Honour Amongst Thieves
by Robert Cowan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: A tale of music, drink and larceny.
_____________________________________________________________________
Wee Gaz looked up at the window he'd left closed but unlocked earlier that day, trying hard to focus, to convince himself it wasn’t really that high.
"You still up for this wee man?" asked Shug, his partner in crime, holding onto the wall for support.
"Aye man, nae problem, just planning ma route. Geez a minute eh," replied Gaz, putting down his Fender Strat copy in its custom made, black bin bag case. "Quite high intit."
"Jist wan flair up mate. Ah'v hid tae shin doon a few birds’ drain pipes in ma time. Piece eh piss."
"No wae a Hammond organ yuv no."
"Aye, okay, I'll gie ye that," chuckled Shug.
Earlier that day they were Jamming at the 'Black Cat' rehearsal rooms along with singer Ian and Tam on drums. But as they winged their way through the Stones back catalogue, Gaz couldn’t keep his attention from the silent siren calling him, in the form of said Hammond organ.
"That’s a waste eh?"
"Whit?" asked Ian.
"That," he said pointing at the object of his obsession. "It jist sits there. Never gits played. Fuckin waste man."
"Aye," agreed Ian, nodding his head. "Am goin tae learn tae play it fur next week. Do some Doors stuff."
"Might take ye a fortnight eh," laughed Tam.
"Al show ye. Next time. Riders on the Storm."
"Am havin it," muttered Gaz.
"What you on about?" asked Shug.
"He might sell it if nobodies playin it," suggested Ian.
"Naw…Am huvin it. Oot that windae!"
The others laughed and got ready to play.
"Laugh aw yi want, but am tellin ye, she's gauin hame wi me."
"It's heavier than you are ya daft cunt!" Howled Ian. "If ye tried tae lift it, it wid flatten ye. You'd end up like the witch in the wizard eh Oz, wi yer wee pointy feet stickin oot fae under it."
"Am tellin ye!"
Shug reached over to grab the bottle of wine from Gaz's hand. "Nae mair Buckie fur you ya maniac."
"Ha, close but no cigar Shugster. You've goat yer ain bottle, jist don’t drink too much eh. You've goat some heavy liftin tae dae."
With a laugh, they got back to the serious business of classic rock. But as drinking took its toll, a session that began with "That was shit hot by the way!" crash landed three hours later with "It would help if we aw played the same fuckin song!" That Gaz's attention was elsewhere didn’t help, his gaze drifting time and again. Like most of his romantic attachments she looked a bit worse for wear but ready for Wee Gaz's fingers to run amok.
As the band packed up, Gaz slyly slipped over to the window and took it off the latch, before heading to the toilet as the subject of payment raised its unwelcome head. With empty bladder and full pockets, he caught up with the rest as they descended the stairs full of drink and post jam bravado. "What yous up tae now?" he asked.
"There's the fly wee bastard there. I thought you'd buggered off," said Tam.
"Na, jist away fur a pish."
"Aye, a well timed pish."
"Al git the next wan okay."
No one replied to this well-worn proclamation of generosity.
"Whit yis dain?"
Ian shrugged. "Gayle’s pickin me n Tam up. Might go tae oor Mary's eftir."
"Fancy a beer Shug?" asked Gaz. "I'm buying."
Three faces spun to face him, open mouthed.
"Mibee you could phone Gayle. Pit her aff fur a bit," said Tam with a wink.
As the colour drained from Gaz's face, the cavalry arrived in the nick of time. "There's Gayle the now. Next time though, eh."
"Aye right," laughed Ian. "Thought ye were goin tae need CPR there."
As the black Passat drew up, Gayle waved at the ensemble, the sunglasses perched on her head displaying a peculiarly Scottish optimism. As they stood and bantered for a bit, Gaz grew impatient, ready to move to phase two. Luckily his impatience was shared.
"Haw Ian get in. Av left the dug in the house and you know what happened the last time."
Suffice to say a hungry Great Dane and soft furnishings are a bad combination…unless you’re a Great Dane, in which case it’s a great idea.
"Aye okay. You ready Tam?"
"Aye, ah thought you'd never shut up."
As they drove off, Gaz and Shug picked up their guitars and headed for the Crown, located a convenient hundred yards away and the cheapest pub in town. Gaz smiled as they passed the skip sat just outside the studio, winking at the discarded mattress he'd spotted on the way in, its tears and stains irrelevant to his plans. 'I'll see you later my beauty,' he thought to himself.
When later came, i.e closing time. They staggered back the way they'd come, each with a guitar in one hand and a carry out bottle of Buckfast in the other.
"There, see ah telt ye, didn’t I. Perfect for the job," said Gaz pointing to mattress.
Shug studied it for a second before submitting his report. "It's a bit fucked like. Widnae even support that wee arse eh yours never mind a Hammond organ. Am telling ye man, we'd be better takin it doon the stairs."
"Naw man, fuck that. We'd end up like Laurel and Hardy wi that piano. Oot the windae wi it. Might be a wee bit oot eh tune when it lands, bit it'll be fine. Wance its doon al phone oor Craig to bring e's van."
"No better tae git him ower the now tae gives a haun?"
Gaz shook his head, knowingly. "Na, na, na, na….Na. He's ma brother. I love um but… he's one big fat useless cunt. Can hardly walk never mind climb."
Shug laughed. "He could lie under the windae. Be mair use than that scabby auld mattress."
"Hahaha…Aye. Probably land on his heid though eh? Then that’s the transport fucked. Come oan, gies a haun wi it."
Gaz climbed/fell into the skip, but with a few choice words was on his feet, applying the push to Shug’s pull and soon it was liberated and dragged to its operational position, directly below the window of the Black Cat.
"Right, up ye go then," said Gaz.
"Wit dae ye mean up ye go. Up you go."
"You’re the drainpipe expert."
"It's your idea, so up you go."
"It's a two man job so-"
"So up you go. Al be right behind ye. Catch ye if ye faw."
Gaz started inhaling and exhaling, shaking his hand and arms.
"What in the name of fuck are ye daein?"
"Warmin up. It's a long way up there."
"Aye and a long way doon…for a bloody Hammond organ. So are you climbin ur whit."
"Aye right, calm it."
With that Sherpa Gaz began the assent, testing hand and foot holds like a pro, until finally reaching the window. He pushed hopefully, smiling as it opened, pulling himself up and in. He stood for a moment to let his eyes acclimatise to the dark, smiling as the prize hiding in the shadows was once more revealed. Feeling his way between drums, amps and mic stands he found the light switch, a risk, but a necessary one amidst the nest of trip hazards. But then, just as he was about to flick it on he was startled by the sudden sound of a motorbike outside. "Shit," he whispered to himself. "Please God, don’t be the cops." He waited, listening for conversation, hoping Shug would get rid of them. But the minutes passed and eventually he made his way back to the window, crouching down, slowly peering over the edge…to see Shug crashed out on the mattress, snoring for Scotland.
"Shug," he whispered. Then louder. "Shug! Fur fuck sake Shug, wake up."
But it was no use. With a shake of the head, he climbed back out and down the pipe before slapping his sleeping accomplice, softly first, then harder, then harder still just for the hell of it. But Gaz wasn’t the only one who'd left the building. "Fuck it." With a sigh he conceded, picked up his guitar and bottle and headed off, head bowed in defeat. But a few steps later he stopped and turned back, kneeling over his fallen comrade…"Sleep tight Shuggie lad. Guess you'll no be needin this." And with that, Gaz and both bottles headed off into the night.
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: A tale of music, drink and larceny.
_____________________________________________________________________
Wee Gaz looked up at the window he'd left closed but unlocked earlier that day, trying hard to focus, to convince himself it wasn’t really that high.
"You still up for this wee man?" asked Shug, his partner in crime, holding onto the wall for support.
"Aye man, nae problem, just planning ma route. Geez a minute eh," replied Gaz, putting down his Fender Strat copy in its custom made, black bin bag case. "Quite high intit."
"Jist wan flair up mate. Ah'v hid tae shin doon a few birds’ drain pipes in ma time. Piece eh piss."
"No wae a Hammond organ yuv no."
"Aye, okay, I'll gie ye that," chuckled Shug.
Earlier that day they were Jamming at the 'Black Cat' rehearsal rooms along with singer Ian and Tam on drums. But as they winged their way through the Stones back catalogue, Gaz couldn’t keep his attention from the silent siren calling him, in the form of said Hammond organ.
"That’s a waste eh?"
"Whit?" asked Ian.
"That," he said pointing at the object of his obsession. "It jist sits there. Never gits played. Fuckin waste man."
"Aye," agreed Ian, nodding his head. "Am goin tae learn tae play it fur next week. Do some Doors stuff."
"Might take ye a fortnight eh," laughed Tam.
"Al show ye. Next time. Riders on the Storm."
"Am havin it," muttered Gaz.
"What you on about?" asked Shug.
"He might sell it if nobodies playin it," suggested Ian.
"Naw…Am huvin it. Oot that windae!"
The others laughed and got ready to play.
"Laugh aw yi want, but am tellin ye, she's gauin hame wi me."
"It's heavier than you are ya daft cunt!" Howled Ian. "If ye tried tae lift it, it wid flatten ye. You'd end up like the witch in the wizard eh Oz, wi yer wee pointy feet stickin oot fae under it."
"Am tellin ye!"
Shug reached over to grab the bottle of wine from Gaz's hand. "Nae mair Buckie fur you ya maniac."
"Ha, close but no cigar Shugster. You've goat yer ain bottle, jist don’t drink too much eh. You've goat some heavy liftin tae dae."
With a laugh, they got back to the serious business of classic rock. But as drinking took its toll, a session that began with "That was shit hot by the way!" crash landed three hours later with "It would help if we aw played the same fuckin song!" That Gaz's attention was elsewhere didn’t help, his gaze drifting time and again. Like most of his romantic attachments she looked a bit worse for wear but ready for Wee Gaz's fingers to run amok.
As the band packed up, Gaz slyly slipped over to the window and took it off the latch, before heading to the toilet as the subject of payment raised its unwelcome head. With empty bladder and full pockets, he caught up with the rest as they descended the stairs full of drink and post jam bravado. "What yous up tae now?" he asked.
"There's the fly wee bastard there. I thought you'd buggered off," said Tam.
"Na, jist away fur a pish."
"Aye, a well timed pish."
"Al git the next wan okay."
No one replied to this well-worn proclamation of generosity.
"Whit yis dain?"
Ian shrugged. "Gayle’s pickin me n Tam up. Might go tae oor Mary's eftir."
"Fancy a beer Shug?" asked Gaz. "I'm buying."
Three faces spun to face him, open mouthed.
"Mibee you could phone Gayle. Pit her aff fur a bit," said Tam with a wink.
As the colour drained from Gaz's face, the cavalry arrived in the nick of time. "There's Gayle the now. Next time though, eh."
"Aye right," laughed Ian. "Thought ye were goin tae need CPR there."
As the black Passat drew up, Gayle waved at the ensemble, the sunglasses perched on her head displaying a peculiarly Scottish optimism. As they stood and bantered for a bit, Gaz grew impatient, ready to move to phase two. Luckily his impatience was shared.
"Haw Ian get in. Av left the dug in the house and you know what happened the last time."
Suffice to say a hungry Great Dane and soft furnishings are a bad combination…unless you’re a Great Dane, in which case it’s a great idea.
"Aye okay. You ready Tam?"
"Aye, ah thought you'd never shut up."
As they drove off, Gaz and Shug picked up their guitars and headed for the Crown, located a convenient hundred yards away and the cheapest pub in town. Gaz smiled as they passed the skip sat just outside the studio, winking at the discarded mattress he'd spotted on the way in, its tears and stains irrelevant to his plans. 'I'll see you later my beauty,' he thought to himself.
When later came, i.e closing time. They staggered back the way they'd come, each with a guitar in one hand and a carry out bottle of Buckfast in the other.
"There, see ah telt ye, didn’t I. Perfect for the job," said Gaz pointing to mattress.
Shug studied it for a second before submitting his report. "It's a bit fucked like. Widnae even support that wee arse eh yours never mind a Hammond organ. Am telling ye man, we'd be better takin it doon the stairs."
"Naw man, fuck that. We'd end up like Laurel and Hardy wi that piano. Oot the windae wi it. Might be a wee bit oot eh tune when it lands, bit it'll be fine. Wance its doon al phone oor Craig to bring e's van."
"No better tae git him ower the now tae gives a haun?"
Gaz shook his head, knowingly. "Na, na, na, na….Na. He's ma brother. I love um but… he's one big fat useless cunt. Can hardly walk never mind climb."
Shug laughed. "He could lie under the windae. Be mair use than that scabby auld mattress."
"Hahaha…Aye. Probably land on his heid though eh? Then that’s the transport fucked. Come oan, gies a haun wi it."
Gaz climbed/fell into the skip, but with a few choice words was on his feet, applying the push to Shug’s pull and soon it was liberated and dragged to its operational position, directly below the window of the Black Cat.
"Right, up ye go then," said Gaz.
"Wit dae ye mean up ye go. Up you go."
"You’re the drainpipe expert."
"It's your idea, so up you go."
"It's a two man job so-"
"So up you go. Al be right behind ye. Catch ye if ye faw."
Gaz started inhaling and exhaling, shaking his hand and arms.
"What in the name of fuck are ye daein?"
"Warmin up. It's a long way up there."
"Aye and a long way doon…for a bloody Hammond organ. So are you climbin ur whit."
"Aye right, calm it."
With that Sherpa Gaz began the assent, testing hand and foot holds like a pro, until finally reaching the window. He pushed hopefully, smiling as it opened, pulling himself up and in. He stood for a moment to let his eyes acclimatise to the dark, smiling as the prize hiding in the shadows was once more revealed. Feeling his way between drums, amps and mic stands he found the light switch, a risk, but a necessary one amidst the nest of trip hazards. But then, just as he was about to flick it on he was startled by the sudden sound of a motorbike outside. "Shit," he whispered to himself. "Please God, don’t be the cops." He waited, listening for conversation, hoping Shug would get rid of them. But the minutes passed and eventually he made his way back to the window, crouching down, slowly peering over the edge…to see Shug crashed out on the mattress, snoring for Scotland.
"Shug," he whispered. Then louder. "Shug! Fur fuck sake Shug, wake up."
But it was no use. With a shake of the head, he climbed back out and down the pipe before slapping his sleeping accomplice, softly first, then harder, then harder still just for the hell of it. But Gaz wasn’t the only one who'd left the building. "Fuck it." With a sigh he conceded, picked up his guitar and bottle and headed off, head bowed in defeat. But a few steps later he stopped and turned back, kneeling over his fallen comrade…"Sleep tight Shuggie lad. Guess you'll no be needin this." And with that, Gaz and both bottles headed off into the night.
About the Author
Bellshill-born Robert Cowan has published two novels so far, The Search for Ethan and Daydreams and Devils. You can find out more about him and his writing at robertcowanbooks.com