Everything
Gordon McLaughlin touched turned to shit; which is why some wag had long ago
dubbed him ‘Lucky’. He had a habit that he’d acquired in his teens which was
why in his late twenties he was already a middle aged man. Tonight he was
dressed up in his best finery and he still looked homeless. He blended with the
seething nightclub dandies the way vinegar blends with milk. He wasn’t there
for pleasure; he never frequented night clubs, but tonight he was on a mission
– tonight was all about business. He’d scored a hundred E’s from Buddha and
reckoned he could double his money if he could flog them to the poseurs in the
clubs up town. That’s why he was in The Americana collaring likely looking
punters with his pharmaceutical hustle.
“...two for a score – three for a pony. Cannae sae fairer than
that; ye’ll no get a deal like that anywhere else. These are bona fide MDMA –
nane o’ that disco biscuit shite. See the dove? Badge of quality that...”
Johnny
spotted Lucky from across the room and wondered just who the fuck let that
prick in. He had a strict no scruffs, no junkies policy. When Johnny got close
enough to witness Gordon’s hustle his fate was sealed. No-one else sold drugs
on Johnny’s patch and that rule was etched in blood.
“You’re a long way from home wee man” sneered
Johnny.
“I’m just – you know – clubbin” stammered Lucky.
“You’re selling’ drugs in my club.”
“Naw ahm just...”
“You’re just leaving – so fuck off - get out and don’t ever come
back.”
“C’mon man it’s nice to be nice an that.”
“Aye, you can discuss the niceties with my colleagues – outside.”
Johnny
nodded to the two tuxedoed gorillas now flanking Lucky and as they dragged him
off he said;
“Make sure he gets the message.”
They
did. Poor Lucky’s attempts to defend himself were pathetic, but he created
enough of a commotion to attract a crowd which meant he only got a cursory
hiding. Instead the two bouncers relieved him of his cash and the remaining
ecstasy tablets. He staggered homeward cursing his misfortune; nothing ever
went his way. He wished that just once he could come out ahead and he wished
those bouncers had left him with a fiver so he could get a hit to kill his
pain.
*****
Elsie
the barmaid collected the empty glasses as noisily as she could while she cast
a jaded eye over Belle and Angel. They were nice boys – regulars, but they were
throwing their lives away on that junk. She had implored them on many occasions
not to come to the Bon Accord when they were under the influence, but her
entreaties had fallen on deaf ears.
“Here you wake up! No gouching in my pub – either get it together
or get off home!”
“Just resting our eyes Elsie - it’s been a long day” replied
Angel.
“Well you can just get aff hame for a nice kip boys”
“Can we finish our drinks Elsie?”
“Aye, but try to stay awake – you’re making the place look untidy”
Elsie
was alright – she wasn’t going to throw them out; half her clientele was into
drugs in one form or another – there was a great deal of laissez faire at the
Bon Accord as long as you didn’t attract too much attention to yourself. The
boys sipped their pints and pulled themselves together. Belle was looking past
Angel’s shoulder at something which made him smile.
“Don’t look now, but we’ve picked up a bit of trade.”
Angel
twisted around in his chair and saw a handsome young blonde guy smiling across
at them. He shrugged and returned to his pint.
“I’m not interested Belle. All I want to do now is go home, have a
hit and go to bed.”
“You’re no fun. Look at him – he’s a doll. How can you turn him
away?”
The
handsome young blonde rose from his table and joined the boys – he seemed more
than a little nervous.
“Can I buy you a pint lads?”
“No thanks, we were just leaving” replied
Angel.
“Cheers mine’s a lager” chimed Belle.
Angel
rolled his eyes and nodded his reluctant assent mumbling “Same
here”. Belle checked out the handsome young blonde’s arse as he made
his way to the bar. Angel just glared at him. He was convinced Belle just did
these things to piss him off.
“He’s cute” remarked Belle.
“He could be riddled with the pox for all you know.” replied
Angel.
“So could you” scoffed Belle, “for all I
know.”
Blondie
– as Belle had dubbed him – returned with three pints of lager and introduced
himself.
“I’m Mike. I just moved into the area and thought I’d try out the
local.”
Belle
made the introductions, Angel was less cordial. He and Belle had argued for
months about picking up trade. Things being the way they were it wasn’t safe to
bring home strangers. Casual sex was like Russian roulette, but Belle wouldn’t
listen. The next few minutes passed in stilted conversation and awkward
silences. Finally Mike just came out with what was on his mind. It was not, as
Belle had supposed, casual sex.
“I was wondering if you guys could help me out. Like I say I’m new
to the area and haven’t established any contacts. I was wondering if you could
get me any gear.”
“Gear?” inquired Belle “What do you mean by
gear?”
“You know - skag, smack, kit” replied
Mike helpfully.
“I don’t know what you mean officer.” Belle’s
bonhomie had turned to hostility.
“I’m not a policeman. I’m just a punter looking to score.”
Blondie
was new to the neighbourhood – that much was true. He’d been seconded from
Stirling’s serious crime unit to Lothian drug squad. Since his was a new face
in town his superiors had planted him in a notorious drug den with a wad of
notes and a flimsy cover story to see who he could hook. The boys started talking
in raised voices. “No officer Dibble we don’t know anybody with any
drugs!”
Blondie
sloped off back to his table red faced while he thought out his next move. His
first undercover operation had proved a wash out. He had just decided to call
it a night and join his sergeant in his unmarked car when Lucky walked in.
*****
“That cunt you’re drinking with is a fed” said
Belle.
“Naw, he’s new tae the neighbourhood is awe” replied
Lucky.
“He’s DS for sure numb nuts – he was at us tae score fur him”.
“I know – he telt me, but he’s okay. I was in the jail wi him.
He’s brand new”
Belle
walked away shaking his head. You just can’t tell some people, they have to
learn for themselves. He and Angel decided to split as they were both carrying
dime bags. They did not see events unfold – despite being curious about the
outcome. They would know soon enough – everyone would know.
Lucky
thought his bad fortune had changed for once. He went to the Bonny hoping to
scrounge a drink from somewhere and had bumped into Mike. Nice guy Mike, he’d
bought him a couple of pints and now he was on a promise of a piece of the two
grams they were about to score from Raymond. That wee faggot Belle and his
paranoia; Mike was a regular guy – just out of jail and needing a hit. Lucky knew
what that was like – out of jail wi nae cunt talking tae ye. He dialled Ray’s
number and waited on the pips.
“....Aye, he’s brand new – I knew him in the jail. He’s looking
fur a couple of gram. Aye, ah know him – sound cunt – just got out and looking tae
score. He says it would be a regular thing coz ‘es goat a couple of mates...”
As
soon as Ray clocked Blondie he knew that he was no jailbird. He looked more
like he was fresh out of seminary school than jail. Ray smelled bacon but was
too slow in calling to Moira to close the door; a scrum of police officers
piled in ordering everyone to stay where they were.
“Where’s your search warrant?” demanded Ray.
“We don’t need one” answered Sergeant
Holden, “Moira here let us in and the drugs are in plain sight – so you
are nicked sunshine.”
Once
in the police station Ray bottled it. His brief informed him the bust was legal
because they had in fact invited a police officer into their home. He was told
he was looking at ten years for possession and intent to supply. Ray did the
only thing he could do – he blamed it on his wife. It was Moira who ran the
operation and he was a passive agent who went along with the situation because
it was her house. He gave the details of her supplier and every other dealer he
could think of which resulted in half a dozen more successful busts. He even
went Queen’s evidence and stood in the dock denouncing Moira, mother of his
children, as a heroin dealer while painting himself as a hapless victim. Moira
got six years and Ray got relocation under the witness protection program.
Gordon
had tried to make a deal, but the cops just laughed at him. He was small fry
who knew too little about anything to be of any use to them. He got eighteen
months for conspiracy to distribute a controlled substance – his lawyer told
him he was lucky.
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