The Last Days of Disco Read Online Free Page B

when trying to tell people who he was.
    ‘Nae tips? At a fuckin’ Cumnock wedding?’ By contrast, Fat Franny’s vocals were loud and, for the assembled entourage, all too clear. ‘Ye must be fuckin’ jokin’! Even the bastard minister usually comes awa wi’ a fifty spot.’ Don Franny spread his arms wide, then placed them at the ten-to-two position, palms face-down on the table top, before continuing, ‘… and a go on at least two ae the bridesmaids!’
    Bob Dale smirked at this but was careful not to let Fat Franny see it. Almost everyone else remained silent with gazes averted. Only Jill Boothby – one half of married DJ duo
Cheezee Choonz
– indicated a wish to contribute, but her raised hand would remain unrecognised by the Chair for the rest of the meeting.
    ‘It’s like this …’ Fat Franny’s deep growl seemed to come from way down in his gut, reverberating around the bare walls of the cold, twice-extended kitchen. Again there was another long pause as Fat Franny visualised Hobnail clipping Bert Bole and then dumping his weighted body off the pier at Irvine Harbour. He refocused.
    ‘Like it or no, you fuckin’ clowns are part ae a business. Ah’m funding aw yer fuckin’ gigs here. Ah’m providin’ the equipment. Ah provide aw the security tae stop ye gettin’ a kickin’ at shiteholes like the Auchinleck Bowling Club.’ Fat Franny looked around the table at them all, one at a time, in a clockwise direction. ‘You lot – an’ ah can’t believe ah’m fuckin’ sayin’ this – are the fuckin’ talent.’
    The Cheezees were motionless. Bert Bole had his hands outstretched, as if appealing for permission to speak. Mr Sunshine, the former children’s entertainer, appeared to be asleep.
    ‘Hoi … Sunshine!’ Fat Franny threw a cream doughnut, hitting the older man on the side of his face and dislodging his Dr Crippen-style spectacles. ‘Fuckin’ wake up, ya auld prick! This is for your benefit as well.’
    Hobnail could tell Fat Franny’s mood was worsening and thought better of indicating the dollop of cream that was still attached to Mr Sunshine’s bizarre ginger beard.
    ‘You lot are just no bringin’ in enough, an’ it better fuckin’ change, a’right?’ Fat Franny pointed to Hobnail. ‘He tells me yir aw holdin’ oot on the tips.’ The talent all turned as one to look at the standing Bob Dale, who calmly folded his arms, shut his eyes and nodded.
    ‘So here’s whit’s gauny happen. Each ae ye needs to come up wi’ a gig of yer ain in the next month or yer out an’ ah’m gauny get other acts in.’ Fat Franny stood up quickly, causing his chair to fall dramatically behind him. ‘Ah’m away for a shite. Huv a good think about whit ah’ve just said.’
    ‘For God’s sake, put yer haun’ doon, he’s away,’ said Bert to Jill, once both Fat Franny and Bob Dale were well out of earshot. Although not the oldest of the four, Bert was generally their mouthpiece on the odd occasion when they felt a collective need to raise an issue with the fat man. Bert had been involved with Fat Franny’s crew for nearly three years. Back when they were both in their late thirties, Bert’s wife, Doris, had developed a serious gambling addiction. It had started pretty casually. A few nights at the bingo with friends from the BMK had progressed to include daytime visits to William Hill’s after she lost her job at the carpet factory.
    Bert had ended up working extended shifts as a janitor at the James Hamilton Academy. He was well regarded by teachers and pupils alike, mainly due to an unshakeably optimistic outlook. He had a belief in human nature, which led him to attempt to do things for others even if it involved disadvantaging himself. His good nature helped Harry Cassidy to get a job as a fellow janitor, when a more selfish man – and especially one in his financial situation – might have been tempted to keep the additional shifts for himself. In the early part of 1979,