A Fool and His Money.

 

He was swaying backwards and forwards as the weight of his waving arm changed his centre of gravity. A pair of burgundy Doc Martin boots with yellow-latticed laces stalwartly kept him vertical. Denim jeans with turn-ups brought the eye up to a large skull and crossbones chrome belt buckle. Above this, a black t-shirt held a white bitten apple.

 

His bearded and square pony tailed head, floated precariously above the collar of a full-length black leather coat. The bright red lining of which framed his body.

 

His right hand waved from left to right before sharply diving down with the index finger pointing to the kerb below him. I fired up the hack, flicked the meter on and crossed the road. He climbed in.

 

“ Awright ma man? Dae yie know where A can git a cairry-oot?..Aye youz guys know where tae git a drink at this time ae the night. Cummoan ma man. Wheraboots can a guy git mair drink when aw the pubs are shut?”

 

“ It’s one o-clock in the morning mate. Yir no gaunnae git a drink in West Lothian at this time ae the night.”

 

“ Whereaboots then? A’m no short.”

 

He pulled a roll of money from his coat pocket and held it up. There were browns, purples, and more than a few reds in there. He was holding at least a grand and a half.

 

“ The only place yi’ll git a cairry-oot at this time ae night mate, is Fiery Jacks on Lothian Road in Edinburgh.

 

“ Whit will that cost me?”

 

“ Fifty quid mate, twenty five in, and the same oot.”

 

I held my open palm at the pay point.

 

“ It’s money up front mate…Sorry.”

 

 He peeled off a fifty as he said,

 

“ Fifty quid, there yie are ma man.”

 

I took his money and the motorway to Auld Reekie.

 

 Outside Fiery Jacks, a huge, buck-toothed, ogre-like, black bouncer with his head protruding from his chest, sniffed loudly as he stretched his leather jacket. His dragging knuckles ploughed the pavement as he slinked menacingly while scanning the area for victims.

 

The pub sat back from the road. The large window flashed red and blue as the lights from the disco animated the interior.

 

I pointed.

 

“ In there mate. Jist walk right in.”

 

His long black coat dramatically splayed out behind him as he purposefully made his way towards the entrance. The bouncer, with his long arms crossed in front of his bedroom furniture, stood in front of the door. After a few exchanges, he stepped to the side and let the guy in.

 

I got out of the cab and lit a cigarette. The frost on the pavements had a strange amber glow as it picked up the colour from the tall streetlamps. The cars red brake lights and yellow flashing indicators imitated the traffic lights. Across the road on the taxi rank, waiting cabs glowed orange as their begging lights reflected on their bonnets. The sound of high-pitched emergency sirens confirmed my presence in the city.

 

A group of women and girls wearing tu-tu’s and pink frilly knickers clucked excitedly past. The future bride with a broken stiletto and wearing an L-plate, sucked a large dummy as she led the brood up the hill.

 

As I looked downhill towards Princes Street, I mused over the watchtower in St Cuthbert’s graveyard. During the time of the resurrectionists, people would pay to stay in the tower overlooking the cemetery to guard their recently buried family or friends against being resurrected and sold to the Edinburgh College of Surgeons.

 

On the opposite side of the street stood the Caledonian hotel…

 

The bouncer intruded on my tour of the city.

 

“ Listen mate. Is that guy in the Matrix gear a pal ae yours?”

 

“ Naw, he’s jist a fare. Why?”

 

“ He’s in there arguing wie the barmaid. He’s no oot ae order yit but in a minute A’ll be gaun in tae tear him a new arse. Dae yie want tae help him by savin me the bother?”

 

There’s a sense of duty or responsibility for the welfare of the passenger until the fare is completed. This isn’t something I’ve ever discussed with another driver, but I feel it’s true. I decided to go in. 

 

“ Aye awright big-yin. Wull yie keep an eye oan ma motor?”

 

“ Aye go and git that fanny ootae there afore A lose the plot awthegither.”

 

I locked the cab and made my way into the pub.  

 

Tall backed wooden stools surrounded the bar. An assortment of human beings in various colours and genders occupied the seats. Suitors and lovers draped themselves over the seated; they touched and sycophantically caressed them in an attempt to scratch whatever particular itch, they suffered from. Coloured flashing lights spinning slowly, revealed faces in animated conversation. A blonde vegan wearing virtually nothing, rattled her skinny frame to Paul Oakenfold’s Ready Steady Go.

 

I looked along the inside of the bar. A guy with a top hat balanced on the back of his head, ripped the top off a beer bottle and slammed it down hard in front of a bald punter. Next to him, an attractive brunette smiled as she handed change over the counter. To her left, using both hands to emphasise her point, a tall pony-tailed blonde was arguing with my fare.

 

“ Look mate, A’ve told yie already. Yie took a boattle intae the lavy wie yie. That’s why there’s only five in the bag.”

 

“ I excused myself as I squeezed in between a brace of Mohican lesbians. Standing with one hand holding the handle of an open carrier bag and the other on his head, my fare, stressed to the max, was arguing with the barmaid.

 

“ Cumoan, hink aboorit, naebody buys five boattles ae beer, it’s always six or a dozen. Yie only buy five if that’s aw yi’ve goat the money fur.”

 

“ Listen tae me ya plank. There’s naebody sayin yie bought five Grolsh. A’ve been tryin tae tell yie, yie bought half a dozen right enough, but…”

 

The guy began to shake his head.

 

The barmaid patiently continued.

 

Noo, A said listen tae me, think back. Yie took a boattle aff the counter and went intae the lavatry, remember noo?”

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. He shook his head as he looked at me.

 

“A’m yir taxi driver…. Remember?”

 

“ Whit’s aw this remember pish? Dae yiz hink A’ve loast it or sumhin?”

 

“ Naw mate. A brought yie in fae Bathgate… Dae yie remember… The taxi?

 

“ Fur fuck sake, will yiz stoap aw this remember shite? A cannae remember, A’m pished.”

 

I tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“ Whit noo?”

 

“ A’m gaun intae the toilet tae see if yi’ve left a boattle ae beer in there right enough.”

 

“ Aye the best ae luck tae yie mate, it’s fuckin mingin in there. A nearly passed oot wie the stink. There’s a guy dyin in there man.”

 

Just behind him on the wall was the sign for the loo, a thick, chrome, pointing finger, with the word ‘Gents’ showed the way.

 

I pushed the creaking door open. Someone was ill. The place was alive with the foulest stench. Two six-foot fluorescent lights with broken starters flashed quickly on and off as they clung to the ceiling. Moans and groans, accompanied by horrible sounds of extended, noisy and painful bowel evacuations, came from behind one of the cubicles. Four full fetid urinals hung on the wall like half eaten rotten pears.

 

I began to retch. I covered my mouth with my hand as I kicked the cubicle doors open. Each sight got progressively worse. This shitehole hadn’t ever been cleaned. Loaded and scrunched up paper tissue littered the floor. A massacre of cigarette packets with their flip-top lids gaping like wounds, covered the spaces in between. Evidence of disease-induced diarrhoea clung to the inside of the bowls in long thick tongues. Finger width brown smears in lines of two and four cut through the graffiti on the filthy tiled walls.

 

In the last ‘offal’ smelling cubicle, on top of the cracked cistern, stood the missing green bottle of grolsh. The bottle had a swing top lid which was thankfully closed sealing the contents from this filthy environment. White balls of gas chased each other up to the surface of the beer, aerating the liquid, and professing its wholesomeness and purity.

 

I rescued the bottle and hurried through the fumes to the bar. The guy had calmed down and he was talking to the barmaid. I gave him the bottle.

 

“ There yie are mate. It’s nae wunner yie left it mate. The stink in there wid knock yie out man.”

 

“ Aye mate yir no jokin. A nearly died in there. The smell nearly sobered me up.”

 

Yie right then? Yie goin noo?”

 

“ Aye let’s go mate, let’s git the fuck outae  this dive.”

 

He looked at the barmaid and said.

 

“ A apologise hen but A hud tae git oot ae that shitehole yie huv back there. A wiz gittin dizzy. A don’t know who the guy is in there, but yie should maybe git him an ambulance. Half his insides huv fell oot his arse, there cannae be much ae him left. Yie should send somebody in afore he disappears doon the pan awthegither.”

 

He lifted his bag and emptied the bottle in one long drink. He placed the bottle reverently on the bar. After handing the barmaid a tenner he winked at her and turned to me saying,

 

“ Yie right driver? Lets go.”

 

The bouncer was standing outside as we left. He turned and looked us both up and down before saying,

 

“ Yir taxi’s fine. A checked it wiz locked afore A came back tae ma post here mate. A see yie goat hings soarted then?”

 

“ Aye fine mate.”

 

The indicators flashed as I opened the doors of the cab . We both climbed in and headed back to West Lothian.

 

On the way the guy had a wee sleep which helped to sober him up. He awoke and sat bolt upright. He frantically began to search all his pockets. After switching the interior light on, he placed what money he had on the seat, he stood up and searched again before finally sitting down and stuffing the money into his inside coat pocket.

 

He sat back down and put his head in his hands. After lifting his head he said.

 

“ Eh, mate huv A paid you fur this?”

 

“ Aye yie have . Yie paid me fifty quid before we left Bathgate, why?”

 

“ Hing is mate, A work fur Cathlaw Plant Hire. Ma boss sent me tae deliver a generator tae a building site the day. A delivered it and the guy took me intae his office. He gave me an envelope oot his safe wie the money fur the generator inside. That wiz two hundred pounds. 

 

Jist as he wiz gonnie shut the safe again, a worker ran in and told him a guy hud fell aff a roof. He ran right oot leavin me in the office wie the safe door lyin open. A looked inside, there wiz a coupla piles ae notes. A lifted them mate.”

 

“ Yie stole the money? Fuck sake mate.”

 

He shook his head and said,

 

“ Aye A know mate, Two thousand and sixty five quid A left that office wie. A’ve counted whit’s left. It’s no looking good mate.”

 

He took the roll of notes from his pocket and with a grim expression he began again to count and recount, in hope the total would change, or he may have missed a note or two.

 

I watched him as he counted. Not only was he counting the money,he was counting away his job and his liberty. The police would be waiting for him at his home in Bathgate. He would be arrested and would probably spend the rest of the night, if not the weekend in the cells.

 

“ Listen mate, jist take a boattle oot the bag and wire in. It’s goannie be a rough coupla days fur yie fae noo oan, eh.”

 

“ Aye thanks mate, yir right.”

 

He bent down and took a bottle from the bag. He flicked the swing top open and raised the bottle to me through the screen. 

 

“ Cheers driver.” 

 

I nodded. I switched the intercom off and turned up the Dire straits cd. He smiled as he sat back and  began to savour his beer.

 

 The police transit van was sitting parked just up from his house.

 

“ jist stop here mate. A’ll have a smoke as A walk doon.”

 

He opened the door and stepped out. The empty bottles clinked loudly as he lifted the bag. Stopping at the passenger window he tapped the top of his bottle on the glass. I lowered the window and said,

 

“ Best ae luck mate.”

 

“ Aye you tae mate.” 

 

He winked before he swaggered with bottle in hand towards the police van.

 

© Weefatfella.