“I were in a card game with these lads, real villains. Couple of them are into armed robbery, one of them kills for money. Serious people…”
This was Scarface.
He fancied himself as a gangster.
Far from it.
He was an electrician.
A shit electrician, I might add.
He once took a whole day to put a light fitting up in his own bedroom.
This was after two years of nagging from his wife.
He finished the fitting, called his wife upstairs. She opened the door…
And smashed the bulb.
He’d put the light fitting at just the right length and position for the opening door to smash it.
He nicked a box of bulbs from work, and put them behind the door.
Every time a bulb smashed, he put in a new one.
Job well done.
Scarface was in his fifties.
He liked his gold, liked his designer labels, liked his suntan.
He had a big scar on his face.
He told women he got it in a fight.
He really got it because the lengthy sunbed sessions made something evil grow on his face and a doctor had to cut it out.
It turned septic.
Because of the amount of sunbed hours he was still racking up while his face was trying to heal.
“…and this guy comes into our club, selling jewelry. I turned this gold bracelet over and there was dried blood on it. I asked him where it came from. He says, ‘Don’t ask.’ Serious blokes…”
He jumped out of his leathery skin.
Bear was shouting for him.
Bear was Scarface’s boss.
He scurried into Bear’s office.
“What you want, Bear?”
“I want you to a job, but I don’t want you to fuck it up.”
“What do you mean? I always do my best…”
Bear rummaged in a drawer.
He pulled out a screwdriver.
It looked like a normal screwdriver, except the business end resembled molten lava.
“Your best is shit, Scarface. I want you to do better than your best. I want you to try really hard, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll manage to do a shoddy job of it. You might even get it right.”
Bear waggled the melted screwdriver.
“Two days we were down, Scarface. The explosion almost turned you white, as impossible as that might seem. I don’t want a repeat performance.”
Scarface grunted. He was already sulking.
“You’re re-wiring the board room. You’ve got two days.”
Scarface perked up. Two days, working on his own. He’d be able to create all kinds of complications and excuses. It translated to at least a week of tossing it off. Maybe even Saturday morning, double time.
“Ok, Bear. I’ll get my tools…”
“Oh, and one more thing. You’ll be working with Flint and Hugs.”
“No! For fuck’s sake, Bear, anyone but them!”
Flint and Hugs were machine minders, their job being to load paper and ink into the print presses, but they were the sort of blokes who could turn their hand to anything; joinery, decorating, plumbing, violent sexual molestation of petty thieves and the viscious killing of hundreds of defenseless creatures.
They were psychopaths, and Scarface was terrified of them.
Bear wouldn’t budge.
He was going to have to work with them.
With a feeling of dread Scarface packed his tools and trudged to the boardroom.
Flint was fabricating a partition wall.
Hugs was glossing some woodwork.
“Alreet, Scarface!” they grinned simultaneously.
They grinned like doberman pinschers.
Scarface swallowed hard.
“Reet, lads,” he mumbled, and began to set out his tools
As he worked, he had an idea.
To make Flint and Hugs give him some respect, he decided to tell them some stories about how hard his gangster mates were. That way they might not do anything horrible to him.
He started fiddling about with a wall socket.
“Do you lads play cards?”
Flint and Hugs looked at each other, shaking there heads.
“I do. I’ve got a game going down York Road at the moment. Big stakes. Some real villains involved.”
Scarface got onto his knees by the skirting board and drilled into the wall. It was a long room, he was at one end, Flint and Hugs were at the other.
“Yeah, we’re playing poker for big money, but I can hold my own with them lads. Known ’em all my life. Lot of folk shit themselves just looking at these guys, but they’d do owt for me. We’re really tight.”
“Here, Flint,” whispered Hugs.
“What’s this stupid orange cunt on about?”
“Dunno, Hugs. Seems like he’s talking shit to me.”
“Too right. What we gonna do about it?”
“Hmmm… tricky one that. I know. Why don’t you see if you can hit him with that tin of white gloss?”
Flint and Hugs shuffled into Bear’s office.
He was on the phone.
They patiently waited for him to finish the call.
“Yes, yes, I’ll book the machine in for routine maintenance on the fifteenth. Don’t schedule any jobs for it until the seventeenth. Ok, cheers, bye.”
He hung up.
“How you doing Bear?”
“What are you two cunts after? I don’t trust you.”
“Erm.. that job Scarface was doing…”
“…was it very urgent?”
“Yes. Everything is fucking urgent in this place. Why? Where’s Scarface?”
“He’s in the boardroom…”
“…on the floor…”
“…we think we might have…”
Scarface blinked slowly.
Everything was blurred, his mind and his vision.
He was in bed.
In a white room.
In white sheets.
He lifted his hand.
It was pure white.
Oh fuck, he thought.
Then he heard giggling.
He slowly turned his head.
Flint and Hugs were sat by his side.
Scarface cringed away from them.
“Wakey wakey sleepy head!” said Flint.
“Rise and shine!” said Hugs.
“Stay away from me!” said Scarface.
They both started giggling again.
“Bear sent us…”
“… to say we’re sorry for nearly killing you.”
Scarface lifted his hand again.
“What the fuck is wrong with my skin?”
Hugs couldn’t speak. His shoulders were going and tears ran down his face.
“It’s the tin we threw,” spluttered Flint.
“…lid came off…”
“…you want to see your face…”
“…you look like…”
They shuffled to the door, howling with laughter.
“A fat? A fat what? What do I look like? Flint? Hugs?”
“You’re gonna need some thinners…”
“You’re fighting for your life inside a..”
“GET OUT! GET OUT YOU BASTARDS!!!”
Blog North Awards
The stories I hear.
- basketball Bernie Blog North Awards 2014 Bog_Wanking bradford city bullying Camping cancer Chelsea Chelsea Supporters Group Clive O'Connell cyclops dating daughter Delilah Driver on the Wing Dwarves ear_rape eighties Factory Fat Fiesta fire football Ford friction Fuck Fucking Fucking Amazing Dave Gabrielle general lucifer golf hotel ink Intense Ginger Bloke Jock Knickers Leeds LFGSS Lucifer Mayfair Minty Murder Newcastle New York nineties North pantone pantone blues pigeons plates poaching Printing pubs Rats Reg repro repro_man Retirement sasquatch sausages school Sheep Shirley Soulless splits Sport spunk Staffy suicide tattoos Trillians weasel whiskey Yorkshire
- July 2017
- April 2017
- March 2017
- February 2017
- December 2016
- November 2016
- October 2016
- September 2016
- August 2016
- July 2016
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
- February 2016
- December 2015
- November 2015
- October 2015
- September 2015
- August 2015
- July 2015
- June 2015
- May 2015
- April 2015
- March 2015
- February 2015
- January 2015
- December 2014
- November 2014
- October 2014
- September 2014
- August 2014
- July 2014
- June 2014
- May 2014
- April 2014
- March 2014
- February 2014
- January 2014
- September 2013
- August 2013
- July 2013
- May 2013
- March 2012
- December 2011
- November 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- April 2011
- January 2011
- November 2010
- September 2010
- August 2010
- July 2010
- June 2010
- May 2010
- April 2010
- March 2010
- February 2010
- January 2010
- December 2009
- November 2009
- October 2009