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and you never pissed off the man holding product.
    Anyway, he was a fuckin' prick, and from what I knew, he hadn't gotten any nicer since I saw him last. The more narcotics he poured, stuck or snorted, the more pissed off and paranoid he got. Last I heard, he wasn't even really dealing anymore – he had skivvies out doing his fuckin' dirty work for him – so I had no idea what the fuck he'd turned into without a reason to get up in the morning.
    Trouble was, this was the only gadgie I knew who had a gun. He probably wouldn't sell it, right enough, but I reckoned that he might know a fella who would. It was worth a try, anyway.
    "You alright, Jimmy?"
    I nodded, but I didn't mean it. I got out of the car, leaned on the roof. I saw Farrell's nose twitch.
    "Smells like chip fat round here," he said.
    "I don't smell nowt."
    "Living where you do, Jimmy, I'm not surprised."
    I went forward, knocked on Goose's front door. It moved under my fist. You could hear the war going on inside, bombs and screams and the rattle of machine guns.
    Farrell looked at us, smirking.
    I looked back, like: Don't get fuckin' giddy. I'm in charge .
    If he understood, he didn't show it.
    "It's open," shouted Goose.
    I pushed the door, led the way. At the end of the hall, I could see the edge of Goose's wheelchair. A bit closer, and there he was, the man himself, hunched over a plastic table that clipped onto the arms of his chair. The television was blaring away in the corner of the room, had on that Colin Firth thing from the eighties, the one where he gets paralysed. I'd seen it in bits and bobs about a million fuckin' times back when I had a habit, and it looked like Goose still kept the thing on a loop to add gunfire to his day. It made us a bit sick to look at, to be honest. I wondered if Goose had put it on special.
    Goose raised his head with a snort that made it sound like something was loose in the centre of his head. He pulled on his nose, blinked at us. "Jimmy-son. Long time. How's it going?"
    "Not so bad."
    "Who's your boyfriend?"
    "That's Farrell. He's a mate of mine."
    "Howyeh," said Farrell.
    Goose stared at him. He sniffed and said, "He's a fuckin' mick."
    "A fucking paddy , actually."
    "A cheeky fuckin' mick. Let me guess, youse two were in the forces together, were you?"
    "Aye," I said.
    The smile wavered. "You're kidding."
    "No."
    He pointed at Farrell. "You were in the Queen's?"
    "Yes."
    " Our forces?"
    "He's quick, isn't he?"
    "You must have a pair, boy," said Goose. "You were in the same time as James here, you must have a pair the size of fuckin' watermelons. Sit down. You're making us nervous standing there like a bailiff."
    Farrell looked around, opted for an armchair. He got settled in, crossed his legs and smiled at Goose.
    "So what is it?" said Goose. "Last I heard, you was off everything except the drink and I reckoned, fuckin' bonus for you, eh? Clean as, well done. So I'm guessing you're not round here to score."
    "I'm not."
    "Aye, you look too clean." Goose ran his tongue over his top teeth, glanced across at Farrell. "Fuck's he smiling at?"
    "You," said Farrell.
    "Oh aye?" Goose's hand twitched once, then slid under the table. "You want to watch that, like. Smiling at people when you're not properly acquainted. It's like coming round to your old dealer's house when you're not on the powder anymore. It's got a way of making a fella suspicious about your fuckin' motives, know what I mean? Makes a fella think that maybe youse two aren't on the straight, that maybe you've taken one look at the sweet set-up I have here and thought you'd take a slice of it for yourselves. And I'll tell you now, if you're thinking that, you're not right in the head. From what I remember about you , Jimmy, you was the one with the moral fibre. Am I right?"
    "You're right."
    "So what happened to that?"
    I didn't answer.
    "That's what I thought. See, I know this. Gut instinct."
    Talking of which, that was where Goose's hand stopped. On a bulge that