No More Heroes Read Online Free PDF Page A

of sixties kitsch in his window. Like the old song, Greg’s is the light that never goes out. He keeps cokehead croup hours — 24/7.
    The CD pauses, then kicks in again from the beginning. The title track, and the rhythm of Cat’s ode to the working man is too fast to keep me seated. I get off the arm of the couch, grab the hi-fi remote and fiddle with it until the volume drops. A whiff of ash and kebabs as I replace the remote by the CD case. Turn around and look at the posters of Johnny Cash flipping the bird and Hot Fuzz on the walls. A couple of consoles on the floor by the telly, a load of ex-rental DVDs.
    I’m about to go through the movies — anything to keep my mind off the itch — when Greg comes back into the room. I try not to snap to attention. Take it slow, act like I don’t need what he’s carrying.
    He frowns, a bag of pills in his hand, the cigarette hanging from his bottom lip. Smoke rising into narrowed eyes, he says, “What happened to the tunes?”
    “It was doing my head in.”
    “That’s Yusuf’s best work you’re fucking around with there.”
    “Cat,” I say. “He wasn’t—”
    “Man’s a genius, I don’t care what name he’s using or who he’s praying to.” Greg picks up the remote, changes the track to “Hummingbird”, which throws my mind for a loop.
    “Greg—”
    He puts a finger to his lips. “Say the man’s a terrorist, I’ll slap you. Listen to the music. It’ll calm you down.”
    It doesn’t. “Can we get on with this?”
    “Fine.” He sits down, flicks ash into a mug. “Getting harder to come by this stuff, y’know.”
    “Yeah, you told me.”
    “No, I mean it’s really hard. Nobody’s dealing this.” Greg moves the CD case out of the way, starts counting out the pills.
    “What? That your subtle way of jacking the price on me, is it?”
    Greg frowns. “Fuck me, you’re in a mood.”
    “You want to charge more, Greg, just come out and say it.”
    “Would I do that to you, man?”
    “No, Greg, you’re salt of the earth.”
    I turn my back on him. Can’t stand to watch him take his time with the pills, and I wish I didn’t have to keep this conversation going, but I’m supposed to be all cool about this. I’m sure the fucker does it on purpose, just to see if one night I’ll crack. But I can’t afford to look too needy. Part of the reason Greg’s so willing to have me come round is that I don’t look like the rest of them. I’m not bringing any attention his way. So I try not to look too desperate. Besides, salt of the earth or not, a needy punter is a punter about to be fucked over.
    “You working much?” I say.
    “At the club?” Greg sniffs. “Yeah, still got some shifts. Not doing doubles anymore, like. Don’t need to.” Another sniff, I don’t think he realises he’s doing it half the time. “Couple lads from Corrie came in the other night.”
    “Which ones?”
    Greg looks up, surprised. “You watch it, do you?”
    “No.”
    “Then it won’t make a difference, will it? Anyway, they come in, ask where they can score. Like they’re all set for a long night out and reckon of course I’m going to know where they can get something to keep their eyes open. Don’t know me from Adam, like, so I could get offended. Anyway, these two might be as discreet as pillheads get, but they’ve got cash, so you know how it is. Way I see it, if they get fuckin’ stupid about the situation, it’s their jobs down the drain.”
    “Or going great guns as soon as they’re out of rehab.”
    “They’re not Pete Doherty, these lads. They fuck up, they’re not going to get the column inches.”
    “Right. And how d’you class me, Greg? Pillhead?”
    He doesn’t look at me. “I sell you pills.”
    “Oh, right. Cheers.”
    “But you, Cal, you’ve got a medical condition , right?”
    I don’t like his tone, but I’m willing to let it go. “We doing the same price or what?”
    “This one time, I don’t see why not. Next time, I