The Young Team Page 13

  They’re big cuboid shapes, nae place in somebody’s livin room. It looks like some alien experiment. There’s massive silver tubes shinin n protrudin fae the black towers. These tubes ir attached tae hummin Mitsubishi can-fans, aboot a foot long. The carbon filter in them is usually fur takin kitchen smells oot ae restaurant ventilation systems, but here it sooks in the healthy pong aff the green, a dead giveaway otherwise. A zip the tent door doon n look inside. They’re aw foil backed n there’s an 180-watt sodium bulb beatin doon like an artificial sun. The other three ir in darkness – the change in temperature, in four-week cycles, enough tae simulate the seasons n wait fur their flowerin heads tae appear, those wee dusty crystals on top. They’re sharp-lookin and jagged, telltale female signs. Christmas tree shaped, headin tae a point wae the master bud. There’s a good few ounce on each plant. Four plants in each tent. The way we’re rippin it tae shreds in the dark, we wouldnae make half the potential profit. After dryin it, arrangin it and smokin it, the realistic return drops dramatically. It always seems more on paper.

  ‘Leave that first wan. It’s no ready. Empty the other three tents!’

  ‘Aye, let’s git this done n git tae fuck. Just strip them quick-style.’

  We take a tent each. The buds grow n protrude fae the fat stems. Usually yi wid carefully trim back the leaf, chop the stem n remove the bud. The night we’re just hackin wae scissors n pullin the branches straight aff. Fuck it, it kin be sorted oot later in safety away fae this dodgy gaff. A’m choppin the master bud, the heed ae the plant. Decapitation. It’s aw interwoven wae the supportin stems n branch network, pure chunky, healthy n green n orange. Hopefully they’re flushed, fed just clean Scottish water after a nutrient chemical diet fur weeks, n ready fur the owners tae chop n sell. After a couple ae minutes A’ve git at least four or five ounce in the bag.

  ‘How yees dain?’

  ‘Nearly there, mate.’

  After another few minutes we’re done. The plants ir stripped tae their skeletons. We zip the tents back up n grab the bin bags, tyin big chunky knots in the black plastic. A head tae the back door wae Cheech n Chong. This is the final part ae the plan. Git the shit in the motor n git tae fuck. The adrenaline is fadin fast, ma nerves goin up in smoke, paranoia creepin in again as always, that fuckin sssnake in the dark. We bounce oot in the dark n aw jump in the motor in silence. We stick the green under the seats n pray tae fuck we don’t git pulled aff the polis wae three binbags ae stinky stuff in the motor. ‘Some buzz, troops,’ Danny says fae the front seat. Young Team in yir hoose, eatin aw yir biscuits.

  Arabian Nights

  The mist that’s doon makes the woods look spooky, the eld church n cemetery gothic. A’ve git ma heed buried intae ma tracky n ma Berghaus jakit zipped up tae the top. Yi used tae stoat aboot fur miles every night on these streets, woods n fields. We used tae walk doon the street n back up, walk aboot doggin it n doss around at the weekends steamin. Noo, yir lucky tae see the outside ae yir motor. A walk oot the shop wae ma maw’s message ae eggs, twenty Regal n a Daily Record. A’m half dreamin when A hear shoutin. It’s a guy n a lassie arguin. A kin barely make them oot through the mist but A kin hear them. A cross the road tae see wit’s happnin, eld Azzy boay back on patrol in the YTP.

  ‘A’m no goin to any casino! Fuck yir cousin’s birthday!’

  ‘Get in the fuckin motor, Patricia!’

  ‘Naw, Jamie, yi can fuck off!’

  A see the back ae a gunmetal BMW n where the noise is comin fae. Looks like Patricia is seein ma eld pal JP fae the Toi after aw.

  ‘Jamie, A’m no goin, get to fuck!’

  ‘Yer no makin me look like a dick!’ He starts pullin hur back intae the motor. A walk up n they huvnae noticed me. Patricia is stumblin in heels n hus a red dress on. JP’s git a grey suit on wae light brown shoes. Never a good match. Bit hypocritical wae a fuckin tracksuit, a pair ae Air Max n a Mera Peak on, but fuck it.

  ‘JAMIE, GET TO FUCK!’

  They’ve still no seen me. A stroll right up tae a foot before them n they both turn round n watch me sit ma eggs n paper doon on the deck. Before he gets the chance tae say otherwise, A draw back n whack him a belter ae a right. He’s dazed n fuckin stunned tae huv been hit unexpectedly wae a hammer blow, eld thunder n lightnin paws. He stumbles n falls against the 320d. A start whackin fuck oot him, gittin blood aw over his nice suit. Patricia stands back, shocked herself. ‘Young Team, ya fuckin bam!’ A’m shoutin as we wrestle by the door.

  ‘Git tae fuck!’ he shouts, tryin tae cover his face. He jumps back in his motor n sinks it. The BMW’s diesel engine roars n flies away back intae the mist. A glance towards hur. She’s shaken but smilin a wee bit. ‘Yi awright?’ A ask her.

  ‘A’m fine, Azzy. Cheers but, he was being a fuckin dick.’

  ‘Pleasure wis aw mine.’

  ‘Aw, what a wee gentleman! Yi in a rush?’

  A grab ma twoz ae a nipped joint fae behind ma ear n light it wae a Clipper. A take a fat puff. ‘Never.’

  ‘Walk me up the road then.’

  Patricia slips hur arm, in a black blazer, under the blue sleeve ae ma Berghaus n we start the walk. She’s stumblin a bit in her heels but takes a puff ae the joint on the way. We’re walkin up intae the cold n dark fog. ‘No seen you for ages, Azzy. Did yi enjoy Fantazia? Yi always lose yir pals in there, don’t yi?’

  ‘Aye, A just jumped aboot wae Wee Toffey the full night. Ended up oot ma barnet!’

  The roughness is forgotten noo in the shadow ae the next event.

  ‘Same, was some laugh. Yi goin to Fantasylands next month?’

  Everywan’s awready talkin aboot the next wan, Fantasylands, a bigger event up at Ingliston in Edinburgh. This wan is the real deal – twelve thousand ravers instead ae nine, n twelve hours instead ae nine. Big Kenzie n the elder wans said the first two wur mental. Different kettle ae fish fae the Braeheed Arena. Ingliston is where they used tae hold the Rezerection raves in the early days, the stuff ae myth n legend.

  ‘Aye fuck, you?’

  ‘Defos!’

  ‘Good shit. Wit yi dain the night then? Nae casino wae the high roller!’ A say, laughin.

  ‘Eh, naw! It was with aw his big cousin’s pals. They’re aboot thirty, bunch ae fuckin creeps. Pure stare like fuck at yi!’

  ‘Wit’s that cunt like? Thinks he’s fuckin James Bond in that suit n aw that!’

  ‘He think’s he’s somethin now, Azzy! Cos he drives a flashy motor n sells gear. A few folk are gettin too big for their boots these days, son.’

  ‘Oh aye? Like who?’

  Danny n Kenzie spring tae mind. Nuhin fae McIntire on the stolen green – we wur aff scot-free, this time. We might huv got away wae it aye, but it’s another thing at the back ae yir mind tae be para aboot. Sometimes revenge would come days, weeks n months later when yi think everyhin’s furgot aboot n yi git snipered walkin doon fur a haircut or at a party. Yir heed always over yir shoulder, lookin fur aw the toes yi hud stepped oan over the years. The paranoia is real. Yi end up wae the fear, man. Tellin yi.

  ‘Gemma …’ she says, wae a cheeky look.

  ‘She’s actually awright, by the way.’

  ‘Aye, obviously you’re goin to say that! You pure liked hur!’

  ‘So wit? It wis just casual n that.’

  ‘Awk, yi know what A mean, Azzy. You’re just playin dumb cos you’ve still git feelins for hur! It’s cute.’

  ‘Aye right, man!’

  ‘Tryin to say, if she phoned you n said, Azzy, A want yi, son, yi would tell hur to fuck off?’

  ‘A’m no denyin A did like hur, but it’s done wae. A’m glad she’s happy n aw that.’

  ‘Defo over hur then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Prove it then!’ she says as she turns n pulls me intae hur. We’re walkin up the back lane. There’s a big conifer leanin over an eld broken fence n we’re underneath it. She’s aboot an inch away fae ma face, givin me the look.

  ‘Wit you wantin?’ A say, laughin n
takin the last puff ae ma Jeffrey.

  ‘Yi know what A want! A’ve been tryin fur years to get yi on yir own.’

  ‘No that hard when yir shackin up wae fuckin JP. Toi wan n aw that. Phhft! Scrubbed!’

  ‘Aye well, touché, mister. You’ve fancied Monica Mason fur about ten years. Chasing hur like a wee puppy. When she wasn’t cool enough, yi moved on tae Gemma.’

  She hus me bang tae rites there. Of course, A huvnae forgotten aboot Monica. Gemma wis different, a passin thing. Patricia, another species entirely. More beautiful n deadly. ‘That you got me figured oot aye?’

  ‘Azzy, had you figured out the first time A seen yi, son.’

  ‘Aye so yi did.’

  ‘So … yi goin to take me home or keep me waitin any longer?’

  The mist hus turned tae a thick fog n darkness hus drawn in noo – wae the orange ae the lamps it’s that usual purple haze. It’s gone ten. A’ve been here hours, in Patricia’s lair, pure boudoir material. A glance towards ma maw’s paper n eggs, sittin on Patricia’s bedside table, heavy patched. She glides back fae the bathroom n spills across the bed. They’re satin sheets n there’s aboot a million pillows n cushions. A’m somewhere in the middle among the bizarre collection ae fabrics ae varied colours, materials n sizes. Ma bed is a single wae a polycotton sheet n duvet and wae Rangers tartan curtains hanging. This is a double wae a big, comfy but silent mattress. The sheet is silken n aw fancy. A feel like Aladdin or fuckin Lawrence ae Arabia.

  Patricia’s cuddlin in n moanin pleasurably as she rolls aboot under the covers, still in lingerie. After five minutes she settles without a word n crashes oot like a true hedonist. Lassies like hur ir like a hit or a line – yi huv that first rush ae pleasure n after that yir hooked n yi start doon the road towards a bad place. No matter the consequence, yi wid be back cos she’s blonde n toned n hur dark eyes n laugh knew the same as you did, that yir fucked.

  ‘Patricia?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘A needty git doon the road.’

  ‘Mmmm … cool, see ya.’

  She doesnae see me oot. A’m oot in the haze noo. It’s pitch black, nearly eleven. A zip ma jakit against the cold. A’m thinkin aboot hur black stockin tops n hur body in that low light, the shadows ae hur contours. A’m sparkin a fag when A hear footsteps.

  ‘Awright, Azzy.’ A turn slowly, stickin ma eggs in ma big pocket. It isnae a friendly greetin. A’m faced wae five cunts. Allen, Matty, McVeigh, Si n of course, the man himself, JP. It’s him who walks up first. He’s smilin n the rest ae them know A’m caught. A sigh as A take a draw ae ma fag. Jamie’s face is aw bruised n cut fae earlier. It’s ma turn again. ‘You’re a fuckin dead man,’ JP says.

  ‘Aye, how’s that?’ A say back.

  ‘Cos it wis yooz that taxed our fuckin plants!’ McVeigh says.

  ‘Wit plants?’ A say wae a smile.

  ‘Yi fuckin know wit plants, ya smug-faced wee cunt. We want they plants back, or the dough. It wis fur Marcus.’

  ‘Aye, well, let him shag your fuckin maw then, Matty. She’s priceless fur an auld dear.’

  ‘You’ll no be laughin the morra.’

  ‘Aye A wull, cos it’s you boys that ir gonnae git it fur the plants. No McIntire’s responsibility tae chase cunts cos your set-up git robbed. We’ll sit n git a healthy smoke n watch yees git fucked fur it.’

  They seem tae stall in their accusation cos they know it’s the truth. Marcus McIntire isnae gonnae do their dirty work fur them. It’s the other way aboot. Anyhin else is fantasy.

  ‘FUCKIN INTAE HIM, BOYS!’

  The night A’m feelin lucky. A launch the paper at them n start sprintin, dain backs wae them bailin after us. A cannae take a kickin the night. It’s been too good. A’m breathin hard in the fog. Ma trainers ir slippin in the wet mud of flowerbeds n front rockeries. A’m slidin on stones, pebbles n driveways. The five ae them ir chasin after me, sprintin hard n fast. A deck it n bounce right back tae ma feet wae a cut knee. There’s nae time tae pull oot phones n try n git back up fae the troops. A’m on ma own.

  A’m back on the road, sprintin doon towards ma hoose. Ma breaths ir fucked, short n painful. Every time A inhale it’s a fatal stabbin in ma sides. Aw ma muscles ir geein up, burnin n screamin fur oxygen that isnae comin. A’m tryin tae take as much in as possible. A kin feel ma face flamin red n A’m sweatin under ma Berghaus jakit’s lining as A run. A cannae keep goin much longer. A’ve still got tae slope them before ma bit. A’m on the pavement poundin ma trainers aff the tarmac. Ma heels ir killin me n even ma toes ir hurtin fae the asphalt slaps. A’m nearly there. There’s an electric substation over the next garden wae a tall spikey fence. It’s too tall n A’m caught. First roon the corner is Allen. A start runnin at him. He stands bold but A kin tell he’s shat it. A grab his grey Berghaus n rattle the nut on him n lay the cunt oot. A try tae run on. It’s the eld classic. A feel ma legs gittin sweeped away fae me. A’m recoverin, determined no tae go doon n take the onslaught ae boots n stamps. Wan ae the cunts volleys ma ankle. A try tae put the foot oot n it’s no there. Mayday, we’re goin down.

  A fall on ma side n whack ma face aff the kerb. Within a second it starts. A’m gittin volleyed n kicked fuck oot ae. Ma arms n fists ir drawn intae ma chest n up, protectin ma face n the back ae ma heed fae the ensuin blows. It’s been a while since A’ve seen this kinda kickin. It never changes, dull thuds n adrenaline, fear, confusion. Pain wull follow. ‘That’s fur earlier, ya prick!’ JP says as he draws a final boot aff me. A’m left lyin at the entrance tae a garden on ma back. A spark a fag n taste nicotine combined wae the iron ae ma blood. A kin feel a few lumps n bumps but on the whole A think A’m awright n nae broken teeth. Draggin maself oot the dirt, A git tae ma knees n pull maself tae ma feet, holdin the fence. A smoke oot the side ae ma lips as A limp doon towards ma hoose in the dark. Wit goes around, n aw that.

  Gentle Sins

  Monica text us earlier the day n asked us doon tae her bit. Wumen rarely do anyhin by accident. If A hud tae guess, it would be tae ask us aboot Patricia. We’ve been in here aw day. The door’s been gawn constant wae weans oot guisin fur Halloween. The wee cunts ir leavin bagless but, cos hur maw n da ir oot fur the night. If anyhin, it adds possibility tae our meetin – empty gaff n aw that. There’s still an atmosphere between us n that eld energy addin tae it, so yi huv tae wonder. Hur face is the same but more gorgeous. It’s the subtle details that draw yi in. The light eyeshadow n mascara makin hur green eyes look darker. Yi miss aw these things as a wee guy. Yir too busy lookin at other areas tae notice the effort in hur appearance, the constraint n hur natural beauty. The tiny flick ae the eye pencil at the side, like an Egyptian queen.

  ‘Sah, yi been seein anybody?’

  ‘Ahh, wouldn’t you like to know. Could ask you the same thing.’

  Here we go. ‘Take it you’ve heard then?’

  ‘Aye, A heard. Don’t think she could wait to tell me. So how did that happen?’

  ‘Just bumped intae hur.’

  ‘N fell into bed with hur?’

  ‘No quite, Monica.’

  ‘You know she’s been chasin you for years?’

  ‘Naw, no really.’

  ‘Guys can never tell. You always chase the ones who aren’t interested.’

  ‘A chased you for a while,’ A say wae a half-smile.

  ‘No hard enough, obviously!’

  ‘So … are yi seein anybody?’

  ‘I’ve been out a couple of times with a guy from college.’

  ‘How’s that goin?’

  She rolls hur eyes n lights a fag, directin the smoke vaguely towards the windae. ‘No sure, really. Still feel we’re kind of different to all the college types.’

  ‘Wit yi mean? That they’re gimps n we’re still neds?’

  Takin a puff n laughin, she nods. ‘Kinda. A don’t think we’re still neds. Even you’ve got jeans on the day!’

  ‘Aye, well, ma trackies n Berghaus ir gittin a bit done.’

  ‘Na
w, son. You’re getting older, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ve no seen you in a tracky fur ages. Yi suit jeans n that.’

  ‘Cheers. Yi no enjoyin the college then?’

  ‘A love it, Alan, but just feel different. Aw the lassies are pure indie. I’m getting there! I can even hear myself talkin differently.’

  ‘Aye, A noticed.’

  ‘Do I sound stupid? I’m dead conscious of it.’

  ‘Naw, no at aw.’

  ‘It’s just there, in my classes n that, the lassies all speak properly. No slang n that.’

  ‘N yi feel yi stick oot if yi talk like wan ae us?’

  ‘A wee bit, aye. Suppose it’s just changin yir register really.’

  ‘That’s it, int it? Yi wouldnae go fur an interview talkin pure lit aht, man, know wit A mean? You would talk properly, like this, old sport.’

  We both laugh. It does feel n sound funny when yir no used tae dain it. The two ae us huv a wee bit ae brains in our heads, we’re no stupit. If we huv tae speak pure properly but, it’s a bit ae an effort n doesnae feel right. Monica hus obviously been practisin. A’ve dropped the pure neddy patter fae ma younger days. A kin hear ma voice n words changin the elder A git. It isnae yir accent that changes, it’s more yir choice ae words n no swearin aw the time. That’s no acceptable tae folk in decent society. Yi won’t get far if every second word is a curse. Ma granny hated it. She said real men didnae swear in front ae lassies. A tried no tae aw the time, but it wis a hard habit tae break. People judge yi by yir voice. When yir talkin like this people think you’ve nae intelligence. They think you’ve been dragged up n come fae a bad home. It’s aw aboot low-status lingo, know wit A mean?

  ‘Azzy n Patricia! Wheet-wheew!’

  ‘Aw shut up, Monica. Did yi come as a witch, sayin it’s Halloween?’

  ‘Maybe!’ she says n winks. ‘Just being honest. It’s funny! Can’t imagine you two at all.’

  That’s the wan problem in chasin bad wans. The good wans always find oot n inevitably think less ae yi. Yi become a bog-standard dickhead, shaggin the tidy burds n sacrificin yir quality n character. Who yir partner is speaks volumes aboot yi. They’re a reflection ae yir innermost desires n how much yir willin tae sacrifice n settle fur. The wans who turn yir heed quickest ir often the wans who cause yi tae miss the really beautiful wans. No aw that glitters is gold, efter aw. The real treasure is lassies like Monica. The bad bitches n popular lassies never ir. The real gold is the different lassie, the shy wan, the odd wan wae quirks n hidden depths. Yi feel a spark when yir wae them n they make yi feel – things – yi never even knew existed.