Free Glue by Irvine Welsh Page B

freak. Fifteen, that? No way. Thir’s a golden rule in the scheme: ye go up against Doyle, n ye go up against Gentleman. And doesn’t that wanker Dozo Doyle ken it n aw.
    Brian Doyle, the cousin, went wi Gentleman doon tae see Pender durin the day, droppin oaf this white Transit van. The auld boy gied them a tour ay the site, pointing oot whaire the dugs patrolled and showin them where the huge rolled bales ay copper wire were stacked.
    Wi met up the Busy. Brian Doyle seemed an awright gadge. Eh wis aulder thin us, but even he still seemed a bit wary ay ehs younger cousin. Eh warned us that thir wis a loat ay weight in the wire bales and that we’d be lucky tae get away wi two in the van.
    Pender, suckin oan this Ventolin inhaler, wis a fat, unfit-lookin auld boy. Eh seemed awfay nervous, especially aboot the dugs. He never went into the grounds, never came intae direct contact wi them. His car was parked ootside the office, and eh came in through that wey. Eh could hear thum ootside though. Sometimes one ay them jumped up at the windae and shit him up when the perr cunt was trying tae watch ehs telly. — Magnificent specimen, eh said tae Gentleman, but then eh went, — evil bastard but.
    The other cunt involved wis a boy called McMurray, but everybody kent him as Polmont, cause eh’d been in the approved school thair. Thir wis something funny aboot that radgeworks. Eh’d been at oor school once and tried tae git wide wi a wee mate ay mine called Arthur Breslin. Wee Arthur was a good gadge, harmless like. Ah pilled up this Polmont boy n eh shat it. This wis yonks ago, back in first year, but these things stick wi ye.
    So me, Dozo Doyle, Terry n this Polmont cunt went doon tae Granton later that night tae check oot how we were gaunny git in. Wehung roond the chippy doon thaire, the Jubilee. We stood at the bus stoap, eatin oor chips, lookin intae the groonds the factory stood in.
    Ah didnae like the look ay the big sign in the groonds. It hud the darkened outline ay an Alsatian’s heid wi the notice:
    SECURICOR WARNING:
GUARD DOGS PATROL THESE PREMISES
    — That fence looks fuckin high, Terry said. — N thir’s they hooses opposite. Some nosey cunt’s bound tae see us. Aw they auld-aged pensioners that cannae git tae sleep.
    — Aye, ah ken, that’s how wir no gaun ower it, wir gaun through it, Dozo Doyle goes, eatin ehs fish n clockin a couple ay boys that went intae the chippy.
    Me n Terry wir aw ears.
    — Ah’ve goat they big, industrial wire cutters, they’d go right through that. Eh ran ehs hand along the fence. — Thir huge cunts, they snap the big padlock chains. Ye need tae yaze baith airms, he smiled, demonstratin for us.
    Ah wisnae sure aboot that brutal wanker at aw, but it’s a bit ay a laugh though, eh. Something tae dae that isnae too borin.
    — Aye, we cut it just here, eh went, pointin tae a section ay the fence. — This cunt, eh said, punchin the grey, aluminium bus shelter, — keeps us covered fae the hooses and fae any passin motors. Then we deal wi dugs, brek intae the office n tie up Pender. Thir might even be the wee bonus ay a cash boax thair. Ah ken eh sais thir isnae but ah dinnae believe the auld fucker. Eftir that, we load the copper wire intae the van. We cut oor wey oot the bottom gate, through the padlock chain, n drive oot through the front. The other watchies oan the estate might see a van leavin, but that could jist be another watchman finishin: no as suspicious as a van gaun
in
. It’s pish-easy.
    — We’ll no aw git intae the van but, Terry said.
    Doyle looked at Terry like eh wis a bit slow. Ah mind ay thinkin that Terry widnae take that fae anybody else. — Marty kin drive as well as Bri, eh sais, aw impatient, like eh wis explainin tae a bairn. — We git a second van, a wee yin, n leave it parked ower thair, eh nodded, taewards they other parked cars. — Then we meet up wi the rest ay thum oot at the beach in Gullane.
    Ah looks at Terry, but waits for him tae say