R.I.P Robbie Silva by Tony Black Page A

mate ... but, he's a Jambo – a fucking fat one 'n' all ... even by Jambo standards – so the reactions can't be so fast, I'm thinking ... I swing my arm round and snatch the shooter out his mitt. He's staring at me now, got that glaiket look that says, just-how-the-fuck-did-that-happen and is-this-bloke-maybe-fucking-Robocop-or-something ?'
    The lads lapped it up. Though maybe they were just so relieved that I hadn't offed this prick. Got laughter and back slaps. Wellsy near choked on a bit of swally that came up and out his throat. I watched them sink back in their chairs, wiping their eyes; Wellsy supped a bit of Cally Special to clear the pipes.
    That's when the blonde bit turned round fully and put her tits out, leaned back on the bar. Stop the lights, man, I was thinking ... she was giving me the diddy eye. Pure mad for it so she was. Then she caught me staring and a bit of a smile spread on her face, a kinda crooked smile – knew she had the hook in – there were bright white teeth shining out from behind her glossy lips. That's when the mullet-gimp grabbed her arm, tried to turn her round. The old boy was having none of it though, slapped the gimp down. The bold old dude looked a useful sort and the wee man stepped back, looked almost shrunken. I wondered had I seen this big grey-haired guy somewhere before – inside maybe? He had one of those time-done stares, but it was the bit of stuff I was more interested in. I clocked a tattoo on her belly. A wee green clover, like the Tim badge or something, just above the belt-line of her hot-pants. I was thinking, Christ, no' a Pape lassie with her hand on her tuppence ... hoped she didn't have a beard like Danny McGrain's.
    'So what did you do then, Jed?' said Bandy Rab.
    'What do you think I did? ... Got my fucking smokes and got the fuck out of there. Kept the gun, like.' I lifted up my shirt and showed them the old Webley tucked into my denims. The handle was wooden, scratched all to buggery it was, sorta looked like I had a table leg stuffed down my keks ... I was thinking that can't be a good look but then the blonde bit seemed to straighten herself, pushed off the bar and started to walk over. She had one of those model walks, exaggeratedly crossing her legs one in front of the other at every step. Her deep brown, rounded eyes shone as she got closer, but it was the rack I was focused on ... it was like something you'd see on the front of Loaded .
    Could hardly believe my Donald Duck!
    Wellsy and Bandy Rab nudged each other under the table as she holed up in front of us.
    'I heard what you said about that guy,' she went.
    I played it cool. 'Oh, aye?'
    'Yeah ... I know him.'
    That threw me a bit, played a safe ball: 'That a fact?'
    She leaned over the table, widened those big eyes even further, but my own slipped down the V of her tank-top.
    There was more said, but whatever it was I paid so little attention that I couldn't tell you what ... except for one thing: her name was Gail.

    * * * *

    I'm not known for my good sense, that's a fact. But there was a time I can remember being quite together, we all were, Mam, Jody ... even the Old Boy, though that bastard went down pretty rapid. Down as far as you can go to be honest, in my books anyway.
    Jody might not have agreed, but Mam would have if she knew what I knew after she passed away; Jody was just too kind-hearted for her own good, that was her problem. I never had that option. I sometimes think, when you're dealt a shit hand it's all you can play. I mean, you can spend a year and a day weighing up different options, trying to persuade yourself out of the obvious, but you're only delaying the inevitable. You can't deny your nature, who and what you truly are. That's the way I see it anyway, always have. A hoor of a business.
    As Gail invited herself into our company, Wellsy and Bandy Rab took the hint – clever boys – and went for the early bath.
    'Want to go for a ride?' she said.
    I nearly ate my chips