Yankee Doodle Dandy

We’re sittin up the Mansion n it’s fuckin freezin, snowin n aw this. We’re tucked intae the room wae nae windae, aw sittin roon a big circular table, wae as many ramshackle chairs as we could gather. There’s a bar stool, a plastic school chair, an oil drum on its side n two breeze blocks n a railway sleeper makin a bench. The only light is aboot five or six tealight candles burnin on the wooden fittings ae the back wall. There’s a bucket kit in the middle ae the table n we’re pullin rounds wae it. We aw git para in here cos yi cannae see fuck aw ootside wae nae windaes. There’s a symphony ae shhh when suhin bangs in the wind or broken glass crunches underfoot. We’re aw chattin shite, tryin tae make light ae the drama fae the weekend.

‘Azzy, mate, A wouldnae worry aboot they three. They shat it fae you, mate,’ Wee Kenzie says wae a shark smile. The fact that he’s even tryin tae reassure me is makin me more nervous. It reminds me that there’s suhin playin on his ain mind n he’s tryin tae comfort himself by comfortin me.

‘Ah fuck it, mate, if they want tae come lookin fur me, they know where A’m ir.’

‘A hope they dae,’ Danny says. Everybody turns tae look at him. He’s smilin like fuck, but realises. ‘Aye no like that, obviously. A missed it last time, fuck sake!’

‘Mate, there’s nae point lookin fur trouble.’

‘Fuck them anyways, Azzy boy. Any shite starts n yir boays wull back yi up,’ Wee Broonie says. A know that tae be true but yi cannae help worry a wee bit. There’s Toi wans after us n noo A wis in-fightin wae our elder wans. A’m a sonar pulse on aw their radar. Me, Azzy Williams, the wee fuckin fly in the soup. The bold yin.

‘A’ll back yi right up, Azzy boy,’ Finnegan says.

‘You shat yirself, ya dick!’ Danny shoots back.

‘A know that, fuck sake, A got a wee fright. Next time A’ll be in aboot it, just you wait n see, Danny bhoy.’

‘A’ll be smashing the next dafty that tries it with me.’

‘Yir no a fighter, Addison mate,’ Kenzie says.

We aw look at him. It’s a race tae see who’s fastest.

‘Didnae see you dain much, eld son,’ Danny says.

‘Aye well same tae you, ya dick,’ he shoots back.

‘Least A wis doon pokin a burd, no fillin ma fuckin nappy!’

‘Shut it, ya dick.’

‘Yer maw, ya—’ He’s cut aff.

A hear voices outside n a rustlin comin fae the doorway. ‘Shhh! Fuckin shut it!’ A say. We aw sit in silence n ir reminded ae the tactical disadvantage ae a room wae nae windaes. Me n Kenzie’s git a bit ae dope each, n even though mines is only a wee tenner’s bit, the polis ir always mad keen tae git yir name in their charge book. That meant a charge, a letter hame tae yir maw n a report tae the Children’s Panel every time. Azzy Boy hud awready racked up a fair eld few, aboot ten so far. A put ma index finger tae ma lips n move quietly tae the door. Soon as yi try tae go intae Splinter Cell stealth-mode n start creepin, somecunt wid let oot a nervous fart n aw these chimps wid burst oot laughin. Yi wur as subtle as a fuckin circus wae these clowns. A peer oot, Tom Clancy material. Spy-club original Azzy boay. Amid the snow, two black figures. The wee blue squares ae a radio n the crunch ae footsteps on the frozen ground. ‘It’s the fuckin polis, nae joke, nae fuckin joke.’ A whisper back intae the room.