Bone Men

We all go out to harvest bones in the wilderness. It’s a world away from titties and beer, but it puts meat on the table and that’s what sifts the men from the boys. Bone men deal in certainties as sure as sorrow is a distillation of pain in the brain pan. Down back of the beyond we know the lost spaces like the backs of our hands. So dummy up and listen close while we tell you the best places a man can write his name large in the firmament; be it the name your mother gave you, or the name the world gave you, or the name you stole and made your own. You never know with these things – just where you come from – or where you go, but you know where you are and that’s enough to swallow in a single sitting. So all things being equal under a sorry sky – if you have the art and the reach to gather stars – you just might leave a mark; which is more than you have a right to.

.

Lynching

my head  hurt    like a long loud scream    she hit a vein right away    the black wind blew    the relief was palpable    some men prefer    love on their haunches     I just steam on in     all suited up    the man of reason     a man with guile

I ply my trade     with ruthless charm     anticipating all objections    to the angles of my craft     it's catch as catch can     and I’m ready for a fight     but I never underestimate    the sincerity of a lynch mob    they have a job to do    and so do I

Johnny Friendly

It was Easter Sunday and the city was dead. It looked like the resurrection had been cancelled for another year. Still, the off licences were still open – so it wasn’t a dead loss. I was at my mate Johnny’s enjoying his fine Indian dope and copious quantities of chai. I enjoyed our wee tea parties. The conversation was as good as the dope – he was a very bright young man and had had a decent education. There were so few people I could have a stimulating conversation with, so I made a point of staying in contact with Johnny on a regular basis.

Johnny wiznae always the hardnosed businessman everybody came tae loathe. He was once a sweet kid who dealt quality hash at decent prices. He was an affable young guy who seemed to get on wi everybody – hence the moniker Johnny Friendly. Like ‘On The Waterfront’ – only this wiznae ironic, but true – he was a friendly young dude with a gentle nature. When he changed, who can say, it was a gradual thing, but back in the day he was already shaping up tae be a top dealer. He got the hang of things at an early age – principally because he had an excellent teacher – i.e., yours truly.

“Never tell no cunt yer business, you tell ‘em nothing. Who you score from – what you pay, who yer customers are – nothing.”

“Well I know that – it’s obvious.”

“Aye, it’s obvious, but it’s a hard thing to do. Most people have nae secrets, they blab everything about themselves tae any bugger who’ll listen – which is only natural. You on the other hand have secrets and they have to stay secrets or your business is fucked.”

“I’ve been keeping secrets since I was fifteen and got into this racket, I’m okay with secrets believe me.”

“You have an excellent set up here John Boy. Two entrances secluded from the street – an intercom at the door – well sweet bro, you got that sussed. I like the way you deal wi yer punters too – that ‘special rates fur special mates’ shtick; you should tell that tae all yer customers.”

“You are getting a special rate Buddha and I do count ye as a mate.”

“I appreciate that Johnny, but ye cannae do that too often – or ye’ll price yersel out o business in nae time at all. Look, every punter wants tae feel that they have a special relationship wi their dealer. It’s only natural. The trick is making them all feel that way without cutting into yer profits. Ask yersel whit happens when Peter finds out that Paul is getting a better price than he is?”

“I guess he would feel cheated.”

“Exactly, and he’d grow resentful. So ye tell them all that they are on a special rate and ye charge them all the same. By the way – I don’t charge you full whack either – just so ye know. There are special mates, but they are few and far between. You’ll find that you can only have those relationships with people who don’t need you.” 

“You mean other dealers?”

“People you can deal wi on equal terms. You cannae profit by your friends and remain buddies and that’s the shame of it Johnny; those who were once friends are now beholden to you. They were once yer muckers, but now they are yer punters. It’s a sorry state o’ affairs sometimes, but it’s the way of things. The trick is tae cushion that reality wi a wee bit of judicious bullshit – like ‘special deals for special mates’ – see whit I mean? ”

“I don’t know Buddha; most of my customers are my friends.” 

“Everybody needs friends Johnny, but yer punters are not yer friends, not any more. Believe me when push comes tae shove half o’ them would daub you in tae save themselves. It’s only natural.”

“You’ve got a pretty jaded way of looking at things Buddha; I’ve known some of my punters since we were at school together. I can’t imagine that they would turn grass on me.”

“In a fuckin’ flash Johnny. Like Marley says – ‘Only yer friends know yer secrets – so only they could reveal them.’ People change when they are scared and they think about number one and number one only.”

“What do you do when somebody defaults oan their tick?”

“Buy a baseball bat and quit being Johnny Friendly, and start being Johnny nasty.”

“Johnny Friendly?”

“That’s what they call you – Johnny Friendly.”

“I don’t know if I like that.”

“It’s better than John Boy.”

“Aye, but you’re the only cunt that calls me that.”

“That’s my privilege Johnny – ah knew ye first.”

“I mean it Buddha – there’s this one cunt who is in to me fur a bar and he will not pay – it’s always next week, next week.”

“Sell him on.”

“What?”

“Tell Psycho Peter yer problem and he’ll collect yer money for a percentage of the debt – all above board and regular. One look at Psycho’s face and they’ll be falling over themselves to pay.”

“He won’t hurt them will he?”

“Not usually – if a troupe of Hells Angels turned up at your door – what would you do?”

“Shit myself.”

“Exactly.”

“Could you ask him?”

“No, you’ll ask him. I’ll send him round, but word to the wise – don’t get too involved with Peter and his biker chums – they are the hard edge; those fuckers take no prisoners.”

“I’ll bear that in mind Buddha – I like to keep things friendly – the hard man approach doesn’t suite my temperament – I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

I believed that to be true, but time changes people and boy did Johnny change. Once upon a time he was barely interested in profit – he just enjoyed the lifestyle and the crack. Later Johnny would become the biggest gangster in the city – not that I ever heard of Johnny actually hitting anybody – Psycho Peter, or one of his minions, would do that for him. Poor Johnny – he had no friends, only associates and customers. Still. that was his choice and it had been laid out for him to choose just what direction he would go in, but I wonder sometimes if he was ever really listening to me, or if he only heard what he wanted to.

.

Unleashed

 

That cunt’s been let off his lead. He got his divorce papers last week and now he’s suited, booted and off up the toon on the razzle. I wish ah wiz in his shoes – no that I want tae split wi the misses like – ah’d jist want one night o’ freedom tae recapture the youth I never had. 

I missed out on the sexual revolution – there wiz nae sexual revolution where I stayed; if ye goat a lassie up the duff ye were fucked fur life. I widnae change a thing mind you, but every now and then a man gets tae thinking about excitement, adventure an that. 

See these birds noo they are up fur it just as much as we are. Wiznae like that in my day; ye were a whore if ye went wi a man out of wedlock. We all did it and we a’ goat caught tae. Back then nae decent lassie went oan the pill so we were stuck wi rubber johnnies; it was like making love in a wet suit. It was Russian roulette if ye went without though, but everybody did; the majority of new brides had a bun in the oven. I doubt there’s been a virgin bride round here since nineteen sixty three.

I wonder where he’s goan. I huvnae been up the toon since a goat married. It’s all changed though – it’s all clubs instead eh pubs. They say the place is hoachin wi fanny just ripe for the asking. I widnae know where tae start it’s been that long. They say he’s a ladies’ man and that he never let his wife get in the way of a gid time; that’ll be why he’s single now. I could never dae that – cheat oan the wife ah mean. It wid crush her if I wiz tae dae that. Aye he cuts a fine figure in his brand new suit. I reckon the bastard fancies himself – big heeded prick. Come tae think of it – ah never did like the cunt in the first place.

.

The Doctor

In that shabby Northern suburbia tired yet baleful concrete tenements glowered down on deserted streets during the daytime and the place seemed as if it were long ago abandoned by man. It was only during the night that the scheme came to life; when troops of cocaine fuelled primates filled the air with tribal war cries and furtive indigent lepers went about their business on the sly.

“Get away from my door son. You’ve had enough for one night.”

“C’mon Doc – jist a fiver bag. I’ve goat the cash, see?”

“You’ll be needing a hit in the morning – come back then. I’ll no be held responsible if you have any more the night.”

“In the mornin’ then?”

“Aye, first thing – the usual time.”

Doc closed the door and let out a sigh. Greed was a symptom of the disease – no junkie could ever get enough and he was no exception. Still, it didn’t pay to have customers overdose on you and sometimes accidents brought policemen to your door. He didn’t often turn customers away, but when he did he had good reasons. Just this afternoon he had refused young Jimmy Lyons who was on a course of methadone and hadn’t had a hit for over a month. There was no way Doc was going to help him scupper his chances by turning him on again – there were plenty of other dealers he could turn to; he wanted no part of it. It was the ones like Jimmy with families he felt the most pity for – the kids suffered for the weaknesses of their parents.  

Doc retired to the comfort of his armchair, he rarely went to bed, preferring instead to gouch in his chair until the sun came up. He prepared his final injection of the day and sighed once more as the precious medicine oozed through his body and he sloughed off the weight of countless decades. Tomorrow was a big day for him – pension day. He’d venture out to get some grub in and maybe take a wee trip to the library for a book or two. That would be a pleasant adventure – a wee recce around the Athens of the north to return victorious with the gift of literature in his hand.

------

When I heard that The Doctor was dead I naturally assumed that he had over done, but it transpired that Finney and his razor boys did for him. He was an evil wee bastard that Finney, as was his father before him. He had been exercising a vicious form of alchemy in an attempt to synthesise his old man, but had never borne comparison to that wicked auld cunt. In the eyes of most people he was still auld Finn’s laddie and a pale imitation of the original.

“They stuck him like a pig right outside the post office Johnny. Young Finney was screamin’ like a banshee and auld Doc was begging fur mercy like.”

Psycho Peter filled me in with all the gory details and they painted a sorry scene. Doc, the oldest junkie in the town, had gone to the post office to collect his pension where he was ambushed by Finney and his boys. They stabbed the poor old bastard multiple times before eventually cutting his throat and letting him bleed out halal style. Finney then proclaimed that this was the fate that awaited any junk dealers caught on his patch.  

There was a hierarchy of drug usage out there in the schemes which placed cocaine at the top and heroin at the bottom. Everyone looked down on junkies – even the alkies looked down on junkies and no-one cared much what happened to them. Hell, even I looked down on junkies and they made me a comfortable living. The schemes were awash with smack and coke and I had my fingers in both pies; cannabis was everywhere – it was a staple – not a luxury, but there was no money in cannabis.

It was open season on junkies out there and they were being beaten in regular attacks which went largely unreported, not even the cops cared about junkies. This though was murder in broad daylight and would be sure to attract the full attentions of the local plod.

“What about the polis?”

“The usual – naebody saw nuthin’”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Everybody’s too scared of Finney tae grass, besides there’s a lot would pin a medal oan him fur what he done, folk say they are sick o finding needles everywhere and seeing junkies dossin oan the street.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Naw, and I’ve been telt that Finney’s boys collect the needles fae shootin’ galleries an’ redistributes them in public places – like schools and parks – so as tae wind up the locals.”

“So that he can play the vigilante hero with the blessings of the plebeians no doubt.”

Peter cast me a funny look, but said nothing. It was obvious that Finney was out to consolidate his grip over his own neighbourhood at the expense of the hapless junkies, but he was miscalculating the impact he might have on the businesses of other interested parties.

“Have a word with Finney would you Peter?”

“Do you think he needs discouraging?”

“I think he needs enlightening. Killings are bad for business and will not be tolerated. Roughing up junkies is one thing, but hassling the wrong dealers will only bring him into conflict with the wrong people. He can play at gangsters ‘till his heart is content, but if it costs one penny from my pocket I’ll see he suffers, so he’d better make sure he only hassles the right dealers.” 

We could use Finney’s predilections to our benefit – he could help rid us of the competition at grass roots level. We only had fifty percent saturation in some of the schemes – we could, ironically enough, use the hatred of junkies to sell more product. If we played our cards right by duplicating Finney’s efforts across the schemes we could corner the market for ourselves. I was saddened by the death of old Doc, but reflected that his untimely demise might not have been in vain. I made a note to send a wreath, just to pay my respects. He wasn’t such a bad auld cunt – for a junkie.