Drummond’s distaste.
– Equality is a lot of nonsense, I say, goading Drummond, who expects me to hang myself by saying something stupid like the black man isn’t the equal of the white man. Think again, dafty.
– How can you say that?
– Easily. It’s a philosophical point. I believe in justifiable inequality. Example: aw that lot we put away. Criminals. Child molesters. They’re no equal with me. No way, I say, as coldly and dispassionately as possible. That struck a chord with Niddrie. He’s an impassive bastard, but I ken he thinks like me.
Anyway, the gig finishes early enough for Ray and I to hit the cannie so we can have an afternoon break and practise our routine before we go and sort out Ocky. We are intercepted by Amanda Drummond in the corridor and she tells us that she’s going to talk to Sylvia and Estelle and would I come along. I’m annoyed that the cow has pulled them in without consulting me, but chuffed at the prospect of being able to put a face, erse and pair of tits on those two rides. – Sure . . . I turn to Ray and raise my eyebrows, – . . . give us half an hour will you Ray mate?
– That’s cool, Ray nods, – see you up in D.S.
I’ll have to pull up Lennox about all this ‘that’s cool’ and ‘this’s cool’ bullshit. We’re no running a fuckin youth club here.
I get into the interview room and Drummond’s got the two wee hoors in there together. This shows her total cluelessness as polis. You never put them together, you always split them up straight away. The first thing they teach ye. Not that I’m complaining, it’s wall-to-wall fanny in here and it’s fuckin marvellous. Those bennies are kicking in, so I’ll have to watch my gob. And my fuckin erse! Shite coming oot every orifice! Settle Bruce, settle. Estelle. Sylvia. It’s funny, but the last time I was talking to them, I was sure that Estelle was giving me a funny look. Now I’m positive.
– I’m sure I’ve seen you before, she says. She’s a fuckin hard wee cow and nae mistake. But that fringe hanging just above those club-mascara eyes and that scarlet red lipstick . . . ya cunt that ye fuckin well are . . .
I realise that I’m staring at her and that Drummond might be clocking my leer, but no, that dyke’s looking just as penetratingly at her, probably fancies her as well.
– Aye, I’m sure I’ve seen ye, she repeats.
– Well as you were in here the other day being questioned by me, that’s highly likely, I sniff.
– Naw, before but, she says.
– I’m sure I’d’ve remembered, a lovely young lady like yourself.
I hear Drummond’s front teeth smacking off her lips. Spotted! Imitation Toal gesture! Her fuckin mentor. No wonder she’s such a fuck-up! She puts some pictures in front of the lassies, two puss-bags known as Setterington and Gorman amongst them. – Did you see any of those men at the club?
They look fazed, especially Sylvia. I’d gie her one in a minute as well. Looks a natural blonde. Talk to Brucie baby.
– Naw, she says, too quickly. Even Drummond notices this.
– Do you know these men? she asks.
They’re too intelligent to lie. – Know of them, seen them aboot, Estelle replies.
– Who are they?
– Dunno, just guys that hing about the clubs n that, Estelle says. She’s much tougher, that one. A seasoned casual moll if ever there wis one. Those lipstick marks around that fag . . .
– So you don’t know their names? Drummond probes. Ah’ll fuckin probe awright: probe wi some prime Scottish beef.
– Nuht.
– Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about that night? Drummond’s asking.
Estelle looks at Sylvia, then at Drummond. I’m being ignored here, ignored by slags, and I do not like it one little bit. I drum at the desk, but I still might as well be invisible. Estelle starts mouthing: – There was a funny woman in the club. It’s probably nowt, but she just looked a bit weird. She was talking to the coloured boy for a bit, but he
– Equality is a lot of nonsense, I say, goading Drummond, who expects me to hang myself by saying something stupid like the black man isn’t the equal of the white man. Think again, dafty.
– How can you say that?
– Easily. It’s a philosophical point. I believe in justifiable inequality. Example: aw that lot we put away. Criminals. Child molesters. They’re no equal with me. No way, I say, as coldly and dispassionately as possible. That struck a chord with Niddrie. He’s an impassive bastard, but I ken he thinks like me.
Anyway, the gig finishes early enough for Ray and I to hit the cannie so we can have an afternoon break and practise our routine before we go and sort out Ocky. We are intercepted by Amanda Drummond in the corridor and she tells us that she’s going to talk to Sylvia and Estelle and would I come along. I’m annoyed that the cow has pulled them in without consulting me, but chuffed at the prospect of being able to put a face, erse and pair of tits on those two rides. – Sure . . . I turn to Ray and raise my eyebrows, – . . . give us half an hour will you Ray mate?
– That’s cool, Ray nods, – see you up in D.S.
I’ll have to pull up Lennox about all this ‘that’s cool’ and ‘this’s cool’ bullshit. We’re no running a fuckin youth club here.
I get into the interview room and Drummond’s got the two wee hoors in there together. This shows her total cluelessness as polis. You never put them together, you always split them up straight away. The first thing they teach ye. Not that I’m complaining, it’s wall-to-wall fanny in here and it’s fuckin marvellous. Those bennies are kicking in, so I’ll have to watch my gob. And my fuckin erse! Shite coming oot every orifice! Settle Bruce, settle. Estelle. Sylvia. It’s funny, but the last time I was talking to them, I was sure that Estelle was giving me a funny look. Now I’m positive.
– I’m sure I’ve seen you before, she says. She’s a fuckin hard wee cow and nae mistake. But that fringe hanging just above those club-mascara eyes and that scarlet red lipstick . . . ya cunt that ye fuckin well are . . .
I realise that I’m staring at her and that Drummond might be clocking my leer, but no, that dyke’s looking just as penetratingly at her, probably fancies her as well.
– Aye, I’m sure I’ve seen ye, she repeats.
– Well as you were in here the other day being questioned by me, that’s highly likely, I sniff.
– Naw, before but, she says.
– I’m sure I’d’ve remembered, a lovely young lady like yourself.
I hear Drummond’s front teeth smacking off her lips. Spotted! Imitation Toal gesture! Her fuckin mentor. No wonder she’s such a fuck-up! She puts some pictures in front of the lassies, two puss-bags known as Setterington and Gorman amongst them. – Did you see any of those men at the club?
They look fazed, especially Sylvia. I’d gie her one in a minute as well. Looks a natural blonde. Talk to Brucie baby.
– Naw, she says, too quickly. Even Drummond notices this.
– Do you know these men? she asks.
They’re too intelligent to lie. – Know of them, seen them aboot, Estelle replies.
– Who are they?
– Dunno, just guys that hing about the clubs n that, Estelle says. She’s much tougher, that one. A seasoned casual moll if ever there wis one. Those lipstick marks around that fag . . .
– So you don’t know their names? Drummond probes. Ah’ll fuckin probe awright: probe wi some prime Scottish beef.
– Nuht.
– Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about that night? Drummond’s asking.
Estelle looks at Sylvia, then at Drummond. I’m being ignored here, ignored by slags, and I do not like it one little bit. I drum at the desk, but I still might as well be invisible. Estelle starts mouthing: – There was a funny woman in the club. It’s probably nowt, but she just looked a bit weird. She was talking to the coloured boy for a bit, but he
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