are fucking weird, eh goes. We make arrangements for the morn n eh signs off.

Eftir a couple ay jobs, one where ah got the number offay a dirty-lookin posh auld doll fae the New Town, Sal phones again, n ah cannae resist gaun back tae the hotel fir a second session, which is even mair mental thin the first. It’s aw shaggin, cleanin oot the minibar, daein some rails, then repeatin, tae the point ay exhaustion. Her exhaustion, obviously, no mine, that’s guaranteed!

The next morning ah wakes up n the place is fuckin trashed. Fuckin rock star, ya cunt! So wi goes doon fir breakfast, baith a wee bit bleary. This posh-doorman-type ay cunt, fuckin conci-fuckin-French radge, wearin a dipstick uniform, he comes ower. He gies us a look n sais, — A gentleman usually shaves before breakfast.

Wide cunt. So ah goes, — Ah prefer tae wait until ah’m wide awake. Ye kin easily nick the scrotum otherwise.

That shuts the fucker up, standin thaire like some cunt’s rammed a rid-hot poker up ehs pile-ridden erse. Suicide Sal’s huvin a laugh aboot it, so it’s aw good. It’s barry seein her laugh like that. A smart, fit, youngish burd wi aw that talent tryin tae top hursel? Writes fuckin plays n aw! Ah could barely write my fuckin name tae sign on, back in the day. She can dae aw that, and she wants tae jump oaf a fuckin bridge? She must be fuckin mental! Ya cunt, of course she is, that’s the fuckin problem but, ay!

Any roads, that fill breakfast looks good, but ah gits a feel ay ma love handles and thinks: mibbe some porridge n berries ur oan the agenda. Thon scud hotline oan the cheeky phone could go any time: Sick Boy gies ye very little notice when eh’s ready tae shoot. It’s no like Hollywood, if ye make a few grand fae one movie, a couple ay months later yir shootin the next yin. Ye need tae be ready. So that’s ma choice.

As it comes ower, she goes, — I never thought of you as a healthy-eating sort.

— Ah like ma oats, ah tell her wi a wink. — Maybe a wee cowp eftir?

— You’re a monster, she goes, shakin her heid. — A total addict. You can’t go a few hours without having sex!

— Aye.

— You really should go to a sex-addiction group.

— Aye, might jist dae that, ah goes, laughin, but thinkin, that’s food for thought. Nowt ruled in, nowt ruled oot. This porridge, but, different fuckin class! The auld girl nivir made it like that!

THE PUB IS
no longer smoky, but the ghosts of cigarette fumes past seem to linger. In a corner by the jukebox, the Barksdale twins sit nursing a symbiotic hangover with their more sprightly comrades, Tony, Lethal Stuart and Deek, the newspaper spread across the table in front of them. The
Daily Record
contains a piece about how the newcomer pandas braved Hurricane Bawbag from their enclosure in Edinburgh Zoo.