Part one in a series to form a wee short story.
Feels odd doing this, but just in case someone out there has no imagination.
This is fiction.
Feels less odd doing this.
This is also in my own voice, it is written more or less the way the characters portrayed speak, which is a heavy form of dialect beyond what is normally portrayed in films and books. I can only say that it is real, I hope at least that I have managed to convey it properly. There is a page of translation at Common Glasgow, Edinburgh and Scottish colloquial terms and words which will help all you Glaswegian Impaired folks out there to translate any of the terms you do not understand.
Some of you may find this difficult going, if you do decide to stick with it I hope you enjoy.
It wis the usual, ahm sittin' in the pub oan ma todd wi wee Stevey behind the bar
jist watchin' the telly. Nuthin' doin'. Tuesday night an' Tuesdays never fuckin' busy. Why the fuck ah thoat, ah should never huv arsed massel' comin' doon here. Ahm no gonnae get rid a wan eh these fuckin' pill
s aw night, nae cunts oot oan a fuckin' night like this an if nae cunts oot thur noa gonnae be wantin' fuckin' pills
Stevey wisney helpin' matters either, ah telt im ah wis fur the off bit he's moanin' ma fuckin' heid aff aboot how "Billy wahnts a word wey ye, says if ye come in ye've tae stey here". Ah've never fuckin' seen Billy in here oan a fuckin' Friday never mind ah fuckin' Tuesday, bit ahm here, still, cos tae be honest ahm crappin' it a bit in case Stevey is actually tellin' the truth. Last thing ah need right now is Billy oan ma fuckin' case, ah missed maest eh ma Saturdy night punters cos ah didnae get intae the pub til late that night, plus a wee problem or two once ah goat to the club, so ahm haudin ower fifty pills an ah owe this cunt the money by next week or he's no gonnae tick is fuck all fur this weekend. Still n'all but, its a fuckin' drag sittin' here so ah might as well try an liven things up a wee bit.
"Is wee charles still in the pill boax?" ah ask Stevey, the pill boax bein the name we gie the safe oot back where the stash is kept.
"How the fuck should ah know? Y'know fine fuckin' well ah don't mind anythin' aboot that, ah jist work here, ask fuckin' Billy when he gets in"
"Aye, that's fuckin right enough, you're that fuckin pious yer fuckin halo's choakin' ye" cos ah know fine well the cunt fills his fuckin' nose oot that safe when it pleases 'im. If ah wis some wee bird he'd be right in there fuckin' linin' it up oan the fuckin' bar counter. Cunts like that are gonnae get us awe fucked an ah jist cannae afford tae lose this gig right now, ah need the fuckin money.
"Fuck sake, Billy'll fuckin' be here soon, it's fuckin' ten the noo an he said he'd be here aboot nine. Calm yersel an' huv ah fuckin beer. S'no ma fuckin' fault ye fucked up oan Saturday, ye should keep yer fuckin social life oot yer fuckin' business."
"Ah fucked up? Don't fuckin gies that, you know fine fuckin' well whit the score is there." Ah said that wi' awe the conviction ah could muster, tho ah knew fine well massel ahd fucked it ah didnae need this wee shite gawin intae the fuckin' detail.
"Oh, aye, thats right, cos Paul wis in the fuckin' club. Well if you hudnae been fuckin' stoatin' ye could've sorted that oot oan the fuckin spot"
That wis awe a could take fe this wee cunt, bit ah jist grunted in reply. No any eh his fuckin' business. Mibbe ah should've fuckin' hud Paul thrown oot, but the cunt wis team handed in that club an that's no ma fuckin' business tae sort. Ah hud a word or two wi that cunt Danny oan the fuckin' door, he's fuckin' payed enough tae make sure these cunts don't get in, bit he's fuckin' shitin' it aff the fuckin' heavies Pauls broat wi him fae Milton. Cannae say ah blamed um really, wan fuckin' bastard ugly lookin set a cunts 'n no fuckin' mistake. Ah well shat it an' ah hud three eh the boys there wey is. It wis well obvious Paul jist wisney in fur a night oot an aw. Made it well fuckin plain he wis gonnae be back, the lassie ah sent tae get a pill aff 'im wis also told tae ask if he'd be back next week. Paul, fuckin guessin' bastard thit ih is jist says tae her 'Tell yer man ah says too fuckin right ah'll be back'. Trouble wis gonnae break oot oan this yin, ahd fuckin make sure eh it. Jist isnae oan that, walkin intae another cunts patch.
In through the swing doors walks yer man Billy, fuckin' heid case is playin' Clint Eastwood wi' a blade, turnin' and spinnin' the thing in his hands as he marches up the aisle between the booths eh the boozer. Craigy and Mark are trailin' behind the cunt, lookin' like two stoned apes, lackin' only the fur, the two eh thum sportin shaved heids tae go wey thur tracksuit uniforms. Billy spies me right off an' as he comes up nods 'is head toward the booths at the back eh the boozer. Ah take ma cue an' follow him as he passes to sit down across from him at the booth.
"Ah heard aboot yer wee problem at the club oan Saturday, whit's the script?" he asks, a fuckin' loaded question there, that yin.
"There is nae fuckin' script, the plots been lost awe the fuckin' gether as far as ahm concerned."
"Aye, but ahm askin' ye whit the fuck went oan, christ, don't start actin' the smart cunt. Yer damn lucky ahm no ragin' wey ye. Fe whit a heard you wur bang oot eh order oan Saturday."
There's nae point in comin' back too hard oan that wan, ah would but it's jist no the time.
"Ah admit ah wisnae the full shillin' oan Saturday, bit that's no the point, would've been fine if it wisnae fur the fact that ah walks intae the club tae get greeted by the fuckin' Milton goon squad. Fe whit ah heard as well it's no jist ah wan aff, yer mans goat plans tae be back next week."
Billy's sittin' there glarin' at me, still turnin' the blade in his hand, casually stabbin' it intae the back of the chair he's sittin' in.
"It'll get sorted, jist you get back intae that club Friday an' make sure business is turnin', ye'll no hear fae that cunt. Take some eh the troops in, show force." He reaches intae his pocket an' pulls oot a wrap and tosses it on the table between us.
"Get some eh that doon ye, we're gawin oot"
All of which roughly translates as "I'm doin' sod all about this", but there's no much ah kin say it this point, business is business and he's jist told me it's ma ain business. Ah take the wrap, pull oot ma wallet an' dig oot the razor, scrapin some oantae the table, before sayin'
"Where we gawin', it's fuckin' Tuesday"
"The Angel, hurry it up ahm no hingin' aboot in here aw night"
Ah take the razor and slice up a couple eh lines oan the table, pull a 20 out the wallet and roll it up. One two, nice wee bang. Ach, fuck it. Ah take oot the bag in ma poacket and pull a pill oot. In fur a penny. A swig a beer and a throw ma heid back an' take a good snort eh air, swallowin', knockin' powder an' pill down tae where they should be.
"Right, are we gettin' gawin' then Billy, ahm oan wan a two F's the night, Fight or Fuck."
"Ya fuckin' heid case, c'moan, let's go" he says, grinnin'.