Writing – The Tale of The Live Chameleons: Chapter 1

The Tale of The Live Chameleons


1.Waiting for Blobbo



I’d been sitting there waiting on that bench for about fifteen minutes for that fat knob head to show up.  Meet me at six I told him; don’t be leaving waiting like you always fucking do I told him. If he wasn’t such a good customer I’d well fuck him off but the lad buys like eight or nine bags a week, all top whack, no discount, always cash. Muppet.

I ring his mobile.

“Alrite Barry lad. Where the fuck are you ?”

“Shit, sorry Nogs, I’ll be there in five, It’s just –

I hang up.

Sitting looking out over the river waiting for Big Barry to show, every now and then a ship would pass by, pushing through the sewage and shit that is the Mersey. I looked down onto the beach and could see some old people walking with their mangy dog and some daft fella who looked like he was older than me, playing with his stupid fuckin’ kite. The lighthouse just sitting there doing jack shit ‘cos it doesn’t even work and the old fort had some big mad sign on it telling us all to say no to a supermarket being built or something. I hate this fucking town, there’s nothing new and there’s nothing bright about it. It was better years ago. When we where kids we’d mess round down there on that beach. Killing crabs and chucking rubber jonnies at each other. I remember once, when it was high tide and all the older lads were there diving off of the sea wall. It was about a hundred foot high. Well it was when I was a kid anyway. Most likely about twenty feet or something nowadays, anyway, they were there, all diving in, head first. I was well impressed by that as a kid. Mind you, if I saw anyone jumping in there now I’d advise the soft twats to get to Arrowe Park Hospital sharpish and get themselves tested for everything they could be tested for, but when you’re young you buzz off all sorts of mad shit like that.

A bit further down the prom I could see Barry bouncing towards me, sweating racing down his face and looking like some big fat red fire engine. Five minutes my arse, that was a least quarter of an hour. Probably takes him five minutes to put on one of his socks.


“You took you’re fuckin’ time didn’t you Bazza lad?”

“Nogs, sorry mate. I’ve been sorting some bizzo out, for you.”

“What d’ya mean sorting business out for me ? What business ?”

“This lad, he wants tablets, lots of”

“Yeah ? How many ?”

“Two hundred”

“mmmm, be fours each, all the way”

“Ok, I’ll bell him now, I won’t be a sec”

“Hang on, take these, there’s nine bags there, that’s ninety. Alright?”

“Cheers mate, e’ are, there’s a ton there”

“Cool, I’ll sort ya tenner out after you phoned that lad ‘bout the pills”



He waddled off over by the railings and starting prodding away at his mobile. If this lad he’s phoning is as daft as Barry then he should pay four quid a tablet, heh heh, sorted. I checked through the money he just gave me, all there, a hundred quid. I’ll tell him I haven’t got any change on me, he’s scatty as fuck and will most likely forget anyway. Like I said, he’s a good customer. He waddled back over.


“Nogs, he said cool, he’ll pay fours all the way up on two hundred”

“Sound, by the way, who the fuck is he ? Do I know him ?”

“He says he knows you, from when he used to go The Drome back in the day, bought tablets or whiz off you or something, he’s safe. Gets good acid. Name’s Stewie ”

“Oh right, name rings a bell, so what’s the situation then, you gonna give me his number or we meeting him?”

“I’ll text you his number and you can sort it all out with him”

“Ok, do it now lad before you forget. You know what you’re like”

“Ok, Nogs, I’m on it”


More mobile prodding by Baz then my phone beeped. I checked it.

“Alright, cheers Baz, look I gotta shoot now, sort this –“

I looked at the text message again,

“- this Stewie lad out, bell us if you want any more of that”

I thumbed my nose and sniffed.

“Ok, cheers Nogs mate, laters”


I walked away smiling.

First off I had to make sure I could actually score that many tablets, but that didn’t turn out to be too much of a problem, I made one phone call to Mac and it was sorted. He told me I could get them laid on for two quid each until I’d sold them, so I wouldn’t even have to front any cash and I’d be making four hundred quid pure profit just for carrying a bag of E from A to B. So it looked like it was worth sitting around on that bench getting a numb arse waiting for Fat Barry to arrive. Oh yeah, and I got to keep his tenner change.





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