The Silver Arrow Read online

  “Ah cannae, Ah hiv tae nip doon tae see Sleazebag Donald before he starts filming. He’s a pain in the arse if ye disturb him mid-scene, so he is.”

  “Ye mean ye’d rather go and watch him making dirty films, rather than stay here and get the real thing? It disnae say much fur me, so it disnae,” she said, as he slapped her arse oan the way past.

  “Wan slice or two?”

  “Wan.”

  “Dis it no seem kinda sleazy?”

  “Whit?”

  “Ye know? Making films ae lassies and guys shagging?”

  “It’s meant tae be like that…it’s a skin-flick.”

  “And so demeaning as well.”

  “Whit is?”

  “Fur the lassies…and the guys tae, Ah suppose, if ye think aboot it,” she mused, taking a sip ae her steaming tea.

  “They get paid a fortune, so they dae.”

  “He gies me the creeps, so he dis.”

  “He’s supposed tae…that’s why he’s called Sleazebag,” Peter retorted, looking across at her while chomping oan his toast. “Ah don’t suppose Ah kin hiv another slice, kin Ah?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Why dae ye hiv tae deal wae people like him anyway? Dis it no make ye feel bad aboot the wummin he’s exploiting?”

  “Ah’ve telt ye, Ah’m a runner…it’s aw part ae the job. Ah hiv tae deal wae aw sorts ae unsavoury characters. Christ, if ye think he’s bad, ye should see some ae them.”

  “So, how much dae they get paid then?”

  “Who?”

  “Y’know, the lassies?”

  “Christ, Jean, how wid Ah know?”

  “Ye jist said they get paid a fortune.”

  “It’s Sunday morning…should ye no be thinking ae heiding doon tae the chapel tae ask fur furgiveness fur aw the sins ye’ve committed against me this week or something?”

  “Don’t change the subject. How wid ye feel if yer daughter ended up doon at a place like that, being filmed hivving sex wae some sleazy stranger?”

  “Ah don’t hiv a daughter…at least, no that Ah’m aware ae.”

  “So, who’s the camera fur then?”

  “Simon. He asked me tae get him wan.”

  “A camera that takes photos in wee dark, dingy places? He’s no intae taking pictures in men’s toilets, by any chance, is he?”

  “It’s funny ye should say that,” he replied, smiling.

  “Right, Ah’m aff tae hiv a bath. Any idea when ye’ll be back?” she asked him, placing their plates and cups in the sink.

  “Naw, bit it probably won’t be before teatime. Dae ye want tae go oot fur something tae eat the night? Tattaroni’s?”

  “Naw, Ah’m getting sick ae eating oot. Why don’t Ah make us something nice that we kin sit and hiv a bottle ae wine wae?”

  “Sounds perfect…see ye later,” Peter said, gieing her a wee peck oan the cheek before grabbing that jaicket ae his fae the back ae the spare dining chair and disappearing oot ae the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “So, how are you getting on with your rehabilitation then, Johnboy?” Father Leonard asked him, slipping aff his robes in the vestry efter Mass.

  “Look, Father, let’s get wan thing straight here, Ah never said Ah wis intae being rehabilitated.”

  “Oh?”

  “Naw, Ah’m jist trying tae understaun whit it entails and whit it’s supposed tae mean tae the person gaun through the process, like…how does it feel? How should he feel? Aw that kind ae shit.”

  “Change,” Jimmy Baxter said, taking a wee fly slip ae the priest’s wine behind his back.

  “He’s slugging that wine ae yers behind yer back, Father,” Johnboy telt him, nodding.

  “Ah wis jist trying tae find oot whit blessed tastes like, Father. It wis scientific and nothing tae dae wae the alcohol content…honest.”

  “Jimmy’s right, Johnboy…no matter how you dress it up, rehabilitation is about change. If one is not prepared to change then rehabilitation surely won’t work.”

  “Ye mean like, unless ye’re baptised, the pearly gates stay shut, no matter how good and decent ye ur, wur or hiv become? So, nae change in lifestyle and attitude means ta-ta tae rehabilitation.”

  “So, ur ye baptised, Johnboy?” Jimmy asked him.

  “Naw, that maw ae mine fell oot wae the local Ju Jitsu man and never goat roond tae it efter that. She wis pretty flighty that way, so she wis. It wis always the noo…nothing ever happened unless it happened the day before yesterday.”

  “Father Leonard could dae it fur ye, couldn’t ye, Father?”

  “Anyway, getting back tae aw this rehabilitation stuff,” Johnboy reminded them, ignoring Jimmy’s interruption and getting back tae the subject in haun. “It seems tae me that it’s jist another way ae controlling somewan, no matter how it’s put up. Aw ye need tae dae is perform…jump through other people’s hoops…make oot that ye’ve seen the light and hey-ho, Bob’s yer uncle,” Johnboy sneered, snapping they fingers ae his, as he looked defiantly across at the priest, encouraging a challenge.

  “Would that not be…dishonest?” the priest hit him wae.

  “Fur who? Christ, Father, it’s a jail we’re staunin in…no a…a…a bloody convent. Of course it wid be dishonest. Honesty isnae the real issue here, noo is it? This is aboot survival, getting by, trying tae pull a flanker. The people who work in and run places like this don’t gie a monkey’s shit aboot honesty…if they’re even really honest wae themsels.”

  “Apart fae yersel, that is, Father,” Jimmy added quickly.

  “Fae where Ah’m staunin, it’s aw aboot power. The screws push the YOs tae change, so it gies them an easy ride in here under the cloak ae rehabilitation. If ye really listen tae them, the change they preach is based oan the way they wankers live and view life. Who said they live perfect lives? Look at some ae the thick shitehooses who walk aboot in here in a uniform. They’d be the last people Ah’d want tae turn tae as an example ae how Ah’d want tae live ma life. Maist ae the YOs in here, although stupid basturts like masel, ur probably jist honest scallywags who’ve broken the law and goat punished fur it by being caught. It seems tae me that YOs like us should use that experience as a starting point and a basis fur whether we want tae change or no. The problem Ah hiv wae trying tae understaun rehabilitation is because the official rehabilitation programme is being run and managed by wankers who ur looking fur an easy life…tae make them feel good aboot themsels, so they kin go hame and kid themsels oan that they’ve actually done something productive wae their day…at least that’s ma take oan it.”

  “Yes, but what about society in general, out there in the real world?” the priest challenged him wae a wave ae his haun up towards the Jesus windae.

  “That’s ma point. Take me fur example. Ah’m jist no that convinced some ae the thick basturts strolling aboot here in a uniform could really rehabilitate somewan like me. Maybe a naïve first offender, who disnae know any better and wants tae believe the shit being spouted by people like The Tormentor…bit somewan like me?”

  “Is that not just a little bit cynical?” the priest came back at Johnboy wae, stoapping whit he wis daeing and looking across at him.

  “Fur who?”

  “You, Johnboy, ya bloody falsifier, ye,” Jimmy chipped in, taking another wee fly slug fae the neck ae the bottle.

  “I suppose, at the end of the day, if someone really wanted to change, they would, irrespective of who they had to prove it to. Change has to come from within. I agree that concocting a cynical ploy to achieve an end like early release probably wouldn’t be classified as rehabilitation in it’s purest form, but at the end of the day, people have to start somewhere. Whether you believe it or not, Johnboy, there are people working in institutions like this that do genuinely want to support and help facilitate those who want to turn their lives around.”

  “Aye, bit who ur these people? Whit makes somewan like Fanny Flaw such an expert? When wis the last time anywan saw the results ae her rehabilitation
score-card stuck up oan the notice board?”

  “Why ur we hivving this conversation anyway? Ye either want tae change or ye don’t. It seems straightforward enough tae me, so it dis,” Jimmy volunteered.

  “Ah’m trying tae figure oot whether it’s worthwhile investing ma time in rehabilitation or whether there’s an alternative, far mair productive path Ah should be focussing oan. There’s nae point in daeing something if it disnae come up wae the goods at the end ae the day, is there?”

  “Like?” Jimmy asked, taking another fly swig.

  “Take love fur example.”

  “Love?” Jimmy and the priest exclaimed in unison, looking at each other tae confirm whether they’d heard right, before focusing back oan the red-heided, earnest looking, eejit staunin facing them.

  “Jist because Ah love pie, beans and chips disnae mean tae say a widnae soon get fed up ae it efter eating it five nights in a row.”

  “I’m sorry, Johnboy, you’ve lost me,” the priest admitted, smiling, as he turned and looked at Jimmy, before confiscating his depleted bottle ae altar wine.

  “Well, ye could try switching fae tomato tae broon sauce oan alternative nights,” Jimmy suggested, grinning mischievously. “That wid extend yer love life fur a wee while longer.”

  “How wid somewan know when they wur in love? Ah mean, real love and no jist lust love, Father?” Johnboy wanted tae know.

  “Oh, well, er, I suppose you would know based on how one felt, er, particularly towards er, the other person.”

  “Why the hell ur ye asking him?” Jimmy asked Johnboy.

  “Aye, bit how wid ye know that ye wurnae jist wanting tae perch oan that person and then efter ye’d done the damage, piss aff as fast as they legs ae yers could carry ye? How could ye be sure it wis love before ye committed the dastardly deed?” Johnboy asked, smiling and ignoring Jimmy’s exaggerated umbrage at no being asked.

  “Promiscuity is shallow and debases true love,” the priest replied wae conviction.

  “Is that based oan personal experience or whit the bible taught ye, Father?” Jimmy challenged him.

  “No, it’s about respect. If two people truly love one another, the sanctity of a loving marriage would be the natural progression…when the time was right, of course. Before that, the couple in love would spend time with each other, getting better acquainted, deciding on their path together, in the eyes of the one true God and Mary, Mother of Jesus, God bless her, Amen.”

  “Right, so it’s obvious ye don’t believe in sex before marriage, and it’s good that ye managed tae somehow, wae subtly and finesse, slip that wee wan in withoot me and Jimmy clocking whit ye wur up tae, Father, bit tell me how these two people wid recognise the difference between true love and true lust?” Johnboy continued, starting tae wonder if he wis gonnae find whit he wis looking fur, fae this pair ae eejits.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Is there a particular feeling that separates love and lust? Is the feelings different?”

  “Respect?”

  “Christ, Father, there ur a lot ae lassies that Ah truly respect, bit gie me hauf a chance and Ah’d be in there like a rat up a drainpipe, so Ah wid. And don’t say ye widnae be the same, Johnboy,” Jimmy chipped in.

  “So, let’s say that Ah loved somewan and Ah wis the kind ae person like yersel who’d wait until Ah goat married before daeing the damage. Whit feelings wid tell me that Ah wis in love and no really jist wanting intae they pants ae hers?” Johnboy persisted.

  “Johnboy, for centuries people in love have written, sung and proclaimed how they felt about being in love. Surely you must have read or heard examples? I don’t think that it’s all that complicated.”

  “Well, seeing as there isnae any library in here, gie’s an example…and before ye start, don’t tell me tae go and talk tae Fanny, the wonder-wummin social worker, who clearly knows everything there is aboot nothing,” he warned him.

  “Well, there’s Romeo and Juliet, probably one of the most famous love stories ever written,” the priest suggested.

  “Did they no commit Hari-Kari? Hardly a success story that, wis it?” Johnboy retorted.

  “Cleopatra and whit wis his name?” Jimmy volunteered.

  “Another pair ae suicidal hopeless cases,” Johnboy replied dismissively, wae a wave ae his haun.

  “Sir Lancelot and whitever her name wis then?” Jimmy persisted.

  “Guinevere? She wis married tae King Arthur. Whit is it the bible says aboot sniffing roond another man’s wummin, Father?”

  “Orpheus and Eurydice,” the priest volunteered, eyes lighting up.

  “So, how dis that wan go then, Father?” Jimmy asked.

  “Is that no the wan where he wis married tae some wee nymph and he wisnae supposed tae look back…bit did?” Johnboy asked, starting tae feel himsel getting frustrated by the pair ae dumplings in front ae him.

  “A nymphomaniac? Noo, that sounds like the kind ae gal Ah’d want tae marry, so it dis,” Jimmy admitted, laughing, getting a wee smile fae Johnboy.

  “It’s the sentiments being expressed in the story, Johnboy,” the priest reminded him, ignoring Jimmy’s continued shallow intellectual contribution tae the discussion.

  “Aye, right, Ah kin see that, bit wur Orpheus and Eurydice no jist figments ae somewan’s imagination who wis intae Greek or Roman Gods or something?”

  “Yes,” the priest agreed.

  “Well, how dae we know that the person who wrote that wisnae as blind, stupid and as ignorant as me, bit unlike me, hid a way wae words?”

  “Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler…there wis a love story and a hauf,” Jimmy declared.

  “Too busy knocking lumps oot ae each other. She sounded a total nightmare, so she did.” Johnboy mused, wracking his brains as he put the Guild back intae its case.

  “Richard Burton and Lizzie Taylor?”

  “Jimmy, whit ur ye like? That pair hiv been married mair times than Pope Pius or whitever his name wis.”

  “Aye, bit ye’re no saying they wurnae in love, ur ye?”

  “So, we’ve goat imaginary Greek Gods and Goddesses and battling film star divorcees. Is that it? See, Ah knew youse pair widnae understaun where Ah wis coming fae,” Johnboy growled, picking up his guitar case.

  “Johnboy, I think you’re complicating the point here. These beautiful, timeless words were written to express love in such a way that, irrespective of who we are, we can all identify with them. When you’re in love, you’ll know it,” the priest said encouragingly and piously, crossing himsel and looking up at the crucifix wae the chipped feet nailed tae the cross.

  “Said like a true expert,” Johnboy scowled, heiding fur the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “How dis he manage tae keep a hard-on efter shooting his bolt three times in a row wae three different wummin then, Donald?” Peter wanted tae know, nodding at the blond stud, staunin there getting a blow-job and trying tae impersonate Charles Atlas bit failing because ae the terrible squint in baith ae they eyes ae his.

  “Cut! Take five minutes, people,” Donald shouted, taking a step back fae the tripod, avoiding the cables that wur strewn aw o’er the flair. “He’s a professional, plus he’s Norwegian.”

  “Hello, Peter,” Betty Carlton, Sleazy Donald’s wife, wan ae Peter’s auld dinner ladies fae the secondary school canteen and the star ae such classics as ‘The Sultry Secrets ae a Fifty-Four-Year-Auld Virgin’ and ‘Poking Mrs Riley,’ said fae within a cloud ae smoke, waving across at him, efter lighting up a Panatela.

  “He must be a right horny basturt if he kin keep gaun that long,” Peter mused, smiling and gieing Betty a wee wave, as she jumped up aff ae the soaked and soiled mattress tae avoid the exploding sparks shooting oot fae the end ae her cigar and spray-burning they giant droopy tits ae hers.

  “So, whit kin Ah dae ye fur, Peter?

  “Ah’m looking fur a camera.”

  “Come in tae the office. Mind yer feet oan the cables.
Ah never hid ye doon fur skin-flicks. Dis Jean know ye’re here?” Donald asked.

  “She wis getting oan tae me when she heard Ah wis heiding doon here this morning.”

  “Aye, Ah kin imagine. It’s aw this wummin’s lib shite. Where wid Carlo Ponti be if wummin’s lib wis aboot back in the forties and fifties, eh? Ah’ll tell ye…nae Sophia Loren…that’s where.”

  “Whit, did they make skin-flicks as well?”

  “Naw, bit that’s no ma point. Wance ye start persecuting artists, where dis it aw end up, eh? Look at the Nazis.”

  “Aye, well, ye’ll be glad tae know Ah’m no gonnae attempt tae compete wae ye in next year’s Oscars.”

  “So, whit kind ae camera ur ye efter then?” Donald asked, sitting back in his creaking chair, surrounded by photos ae his previous work.

  “Ah need something that takes really good quality pictures in a wee dank, dark space.”

  “Whit, ye’re no intae taking pictures ae guys’ dicks in toilets, ur ye? Believe it or no, bit there’s probably a market fur that kind ae stuff though. Gie me first shout if ye’re looking fur a distributor.”

  “Don’t you start…that’s whit Jean asked me earlier.”

  “Ah might be able tae get ye something. How soon dae ye need it?”

  “As soon as ye kin. It needs tae be tap ae the range though. We’ll only get the wan opportunity tae use it, so it his tae deliver first time. And another thing, make sure it’s a wee wan. We cannae be walking aboot like Oscar Marzaroli.”

  “Ah think there’s a wee Minolta that’ll dae the job. A lot ae the Special Branch and intelligence boys use them, bit they don’t come cheap.”

  “Don’t worry aboot the cost. We’ll cover that plus throw in a wee bonus fur yersel, if it works as good as ye say. It’s really important that ye keep this tae yersel noo. It cannae get oot, especially tae any ae Wan-bob’s crowd.”

  “Naw, don’t worry, Peter, ye’re okay oan that score. Charlie Hastie wis in the other day there picking up his money. He didnae even speak…jist held oot his haun and clicked they blood-tainted fingers ae his before aboot-turning withoot so much as a nod…the prick.”