Day Three Hundred and Ten: Deek II

Part two of yesterday’s story. WOO!

JP was left tae tear Jacks equipment doon and take it tae the van cause Jack found himself indisposed with a phone call on the porcelain phone but I felt a sorry for him so I helped him oot a bit. Ronnie’s a little particular aboot his own gear so we left him to tear his drums doon himself. The tour manager said that he found us a place to crash the night at his mate’s hoose, which was pretty fuckin sound of him, but I doubt I’ll need it. I’ll be goin hame with a lassie the night. Sleepin in a bed. Well, eventually. Maybe sleepin. I dunno. We’ll see whit happens. By half eleven we’ve finished packing up the gear and the promoter opens the club. I asked him if he had our guarantee – which’ll probably go toward petrol money – and he handed it ower to Jack. Fuck. That’s bad, bad news. I have to be honest, I didnae see him leave the toilet and when I checked he’d fucked off. He always does this when he’s had a few. Fucking cunt. That petrol money will be gone by the morning and old Deek here will have to pay for it, like the idiot I am. We didnae shift as much merch as we’d have liked either tonight, so we cannae use some eh that cash. After aboot an hour the club starts tae fill up and Ronnie hits the dancefloor, eyein up lassies and tryin to get his chat oan. Jack puts in his token appearance which gave me enough time to grab a wee word wae him. It’s a conversation which went something like this:
“Jack, Jack? JACKIE BOY!”
I had to shout cause he was sitting starin into space, with that look on his face like he never understood what wis happenin around him, but wae a big fat daft smile signifying he was enjoying his current state of mind. That’s how ye know he’s utterly pan handled – big dopey smile, and empty saucers for eyes.
“Deek maaaawnnnnnnnnnn! Whur tha hull ye been?” he says, grabbing ma neck and pullin me in close for a hug, kissin me oan the cheek. He gets pretty affectionate when he’s drunk even though his legs, his common sense and his wallet urnae worth a fuck.
“Been here the whole time, pal! Ye pished?”
“Aye man. Ah’m absholutely fu –hic- fucked, mate. Dun in. Where ur we?”
Shit. He’s goat the hiccups. That’s never a good thing.
“You got the petrol money there?”
“Eh, naw mate. I do not.”
“Ye sure? Promoter said he gave ye it.”
“Naw man. He never gied us a thing. Not a thing.”
“JP husnae goat it, neither’s Ronnie.”
Ronnie moonwalks over, smooth as ye like, leavin a trail of unsatisfied lassies in his wake.
“Awright troops. Whit’s the craic?”
“Deek wis telt by eh cunt promoter that he gied me the money.”
“And Jackie boy here says he’s no goat it.”
“Ach man, fuck it. We’ll sort it the morra. Did ah tell ye ah love you guys? Yer special tae me. Even you, Jack.”
Ronnie grabs us both together in a bear hug. He’s a big guy, is oor Ronnie, so when he hugs ye, ye know it, however this is unusually affectionate. Bet he’s fleein. Jack clocks the weirdness – a fuckin Poriot level insight, given the current state of his mental faculties – and sees it fit tae enlighten us, changin the subject as he does so.
“Here, Ronnie, ye oan somethin?”
“Jack, Jack, Jack Jackie boy. Ye’ve such a nice face, did anywan ever tell ye that?”
He pecks Jack on the cheek: shit is getting legitimately bizarre. His pupils are as big as pinballs and he’s grindin his jaw somethin fierce. A look doon and he’s produced a tiny plastic bag with a few white pills in it.
“This here’s some good, good fuckin shit here. Wan eh they lassies ower there gave us em.
“Is that so?”
“Fuck sake Deek. Ye sound like ma da when ye say that ‘Is that so?’ whit fuckin age ur ye, 45?! Any eh you two interested in poppin a couple eh these bad boys?”
Jack blindly reaches for the packet but I guarantee that if he takes one eh them, we’ll be spending the rest of the night in A and E. He’s a right sleazy bastard when he’s oan pills. Legit. I pat his hand oot the way
“Hink yer awright there, Ronnie. Mind n get some watter noo, eh?”
“It’s all good Deek. Ye might talk a bit like ma da but I love ye aw the same. Ye big beautiful bearded cunt!”
Ronnie’s pretty touchy feely when he’s oan pills, so he grabs ma hand n kisses it before moonwalkin back onto the dancefloor. I dunno how he’s no para, to be honest. Unless yer in an environment when every other cunt is pilled oot their faces, there’s always that fear that yer gonna get busted by the bouncers. Bad craic man. Bad fuckin craic.

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