Read Online A Decent Ride by Irvine Welsh - Free Book Online Page A

git the car door open wi that fuckin gale blawin doon the alley. We finally makes it n struggles oot n wir vernear carryin each other intae the boozer!
    A fuckin relief tae git inside! It’s mobbed. Terry disnae drink in The Pub With No Name, at least ah’ve no seen um in here, bit he seems tae ken a few regulars. Ah’m hopin eh steys, at least till wee Jonty comes doon, then ah’m thinkin, naw, mibbe no.
    Terry sees Evan Barksdale, whae’s goat the meatier build ay the beer drinker, compared tae ehs twin Craig’s mair voddy physique. They disappear tae the bogs, obviously for a line n tae dae business. Ah’m talkin tae Jake, whae runs the pub, then ah gits oot ma phone n ah sees aw they missed caws fae Jonty, n ah’m tryin tae git a hud ay him. — Better tell Jonty tae git roond here before Bawbag kicks in! Dinnae want him stuck in the hoose, ah sais tae Jake, but ah cannae git a signal.
    — Aye, Bawbag, Jake sais.
    Eftir a bit Terry n Evan Barksie come oot the bog. — Right, gaunny huv tae leave yis, Terry smiles. — Duty calls.
    — Stey, Tez, ya fuckin tight-ersed Hibby cunt, yir no gaunny dae any business the night! Evan Barksie goes.
    — Git tae fuck, a scabby wee hurricane’s no gaunny stoap me daein ma thing. Money never sleeps, mate, Terry laughs. — Right, ya fuckin Jambo paedos, catch yis whin ye smell better, eh sais, then eh heads away. Craig Barksie, Tony Graham, Lethal Stuart n Deek McGregor are aw roond the pool table, n they watch Terry go.
    — Fuckin wide cunt, Evan Barksie sais, turnin tae me. — How dae ye ken that fuckin Hobo tramp?
    Ah nivir kent eh wis a fuckin Hobo! Wid’ve thoat twice aboot giein um ehs hole if ah kent that! It’s nane ay Evan’s fuckin business but. — Eh wis seein a mate ay mine, ah goes.
    — Aye, eh’s good at daein that, Barksie sais, n ehs mooth goes aw tight n ehs eyes aw slitty. — Wisnae seein you n aw, wis eh?
    Ah’m lookin right n ehs wee eyes. — What’s it tae you?
    Evan Barksie shuffles n ehs voice droaps, n eh’s tryin tae force cheer intae it. — Wee Jonty widnae be too chuffed.
    — Ah dae what ah like.
    — Aw aye? Prove it!
    — How?
    — Come for a line wi me. Eh nods tae the lavvy.
    — Awright.
    Well, we goes intae the laddies’ bogs n thaire’s two traps. We gits in one n Evan Barksie starts cuttin oot a huge line. Wi takes half each. Ma eyes ur waterin n my hert’s thumpin. — Ye awright? he goes.
    — Aye . . .
    — A loat ay folk here, eh gies a wee smile showin oaf mingin yellay teeth, — they think wee Jonty’s punchin above ehs weight.
    — Aye . . . is that what you think as well? ah goes. Fuck, ah’m strugglin here, sweatin, n ma hert’s poundin away like the clappers.
    — Jist sayin likes.
    This isnae real! It’s no good fir ye tae snort that much coke: ye kin peg right oot. Ah’m mad fir it but. — My hert . . . whoa . . .
    — Lit’s see, Evan goes, n eh pits ehs hand oan ma chist. It feels good huvin it thaire, lookin at his daft wee smile as eh stares at ma tits. So ah dinnae dae nowt when eh undoes the two toap buttons oan ma blouse n spreads his palm oot. — Barry tits, by the way, eh goes. Then eh sais, — Get them oot then!
    — Chop oot another fuckin line first, ah sais, though the sweat’s still rippin oaf ays n ma hert’s bangin like a drum machine. Ah’m fuckin mad fir this ching but!
    So eh does, n wi git oan it again n wir baith fuckin rattlin big time. Then Evan unbuttons ma blouse n lits it faw doon ma shoodirs. — A fuckin waste . . . eh goes, n eh unfastens ma bra. Eh’s goat baith ma tits n ehs hands n eh’s right beside me, rubbin up against us. — Lawson rode ye, eh?
    — Aye . . . ah tells um, gittin intae it, — eh rode ays wi ehs big cock . . . so you fuckin gaunny well dae it then . . .?
    — Aye . . . Evan’s gaun fir ehs zip. And then, fae outside, thir’s a knock oan the door.
    — Jinty! Ur you in thaire? Eh! What ur ye daein? Jinty? Aye, yer in thaire! Aye sur!