----------Dedicated to my own personal Rents who is infact better than the original cause hes not a drug addict and is a multi-talented god.trainspotting belongs to Irvine Welsh and this fic contains the sort of language you should expect from trainspotting.-----
[We see Begbie in his little red brick cell. He is scrubbing the toilet with a toothbrush]
Francis Begbie was pure mental. He had proven himself a hard bastard many a time.but right now he was shitting himself.
Barlinie gaol is no place to act the big man. In there its yes sir no sir. He'd been sentenced to 15 years and well lets just say the fact he'd have time to work on his pool game was no consolation.
After 3 months inside and with a rep like his he had of course made some powerful friends. Namely mad dog McGovern. McGovern had served 10 years of a 25-year sentence, and he was going places. He was tight with some screws and big enough a man to kill some others should need arise. They were going over the wall. Today in broad daylight. It would take balls the size of watermelons to pull it off. But with no women in sight that wouldn't be a problem. Begbie and mad dog had an understanding, but there was none of the touchy felly stuff those too poofs had. He couldn't understand what the fuck the "special bond" rents and sickboy had, but he didny care they would both be dead soon enough.
The escape couldy have been easer. Mad dog had said that It was a well know fact that Houdini used to cut pockets in his skin where he hid handcuff keys, so that proved no problem once a "special favour" was done for one of the screws to obtain the keys. After that they found it quite easy to just walk out. Well you would too if you were holding a razor blade to a screws neck. They simply got in the screws car and drove off. Mad dog had had the foresight to pay off one of the guards to cut the phone lines with some drugs smuggled in by his brother. They were home free and loving it.
Rents was in a good mood. Sky were showing the hibs match live. He walked through the door of the fully equipped flat he shared with his bird (the lovely Diane still jailbait till next Saturday) and let out a contented sigh. Life was good. He slammed the door shut and walked out of sight, presumably to the living room.
Renton paced round his habitat furnished home, glaring at the wall. A 32-inch section of the wall was coloured lighter than the rest. There was a notable absence of a telly. The silence was so harsh. A million theme tunes swirled round Renton's, napper but for the lack of actual moving pictures, they now seemed meaningless and gave no comfort.
"Diane! Did you pawn the fucking telly?"
He entered the kitchen where he expected Diane, on standby with curry and beer, and whatever other necessities, (or vice) on hand (so to speak), but the chrome and lavender kitchen was bare. No beer, no woman and he dare say it no dinner.
"I'll get my own bloody beer then." It was then as he turned to the fridge that he saw the note.
Right Renton you cock-sucking shitebag, I want my money .Now ,that pretty wee ride of yours is gonie be sent back to you in her handbag if you don't get my money doon here pronto. There is of-course a high chance I will beat the living shit out of you, but if you don't come to me then the bird gets it. (ah well thought rents, Diane's fucked.) Oh aye one other thing, I took your telly and your beer, and don't bother trying to get to the pub to see the match you bastard, cause the only pubs in a 2 mile radius are filled with hearts fans watching their game on the other channel.
Renton's agonised cry filled the hallway, the entire floor, nay the building. Now he was pissed off.