Filth

Post-Holiday Blues

My first day back after a holiday and that cunt Toal calls me into his office. There’s something different about that spastic, and it takes me a second to realise what it is. Then I see it: he’s dispensed with the Brylcreem and blow-dried his hair, back-combing it. A new Toal! A media-friendly, softer, slicker, more youthful trendy image for the modern law enforcement officer in a democracy. He looks like a fucking simpering poof, self-conscious and effete. That barnet will take some getting used to. Oh no you don’t Sister Toal. Same fuckin rules!

– In your absence Amanda Drummond’s been taking the leading role in the investigation. I’ve decided, after a great deal of deliberation, that I want this state of affairs to continue.

I feel my holiday euphoria evaporate in the face of the heat from Toal’s bombshell. My response is unformed and undignified. – A silly wee . . . I stammer.

– I expect you to give her full co-operation. Bruce, since you’ve been away the media have got interested again. The Forum’s been making a lot of noises. It seems that you’ve been a bit lax on the community relations side. It’s exactly that area that Amanda’s strong in. It’s horses for courses Bruce, Toal nods semi-apologetically. – You’ll have to go with me on this just now, he snaps truculently, as I feel the words Listen Brother Toal dry in my throat.

I can only stand there like a fag-hag outside the bogs of some nancy-boy meatpacking disco just before last orders as Toal picks up the phone. – Amanda, Bruce’s back. Can you come up here and brief him on what’s been happening?

He puts the phone down.

– Look, eh, Gus Bain has filled me in . . . I start. I just want to go. I need to take stock before I can face that gloating dyke Drummond.

– Gus isn’t on the ball Bruce, he’s going nowhere, Toal says impatiently.

That makes me feel good as I had Gus marked down as almost a serious rival in the promo stakes. It’s out of order though, Toal badmouthing the auld cunt like that.

Good news for me but. I’m feeling a bit more up as Drumsticks comes in and gives me a look of distaste and it makes me feel even more comfortable that she evidently hates doing this as much as I do. – Hi Mandy, I smile.

– Did you have a good holiday Bruce? she asks with a forced civility for Toal’s sake.

– Not bad at all.

– Holland, wasn’t it?

– Yes. It’s a regular jaunt. A very civilised country.

– The landscape’s a bit flat though, isn’t it? Toal interjects.

– I like it, I shrug, – it provides an interesting contrast with Scotland’s more rugged terrain.

– What is there to do there? Drummond probes. She wants me to say ‘hoors and drugs’ in front of Toal.

– It’s a very relaxing place. You can sit in a café and just watch the world go by with a nice coffee, I shudder slightly as the hangover kicks in. Fuckin cunts are trying to wind me up. But what do they know? Nothing, zilch, sweet fuck all. Sum total: the big fuckin zero.

– I’ve heard that Amsterdam has a lot of drug problems, Toal says, looking at me challengingly.

– Yes, that’s the downside of the city. It’s far too liberal and as a result it does attract scum. Anyway, enough idle banter about holidays, what about the case? I say coldly and briskly, making Toal and Drummond look like the frivolous lightweights they are. Toal looks a bit narked that I’ve stolen a mark on him. He’d better get used to it because once I’m promoted, that’s the way it’ll be. Fucked if I’m taking any of his bullshit then.

Drummond starts rabbiting on a load of shite which, however you dress it up, amounts to fuck all has happened since I’ve been away, just as I guessed. How the fuck did they ever expect to make progress with a case like this in the absence of the main player? That’s the problem with this wee team of ours: too many Stronachs, no enough Dalglishs.

– . . . and Valerie Johnston, the girl on the cloakroom, has stated that Alex Setterington and David Gorman were definitely in the club that night.

Drummond’s wearing a white blouse and has a darker coloured bra on which is visible through it. I’d gie they tits a wee squeeze, only as a personal favour to her, mind you. That would gie her something to frig aboot! She catches where my eyes are and ostentatiously does up her jacket. Aye, you wish ya fuckin daft cow.

– So what we have to do is to pull in Setterington and Gorman for questioning, she continues.

– I don’t think that would be the way to play it Mandy, my sweet, I pleasantly interject, and she goes to pull me up but I talk over her, raising my voice, – Setterington and Gorman are hardened criminals. They’re veterans of questioning. They’ll give away Scottish Football Association, and they’ll have a smartarsed lawyer like Conrad Donaldson doon here straight away. I note Toal’s mouth puckering in resigned distaste at the acknowledgement of my point. – If they know we’re on to them, they’ll just close ranks. I know these bastards. I think we should keep them under observation, see what they’re getting up to. One of their mates is a grass and I can lean on him.

Drummond has lost the moment and Toal’s nodding vigorously. – I agree Bruce, he says, – these are crafty bastards. We need to have hard evidence before we make any move on them. This informer you know, do you reckon he’ll come up with something?

– A racing certainty, I smile.

– Good, says Toal. – Right Amanda, keep on with the surveillance. Bruce, could you hold on for a minute?

Drummond coughs a nervy: – Certainly Bob, and departs, kip as rid as my cherry eftir a night’s hooring, and Toal’s probably ready to tell me that the inspectorship is as good as mine.

– Do you have a problem with Amanda? he asks.

– Not at all, I tell him.

– She’s complained to me about your manner. Do you have to refer to her in that condescending way? Her name’s Amanda, it might be better if you called her that, rather than Mandy my sweet.

Fuckin stroppy dyke.

– C’mon gaffer, I smile, using the casual but respectful tone to soften Toal up, which it does, – she’s being far too uptight. I’m just being friendly and informal, that’s all.

– Bruce, you’re a good and experienced officer, but you’re going to have to relate better to all other officers, particularly if you become an inspector. These things are important in the modern police force, mark my words, Toal reprimands, sweeping a hand through his bouffant hair, but it’s a gentle reprimand and he can’t keep the underlay of complicity out of his voice.

– I hear what you’re saying Brother Toal, but it takes two to tango. I suggest you have a similar word with our Msss Drummond.

I’d like to turn of the gasssss for Mssss Drummond, fuckin well turn it off for good.

Toal sits up in his seat somewhat pompously, as he tends to do when I play the craft card, – I have spoken to Amanda and made her aware of her responsibilities.

I’ll fuckin well bet. That wee slag thinks that crawling up Toal’s erse is the way on to the fast track. Wrong!

Later on I’m in the cannie, catching up on some of the gossip and the wee cow comes over to me. – Bruce, can I have a word? She nods to the corridor. A uniformed spastic from the craft raises his eyes. This wee cunt’s goin tae rub ma face in it already about her new role. No way am I taking any bullshit fae the likes of Drummond.

– I don’t know if you’ve heard Bruce, but it’s Gus’s birthday tomorrow, and we’re planning a wee surprise party for him. In Serious Crimes.

So that’s all it is. Nae cunt telt ays, Lennox or any of them. Bastards. – I was aware of that, I say haughtily.

– Just making sure, she smiles, and turns to leave. – See you later.

She thinks that she can get roond me wi the softly-softly approach. Wrong. Same rules apply. I head back downstairs but it’s typical post-holiday blues and I’m hating it at this shitehoose.

I’m sifting through the papers on my desk for the case file and I see out of the corner of my eye that a woman has come into the office with Drummond and Hazel the clerical. She looks vaguely familiar. Drummond’s pointing over at me.

The woman has a wee laddie with her and they tentatively approach my desk, following Drummond.

– Bruce, my colleague informs me, – somebody to see you. It’s Mrs Sim.

Who the fuck’s this

– I came last week, the woman says meekly, – but they told me you were on holiday. I wanted to thank you personally for everything that you did for Colin. She turns to the wee boy. – This is a good man Euan, this is the man that tried to help your daddy . . . she stifles a sob.

The wee boy keeps his head bowed, but raises his eyes up at me and pushes out a smile. He’ll be about ages with Stacey.

– His heart was bad . . . it was a family thing . . . hereditary. I’m watching her lips moving. – He never let it bother him. He was a good man, she whimpers and sobs and Drummond’s got her hand, and she looks back at the wee laddie and then at me, – . . . and this is a good man. This man tried to help your dad son, tried to help him when the rest just stood by and gawped . . . he tried so hard for your daddy . . .

How did you feel

– . . . I just wanted to say thank you Sergeant Robertson . . . Bruce . . . I just wanted to say thank you for trying to help him . . .

– I’m sorry I couldn’t save your husband, I tell her.

– Thank you . . . you did all anybody could. Thank you. This is a good man Euan, she sniffs, as Amanda leads her away, looking back at me in a deep, soulful and human way.

Gus comes over and grabs my shoulder tightly. – Perr lassie. An awfay Christmas for her and the wee felly.

She doesn’t know, the woman: she just doesn’t know.

I have a bash at the crossword. I can’t concentrate, and I decide to take an early finish. It’s Stronach’s testimonial match at Tynecastle the night, but no way will I go there and line that spastic’s pockets. It would be too much to see him poncing around full of himself. I can’t see there being much of a crowd. It’ll be Gary MacKay or Craig Levine size I should imagine.

So the evening finds me down at the Lodge listening to some referee twat who’s a building inspector with the district council. He’s holding court and it’s not a bad crack. Bladesey’s lost. He comes over to join us sporting his new glesses, but like most English cunts, he kens nowt about fitba. Ray Lennox appears with a couple of uniformed spastics, who aren’t wearing their uniforms but are still uniformed spastics and always will be. I nod to him to come over and he’s squeezing in beside me. I’ve tipped him off before about hanging around with these nonentities. Associate too much with losers and that’s exactly what you’ll become.

This referee’s some cunt. – So there I was at Ibrox and they need the three points to clinch the title. I mean, they’re about thirty points ahead so it’s a foregone conclusion, it’s mathematically impossible for them to be caught. It’s a gala day, and the families are all out, the bairns with their faces painted up, the lads looking forward to celebrating. Coisty’s put them one–nil up with a close-range tap-in at the back post. Ha ha ha. He’s some character. Suspicion of offside but Oswald Beckton’s flag stayed down. Oswald, Lodge 364. You’ll ken his face, the ref prompts.

There’s a few nods and knowing smiles around the table. – So anyway, the whole place goes up and it’s party-time. Everybody’s singing ‘we’re up to our knees in fenian blood’ and it’s a gala atmosphere. But then, with a couple of minutes left, a long ball gets punted through the middle towards the Rangers goal. This young lad nips inbetween Goughy and McLaren and they bring him down heavily inside the box. Now, it’s a blatant penalty, but of course there’s no way I’m going to give that and spoil the party. I mean, they’d’ve had to have gone to Firhill the next week to win it, stuck with a fifteen thousand capacity. How could I spoil it for them to lift the flag at home? They were going to win it anyway! By the length of Argyll Street! No way was yours truly going to be a killjoy. Imagine what the boys in the Lodge at Whitburn would have said! My life wouldnae have been worth living. Spoiling a gala day out! So I waved play on.

– As ye do mate, eh, Councillor Bill Armitage said.

– I had to send off this tube for arguing. The ref’s decision is final. This arsehole wouldnae let it go, even after I’d booked him. There’s always one, eh!

– Fenian bastard, Bill Armitage scoffed.

– I don’t mind telling ye, the ref continues, – that it was a bit embarrassing watching it on Scotball the next day. The boys were great though, they kept the replays to a minimum and avoided any reverse-angle showings. Anyway, I spoke to the SFA observer at the match in the Blue Room afterwards and he understood the situation fully. Turns out that he’s in the same Lodge as wee Sammy Kirkwood. You mind of wee Sammy! He says to me.

I nod. Wee Sammy used to get me magazines. Good stuff n all, though not quite as good as Hector The Farmer’s. I’ll have to bell that auld fucker and see if he’s got any new gear.

– Anyway, thank God for the presenter. He said there was no way I could have seen the incident as I wasn’t up with play. The guys at the press were great as well, played the whole thing down, didn’t let on that the switchboards were jammed with callers. Passed off the odd one or two as token Tim bigots who would say that anyway.

– These cunts are paranoid, Armitage laughs.

– A chief sports writer for one of the dailies told me at the Lodge, he says: normally we’d have made a bit more of a song and dance about it but it does nobody any good to keep running Scottish football down.

We then listen to Armitage going on a bit about the new Scottish Parliament. – It’ll be a good thing; mair opportunities for our people. Of course we’ll have tae deal with the Papes, but there’s nothing new there. The party in Scotland’s always had that horse-trading between the Catholic mafia and the craft. Ah wouldnae mind gieing them anti-abortion legislation in exchange for some plum chairmanships of working parties or committees . . . particularly licensing, he grins. – It just means that some daft wee hairy that gets knocked up the duff has tae get oan the bus tae Carlisle tae get cleaned oot. Hardly a staggering blow, I would have thought.

– Right enough, Ray nods, then turning to me whispers, – Fancy some coke the night?

I fancied some fucking coke awright, in fact I had some on me. Especially after Toal’s news, Drummond heading up the team. Toal. The cunt’ll not be happy until he turns me into a fuckin junky.

Me answering to a silly wee lassie?

shake off Bladesey after I’ve pumped the sorry cunt for more information about Bunty’s mental state. Then we abscond back to his flat. Ray’s place is furnished post-Thatcherite nouveau schemie single-shagger style. That is to say, no real style at all. It’s dominated by a red suite, a two-seater velvety love-couch and matching chair. It’s like a hoor’s room back in the Dam! I’m no sitting in that couch, Lennox should be so lucky. If it was fuckin Inglis, he’d be oan it like a shot! No that he would feel anything if it was Lennox that was up him!

Ray’s looking for the mirror, spoon and razor-blade kit I brought him back from the Dam. He reckons that it gives extra quality tae the chop and never uses credit cards indoors now. I realise that the set cost me the equivalent of twenty quid in UK cash and feel a resentment rise up in my chest. It was a moment of weakness giving Lennox a present, even if I only gave him it in order to encourage him to sort me out with posh. I idly press the tip of my fag against his velvet cushion, feeling a satisfying rush of adrenalin and a lump rise in my chest as it browns and parts on the first, second, third and fourth contact. Then I admire my handiwork, before quickly flipping the cushion over to conceal the four new holes.

Lennox returns and chops out some lines. He’s been on D.S. duty and has nabbed quite a bit of high grade, the lucky bastard. I’ve divided up the stuff I brought back from Amsterdam, and though it pains me to admit it, Lennox gear’s even better. The perks of the job. Okay for some. What about me? What perks do you get on topped coons? Going round community groups talking to chip-on-the-shoulder darkies who hate your guts. And that daft wee lassie Drummond sticking her oar in. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Big-time OT on this one mind you, especially with that docile mutation Toal’s breeks full of sludgy, soft shite. Same rules applying in that case, I kid you not.

– The last sniff I got off these morons I busted, I’m telling you Robbo, what a total waste ay time. There was so little coke in it, I should’ve just left the spastics to it and saved myself the fucking paperwork. They’d have felt a hell of a lot worse if they had done that rubbish than they did getting a poxy two hundred quid first offence fine.

Lennox is letting his mouser grow a bit. – That’s fucking disgusting. Two hundred poxy quid! Who was the magistrate?

– Urquhart. Surprise surprise, Lennox says, not looking up, firmly engrossed in the chopping up of the lines. He’s got patience Lennox, he knows that I want that line, but the cunt’ll play around until he’s got it as fine as fuck.

– Mr fuckin pat-oan-the-heid-and-penny-oot-the-poor-boax, my head’s shaking in disgust.

– Conrad fuckin Donaldson defending the cunts as well, Ray scoffs.

I smile at that name. I wonder how his wee lassie’s doing. We could handle another gam fae that little sweetheart. I kid you not.

Ray nods at me to come ahead. I’m on the first line, my twenty’s already rolled. I close one nostril and snort for Caledonia. It hits me hard. Good gear. Phoah, ya fuckin cunt that ye are. My mouth is instantly numbed and I start gabbing. – Listen Ray you should’ve heard that cunt Toal on aboot you the other day. It was Ray Lennox this, Ray Lennox that. I said to the cunt, there’s an awfay lot ay things getting attributed tae Ray Lennox here. I think Ray Lennox would be baulking at some of the stuff his name’s being mentioned in connection with.

– Eh? What’s this, Ray asks, looking at me tentatively.

– Between you and me Ray, I wouldnae be surprised if you get drafted into the team on this coon case.

– Like fuck! Ah’ve been stalking these fucking Sunrise Community hippies on this cannabis bust for months!

– I’m just saying Ray. You know these cunts, same rules apply. One other thing as well . . . this is between you and me likes, I drop my voice canteen-style, even though we’re in the privacy of Lennox’s gaff.

– What? says Ray, trying to be cool but obviously alarmed.

– Watch Gus.

– Gus Bain?

– Precisely.

– Gus is awright . . . he’s been good tae me . . .

– Of course he’s awright. He’ll have been awright tae you as long as he sees ye as a young laddie, as second fiddle. The thing is Ray, you’ve earned a lot ay respect in this department, and it’s starting tae get tae the auld boy. Ye ken what ah’m saying? I look Lennox in the eye. He’s getting the drift I want him to get. – It’s the young stag syndrome. Gus is set in his ways. One of the auld school. But he fears the new breed and he can be quite a vindictive old cunt and he’s been taking an unhealthy interest in the career progress and extracurricular activities to date of a certain Mister Raymond Lennox.

– You saying that Gus is a squealer?

– Known for it. Watch what you say about cousin charlie when he’s around.

– But I never say anything about charlie.

– Aye, well mind and keep it that way.

– Right . . . Lennox nods thoughfully. – I appreciate this Robbo.

This is all bullshit, but life is one big competition. Ray is a pal, but he’s also a potential or actual competitor and the only way to handle competitors is to control their level of uncertainty. That’s what life is all about: the management of your opponents’ uncertainty levels. We don’t want this cunt getting too big for his boots, thinking that he somehow counts.

It’s a troubled-looking Ray Lennox who snorts his line. The drug instantly restores that veneer of arrogance, but the seeds of doubt have been planted and the comedown will see the harvest of confusion just ripe for us to reap.