That sickening feeling in ma tremblin boady: aw man, that’s awfay familiar. The air aw rank n fusty.
Ah hears a coughin n ah suddenly realises that thaire’s other cats in the room! Mikey Forrester’s there, so is that Victor Syme boy. Ah think he banjoed ays. That evil pus, man, it pure fills the room. — You ruined ma property. Destroyed it. Made it fuckin worthless.
— It wis an accident… ah find my voice, still croaking aw sair like ah’ve gargled broken gless. — What have you done…?
Syme looks at Mikey, then at two other gadges whae step forward ootay the shadows. One’s Sick Boy! The other yin’s the boy ah saw when ah wis hingin upside doon, aw trussed up. — Si! What happened? ah’m raspin. — What happened, Si?!
Sick Boy comes forward wi a gless ay water. — Here, Danny, drink this, pal. He helps ays sit up n huds it tae ma mooth. The tepid water seems tae roll ower the caked slime and scum in ma gob n throat. His beak twitches, n ah ken it’s cause ay ma breath. — Slowly, he says.
— I’ll leave you tae fill him in wi the details, Syme sais tae Sick Boy, and heads fir the door. Eh turns the handle and pulls it open, but stoaps n looks at Forry. — And get the rest ay this sorted oot! It’s on you, Mikey. Dinnae disappoint me again.
Mikey goes tae say something, but the cat’s words seem tae stick in his craw, just like mine, as Syme swaggers out ay the room.
Ah’m fuckin shitein masel, n ah pushes the beaker away. This isnae right. No at aw. N whaire’s the dug? — Si… Mikey… what happened? ah goes.
Sick Boy n Mikey look at each other. Sick Boy stands back n Mikey shrugs n goes, — Syme wanted payback for the kidney you’d ruined, so he felt he was entitled tae take one ay yours.
Ah touch the bandaged wound. Look at the tube. — Naw…
— It was either that, or, Sick Boy runs his hand ower his throat, — Finito. It took aw ay our joint powers ay persuasion, believe me. He looks tae Mikey. — He’ll tell ye!
— Aye, Mikey nods. — Ye were very lucky that Syme thoat he had a recipient that matched ye. It’s goat tae match, see?
— Whaaaat… Ah dinnae believe this! Ah try tae sit up proper, but ma whole boady is in pain n ah’ve nae strength in ma airms…
— Shhh, dinnae distress yourself, mate, Sick Boy sort ay coos, easing ays back doon intae the bed, makin ays sip mair water. — It was removed by Euan here, eh nods at the other gadge, — who is my brother-in-law, Carlotta’s man, and a qualified doctor. You were in the best possible hands, buddy boy!
Ah’m just glarin at this boy, but eh cannae look ays in the eye. Eh’s just shuffling aboot, eyes shiftin fae flair tae waws. Ah raises ma hand and points at um. — You, you took ma kidney? In here? Ah looks around at the pure squalor. — You’re a butcher!
— I’ve been dragged down a sewer, the boy sais, shakin his heid, but it’s no like he’s talkin tae anybody. — I only went out for a fucking drink at Christmas, on my birthday…
— IT’S YOUR FAULT! ah screams, pointin at Mikey, and then Sick Boy. — Youse two! Supposed tae be mates! Supposed tae be ma-hay-haytes… n ah feel the tears streamin doon ma face…
This is like, fucked…
Mikey turns away in shame, but no Sick Boy. Aw naw, no him. — That’s right, blame me! That cunt Syme was gaunny kill us all! I only got roped intae this because he wanted revenge and payback after you cost him thirty grand with that kidney! IT’S FUCK ALL TAE DAE WI ME! He pummels his ain chist in outrage, as his eyes protrude and his Adam’s aypil bobs. — NANE AY IT!
— Ah didnae ken… ah goes, —… it wis the dug, ah mean it wisnae his fault, jist an animal… didnae understand…
— What were you thinking, taking the fucking dug with you?! Leaving meat, unsupervised, wi a dug?
— Wisnae meant tae go doon like this, Spud, n Forrester backs Sick Boy up. — You sais nowt aboot bringing yir daft wee dug oan the trip.
— Ah couldnae git anybody tae look eftir him, my voice screeches oot. Then ah gits a surge ay pure fear n ah’m lookin aroond, in panic. — Where is he? Whaire’s Toto?!
— He’s fine, Sick Boy goes.
— WHAIRE?!
— Syme has him at one ay the saunas. The lassies are dug-sittin. They’ll be spoiling him, taking him oot for walks.
— Ye cannae leave a perr wee dug wi that cruel bastard! He’d better no hurt Toto!
— Toto’s insurance, Mikey goes.
— For what? For what?! What ye sayin, Mikey?!
Mikey says nowt but looks at Sick Boy, whae raises his palms. — It was me, well, me and Mikey here, that convinced him to spare us wi this eye for an eye thing. It took some daein, that cunt is a fucking animal. His heid weaves fae side tae side, then he breks intae a smile. — But, throughout this fucking mess, there’s at least some good news!
Ah cannae believe this. — What? What’s good aboot this?!
— The kidney Shictor Schlime took, Sick Boy goes in that annoyin Bond voice, like it’s aw a joke, — for a client… it turns out that it was incompatible with his recipient after all.
— What… ye mean it didnae need tae come oot?! Ah hear ma ain voice, whimperin. — Yis took it oot fir nowt!
— Aye, but it can go back in again.
— Where… where is it?
— Back in Berlin. Sick Boy reaches intae his jaykit and pills oot some plane tickets, hudin them in ma face. — So we need to fly there, post-haste, and get you refitted. You’ll be as good as new, apart fae the Mars bar.
— As good as new, ah’m mutterin aw tae masel in misery, as Sick Boy shares a raised eyebrow with Mikey Forrester and this doaktir boy Euan turns away, sayin something under his breath ah dinnae catch.
— What’s he sayin? Ah points at him. — What’s yir doaktir boy sayin?!
The Euan felly turns n goes, — It’s crucial to move quickly.
Ah just groan, aw feverish n seek. Ah’m burnin in hell here, man. Ah feel that ill, ah ken ah’m no gaunny make it oantae that plane tae Berlin.
18
SICK BOY – ALL ABOARD THE RENFREW FERRY
I accompany a furrowed-browed Euan back to his hotel, issuing the caution, — Nae hooring tonight, bud, plenty feather and flip, a big day the morn.
He departs, ghoulish and jerky, to the lift and his lonely room in silence. I head back to the McCorkindales’ sprawling well-appointed Colinton villa, sans the man of the house. Crackers Carra is giving me a hard time, her saucer eyes protruding as if the lids have been ripped off, her jaw grinding fiercely, her pus reminding me of the time I ran into her and her mates at Rezerection. Fuck me, how long ago was that? — But how do you ken he’s back? Have ye seen him?
— No, I fib, deciding that telling her would only compromise an already-desperate enterprise. — But he’s definitely been sighted, by reliable sources.
— Who? Tell me who’s seen him!
— A few people. He was in my mate Terry’s cab. I spin another harmless wee white lie. — Coming out the Filmhouse. Look, that’s why I’m here, to find him.
A matt finish to her popping lamps shows me that Carlotta is doped up on something or other. Her black hair is greasy and shows grey roots, something she’d never tolerate before. — This is tearin us apart… she pleads, in a voice like a coffin creaking open.