Free A Decent Ride by Irvine Welsh Page B

she’s gittin oot her coat, n pillin oaf her jumper! She’s sittin thaire in a black bra. — Go ahead, pull up, do what the fuck you like!
    N ah does that awright, headin oaf that slip road jist before the bridge tollbooth comes intae view. The howlin wind is that strong that ah kin barely move the door at first, but wi a ride in the back, it could be oan its side, n buried in an avalanche, n ah’d still be able tae fuckin well open it. — Fasten yir seat belt, hen, ah shouts tae her, — cause we could be in for some awfay bumpy rumpy-pumpy!

11

IN GOD WE TRUST – PART 1
    GRACIOUS LORD, ETERNAL saviour, I am so, so sorry, for I know I have sinned against your profligate wastrels! Lord, I accept that in your infinite wisdom you saw fit to create those beings too, just as you did the cockroach and house fly. As your servant it is not for me to question your unfathomable mysteries. But my comments in
Time
magazine about those unfortunate Negroes were twisted and taken out of context by the liberal media! I was asked a question about government spending and I simply said that the citizens of New Orleans were feeling your wrath, and that President George Bush was correct to butt out of this one, and let your judgement hold sway.
    Was that not the right thing to say?
    I now worry that perhaps I’ve wronged you, and now you’ve brought this hurricane, here to Scotland, to punish me for my mortal folly in daring to interpret your mysterious ways!
    Spare me, Lord!
    I drop the Bible back on to the nightstand, hoping to hell that He’s listening to me. Sometimes He does, as in the Broward County development in Florida, while other times my pleas seem to fall on deaf ears, the Sacramento mall debacle being a case in point.
    I feel my spine shake as I raise myself up out of this bed, on to my elbows, to get another shot of Skatch. Mindful of that physician prick in New York’s words, I’m sitting up to minimise the reflux reaction, and feel that golden elixir sliding down, slowly fusing through me and warming up my core. But even with its comfort, I can’t stay in this goddamn hotel room, listening to those howling winds rattling the windows. It’s like freakin 9/11, you expect a terrorist plane to come crashing in here, maybe to take out the railroad station! But this is Skatlin, so who damn well cares?
    No, sorry, almighty Father, they are human beings too.
    The window rattles again, and this time I swear I can see it bellying in. Those cheap-ass wooden frames! I grab the phone and call the desk. — This motherfucker is gonna blow! What are the evacuation plans? How the hell do we get outta here?!
    — Please calm down, sir, and try to relax. Would you care for anything from room service?
    — Fuck your room service in the ass! We got ourselves an emergency situation here! How the hell can you guys be so goddamn complacent?!
    — Sir, please try to calm yourself!
    — Fuck you! Asshole! I slam the phone down on the cradle.
    I pick up the bottle of Skatch and refill my glass. That Highland Park eighteen-year-old malt sure goes down smooth. The hotel staff don’t give a goddamn shit . . . I pick up my cell, but I still can’t get a signal for Mortimer. That asshole is
so
fucking fired! But God willing, if I’m spared to survive this ordeal, I will tell him straight to his face just
how
fucking fired he is!
    Another savage rattle on the window; this goddamn hurricane is closing in, finding its strength. Edinboro is by the sea. That castle, that’s where the high ground is, that’s where I gotta be! I’ll bet that Salmond guy – Jesus, even the politicians are out of shape here – and all those assholes are up there right now, drinking the best Skatch, gorging themselves on sheep’s intestines, safe and secure from this fucking apocalypse! I grab the phone again and get an outside line. They don’t even have 911 here, it’s all this 999 shit. Which is like 666 upside down! It’s a goddamn message! I can