Cracking Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

batterings and copping a load back, no hard feelings; it was all a part of it. But now, all of a sudden, bangers were turning up on the Shooting Range. Crack and nasty were going to turn it all into casual murder and mayhem.
    Jeremy Kyle was still on the box, rabbiting on about how it was his show and everyone had to listen to him. I sucked on the spliff, buzzing. The draw lightened my dark mood and I was feeling relaxed, chilled out. I watched Kyle ranting. It was allegedly a serious show and you weren’t supposed to get the giggles, but everything is funny when you’re smoking spliff. I was laughing me tits off at the brain dead hillbillies, arguing the toss and taking lie detectors. Big, bubble-snotted, bent-double laughing. I was so out of it that even Chris Moyles would have been funny at that moment in time.
    “What the fuck are you on?” Bangerz said. He was stirring, coming back to life. A funny smell got up me nose; it was his feet stinking through his trainers.
    “Fucking hell, when was the last time you washed them feet? Them trainers stink like smelly old cabbage.”
    His reply was fair enough, considering the slagging his feet and footwear had just received. “Fuck off, give us a go on that spliff, you cheeky cunt.”
    I passed it over. There was only a couple puffs left on it. Then, I asked him. “Listen, lad: Do us a solid, will you? Give me a loan of your nine-milli?”
    “What for?”
    “Got a mission on tonight.”
    “Ow-wee!”
    “What?”
    “Let me come with you lot tonight!”
    Bangerz was no mug and as soon as I had asked for the banger he knew we were on a search and destroy mission for the Mug Fam that night.
    “No fucking way!”
    He carried on, trying to convince us he was battle worthy but the boys would not have tolerated Bangerz. Smackheads were the lowest of the low, corrupted outcasts and totally unreliable.
    “Go on, Ow-wee, you know I’m no soft cunt. I can handle me-self and I’ve got a score to settle with those wankers.”
    Fair play to Bangerz though, despite his nightmare addiction, he was still up for it. He hated the Mug Fam as much as our crew did. But Spermy would have none of it, I knew that for certain.
    “Nah man! No fucking way.”
    “Ah, come on, Ow-wee …”
    “Look, lad: Turn it in, will you. You’re doing me fucking head in now. Do I get the banger or not?”
    His head went down and he backed off. “What’s innit for me?” he asked, a bit sheepish.
    “Well, apart from getting the Mug Fam off your case, I’ll throw in another bag of brown.”
    “You’re on!”
    I put my hand down the front of my trackie bottoms, fumbled about in my undies and peeled back my foreskin. I pulled out a bag of brown for him to be getting on with and warned him to stay off the streets for the night. “Shit’s going to get hectic!” I told him.
    He stubbed the roach out in an ashtray on his coffee table, turned and buried his hand down the back of the couch, pulled out the burner stuffed down there and handed it over. “Look after it,” he said. “That’s me baby - me baby Glock 26!”
    I ejected the Glock 19 magazine and clocked it was fully loaded with fifteen fun things, slammed it back into the gun then checked the trigger safety was on and stuffed it down the front of my trackie bottoms. “Yeh, well, this baby’s going to spit its dummy tonight, lar.”
    We both had a good laugh at that one. He was missing most of his front teeth and, as he was sitting there laughing his fucking head off, I could see his tonsils.
    His mobie went off. It was his girlfriend. I could hear them bickering. “Listen, you junkie prick. I’m fed-up with your smacking up. I’m sick of it, I’ve had enough.”
    “I’ve told you before, I’m sacking it! I’m off to see the quack and ask him to put me on a methadone program. And when I start perking up, I’ll stop using smack. Eventually, in a couple of months, I can come off the methadone, gradual like. I’ll be a brand new