‘Does he defo have it?’
‘Yeah, I seen him come through the gate when I was collecting me dinner. He shot us a wink.’ ‘Fuckin’ please God, the landin’s drier than a nun’s fanny.’
‘Well get the lube out cos as soon as tha’ door opens, we’re gonna cane it!’
‘Fuckin’ hate being banged in when I know there’re Persian-rugs on the landing.’
‘Relax, only a few more minutes to fall out.’
‘Yeah but that cunt has probably been slaughtering the parcel over the dinner hour, him an’ the new fella he’s been doubled up with.’
‘Yer man doesn’t partake as far as I know. I tried to sell him a bag las’ week an’ he was havin’ none of it. So what if he slaughters the parcel? I would, I have done…only right really.’
‘Yeah but he’ll be sorted already an’ in no hurry to bring us-on-a-smoke, with no edge cuttin’ into him he’ll be more likely to try and play God with the gear, what’ll we do then?’
‘We’ll simply have a sly word with certain people tha’ a parcel has landed, and, a particular fellow was not overly keen in sortin’ out his fellow prisoners. He’ll be fuckin’ scourged by the general public all day. Nah, he wants to hav’ his session, it’s easier to sort us out than have the best part of the landin’ come in on top of him in the cell.’
The sound of heavy iron gates swinging open and then slamming shut again causes them to fall silent. They listen as officers talk and joke amongst themselves upon their return from the break. The call for “fall out”, echoes around the wing, followed by the sounds of jangling keys penetrating locked steel doors. ‘It’s time,’ he says while rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.
‘I should hope he doesn’t so much as attempt to play God, or I’ll be leadin’ the fuckin’ charge in on top of him!’
Their door is unlocked, just as they prepare to swoop out onto the landing, the door bursts back into their cell. ‘Alri girls? Did anyone order hard narcotics of the opiate variety?’ He erupts in jovial form, his eyes dance around his skull. ‘We most certainly did pal, come in, make yerself at home.’
‘Oh I will don’t you worry ‘bout that. The devil’s dandruff comes with a visa to cross any threshold and access any cell of one’s choosing.’
‘Fuckin’ horrible cunt, can’t wait till yer dyin’ sick!’ The two think in tandem while exchanging subtle glances. ‘Hav’ yis any Jimmy lads?’
‘Yeah we’ve a few sheets alri,’ he said as he retrieves a book from the shelf. He leafs through the pages, stopping every fifty or so, revealing the hidden sheets of foil.
‘Here this one’s not too bad, will do for a tray. This one’s scorched as a bad day in Baghdad…will do for a Tooter,’ he says while handing him the less blemished sheet, and rolling the blackened scorched sheet into a cylinder.
‘Right lads, please remove yiser footwear before steppin’ on me rug!’
The two sit side by side on the bottom bunk, the other pulls the grey plastic I.P.S chair adjacent to them and sits. Brown powder is diligently tapped out onto the foil tray. A switch of the lighter and a flick of the wrist sends the flame arching through the air, gently, briefly kissing and scoring underneath the foil, causing the powder to liquefy to a black tar-pool. The foil is slightly tilted, the flame continues on its orbit, scraping underneath the foil for milliseconds at a time. The blob of tar begins to march towards the other end of the tray, leaving a black sluggish trail which turns to vapor upon every kiss from the flame and is captured through the rolled foil cylinder in his mouth. He slightly tilts the foil again, this time from the other end, causing the small pool of tar to follow its own line back to the starting position. He inhales deep as it travels. He gives away the tooter but retains the possession of the tray, remaining in control of the primordial tar, continuing to run it along its pre-paved line for each of the two.
‘It’s nice bobby,’ they both agree after inhaling a fair share of lines between them, offering him back the tooter. He inhales a few lines worth of the tar’s smoke before returning the tooter to one of the pair. ‘Any bother takin’ in the parcel?’
‘Nah, yer-one is an absolute pro. She doesn’t even plug it.’
‘What! If she doesn’t stuff it up inside her then wha’ does she do? Don’t tell us she nests it in her hair, they’re well wide to that.’
‘They’re well wide to it being stashed in vaginas and rectums,’ he counters.
‘Yeah but there’s fuck-all they can do about stuff being bottled.’
‘True true, nah what the horrible Cretan does is hide it submerged in one of her rolls of belly fat,’ he laughs.
‘Fuck-off!’ They utter in disgust.
‘Yeah it’s true, she’s a bleedin’ heifer boys. Arm fat; leg fat, arse fat, belly fat, back fat, neck fat and ankle fat…bitch is fuckin’ fat! I bleedin’ hate cuddlin’ up to her to take it, the fuckin’ bang of sweat off her…but priorities lads.’
'What’s the story with the new fella you’ve been stung with?’ He asks while taking the tooter and leaning over the tray.
‘Ah he’s doin’ me bleedin’ nut-in, can see him getting’ turfed-out to be honest.’
‘Does he partake?’ They ask in unison.
‘Nah, pure dry cunt. All he does is moan ‘bout being grassed up and whine over his bird. All he does is shite on about how much he misses her and how he’s afraid she’s gonna shack up with someone else. I put up with it at first, but as you pair of kindred spirits know all too well, I’ve been dyin’ with the Afghani flu the past few days an’ I lost patience with him so I told em, “Listen yeh fuckin’ mad Sunday World wannabe gangster, you’re after gettin’ nicked. Now, you’ve learned two invaluable life lessons; the drug trade is full of mad-rats, fellas involved in dealing for decades an’ hav’ never done a serious days jail for it, and, most birds won’t wait for a fuckin’ bus never mind a fella servin’ a sentence. So, she’ll find some other small time wheeler-dealer to latch onto like any other good parasite does”, he had to be told boys.’
A timid knock occurs on the door. They all freeze like deer in headlights; it cannot be officers, for they do not knock. Worse, must be other prisoners looking to involve themselves in the vice. He flings himself from the bunk, failing to reach the door before a head intrudes. ‘Alri man, I remember yeh sayin’ yeh were buzzin’ up to the two boys, can I come in for a sec?’
‘Yeah bro stall it,’ he says, Tooter still in mouth, he re-ignites the lighter and returns to his smoke. He enters tentatively, opting to stand awkward at the sink.
‘What’s up with yeh bro?’ He asks while handing away the tooter to the pair.
‘To be honest man, me heads a bit melted.’
‘Yeah, how come?’
‘Letter jus’ landed from me bird…she’s after breakin’ up with us…says she can’t handle the situation.’
‘That’s bollox! Sorry bro,’ the two offer with genuine sympathy.
‘Fuck-sake boys, me hearts burnin’ and me stomach is in a knot.’
‘Well I hate to say it but that’s what they’re like, when the money an’ the drugs are there they love yeh till death do yis apart, but, as soon as things get a bit heavy, they scurry off like rats on a sinkin’ ship.’
‘Yeah guess yer right…Anyway I was wonderin’ would it be alri if I jump in on the smoke with yis? Y’know jus’ to get over the shock.’ The request puts a momentary cessation to the ritualistic imbibing of hard drugs.
‘Listen man, this isn’t what yeh need. Go and ring her or better yet, go the yard for a few laps and start thankin’ yer lucky stars the conniving cow’s revealed her true colors…the fresh air will help clear yer head,’ he says before returning to his consuming. The intruders’ eyes light up at the thought of a possible reconciliation over the prison phone.
‘Yeah yer right man,’ the intruder responds as he bolts out of the cell.
‘Don’t give him a smoke.’
‘No won’t, I’ve never given someone their first few rails,’ he lies.
‘Me neither,’ he joins in on the lie.
‘Ah sure he’ll work out what’s best himself. Yeh never know the cowardly bitch might even have enough of a heart to feel guilty enough to lie and give him some false hope.’
Once all the tar has been has evaporated from the foil. One of the two sets about making tea for the group. The others take out their pouches of tobacco and begin rolling smokes. The intruder returns, ashen face and teary eyed. ‘I take it from yer solemn demeanor tha’ it did not go well?’ His cellmate says with a smirk, unsure which he delights in more, the effect of the narcotic or the calamity befallen his cell-mate, probably the combination of the two. ‘Fuckin’ slapper, she’s after shackin’ up with another fella, and, I know yer man…he’s a bleedin’ pikey!’ He cries. The three erupt in spontaneous laughter. His initial response is anger, his fists clench, his legs prepare to lurch forward on the offensive, but, the energy and will to attack quickly dissipates, leaving him in lifeless cold despair. ‘Look lads, I’m in a bad way, can I jump in for a few rails?’
‘Look mate, go the yard and clear yer head, better again go the gym and express yer pain.’
‘For fuck-sake man, I’m in agony, a proper two-and-eight!’ He whines. ‘I can pay,’ he insists.
This gives pause to ponder, on the one hand it is not considered good form to introduce new victims to death, but on the other hand the parcel must be paid for outside of the walls.
‘Alri bro, sit-down at the end of the bunk beside the two boys.’ He taps out more powder onto the foil, handing him the tooter while igniting the lighter. The tooter perched between his lips; he follows the pool of tar to the end of the foil, sucking hard the whole way. He follows it back again, beginning to feel light-headed and distracted from his inner grief. He follows the tar on its third journey across the foil, capturing all its smoke. The blood drains from his face, sweat beads on his forehead. He struggles to his feet and staggers to the toilet. He arrives just in time for the eruption within his stomach. As he violently vomits, the others seize their opportunity, sharing lines of smoke from the tar between them. Once there is nothing left inside of him, he steps tentatively back to the bunk, and, crash lands down onto it. ‘C’mere man, yeh may aswell get yer monies worth,’ he said while leaning forward with the tray, offering the tooter. It is hard for him to co-ordinate his body. All he wants is to allow the sinking feeling in his members to swallow him whole. He musters a great force of will, managing to lean over the tray once more. This time he inhales four lines before he is overwhelmed by the urge to purge himself once again. Unable to hoist himself from the bunk, he leans over the edge of the bunk and erupts.
‘Ah for fuck-sake man!’ The two roar at him, but their protests fall on deaf ears attached to a near paralyzed body. When he has finished his purging, he rolls over onto his back, panting for air, drenched in his own sweat. He is immersed in the feelings of warmth and safety engulfing him.
‘Welcome to oblivion,’ he says, witnessing his cell-mates first and most intense decent into the abyss. ‘For pox-sake, we’re gonna have the bang of sick haunting our peggy all night!’ The pair proclaim in anger as they clamber to clean up their fellow victims bodily fluids from off the floor.
Once all physical traces of the vomit have been cleaned, and the tea has cooled enough to drink, they resume their ritual of sharing the tooter amongst themselves. He pivots to look upon the limp body beside him on the bed before turning to his mate,
'Here, how’d yeh end up havin’ yer first turn on?’
‘It was Christmas eve six years ago. I was dossing about outside a mate’s cell when the Chief and Chaplain came onto the landin’, all solemn like. We all knew it meant only one thing; the grim reaper was after pullin’ a stroke on one of us. We all stood watching to see which cell they stop at. All of a sudden they stop outside of mine. Me heart sank, I turned to look at some of the boys, I could fuckin’ see the relief on the bastards’ faces. I walked over, well as best I could, me legs were like jelly at this stage. The Chief took off his hat and the Chaplain told me he was very sorry but me Ma had passed. Naturally I was fucked up, not angry mind, Christ I wish I had been. I jus’ felt numb and breathless. So I went down the landin’ and scored a couple of bags, and that was that, been married to the gear ever since…and you?’ Before answering he turns again to look upon the limp bodied victim beside him. He stares for a moment, scratching aimlessly at his own cheek.
‘Same as yer man there, the mother of me kids was rippin’ me off while I was servin’ a sentence. She got preggers and dumped me over the prison phone. I couldn’t handle it, I was gonna top meself but thought, “If yer gonna kill yerself, death by heroin sounds the most pleasant way to go”. Ironically though, the gear became me reason to live again, I fell in love with the stuff. I mean I know it’s a bad drug in-all, but when you’ve fuck-all in life anyway, what’s the harm? D’yis know tha’ song, “Comfortably numb”, by Pink Floyd?’ They nod their heads in recognition of a junkie anthem.
‘Well when I’m on the bobby it’s like the veil has been lifted and I can glimpse in me peripheral at a world other than this. A world we’re all intuitively aware exists when we’re children, but lose touch with as we grow up. That’s what heroin is to me; it feels right, like I’m goin’ home again.’
They all silently meditate on his words for a moment. Finally the two turn to him, ‘And wha’ ‘bout you?’ They ask.
‘Me?’ He says while placing the Tooter between his lips, and flicking the flint on the lighter until it gives birth to a flame, ‘I jus’ wanted to get stoned.’
