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Scraper James Gilberd1
Scraper James Gilberd2
Part I – Going UndergroundHeroes
One word echoing through the subway:
cake
?
Kite
? Then picking it’s Chaz by hisshaven head, his towtruck build. Not a clue what he’s on about but he’s got this kidfrom my old school, holding him by the throat against the tiled wall, feet off theground. I hate bullies. Nobody else about so I’ll have to do something.‘You fucking little
kike
…’Five metres and closing, Chaz hasn’t spotted me yet. Smack! It used to work on the rugby field—I’m big enough to take most people out—but this bastard doesn’tgive an inch. Might as well have run into the bloody wall, but at least he’s let the kidgo.Chaz glares at me, cold green eyes sizing me up. ‘Playing the hero Bryant?’Sickly yellow fluoros gleam off his skull as the brain inside it generates the thought of smacking me over. In the silence of the railway station subway I can just about hear the cogs turning. ‘Know what happens to heroes?’I tense my stomach muscles, brace myself for the inevitable. I’ve seen himfight at school; wind you, smack you to the ground then kick the snot out of you. Butnothing. Yet. Waiting for my next move? I risk taking my eyes off Chaz to look at thekid. ‘You OK?’‘Yeah. Thanks.’ His voice shakes. His size is deceptive; he’s my age or a year older.
Scraper James Gilberd3
Lucky it’s only Chaz’s laughter that surprises me. ‘Think I’ll leave you twofaggots to play with each other’s dicks.’ With which he heads off down the subway ina rolling stride exaggerated by his huge cherry-red Doc Martens.Rubbing shoulder, catching breath, waiting for Chaz to disappear. ‘Haven’tseen him for months, since school in fact. Thought the bastard would be in jail bynow.’‘He’s not so tough without all his Bootboy mates around.’‘Bootboys?’ Resting on the sound of it. ‘How many?’‘Dunno. Half a dozen? There’s this giant one, Runt, and one about my sizecalled Scrag. That little prick won’t leave me alone.’‘Well if I were you I wouldn’t hang round the railway station at night. If it’snot Skinheads it’s Rastas.’‘You were at my school. Steve, isn’t it?’‘Last time I checked. Steve Bryant. Second-year sixth.’Eric Moss introduces himself and offers me a handshake. His grip’s quitestrong, for a shrimp. ‘You were hard to miss back then, always in trouble.’‘I just don’t like authority, that’s all.’Eric nervously looks at his watch, says his train’s about to leave and he boltsfor the platform, skinny little legs pumping. It’s my train too, so I lope after him. Theguard waves for us to hurry up. Then we’re on board the old electric unit, puffing,slumped on seats facing each other. Eric flings his feet up on my seat. Black basketball sneakers like mine (though not falling apart); but above the ankle our clothing styles part company. The guard tells Eric to put his feet down and demandsour tickets.Eric pulls a ten-trip. ‘Take two clicks off it please.’
Scraper - a novel about punk
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Sections
« prev | next »- Part I – Going Underground
- Heroes
- Three Imaginary Boys
- Drums and Wires
- Tattoo You
- White Music
- It’s Going to Happen
- Entertainment
- Fear of Music
- Boys Don’t Cry
- Rattus Norvegicus
- The Gift
- One Step Beyond
- Black and White
- Setting Sons
- The Idiot
- Metal Box
- Give ‘Em Enough Rope
- Cut
- Secondhand Daylight
- Flowers of Romance
- Germ Free Adolescents
- Kaleidoscope
- Soldier
- The Scream
- Too Much Pressure
- Spellbound
- Get Happy
- Natty Dread
- All Mod Cons
- The Art of Surfacing
- New Values
- Hypnotised
- Rocket to Russia
- The Voice of America
- Pornography
- Life in a Day
- The Affectionate Punch
- The Black Album
- The Correct Use of Soap
- Leave Home
- Crocodiles
- Sound Affects
- Loaded
- Adventure
- Love Zombies
- Trust
- Music for Pleasure
- Do a Runner
- All Wrapped Up
- Part III—Protest
- Party
- White Light/White Heat
- Hicks from the Sticks
- Nobody’s Heroes
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