‘Fuck all, Gunny son. Awright, Briggy. Awright, Azzy,’ Kenzie says, pure cheeky.

‘Naw, A’m no awright.’

‘Awk wit you sayin noo, ya clown? Here comes the fuckin college lecture, boays!’

‘Who’s that yir wae?’

‘Wit?’

‘Yi fuckin heard me.’

‘Aye, it’s Matty fuck. We’re sharin a run aff Maynard noo.’

‘It’s Matty fuck? The cunt who slashed your fuckin brother?’

‘Calm doon, Azzy. Nae cunt’s tryin tae start anyhin,’ Gunny says.

‘Yooz two – git fuckin oot.’ The two ae them huff n puff n bounce oot the motor n start walkin over tae the BMW. ‘Aye isn’t this fuckin cosy. Aw yooz runnin aboot wae that fuckin bam.’

‘Aw, Azzy, shuuut up, mate. We’re no needin a Sermon on the Mount aff you, ya slopin bastard.’

‘You’ve git some fuckin baws,’ A say, laughin. ‘Did yi hear wit happened last night?’

‘Naw how?’

‘Stevie Broon?’

‘Wit aboot him?’

‘Somecunt murdered him.’

‘Aye right.’

‘Aye, right. So dis Broonie know yi set him up?’

‘Wit you talkin aboot?’

‘Yi know exactly wit A’m fuckin talkin aboot. Grassin him intae Maynard?’

‘Nah, mate, A dunno anyhin aboot that—’

‘A’M NO YIR FUCKIN MATE! You’ve always been a fuckin snake but this is a new low even fur you. A hope you fuckin dwell on Stevie Broon, cos it’s your fault.’

‘Mate, Broonie shouldnae be runnin aboot bumpin gangsters. It’s no ma fault if it’s caught up wae him, is it?’

A bounce oot the motor n Kenzie stands. He knows his wee terriers Gunny n Briggy wull back him up, no tae mention his new fuckin bum chum Matty. ‘Think this is a game, ya wee fuckin dick? You’ve ruined yir pal’s life fur the sake ae shiftin a few fuckin tickets. Dae yi no care?’

‘Naw, n dae yi know wit? It wis me that panned yir maw’s windae, ya fuckin beast!’

A’m only a couple ae feet away fae Kenzie. Briggy n Gunny ir over hangin in the windae ae the BMW. A fly fur him n whack him ten rapid. The fuckin pussy isnae even tryin tae fight back. He’s hidin his face n shoutin over tae the rest ae them. Hawners! Hawners! A manage tae git him aboot four clean punches tae the face n his eye n nose ir aw burst n cut. Gunny is first over n he tries tae swing fur me. A grab him n header him right in the beak n he falls tae the deck burst open, nose splattered. Wee Briggy is hesitant n A really don’t want tae hit him. ‘Don’t you fuckin try it, son.’

‘Wit yi startin fur, Azzy?’

‘Shut yir fuckin hole, bawheed!’

The 3 Series door opens n Matty bounces oot. He looks elder anaw n he’s been in the gym. That cunt is smiling n A’m suckin in air through gritted teeth, supplyin ma muscles wae that vital oxygen. Adrenaline coursin through ma veins causin the chemical reactions, fight or flight n that sick-makin, dancin feelin in yir stomach, pulse in yir tongue n temples. Ma hands ir shakin n A’m ready tae fight. There is nae flight in the YTP.