THE IMAGES

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 8TH 1976
ELSEWHERE : NIGHT
The night rested heavily on the deserted dump, splinters of light from the half moon spawned shadows that were scattered across an indefinable wasteland. Hills and dales rose and fell wildly, plants, trees and shrubs mutating in the glow of unnatural illumination. An alien landscape inhabited by a strange tribe of wide-eyed aborigines, foraging. Each and every tiny sound carried for what seemed like miles, splintering and echoing back in sparse fragments. The sheer silence of the night pervaded everything and there was nothing escaping it. The huge silver river swirled noisily, lapping against and occasionally swamping the edge of the tip. In the distance hills rose steeply, covered in a heavy growth of trees and foliage - the defensive walls of urbania. The human octopus struggled forward slowly and quietly.
Foetid pools lay scattered throughout the bizarre landscape and rubbish reigned rampant - unchallenged by man. Other creatures watched, shifting cautiously as they sought sustenance. Cold night air swirled around blowing papers and trash uncontrollably, the remnants of city life oozing its last remaining life force in methane and sulphur. Damaged cars abandoned and unwanted, fractured televisions gazing cyclopic and cracked, abandoned fridges and used cookers with their doors hanging like lolling tongues were the predominant life form in a world of junk and objects which had long outlived their usefulness and surrendered any commercial value. The mutant octopus squirmed forward bit by bit, fragmenting and expanding but always watchfully curious. It was late but there were few scavengers by the riverside. The sky was cloudless and the stars lay naked, flickering and wriggling in their astral rituals, they too having to follow patterns.
Passing the little stone shack the multiheaded creature drifted on, almost aimlessly. Inside nothing stirred and the bolted door held little interest to the wanderers. Dave’s black leather jacket reflected the light of the moon and the lights from across the river in miniscule dull glints. Rosser pushed the metal tube through the window of the hut, glass smashing and falling to the ground quickly in a radiance of sparkles that made a resounding symphony of tinkling echoes. He smiled at the pleasing effect and broke another window simply to hear it all happen again then, with disinterest, simply discarded the metal pole.
Mhic stood by the river’s edge, gazing out to the shimmering lights on the other side as he tossed small stones and rocks into the reflective water, each one plinking and splashing methodically with varying pitches and tones. The sounds of the other side drifted across to them as they distractedly walked along the shoreline, the noises of late night suburbia. It was Harris who saw the shabby grey car first, breaking into a half run to inspect it as though it were an undiscovered treasure they had inexplicably fallen upon. The old Morris Traveller's headlights stared up at him like blinded, wounded eyes that for the briefest of moments seemed near human. The bonnet and therefore the engine was still a little warm. It looked a complete ramshackle held together more by paint than bonding cohesion and he vaguely assumed it had been dumped like dozens of others around this wasteland. The half brick bore no resemblance to itself in the thrall of the moonlight as it lingered in the air, paused briefly as it hit the windscreen, then broke straight through, fragmenting the window like thin ice. All of the others responded with a strange, trance like reaction as if hypnotised, programmed and eventually responding. The sound of breaking glass exploded into the night like thunder in the silence. Bill grinned wickedly and kicked in the lights happily, booting again and again as Macklin stuck the knife repeatedly into the near bald tyres like a youthful Norman Bates.
Storey's leather gloved hand followed the next brick through the side window and removed the keys which still lay in the ignition before he wandered round the car trying to find anything he could use on his own, yet to be possessed, crippled vehicle. Clearly no one had discovered the old car yet and it was still intact from the thieves who were everywhere. He spotted the undamaged wing mirrors and curiously reached towards them just narrowly missing the metal bar which ripped the chrome reflective units and a fair portion of the rotten wing from the vehicle. Like an incandescent fire, Storey's eyes blazed vainly at Harris, infuriated but ultimately frustrated. The battered car surrendered to its' punishment in silence, reeling on its' suspension as the assault continued – bricks, metal bars, gloved fists and boots rendered it beyond any use. In the moonlight their faces betrayed their infantile joy with their night game but no words came from any of them, the only sound which manifested came from the grey vehicle. They were uncertain who had undertaken the next manoeveur of destruction but suddenly a light exploded and the hungry flame eagerly leapt inside the old car to settle within the torn upholstery and genuine leather which had probably served its many owners well. As one, the five stood transfixed by the flickering light as it grew in intensity and radiance like infatuated children of the damned with a new toy. As the flames took a real hold on the vehicle they merely turned away, slithering into the distance slowly preceded by their arson illuminated shadows. By the time the explosion came the little car was only a dim memory in the long forgotten past.

THE HILTON HOTEL – AMSTERDAM
It was almost midnight as the two men entered the opulent foyer of the hotel, pausing briefly to exchange a few whispered words before making their way to the plush lounge which was sparsely populated.
The other two men were already sitting in a booth far away from the window, rising as they saw the others arrive.
The tall, heavily built, black man carrying a little attaché case walked a pace or two behind the balding, overweight man in an expensive pin striped suit. The elegant man standing by the booth was about forty, slim, dressed in a dark grey suit and crisp, open necked shirt whilst his associate was a younger, powerful looking creature dressed in a more casual suit and dark jumper.
“Thees,” the grey suit said as he extended his hand to the fat man, “so good to see you again!”
“Michael, it is a pleasure once more.” came the reply in well spoken but accented English. “Let’s be seated, shall we?”
The two men sat down whilst their associate counterparts eyed each other with guarded suspicion.
“Shall I wait here, Mr Van Ledder?” the black man asked.
The fat man looked over the table to Michael. “Perhaps our colleagues could have a friendly drink at the bar, do you think?”
The grey suit nodded with a little smile, merely waving his own associate off. The two underlings retired to the bar a little distance away before taking a seat, ordering a drink and then maintaining a watch on proceedings from a distance.
“Well, Thees, I’m sorry to meet so late but business in Spain dragged on longer than I had anticipated!”
The fat man smiled and waved his hand aloft in a dismissive gesture. “It is no problem, Amsterdam is a twenty four hour city and so is our business. So, we continue our partnership and proceed with the next consignment on the twenty fourth?”
Michael paused briefly as if reflecting on something. “I would be most happy to do so, Thees, but not at a fifteen percent increase in costs!”
“Oh, Mr Johnstone, it’s a changing world and nothing stands still… prices rise, overheads grow – these things happen from time to time! I am sure you can easily recoup such a minor cost on your customers.”
Michael poured champagne into the two glasses and pushed one across the table before he replied. “Ten per cent, no more – my costs and overheads are also growing in this changing world!”
“Surely you wouldn’t have my family go hungry, Michael?”
The two men laughed a little as their associates sat watching proceedings in total silence.
“Ten per cent, Thees. We’ve done a lot of business and it would be silly to jeopardise such a fruitful association over greed.”
“Greed? No! Merely costs. Let me explain… If you were dealing with another supplier, say for speaking’s sake, Alderr Guttman then you would be paying about thirty per cent more right now! Surely you know this?”
“But I’m dealing with you, Thees, not Guttman and if I were I would tell him the same – ten per cent and no more!”
The fat man sipped at his glass and mused. “Maybe if you were prepared to expand your, how would you say… perimeters? Perameters, yes, to branch out into some of the other products we are currently supplying… then perhaps we could negotiate a little.”
Johnstone stared the other man in the eyes, “No! I have people to answer to just as you do. In the future, perhaps, but for now our structure is quite expansive enough!”
The other man rolled his head, his double chin rippling like a shock wave. “We must all move on and grow, with no movement comes stagnation and we are all working in a competitive market. In America many organisations are beginning to look at Columbia’s exports as the way of the future and so, we too in Europe must also look to tomorrow. I am sure your people have looked at this issue.”
“Yes and at the moment we don’t need to explore that market, it is expensive and quite small.”
“But for how long?”
“Then that is the point we shall reassess the situation. Thees, you’re a gambling man are you not?”
“If I wasn’t I would have retired some time ago, so much money lost!”
Johnstone smiled but kept his automatic response to himself. “When an organisation takes bets, where do you think the bulk of their profit comes from? The thousand dollar tickets? The hundred dollar tickets? No! It is the one dollar, the five dollar and the ten dollar tickets because there are so many of them – and it’s the same with our product! The mass market is where swift returns lie. As for the future… well, that’s the future and I’m sure we shall move into this field when market forces indicate a significant demand but for now we will purchase our agreed range and weight to be delivered to the usual destination on the twenty fourth at a ten per cent increase or we will look elsewhere.
Van Ledder sighed and shook his head, “It is fifteen per cent, Michael, fifteen not ten!”
Johnstone sat back and raised his eyebrows and then raised his hands as if to surrender making the fat man smile.
“We have done a lot of business, Thees, and I hope you continue to have success but it will be without our support and finance. Thank you for your time!”
There was a little flash of alarm in Van Ledder’s eyes. Johnstone remained stony faced.
“Michael, Michael, Michael – there is no need for such… reaction. Listen, I have brought a sample of the new product for you!” he replied raising a hand and snapping his fingers to summon the black man over. The two men at the bar rose almost simultaneously and promptly approached. Van Ledder took the case without acknowledging the others presence, opened it and slipped a box of Dutch chocolates in gift wrapping across the table. “This is a substantial sample of the quality and allows you to experiment a little so that you may reconsider the new as well as the old. We have worked together for too long to throw such a productive association away over a tiny five per cent disagreement. Think about it and call me tomorrow evening before you fly out! Perhaps there is a little room for negotiation on both sides?”
Johnstone looked at the box and mused. “Very generous, Thees, but it is most unlikely it will change anything.”
The fat man was rising and grasping the little case, looking down with a casual look.
“Our thousand dollar window is making the need for the five and ten much less important – keep it with my compliments and think about all I have said. It is a pleasure as ever, Michael!”
Johnstone shook the fat man’s hand with a nod.
“It has been good to see you again, Thees!”
With an almost impatient wave the fatman strode past the subordinate black man who once again took the case and followed a pace or two behind.
Johnstone nodded to his subordinate to be seated as he watched the others depart.
“Can you trust someone like that, Mr Johnstone?” the underling asked.
Michael looked at him harshly making his associate begin a visual apology before a raised hand cut it short..
“Listen, Terry, I don’t trust my wife but I’m not getting rid of her.. she serves a purpose and so does Van Ledder. I do the thinking here, that’s why I’m a successful businessman and you’re just a failed boxer!”
“Sorry, Mr Johnstone, I didn’t mean to… overstep my place!”
The man in the grey suit laughed. “Very good, Terry, there’s hope for you yet. You have clearly learned the same lesson I did years ago… tell people what they expect or want to hear and then just do whatever it takes to achieve your goals!”
The other man smiled wryly, grateful he hadn’t made too great an error of judgement.
Johnstone slipped his hand into his jacket and withdrew a handful of notes, placed them on the table and moved them across to Terry. The other did nothing, waiting for instructions.
“Take it, go off and enjoy yourself. Try the Panda Bar, you’ll find some pleasant company there… and if you see our black friend buy him a few drinks, don’t be unfriendly. After all you’re both in the same line of business – maybe see how his side of business is doing. But before you go take the chocolates up to my room. Well? Off you go!”
“Thank you, Mr Johnstone, most generous and I’ll do my best to get a little information.”
The powerful man stood up with a little smile on his face, about to move off as his employer spoke again.
“You do that and make sure you’re back in good shape by noon at the latest, we’re meeting Guttman in the afternoon!”

DANBRAY – INDUSTRIAL ESTATE
The night was cold and the sky fairly clear allowing the half moon to paint the buildings in a ghostly luminescence. The sound of the West Highland night train carried far into the distance, its heavy diesel engine pulsing into the air with a repetitive chunder as it passed straight through Danbray Central. The five figures heard its mechanical echo as they sneaked along the river’s edge and passed the decaying buildings where once upon a time the local workforce built ships of all kinds but were now merely dangerous shells collapsing under the weight of time’s neglect. They could see the faint security night-lights of the Industrial estate which lay on the edge of the town roughly equidistant to the tiny lights of vehicles traversing the A82.
Soon they were at the north western perimeter of the expanding industrial zone, cautiously negotiating their way ahead. The largest occupant was the Council Works Depot where a fleet of vehicles were berthed each evening - lorries, mini buses, vans, breakdown and repair trucks as well as the Cleansing and Engineering fleet. They filled an enormous amount of the fenced enclosure and were dotted in specific parking zones by their parent buildings. When the five youths reached the wire mesh fence it only took a couple of minutes to find where others had penetrated the perimeter before – perhaps to sneak in or perhaps to allow employees to remove property that could be collected later without risking the penalty of dismissal or criminal charges. The security lights were sparse and easy to dodge once they were inside, scattering and setting about their tasks with cans of spray paint in hand. They considered it unlikely that the night watchman would detect their presence – they were all too experienced to be caught out so easily and he was probably fast asleep. Within ten minutes they returned to the fractured fence, laughing and nudging one another with childish delight having completed their recreational task. Once more they set off, moving towards the commercial buildings in the Danbray Industrial Estate, leaving the Council property with their newly sprayed symbols.
There were a host of optional targets for themselves, Tyre Services, Engineering Works, Garages, Plant Hire facilities and the MDK Furniture wholesale outlet were all passed in favour of the Elekrix Electrical Wholesalers complex… it was there they were most likely to find that which they sought. The five slowly and carefully explored the large unit, examining the high barbed wire fence for any vulnerability and access. It took some time but eventually they located a spot where erosion and water pooling had been neglected for so long that the concrete base had crumbled at the point where it should have secured the fencing to itself. Silently they began pulling at the fractured stone, pulling chunks away by hand and digging the more resilient sections away with a small crowbar. It didn’t take too long to clear enough room for the five slim youths to slip under and gain access. The moonlight revealed them like dark shadows as they swiftly ran across to the rear of the main factory, quickly regrouping in a tight, unobtrusive unit pressing themselves hard against the wall.
Immediately one of them began cautiously trying the rear access doors while another inexplicably began to spray the wall in large letters, two others checked the vehicle doors as the last one began to look for the best window access to pry open. Less than five minutes later the thin youth had found a window above the flat roof building where Calor gas bottles were stored, as Health and Safety codes demanded, that was amenable to being forcibly entered. With a hiss he alerted his colleagues to the successful access and they quickly clambered up and in. Six months ago they could never have got away with it, not with the security dogs left to roam freely from evening to dawn but this was stopped when one of the dogs had escaped and attacked a nearby pedestrian. Soon most of the group were running through the administration section, rummaging anywhere that valuables or cash boxes might be while the youth with the crowbar sought access to the main factory where the real target of their intrusion lay – the electrical goods!
One of them found an unlocked cash box in a little office and quickly cleared it of the thirty odd pounds within as another tried to find the key to the safe in the manager’s office but to no avail. Yet another found a larger cashbox that was quite heavy and secured with a cumbersome and resilient padlock that defied penetration and so he simply took the whole box deciding to worry about hacking it open later.
Still desperate for access the youth with the crowbar had located a door to the factory downstairs but it was a large metal firedoor that was not going to capitulate to a little crowbar no matter how long was spent on the task. Silently he rounded the others up, all clutching trivial prizes save for the heavy cashbox… and that might hold some serious cash because Thursday was payday. Back in the office they had originally arrived in, the four found the last member standing by the Gestetner photocopier and the Roneo print duplicator, clutching a large can marked CTC in the midst of prising the top off. Two of them were already exiting through the window as the youth with the can took a deep sniff of the contents and instantly dropped it to splatter all over the floor as the Carbon Tetrachloride fumes burned his nasal passage.
It was sheer coincidental misfortune that one of the other two was in the midst of lighting a cigarette and suddenly illuminating the room when the third turned angrily and tried to suppress the match light but only managed to knock it to the floor where combustion instantly occurred as it contacted the oozing pool of CTC. Like a scene from a film, the fire appeared like a living creature as it rippled across the room at the speed of light and ignited the sodden jeans of the inquisitive youth coughing by the print machines. In seconds the entire office was ablaze and the living flame that was the burning youth was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. There was no possibility of easily putting him out or even getting over to him and so the other two simply rushed to the window trying to push each other aside in their haste.
Tumbling out and falling noisily to the tin roof below they felt panic electrify their limbs whilst behind them the agonised screams and raging fire illuminated the sheer blackness of the yard spotlighting the first two youths already at the fence, burrowing under to escape. In moments the other two were close behind, the youth with the crowbar pausing only to note that the screams had stopped and flames were blasting out the window and creating an artificial daylight that made his blonde hair glow like a halo and suddenly betrayed the handiwork undertaken earlier. It was clear as day to the blonde haired youth, sprayed in big letters on the wall - ‘Young Hill Rule!’ They might as well have signed their own names.

NOTTING HILL - LONDON
The man cast a large shadow down the hallway as he stood at the door, bag in hand. She looked at him sadly with arms folded, he had been a breath of fresh air in her repetitious life mainly because he was so unlike all the others who worked in the various Venture Capital houses. He was tall, about six feet three, well built, black, American and brought trouble with him wherever he went. Lennie was more than casually attractive not merely because he was so well built but he was so gorgeous, all his features were almost model like – not that there were too many successful black models in the land of the ‘WASP’s, equality didn’t run to things like that in the land of the free. Big eyes, big mouth and big hair – all the things she found irresistible and now he was leaving.
Angie was in her mid thirties and a good few years older than he was but it didn’t matter to either of them – she was in good shape and as attractive as she was in her early twenties. Being tall, slim, elegant and well off made her a good match for him… and of course they shared other significant interests. It had taken a while for her to find out what Lennie was really about, in fact they’d been together for over three months before she found that his idea of being an entrepreneur differed vastly from the majority of the rest of the world. None the less, she took it in stride due to his other talents even when things had begun to become socially complicated… in fact that issue was what had led to this departure. Lennie Mann had outworn his welcome with just about everyone except her.
Apparently it had been the same for him back home in Oakland, San Francisco when he and his Angel colleagues had flown close to the wind on one occasion too many forcing him to relocate to New York for a couple of years until there again his ambition had outstripped his ability to stay one step ahead of both sides of the law… and that was how he had fallen into her care. He laid low for almost a year, putting a project together with a man called Savage – a project that reaped substantial rewards on many fronts. But this too generated an undesirable profile for the heavy faces south of the river, forcing a relocation to the clean side of the tracks where, in only six months hustling before they had met, Lennie accrued another host of new contacts, questionable decisions and as much money as she made annually – but all she cared about was him, nothing else!
Lennie smiled at her, she was real cute even in her conservative formal clothes and with her hair all tied up – they’d had a good time over the past year or so, but now it was time for him to go. The sounds of the Stones ‘Goat’s Head Soup’ was still playing out side one as ‘Heartbreaker’ punched the scene with a little extra emotion. It was playing when they met and it was apt that it should play out their parting. Lennie liked little things like that - beginnings and ends being really neat.
“Well, baby, now’s the time!” He said in his strong West Coast accent.
Angie walked towards him sadly, arms still folded.
“You know you could just stay here, with me… forget all the questionables and just be together – being happy!”
The man in the heavy leather jacket, worn jeans and big boots put the military green bag down and pulled her close to him, looking down with a big smile chiselled across his face.
“That’d be good, Ange, but I have to go. London looks big but the people I run with make it a hard place to get lost in. Just now I’m ahead of the game but if I stay then things are gonna get… ‘complicated’ for us all! My life is turning into one big solo trip and I’ve promised some people to do some things for them up north… it’s time for some fresh scenery!”
The woman looked up with big eyes that pleaded but she didn’t ask him, didn’t say how much she wanted him to stay or what she was prepared to do for him – there was no point because one way or another he was going.
“You mean me, Len?”
“No, baby! Course not, you’ve been the best thing about all this – I’ve just got to do what I’ve got to do. I’ll be in touch, trust me!”
“Do you know where you’re staying?”
“Minor details, I’ll call when I’m settled and we can get together sometime. It’s not the other side of the world.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, a long, slow passionate embrace that made her actually feel weak like some badly written character in a romance paperback. When they parted she was running damp. He stood back, retrieved his bag and turned to the door.
“I’ll think of you every time I listen to your song, Angie!” the man grinned.
Somehow she doubted the Rolling Stones had written ‘Angie’ about her but he always made it sound as if it had been custom made with her in mind. She would miss those little things.
The woman pursed her lips and just nodded, walking to the door behind him. As he opened it, the sounds of late night traffic spilled in and she looked down at his huge Harley Davidson all ready to go at the bottom of the flight of stone stairs. The sound of her song drifted out just audibly enough to upset her even more – if that was possible… her life just wouldn’t be the same. They kissed again and he walked down to the bike, secured his kitbag and straddled the huge black and chrome machine. With a little flick of his head he nodded his final goodbye as she stood in the cold night air with eyes that had begun to bubble over in a salty wetness.
Lennie Mann kicked his hog into life, raising a heart stopping noise as he revved up and then took off with a tyre-burning squeal. All the time her eyes followed the bike into the distance, then followed the twinkling rear lights that slowly blended into the other traffic… and then she simply stood there looking at nothing. He never looked back, not once, and by the time he left Notting Hill Gate behind, he had completely erased her from his memory.

DANBRAY – BELLSTREE COMMUNITY CENTRE
Sparkle was still crouched down outside the window when Bobbie King’s face popped out to be painted with moonlight. It was a wide face with eyes set apart as if on different continents and a broad nose that was a distraction from his fat lipped mouth. King’s long brown hair shunted forward as he moved further out to find his accomplice.
“Sparkle, you fuckin’ spastic, get this amplifier… Sparkle?” he hissed quietly but venomously.
Sparkle stood up from his chameleon blending with the night position, rising like Dracula in a Crombie instead of a cape. “Calm down and hand it out for fuck’s sake, I’m right here, ya blind cunt!”
King shook his head as he passed the H&H PA amp out quietly before a bag full of microphones. “Got them, Tommy?”
“Yeah!” Sparks replied. “Are the other two done yet? Fucking pigs’ll be passing soon – we’ve been here too long!”
King crouched down and spoke out, level with the lower part of the window frame.
“They’re comin, Sparkle!”
The other shook his head, making the semi-feather cut black hair quiver. “Aye, so’s Christmas… let’s get rolling!”
“Hang on, there’s a wee portable here.”
“Get it across then and let’s move it. I’m like a fucking white man in Bombay out here!”
King laughed and handed the little television out. “You’d fit right in there, Sparkle, you get most of your gear from there anyway!”
The Crombie clad youth grabbed it and lowered it to the ground on top of the amp. “Yeah? Well, fucking turn it down the next time I offer you some, Kingie!”
Bobbie King just grit his teeth as he heard Burgess and Sheeran approach from the corridor behind. “We right?” he asked them.
Burgess’ face appeared and disappeared in the moonlight as he padded over, his black eye and swollen features evidenced his recent altercation with Bill Rosser. “Fuckin A – we got it!”
“Yes, you beauty!” King replied and promptly slipped up and out the window. “They got into the safe, Sparkle!”
“Brilliant, Sheeran’s magic fuckin’ fingers strike again… grab the TV and I’ll lug the amp!”
The two slithered along the outside of the big building towards the rear where the bushes and the grassland exit lay. Behind them came Burgess in dark blue anorak and big parallels, followed by the tall, skinny Sheeran in a zip top and narrow black flares – both of them clutching polythene bags. They moved quietly and efficiently in a straight line to the damp bushes. Only then did they all pause to confer.
“What’s the news, Sheerie? How much?” King asked.
“Guess!”
“A hundred?” he replied hopefully making Burgess smile briefly before the bruising hurt enough to remove the grin from his face.
Sheeran laughed aloud.
“Two hundred?” Sparkle inquired incredulously.
Sheeran and Burgess exchanged a glance and chuckled to each other.
“Come on, come on, come on… how much?” King demanded as the other two shared another strange glance.
“Nearly three!” Burgess said with a painful grin.
The other two almost cheered in delight.
Sparkle shook his head in disbelief, looking at King – their faces like mirror images.
“What the fuck were they doing with so much cash in the community centre? Was there a big fucking run on Mars bars and cans of Coke at the Scout meeting?” Sparkle asked.
Burgess laughed and Sheeran lent forward.
“It was that fucking appeal thing, you know, for the fucking loonies and spassies to go on some stupid Christmas trip to the Kelvin Hall Circus and Carnival or buy them some more wheelchairs or something. I heard the fucking ‘Jannie’ tell his mate that he didn’t get to the bank today after the raffle and auction thing – totally forgot it, the prick… so I knew it was planked somewhere and if it was in the safe then it was just gonna be too easy – my wee sister could crack that piece of old crap! Next thing was… open windae? In we go!”
There was a general cackle of laughter as they looked at one another unable to believe their good luck.
King rubbed his hands, “Nearly seventy five each? All fucking right!”
Burgess raised his arm, nodding to Sheeran who opened the bag of money and watched the bruised thug remove and hand out a tenner each. The other two sat open-mouthed, turned to each other and then back to Burgess again.
“What the fuck is this shit?” King asked on their behalf.
“It’s so we don’t end up getting fucked by the pigs going spend, spend, spend all of a sudden – they’ll be looking for this, so we leave it at Sheerie’s for a week or two till things cool down and divvy it up just before Christmas and that way nobody gets wise… coz everybody spends at Christmas!”
Sheeran exchanged the briefest glance at Burgess as King chipped up his protest.
“Get fucked you two, come on share the wealth - right now!”
Sheeran grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him forward. “Get fucking smart, Dumbo, you’d blow it and that would be like a big light round here – they all talk. Use your head for more than wearing a hat!”
King pushed him away, not convinced but not quite as opposed as he was a moment ago. And yet there was still the urge to at least save face by an astute response.
“Yeah, not smart like you, Sheerie, with your ‘Hey, let’s jump Rosser and do the bastard once and for all!’, and then it’s Burgess who gets his cunt panned in when the fucker comes back from the dead!”
Burgess turned to Sheeran with a little flash of anger, it might have seemed like a good idea at the time but he’d taken a serious kicking from Rosser the other day while Sheerie had remained totally untouched so far. Sheeran raised his eyebrows and Burgess nodded but said nothing when Sparkle piped up for the first time about the cash split.
“Right, Kingie, I want the money as well but coming to Christmas we’ll be fucking strapped and probably have spent the lot, man! Sheerie’s got that wee hideaway under the floor, where he stashes the blow, it’ll be safe as houses and we all know it would never happen that one of us would stiff the others – would they? Coz that would be a recipe for a wheelchair case… Right?”
Everyone nodded, even King, reluctantly, and the tension reduced. But Sparkle wasn’t done yet and he continued.
“Look, what about this - just so nobody feels fucked over – Kingie takes the TV, I take the amplifier and Burgess gets the mikes to hang onto while Sheerie looks after our cash? What do you think?”
There was a brief pause while they mused it over and then a host of glances between one another were exchanged before the final affirmation of agreement.
“Cool!” Sheeran said, “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before we get nabbed and end up with fuck all!”
Burgess grabbed the microphones and began to move. “Right, out the back, through the valley and then split up – that way if any of us are pulled at least the others get out free!”
Everyone nodded, just as everyone knew what would happen to them if they were caught and grassed on the others - it would be ‘lights out’ for them. With a grin they all smirked at one another again, happy enough at how the night’s work had turned out! Like soldiers they moved out silently from the bushes to make for home.

“Hello? Danbray Police? Yes, I just thought you might like to know that I think I’ve just seen someone break in to the Community Centre! Yes, uh huh, about twenty minutes ago… no, I only saw one - there might have been more but I only saw one. No, I don’t have a description but he lives near here! Yes, uh huh, yes – I think he’s called Sheeran… oh, you know who it is… right! Good – no, no I don’t want to say who I am, some of these people might find out… yes, no… that’s fine! Bye bye!”
Sparks put the phone down and exited the vandalised, piss ridden, red telephone booth allowing a little grin to decorate his integrity fired betrayal. Stealing from loonie kids was too low even for him, especially as his little cousin Julie was one of the kids at the Levenvale Home for the Handicapped – and having a retard in the family wasn’t something he broadcast to anyone. With a quick glance about he lifted the amplifier and trotted down the empty street, slipping in and out of darkness… thinking about what they had done tonight. There were rules, even in his world – step outside them and you’re like all the dummies on the planet, just another wanker with no standards. Maybe doing the right thing was a good choice because he felt pretty good as he wandered home, seeing his house just up ahead on the corner. With a final glance he looked each way and turned into the close feeling that getting home undetected was a reward for his good deed, after all the amp would pull fifty quid easily. He took the key out and quietly pushed it into the Yale, proud of himself and what he had done by tipping the cops… assisted by the fact that his Uncle Jimmy had told him earlier in the evening that they’d raised well over five hundred quid for the kids’ Christmas trip and those utter cunts had ripped about two hundred for themselves – the shifty bastards! Everybody needed rules and standards… and Tommy Sparks’ main one was don’t let your friends fuck you over!

GLASGOW - GALLOWGATE
The night was cold as he strode out from the garage on hearing the vehicle arrive, the gate was open and waiting. First there was a dark Commer van, then a flash, new red BMW series 2 sports car and finally a black Mercedes two door convertible.
Danny watched as the Commer went round the back to the storehouse and the two sports cars slipped past him and into the darkened workshop. The drivers were smiling like Cheshire cats as they exited their vehicles and wandered over as though they owned the place. They nodded as a courtesy, nothing more, then stood waiting outside as Danny closed the door from prying eyes. With a sigh he suddenly regretted not taking Gashie’s offer and getting out of Glasgow and this whole sorry business, but it was far too late for that now. There was a full night’s work ahead of him – again! With a sick feeling he went outside and found McNeill’s ugly face already waiting, sending the two heavies round to the storehouse.
“Danny boy!” he grinned, making the ugly facial scar distort into an even less pleasant fold. “All ready to get workin’?”
Danny nodded, “Sure!”
“Good boy!” The other said in the same tone that a master praises his dog. “This is gonna trim your interest payment down to fuck all this week – don’t say I’m no’ good to you!”
“I appreciate it, Mr McNeill” he lied.
The other man walked a little closer, his cheap suit still making him look more civilised than he actually was. The man had a heavy Glasgow accent and an ugly look in his eyes.
“We’re gonna have to use the storehouse for a wee while. The boys are having a word with one of Frank Tongerelly’s men! That okay by you?”
Danny hesitated, he knew all too well what that really meant and he needed hassle from Tongerelly like he needed to borrow more cash from Joe McNeill’s crew.
“No disrespect, Mr McNeill, but I really can’t afford to end up with Frankie chasing me up.”
The other man pressed his face into Danny’s “Listen, son, you’re in no position to worry about anybody but me – not Tongerelly, not Meeker, not even the Fitzpatricks… just me! You still owe nearly five large, right?”
“Four and a half with tonight’s work, Mr McNeill – no interest this week… that was what we agreed wasn’t it?”
The other man grinned but all it did was make him look even more evil than nature had intended. He nodded and stepped back.
“You’ve got balls, Danny! Last time someone corrected me, they were given a new face… but I like you, son – you’ve kept your payments up and done what you’re told. And you’re a good wee worker – if you were smart you’d come and work for us over at London Road. With your talent you’d clear your debt in no time. No’ fancy it?”
The dark haired man in the stained overalls swallowed, trying to look appreciative.
“It’s very generous but it’d make it pointless having borrowed the cash to buy this place from Gash, y’know?”
McNeill shook his head and laughed, “That prick bastard! He didn’t do you any favours did he? Flogging you this fuckin’ white elephant? But… you’re working hard and maybe you’ll make a few bob if you play your cards right! After you’ve paid your debts, ‘course!”
“I haven’t let you down so far, have I Mr McNeill?”
The other man shook his head as a scream was faintly heard from round the back, carrying into the night air.
The scarred man laughed, “Just as well this place is off the beaten track, worst noise you get here is the fucking trains passing behind – apart from that cunt, mind!”
Danny shifted nervously, “Look, sorry to ask but could the boys not take Tongerelly’s man round to Fat Tony’s or something… if this place gets turned over or fired up then I’m screwed for paying you back!”
McNeill nodded. “You’re right, if that fuckin’ toerag knew where he was then Frank might take it bad! But he doesn’t know where he is and by the time they’re done with him the only thing he’ll care about is who’s gonnae wheel him about for the rest of his life!”
Danny’s face reflected a lack of belief in his own safety but he said nothing. He waited for the man to continue as ugly sounds began to float round on the cold night air.
McNeill lit a cigarette and tossed the match away towards some oil drums.
“Tell you what, Danny, we’ll deal with this and take it away when we’re done – it’ll no’ take long. You tidy the shite up and I’ll let next week’s interest slide as well, you just pay the capital and that’ll take you right down to four… okay?”
Danny cursed mentally, being fire bombed, getting fucked up by Tongerelly or McNeill making him give them the use of the storehouse anyway left very little option. He nodded with an artificial grin.
“Thanks, Mr McNeill, that’s a big help!” he said knowing it was better to get ahead a bit and get fucked over than just getting fucked over anyway.
The other man smiled and gave him a nudge. “See how easy it is to do business wi’ me?”
His debtor nodded as the faint sounds of screaming again drifted on the air making McNeill’s face become aggravated.
“Fuck me, you’d think those boys have learned nothin’ in their time. I’m gonnae sort this out, you get your work done – the boys’ll be back before six to collect the cars!”
Danny stood watching McNeill disappear round the corner, heard the door open and for a moment felt sick as he heard the gut churning scream become briefly all too loud. It was only a matter of time before something fucked him, McNeill, Tongerelly, the law… doing this shit just to remain standing still – it was no fucking life. He tried to switch off to it all because right now there was a lot of hard work ahead of him but as he walked back into the garage Danny realised that he had just listened to his own potential future!

LEVENVALE – TOWNEND FLATS
‘When the sun beats down and I’m lying on the beach, I can always hear them talk.
Me? I’m just a lawnmower, you can tell me by the way I walk!’
The room was smoky and dimly lit with two large sofas, a table, a television in the corner and an old wall unit gazing out to the window.
“I fuckin’ love Genesis, Vince, they are where it’s at for clever shit!” the small youth grinned as he heated the Leb over a Zippo before sprinkling it into the half-completed joint.
The other looked over from the sofa opposite, broad chested and with long, dangling arms, Furneaux nodded non-committaly as he took another swallow of Tennants.
“Yeah, not bad… but now Gabriel’s left they’ll be fucked! Probably get some wanker in to front them. Still like the Skynyrd best, though – Southern guitar dudes… total magic! Hey, did you listen to that Ted Nugent tape with ‘Stranglehold’ on it – fucking brillo, man! Totally love that guy since I first saw him on the Whistle Test.”
Jones looked over, little eyes twinkling despite the red halo around the iris.
“Right!” he replied and went about finishing the joint off.
Vince walked over to the window and gazed out. From the tenth floor you could see for miles, Levenvale, Danbray in the distance and a sea of glitter scattered below.
“Man, your sister is lucky with this place – I’d be happy here, she’s niced it up!”
Jones paused with a little smile and looked over to his mate.
“You’d like it here or you’d like to live here with Liz?”
The other looked back pulling his Wrangler jeans up as he walked over.
“Fuck you, Jonesy!” he laughed, retrieved the can and swallowed again before coughing most of it back up as the laugh resurfaced. They both began to chuckle helplessly.
“She likes you, Vince… if she wasn’t banging that prick from Finefare you’d be in with a shout!”
The other rubbed the wet patch into the floor with his foot and sat back down with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah, if I was two feet taller and five years older, had a big car and a load of readies… then maybe, just maybe!”
Jones leaned back and popped the joint in his mouth, flicking the loose tobacco from his ‘Yes’ T-shirt and then cleared the same tobacco from his pale blue Brutus parallel jeans.
“She likes you, Vince, always has ever since you took a toeing from the old man when we were kids – mind? The night she came in pissed for the first time and he steamed into her – wham, nose busted! Mental! Next, you just hammered in… ends up fucking you all over the shop – the cunt! She thought you were a right wee hero, taking the big prick on at thirteen – real hard, man!”
Vince looked down and opened another couple of cans, pushing one across the table to his pal.
“Get to fuck.” he smiled, “Liz is alright, buddy, made sure you had somewhere to stay to get you out of that fucking madhouse you lived in… didn’t she?”
Jonesy nodded and passed the joint as he exhaled.
“Totally! One day I’m gonna kill that fat fuck… I mean it, I fuckin’ hate him!”
For a moment there was quiet between them as they sat passing the spliff and drank some more while Genesis faded out in the background. Vince got up and walked over to the large box of records on the floor and began to leaf through.
“Hey, Jonesy, how did you get so many records, man? Your collection’s got really big!”
The other laughed and looked round from the sofa, wiggling his digits. “Five finger discount!”
They both began to laugh as the giggles kicked in, making it hard for Vince to get the ‘Lynyrd Skynyrd’ album on. “Fuck me, I’m wasted – don’t usually have this much bother findin the hole!”
The giggles ripped through them and they laughed for so long they had forgotten what was funny.
“We’ve got to get out of all this, Jonesy! Make some money and get away from here before we both end up being fuckin’ wastes of space like your old boy and mine – sittin on the dole and getting pished every day. Get down to London or Glasgow, fuck, anywhere but here!”
“I know, that cunt Foxy is on at me all the time – jump into this place, get me that! The fucker is there every time I turn round these days!”
Vince gazed across with a serious look on his face.
“I hope not, man - coz if he’s behind you when you’re on Anita then you’ll be totally fucked!”
Jonesy said nothing but looked away as his friend continued.
“Seriously, Jonesy, knock that one on the head – if he finds out you’re nailing his bird then you will be fucked. Every time you go near the Hill to do her, you’re takin your life in your hands – they’re mental cases!”
“I know but… she’s a total shag pump, man, and she fucking hates Fox as much as we do but she can’t get out from under the cunt!”
“See what I mean? We’ve got to get out of all this, get away somewhere!”
‘Sweet Home Alabama’ began as Jonesy nodded and stubbed the joint out, pushing the makings across the table to Vince.
“Listen, man, I’ve got a few ideas about us doing a couple of jobs and getting some decent cash together but it might be a bit risky…”
Vince laughed suspiciously.
“Everything we do ends up being risky. One day the cops are gonna nail us or maybe one of the local crews might get fucked off coz we get away with the shit they get caught for… it's just a matter of time, I can smell it – we’re known… on both sides!”
Jonesy glanced across and squinted a non-verbal inquiry.
Furneaux shrugged. “The old dear’s Ex, the Fed she was married to while I lived with the Fat Man… anyway, when I was tugged for that Sports shop thing last week, I came out the cop shop and there he was in the big white Jag. He waves me over and tells me that if I don’t straighten out the local law will nail me – one way or another!”
“Why the fuck does he care? You were living with the Fat Man and he was with your Mum and…”
Vince’s face went white as the mere mention of it but he just nodded and continued.
“Well, he says he doesn’t give a shit personally because he doesn’t know me from Adam but he wouldn’t like to see the old dear getting any more pain… so, wisen up and stay clear of all these wideos!”
“Did he say anything about… Marina?”
“Nah… Funny though, when I was at the funeral and he was talking to my Mum… he, fuck… I dunno, man, he spoke as if he wanted to do them on his own. I heard him say he took a fucking gun and went looking one night, right after it! Made me think the cunt was alright even if he was a Fed! Those fucking bastards, there was no reason – she had fuck all to do with anything… and they got away with it!”
Jonesy looked over, feeling bad that he had reminded Vince about the incident – the kid had always lived in a different world from theirs but she was blood, family!
Furneaux drew his hand across his face and sniffed, then looked over to his friend with a face devoid of any emotion.
“You know what, Jonesy? I can’t explain this but… there’s something bad comin for us. I don’t know what… but I think we’re fucked!”