Free Filth by Irvine Welsh Page A

real uni when they see it and this fuckin place for trainee basket-weavers in no way fits the bill. Same rules. There’s a decent bakery here and I radio in and tell them that the traffic’s scandalous and I’ll see them when I do.
    When I finally make it in, I start going through the papers on the Wurie case. I’m interrupted by a call from Gus Bain who’s up in records. If I didnae ken that bastard better, I’d say that he was sniffing roond the big blonde piece up there n aw. But he’s been married tae the same auld boot for seventy thousand light years, the churchy auld cunt.
    – Bruce. Gus here. Have you opened your internal mail yit? A wee present fae the funny felly up the stair.
    I rip open one of the pile of sealed envelopes in my in-tray, the one with the Nid’s name on it.
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INTERNAL MEMO
To: D.S.s Gillman, Stark, Robertson, Mclnally, Thomas, Inglis, Clelland, Noble, Phillips, Lennox and Bain
From: Chief Superintendent Niddrie.
Date: 3rd December 1997.
Re: Equal Opportunities Module: Racism Awareness.
The course tutors have brought to our attention cases of inappropriate attitudes and behaviour on the course of which you were a member. With this in mind it is intended to hold a series of individual debriefing sessions with course members, the tutors and members of the core team of which myself and Deputy Chief Constable Mathieson are members.
With this in mind, please report to my office on Friday, 4th December at 2.15 p.m., the scheduled time for your debriefing.
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    I’m sitting digesting it, and snapping open another Kit Kat when Inglis and Gillman come in moaning.
    – That’s the fuckin morn, Gillman snorts. – What kind ay notice is that?
    Niddrie must be getting his heid nipped by the top brass. This case isn’t going to go away, more’s the pity. The boys are girning away about it and old Gus has arrived. The auld boy’s fairly up for stirring it as well.
    – Well, ah’ll tell ye something, he’s saying, – ah’m no gaun up thair withoot a Fed rep. That’s you, he smiles, looking at me.
    It’s patently obvious that the sorry old goat is trying to get me to wind up Niddrie and Toal and bomb myself right out of the promo race. He’s such a predictable old fuck. It makes sense to humour him.
    – Too fuckin right Gus! What the fuck is this shite? Ah’m straight ontae the blower tae Niddrie. You get roond the rest ay the guys. Tell them: say fuck all withoot a Fed rep. This is a fuckin disciplinary fit up. These cunts are looking tae make one ay us an example just because the papers and they mealy-moothed cunts are kickin up shite about this deid silvery moon.
    – Right, Gus says.
    I sit down and compose myself. I then phone this Marshall guy from the Multicultural Forum on Coon Rights or whatever they call it, the cunt that’s been hassling me. – Hello Mr Marshall? D.S. Robertson here.
    – I’ve been trying to get you for ages to arrange a meeting . . .
    – Yes, it seems we’ve been a bit like ships in the night. Two o’clock tomorrow okay for you?
    – Yes, that’s fine. Shall I come to your office?
    – No, not at all, I’ve kept you waiting, I’ll come down to you, I tell him.
    I put the phone down, a satisfying glow coming over me. I then bell Niddrie as I catch Gus’s attention. I gesture at him to put the kettle on.
    – D.S. Robertson here. Re your memo. That date you’re giving me, it’s not convenient, I tell Niddrie. – I’ve made an appointment for that time and I can’t get out of it.
    – Cancel it. This takes precedence, Niddrie sharply informs me. Niddrie hates me calling him direct. Everything should go through Toal. Niddrie believes in the strict hierarchical division of the organisation’s reporting structure. The chain of command. He gives newcomers to our division the old ‘my door is always open’ bullshit, but woe betide the cunts if they ever get daft enough tae try walking through it.
    It would be pleasurable to fuck Niddrie about without