Wesley explains

Wesley explains.

  Fuckin, you know how it is like.  Fuckin miserable, dawmp day in Belfawst.  What’s fuckin new?  Sweat clingin tae us like shite tae a fuckin blanket.  Soon as ah got up, ah had a shawr, wore mah clean tracksuit n gold chains like, threw on the oul spice.  But ah’m still sticky as fuck.  My head’s like a big fuckin pizza left out in the sun.  It’ll be them amphetamines.  Ah have tae get off that shite fir a while, like.  Fuckin pulse is hummin in mah skull, like, n I could fair panel the first bawstard that gives us any lip.  Couldn eat breakfast either, an nigh ah’m fuckin starvin, n sweatin buckets n ah’ve gottae go down the school and pick up the wee man.  Maureen’s supposed to be doin it, but she’s cryin sick.  Aye she’s sick alright, sick in the head, n she’s got another thing comin if she thinks I’ve got time to be doin her fuckin chores.  I’m s’posed to be collectin.  Fuckin... some people... take the pish.

  The wee ‘uns are a fuckin pain right enough, but sure what do they know at thur age - the shite they put us through but.  Fuckin wee ‘uns.  I should be fuckin collectin.  Should be seein that fuckin boy that owes us money and headin down the bookies.  But fuckin here I awm, like a daft bawstard, down at the pre-school.  N it’s like ah remember it only smaller.  Thir’s a new lick a paint on the buildin, but fuck all else has changed.  Ah bet that oul cunt that used tae bate us up is still thir.  Ah hope he’s not laid a fuckin hand on Darren, like, the wee ‘un, y’know?  That’s my fuckin job.  If he needs a kick up the arse, I’ll be the fuckin man to do it n no other cunt.  Y’know what I mean, like?

  Ah get down tae the door steps, see that windy over at the end of the block - fuckin feg buts everywhur!  Ah know what them teachers are at.  Fuckin... probably drinkin on the job as well.  I’m in the mood.  One a them bawstards gives me lip, thur fuckin well gettin a kick in the gub.  Not that I’m intae violence, like.  Fightin’s a mug’s game, son.  But ye have to make sure people know thur place – like, the wee ‘uns, the missus, any other bawstard that might rip the pish out a ye if ye give them the fuckin chance like.  Anyway, I’m in that buildin n it’s near deserted.  Ye can hear the sappy wee bastards singin a fuckin rainbow somewhur in another part a the building like.  Then ah see that wee honey, Evelyn her name is, comin out of a wee office.  Oh fuck, my balls ur swellin up... that wee honey thit looks after wee Darren.  I’ve seen her in the discos, like, n she always gives us an instant hard-on.  Never dances wi us, though.  Too shy... Aaawe, gawd... fuckin... grrrrr!!  Them wee high heels, the arse on that honey, oh you wee angel...  N I’m still sweatin like a turkey on Christmas Eve, n mah shaven head’s as wet as a bell-end in a hoor house.

  “Awright, darlin?”  I says tae her as she walks out of a room n down the corridor, almost not seein us like.  You know how daft dolls can be sometimes.  She looks aroind with a wee frown awn her face, then stops dead n looks down at her feet.  I think she fancies me, like.  She goes dead shy when she sees me.  I think she liked the way ah hawndled that wee prick in the club the other night.  Fuckin well panelled him so ah did, he was fuckin well askin for it.  I’m not intae fightin, not me, fightin’s a mug’s game, but you can’t just let people act the cunt.  I saw him goin up tae a boy and it was like they wir slippin each awr somethin, fuckin drugs if y’ask me, I can fuckin well tell.  Fuckin drugs!  In my local fuckin club!!  Cheeky we bawstards, like.  So I told the boys I wasn’t fuckin stawndin fir this, n ah went over to the wee cunt.  N like, I’m a small man, like, short, but ah can fuckin hawndle mahself if ah need to, fuckin right ah can.  But he didn’t expect that.  No fuckin way.  I said tae him “what the fuck ur you doin, ya wee tube?”  N he turns roind, like, looks at us like he’s ready to batter us, like.  Well, ye can guess what hawppened next, like.  Three hits – me hittin him, him hittin the floor, and the awmbulance hittin ninety.  Stuck the fuckin head in im, like, n he went down like an Italian football player.  Ah gave him a couple a boots just to drive the message home, and finish the work ah’d done on his nose, like, n went back up tae the boys.  Alex, mah mate, awsked me, all indignant, what that was all about.  Fuckin big rugby player, so you don’t wanna mess wi im, but basically dawft as a brush.  Fuckin drugs, I told him!  Them wee thugs ur sellin drugs in public – next thing he’ll be outside the schools.  Could be your fuckin wee ‘uns he’s sellin to, I said!  Some people are fuckin thick!

  Anyway, this wee honey takes a deep breath, looks up and comes over tae talk tae us.

  “Ahm, awright Wesley?  What aboit ye?”  She says, smilin at me.  Her face is bright red, n I fuckin well know why.  She’s got the hots fur yours truly, oh aye.  Fuckin yes. 

  “Awright, ye wee honey?  How’s the craic?  Y’know, just between you n me, like, don’t tell the missus ur nothin, but you’re dead on.  Anytime, doll, any fuckin time.”

  “Aaah, what?”  She goes red as a fuckin Christmas tree light!  Now she’s the one that’s sweatin buckets!  Oh, I’ll make you sweat alright, you wee ride.  I’ll ride you like the Ulsterbus...

  “Eh, anyway,” I says, lettin ur off, like.  “Whur’s the wee’un?  Darren?  Have tae pick um up and take um home tae his ma.”

  “Aaah, Darren?  Darren Gillespie?”  Her face looks a bit doubtful.

  “Aye,” ah say, dead cheerful.  “Can you get him for us, so ah can, like, fuck off and stuff.  I’ve got things to do, places to be...”.

  “Mmm, let me find oit for ye,” she says, and tick tacks off.  Arse like fuckin puddin.  I’d dig into that alright.  Wee ride.  Ah light up a feg, cos this tension’s grippin mah throat n the sweat is makin mah goatee itch, n if ah don’t have a ciggie ah’ll fuckin explode n batter some bawstard.  The first hit a nicotine calms me right down, like.  I don’t believe all that shite about cawncer from the ciggies.  Fuckin loaday oul ballicks.  People get cawncer wi out ever smokin a fuckin feg in thur life, n my Ma smoked until she croaked, at the lively ould age a fuckin ninety two.  Just goes to show, ye can’t trust everythin you read in the papers.  Some people are daft bawstards, but, n won’t fuckin listen to ye.

  I wander down the hall, lookin at the pitchers on the wall, like.  There’s a line a crayon drawins on a big noticeboard, n there’s a load a crayons just sittin thur in a wee tray.  So, I fuckin decide tae have a wee crack at this fuckin lark – fir a laugh, like.  Ah draw a couple a cocks spurtin all over a pitcher some wee spastic’s drawed of a fuckin stick man outside a house.  Fuckin... original, eh?  Stick man outside a house?  N a wee sun wi rays comin out of it?  Fuckin spastic.  Must be daft as fuckin anythin at this school.  I might have to take Darren out of this place, it’s probly turnin him sawft.  Then ah get artistic, like, and draw a man wi a massive donger fuckin a dog, n I give the dog a big smilin mouth, n the boy’s got a fuckin bell-end like a post-box, and the dog’s droolin everywhur cos she’s fuckin lovin it, n I’m fuckin near pishin mahself by the time ah’ve finished... fuckin... soind a heels on the floor.  I drop the crayons in the tray, n dash back down the corridor quick as fuck.  This oul biddy comes roind and yells at us in a snobby voice as she stomps up tae us like.

  “YOU PUT THAT CIGARETTE OIT RIGHT NOW!!  This is a place for children!  Have some common courtesy!”

  “Ahright,” I say, stampin the butt oit under mah boot.  N when she gets close enough, ah ball mah fists up, lean right into her face, and spit in her ear, “ye fuckin ugly, fat ould camel!”  She gets the fuckin message alright and goes deathly pale and turns and near runs down the corridor.  Could a fuckin cloited her one, so I could.  Eventually that wee honey Evelyn comes back, sawr look on ur face, shakin ur head.  What the fuck’s this?

  “Eh, sorry, his music teacher says you have to come back... he usually gets picked up at one by his mother...”.

  “I fuckin know that,” I say, pointin my thumb at mah chest and lookin at her like she’s fuckin thick as pigshit.  “I’m his Da!  I’m his fuckin Da!  Just cos he doesn’t have my name he’s still my son.  See you cunts, givin me this shite when I come to pick up my own son?”  N ah can’t hold it back any more, n a hammer the wall with mah fist, to show ur what the fuck ah’ll do to anyone who tries to get between me and my son.  Fuckin... oh aye, ah know there’s supposed to be a court order because ah that one time, like. One fuckin time.  One time, ah battered his Ma for talkin back and took the wee man tae a hoor house while I got mah oats.  What’s the fuckin problem?  He has tae learn some time, like.  Fuckin better he gets it off his Da than some pervert.  Anyway, she’s sorry she ever went to the police, n we’re all back together, n everything’s hunky fuckin dory, so what’s the problem like?  Fuckin... see if they give me shite... by fuck...

  “Mr Logie, calm down...” she says, her eyes wide and watery, like she thinks I’m aboit tae lamp her one.

  “No, no, no, love, it’s alright, it’s just... here, let me show ye somethin... I’m not fuckin hawppy wi this!  No fuckin way!”  N ah lead her down the corridor, n show her some drawins that some filthy cunt’s done wi crayons.  Fuckin filthy!  A man fuckin a dog up the arse, like!  “See this!?”  I say, pointin at it wi the fuckin wrath a gawd in my face.  “That’s a fuckin sin, that is!  Some fuckin pervert fuckin paedophile drawin shite like this in a school for wee fuckin babies!  You’ve got some nasty, dirty scum workin here, n I’m not fuckin leavin my son here to be brainwashed by some FILTHY FUCKIN BAWSTARDS!”

  She glances up at me for a minute, as if she might say something, then just stands thur shakin her head.  She looks distraught, the poor wee love, like.  Gawd love her, like, I almost feel sorry for her.  But if she’s got anything to do wi that fuckin filth... I’m tryin not ta pish mahself, like... it’s a sin, but it’s funny as fuck... dog wi a big stupid grin on its face, lovin the cock like... fuckin...  Anyway, she takes the dirty pitchers off the wall and goes off and gets Darren, no more fuckin arguments.  That’s it wi this place, I tell her when she comes back wi the lad, we’re fuckin THROUGH wi this dump.

  I take Darren oit tae the car, n fuckin sure enough he’s singin aboit fuckin red and yellow and green and blue, n I’m aboit to belt the wee cunt one in the moith if he doesn’t fuckin shut it.  I say, “hey, fucko, put a fuckin sock in it, or I’ll fuckin sock ye one!”  He shuts up sharpish.  Fuckin right he does.  See me?  Alpha male.  I don’t take shite from anybody.  N ah’m aboit tae drive off, but what do I fuckin see over the road?  That fuckin bawstard!  He knows rightly he owes me money.  I’ve been more than fuckin fur wi the cunt. 

  Listen tae this.  You won’t fuckin believe this, so you won’t.  You’ll call me a fuckin liar to mah fuckin face, so you will.  That fuckin bawstard begged us to get intae my windy cleanin roind.  So ah said, alright mate, you prove what you can do and we’ll see.  That’s me, like.  I reckon you have to give people a chawnce, like.  So, I was off sick for a month and ah went on holiday for a couple a weeks afterward – tae recuperate, like?  Get back, he’s spent all the money he collected from doin the roinds, not kept one shiny penny back for me.  He says “I did all the work,” n ah told the cheeky cunt “that’s not the fuckin point!!  It’s my windy cleanin roind, ye owe me sixty percent a that fuckin money!!”  Can ye believe that?  So, he said he’d need time, like.  He’s a quare cheek on im, I’ll give him fuckin time.  I told him, you better fuckin sort it oit, two fuckin weeks n yer not on my fuckin roind after this!  I know he gets money offa the fuckin dole as well as the graft he does on the side, so if he plays that skint card wi me it’s not gonnae fuckin wash.  It’s been a month n he’s been duckin me the whole time!  Ah’ll knack his fuckin ballicks in for him so ah will!

  I get oit the car, run up behind him, ready to fuckin lamp im one n... it’s like fuckin... ah feel my limbs freeze up...

  Fuckin... he turns roind an takes one look at us and says, “yer messin wi the wrong man, Wesley, ya fuckin chomp.”  Ah can’t move.  I fuckin well cannot move a muscle.  I’m just standin thur, frozen, mah face all twisted up wi rage, n mah hawnd ballin up ready to thump im right in tha fuckin bake.  Ah can’t even speak.

  “Puir fuckin Wesley.  Ye never were a bright mawn, were ye?”  He says.  Ah’ll fuckin bright him.  “I’m sorry, son, but when ye got booted outay the Orange Order fir batterin them boys, ye never got the special pawrs that the restay us got for joinin up.  See me?  Fuckin Derren Broin me.  Mind control n that – a sortay gerrymanderin ay the psyche.  Psychokinetic debt avoidance at my disposal.  Actually, I can pretty much do what I like, within reason.    N you?  You’ve got a windy cleanin roind that could be makin ye a small fortune if ye weren’t such a lazy, thick scumbag.  You’ve got a daft women who can’t tell ye to fuck off, n a child who will tell ye to fuck off one day when he’s got size on him.  You’ve got a social life based on getting pished n intimidatin a few poor wee student fellas at the clubs n bars, because ye feel intimidated by the aura of success n intelligence.  Y’know, people like you are an anachronism.  You run aroind wi yer wee track suit and yer wee hard nut n yer wee sovereigns, ready to stick the head in anyone who threatens yer mawsculinity, wishin someone would give ye a gun to point at the world.  But the Orange cause doesn’t need yer sort any more, y’know?  We’ve moved pawst that.  It’s not aboit guns and vayilence any more.  It’s all aboit hearts and minds – you’ll never understawnd that, mate.  Sorry to say...”.

  N he’s goin on aboit, fuckin, I don’t know WHAT, he’s oit of is fuckin BOX.  But as he looks at me ah can feel something hard in mah chest, a wee pellet, something like a bullet... but it expawnds, n swells n turns intae a tight iron ball... n its chokin me... it’s chokin tha fuckin LIFE outay me... the sweat’s lawshin off me, n ah’m thinkin this is a fuckin heart attack, I shoulda stayed off them fuckin amphetamines.  Fuckin... drugs are a mugs game, y’know?  N ah feel mahself bein elevated by im, by this thing in mah chest, liftin up... he’s forcin me up wi his sick, hateful eyes, watchin every millimetre as I’m hoisted... n the PAIN, by fuck, it’s like givin birth through yer fuckin chest, it’s like bein humped in a stawb-wound, it’s like havin a starved rawt eat yer fuckin insides oit n ah’m FUCKIN DYIN, AH’M DYIN, JESUS GAWD FUCKIN HELP ME, THAT SWINDLIN CUNT DOIN THUR’S FUCKIN KILT ME!!!

***

Epilogue: So ah’m queuin up at the gates.  No pearls at all, ah dunno who made that shite up.  Just a fuck of a long queue in the rain down a horrible concrete chawnnel, wi some turnstiles and inspectors at the end.  It’s like a wet weekend in Belfawst.  N ah get up tae the gate, n thir’s some sort ay business wi a form tae fill in to claim yer ticket.  N ah get thir n some beardy bawstard says tae us, “I’m afraid you’ve been barred.”  Ah say, “you talkin to me or chewin a fuckin brick son?  I’ve never been here in mah fuckin cream puff, so how could I have been barred?  Awnswer me that, Einstein.”  He just looks at me like I’m fuckin stupid, pityin me n tuttin n that. 

  N this fella wi a balaclava on n a gun strapped around his shoulders comes up tae me, tells me tae get ta fuck.  Ah say, “that’s a fuckin sin, yer lettin all them other cunts in n thur taigs!”  The guy wi the balaclava says tae us, “look, fucknuts, this isn’t what you think it is.  The fenians are gettin put in here, n the prods are getting thir own place.  Now fuckin do one before I do ye!”  I sat, “oh aye, ah bet the proddy place is fuckin cleaner and tidier fir a start!”  But the truth is ah've already been tae the other place, and it’s just a load ay shite.  It’s a bunch a miserable, sour-faced bawstards pishin an moanin aboit how they used tae run the other place before the taigs had the run of it.  They drink like fuckin fish but it never makes thum hawppy.  N they’re always fightin.  Fightin’s a mug’s game.  N if y’ask me, ye can’t live in the pawst.  Ye have tae live n let live.  
  But then, as ah'm thinkin all this, the mawn wi the gun batters us one in the fuckin chops, like, n ah fall back n ah look up, n ah see it fir the first time.  Ah get the fuckin message alright.  The sign says: "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING FREE DERRY".