Naw Much of a Talker by Pedro Lenz

dae.
    Where wis this comin fae, aw ae a sudden – this omin-fuckin-ous under-fuckin-current in Regula’s voice?
    Christ, Regula, dont tell me you believe aw that. That ahv – That ahv summit tae dae wi –
    Ah hiv tae go, Goalie. Sorry, ahv visitors.
    Hang oan, Regula, hang –
    An’ that wis it.
    Sometimes ye need tae get yir rear in fuckin gear. Even if the reason’s a mystery. An’ tae you an’ aw. That eftirnoon ah went back tae the hospital, tae see
Uli. We’d a game ae backgammon an’ talked aboot the auld days. Guid, it wis. Done us baith guid.
    Ye dont need tae fuckin cheat!
    Whit d’ye mean: cheat? Five an’ four’s nine. It’s nivver been anythin else!
    Wis that really a four?
    Ur ye lookin at the dice or naw? Course, it wis a fuckin four.
    Ah shut up. Uli’s got a grin oan his face like some cunt that’s proud ae shaftin his mate.
    So it wis a four then?
    Didnt ah tell ye.
    As faur as ahm concerned, it wisnae.
    Whit d’ye think, Goalie? Hiv ah a hope in hell?
    A hope in hell ae whit?
    Gettin ootae aw that. Givin them up.
    Naw.
    There’s a pause an’ Uli looks at me like some cunt ye hivnae seen fur ages.
    How ur ye sayin that, Goalie? How ur ye jist gi’in it fuckin ‘naw’ like that? How ur ye naw sayin you managed an’ so ah kin manage an’ aw?
    Ah dont know eether. Stop askin stuff like that! Get well again first. Then we’ll see whit happens.
    But you managed but.
    Give over. Ahv naw got anywhere yet. Disnae matter anyhow. Dont be goin oan aboot it. Ah dont want tae talk aboot it. Ahv a heidache.
    Thanks fur comin.
    Ah’ll come again themorrow.
    See ye, Goalie.
    See ye.
    Ah feel sorry fur Uli. Course, it’s his ain fault. There’s naw a single junkie in the world ye need tae feel sorry fur, naw a single wan. At the same time but, if yiv grown up wi
wan, kin tell the same stories, if ye discovered the same streets at the same time, made the same mistakes thegither, it gets ye wonderin. Okay, so Uli’s a junkie, there’s nae two ways
aboot it, he’s an auld mate an’ aw but, a kinda friend, ye can’t jist ignore that either. Certainly naw, if ye think back tae oor schooldays when he wis the coolest cunt in the
playgroon, hid the coolest hair, the coolest leather jaicket, the coolest moped. Nae other cunt kid pull like he did. If ye add aw that up an’ look at the wey he is theday, ye hiv tae feel
sorry fur him, nearly.
    Ah feel sorry fur masel an’ aw like. Sadly. Self-pity’s the lowest ye kin fuckin get. Start feelin sorry fur yersel an’ ye might as well fuckin give fuckin up.
    A few days later, Gross, the plain-clothes cop turned up oan ma doorstep, in that same grey newspaper reporter’s jaicket he’s aye wearin, an’ they glasses
that aye mind ye ae the communist block, ah mean: they secret agent films that aye hiv folk fae commie countries in them. The secret agents in they films – the commie wans – aye wear
glasses like Gross. He looked as if he hidnae much sleep last night. He’s known me furra long time, this plain-clothes cop. Wiv helped each other occasionally. We’re a bit ae a
double-act awready, jist aboot, Gross an’ me. Naw, it’s right enough, we work thegither pretty well, it’s jist: he gets a significant monthly wage fur whit he dis an’ ah get
the occasional backhander if ahm lucky. He wisnae here cos ae oor teamwork this time but. This time, he wis totally fuckin fizzin.
    So yir back in business again, Goalie. Didnae take ye long, eh?
    Forgive me fur sayin so, Herr Gross, ah dont want tae make nae fuss – if ye compare whit ah get oan payday tae whit you get but, an’ if ye add yir pension oan an’ aw the paid
holidays, ye’ll see which ae us two is in business an’ who isnae.
    If ah wis you, Goalie, ahd keep ma patter in check so ah wid.
    An’ whit if ah tell ye ah hivnae done nuthin? Look at me, Herr Gross, dae ah look like a gangster? You’ve a guid nose fur folk. You’re a guid judge ae stuff like that.
    Ah’ll be