Slug and Wiseguy
A smart suited businessman tosses a coin into a beggar’s tin mug with a gratifying clunk. The beggar, sitting in a recess in the wall, smiles and continues to tap a rhythm on the side of the mug with a stained metal teaspoon. A well-dressed lady, hurrying along is suddenly distracted by the distinct tapping, stops, scrabbles in her large handbag, fishing out some coins and stops suddenly. A man following her, with phone to his ear collides into her. They both apologise to each other as the woman bends and drops a few coins into the mug. The man, embarrassed by the incident, dives into his trouser pocket and retrieves some shrapnel which he deposits in the mug, side stepping the woman and continues at a pace down the road. The beggar smiles in appreciation and chuckles to himself at the incident.
The business crowd going home thins to a trickle, business is slow, so he sticks his fingers into the mug and picks out the shiny pound coins. These he slips surreptitiously into a crevice in the wall to the side of him and pushes back the loose piece of masonry, continues to tap the mug, rat-tat-tat but without conviction. A beggar up the street in a more prominent position sidles up questioning, “How have yer done Slug? Slow at my end.” He snatches the mug from the seated beggar, tips the coins into his mitt, drops the mug onto the pavement with a clunk and proceeds to sort the silver from the copper. “You haven’t done much better than me!” he grunts, pocketing the silver and dropping the copper coins into the beggar’s lap.
“Nah, Wiseguy, nah,” he says as he retrieves his mug and drops in the coins with a clatter, still smiling.
“Y’all hat ter do better Slug!” shouts Wiseguy, “How am I ter look after yer?”
“Ta Wiseguy,” replies Slug, still smiling and rattling the tin as more businessmen stride past ignoring them. “Slug cold, Slug hungry,” he says to no one in particular as Wiseguy saunters back to his own pitch at the corner.
Slug sits in his recess still smiling, just thinking. “Good day, plenty big coins, found a blanket, blown off a balcony, mud will brush off, warm tonight, will go to Duck, Duck for a burger.” With some strain, Slug raises himself with the aid of his hand against the wall, tips the copper coins into his dishevelled coat pocket, ties the mug handle to the rope belt and wanders off away from where his mate and so-called protector is still working the punters. “Wiseguy looks after me, he gets me my pitch, he shares me monies, not the big coins. Wiseguy doesn’t share his takings, he looks after me, he shouts at me, he calls me Slug too. My mum calls me Slug. Half a brain she says and slow with it. Might be warm tonight wit blanket.”
Next morning Slug is back in his recess. It’s raining, wet and miserable. The folks are rushing past without taking notice of the beggars, keen to get out of the wet. Slug pulls down his woollen hat, tucks his knees under his coat and snuggles into the recess for protection. He looks to his right but even Wiseguy has left his post. “Must stay, Wiseguy says stay, must stay, Slug cold, blanket warm, Slug hungry, Slug wants pee.”
There is a commotion down the road, two police cars with sirens and flashing lights drive past at speed. Slug leans forward and looks in that direction. He notices Wiseguy standing and looking. Next moment Slug sees two men in black hoodies running past him. One stops. “Look after this Slug,” he states dropping a package on Slugs lap and races away. Three policemen chase the men followed by a police car. “Slug sees Tarzan. Tarzan drops package. Slug hides, Slug crouches back agin wall. Look small, look small.”
“I swear he dropped the package by this beggar,” shouted one of the policemen who had been giving chase. “Hey there, where is the package? He gave you a package. Where is it?”
“No give Slug.”
“What did you say?” asked the policeman leaning over the beggar who is cowering in the recess. Another policeman joins him.
“No give Slug.”
“Come on fella, just stand up and give us the package. We saw it being thrown to you.”
“No give Slug.”
“What’s he saying?” asks the first policeman turning to his mate.
“I don’t know but we better take him to the station for search and questioning. He saw the whole thing and witnessed the package being dropped here. Where’s the van. A here it is. Come on fella, climb in. No, you can’t take the cardboard. Just leave it. You go with him Harry and I’ll search the area though I can’t see it and he couldn’t have thrown it anywhere. He must have it on him Harry. Handcuff him until we can search him.”
At the station Slug was dragged to the counter in front of a burley Sergeant.
“Why have you dragged this poor bastard in here again? It’s probably the sixth time he’s been here and he’s been no use to us. He’ll just be taking up cell space and costing us a fortune. Do you really need him?”
“Yes, we do Sergeant. He is a key witness and may have a package on him. He needs to be searched,” stated the officer briskly.
“Have it your own way. Name?”
“Slug.”
“Slug? You’ve been here before. Let me check. Ah yes. Simon Trenton, Slug for short. Address?”
“Duck, Duck Towers.”
“Yes, Donald Towers, 72. Now do you remember your age?”
“No.”
“Never mind, we’ll go by the past info here. You must be about twenty-seven, male. Are you still living with your Mum and two no good brothers, although I remember ones in jail at the moment?”
“Slug go, Slug go!”
“So, you’ve been kicked out have you? Why have they kicked you out?”
“Slug go, Slug Go!”
“OK, OK, now sign your name here. That’s it, you can sign your name, I know. Now Harry take him away and give him some tea and sandwich. He looks half starved and cold. Cell 3B, the one with a shower. He might as well use all the facilities if he’s here. He’s harmless. Now go with the Officer, Slug, he will get you some hot tea and I’ll call Social to see if they can help you. Now Harry, I don’t want him in overnight. Not enough staff and we’ve got the other two vagabonds to deal with that you lot brought in. Bye Slug,” said the Desk Sergeant as Slug was brusquely led away.
Later in the day Slug in a baggy prison grey boiler suit was sat in front of a wide desk facing a policeman in uniform and a lady in civilian clothes. “Now Simon, I’m Diane Crawford from Social Services and I hope to help you. Do you still live or sleep at 72, Donald Towers?”
“Slug Go, Slug Go!”
“So, you’ve been kicked out of your flat Simon, is that it?”
“Slug Go, Slug Go!”
“Why and who kicked you out Simon?”
“Slug half brain, slug Go, Tart.”
“I know what’s happened,” said the officer. “His brother Jake has a history of pimping and I bet he’s brought his tart into the flat. No room for Simon here.”
“Slug Go, tart, Slug Go!”
“OK Simon, we understand. Where do you sleep now?”
“Slug have den, Slug have blanket, Slug den.”
“You have somewhere safe Simon, have you? Not safe on the streets you know.”
“Slug safe, blanket.”
“I wonder if the mother gets any benefits for Simon? He obviously can’t work, can he?” suggested Diana, talking to the Officer.
“She used to according to the records here but he failed to turn up at the Office to register regularly and they stopped the benefit cheque. Even if he did get benefits then I’m not sure he would be any better off. His Mum wouldn’t give him any money and at least he gets some cash begging.”
“What do you do when it’s cold or raining Simon?” asked the Social Worker.
“Slug go library, warm, books.”
“Don’t they turn you out Simon. They don’t allow people to loiter in there, do they?” asked the Officer.
“Slug have ticket, take out books, read.”
“That’s clever of you. He takes out some books with his library ticket and they can’t turf him out. Do you read Simon?” asked the Officer.
“Slug read War and Peace, Slug warm. Lady brings tea. Slug warm.”
“So, you actually read the books. Do you like to read?” asked Diane.
“Yus, Slug page 324.”
“Wow that’s good Simon. What do you do when you’re hungry? Where do you get your food? Do you spend your money that you’re given?” asked the Officer.
“Slug go quack quack, Itai, cluck cluck. Boy gives food bag, Slug go away.”
“He’s referring to McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza places,” said the Officer to Diane. “That’s clever, he goes stands at the door and they give him some food to go away. How do you keep clean Simon? Your hair is short and not much of a beard.”
“Salybash, lectric razor, man cut hair. Slug sing, food. Slug hungry, Slug hungry.” Slug no tell about touch card. Slug goes Marks and Sparks, gets food and drink, Slug goes self service, security man ignores Slug, pays with touch card, no pin, no pin. Slug buys touch card for fiver. Works for some days, Slug throws card away, Slug buys another card, Slug clever, Slug no hungry! Slug smiles at the policeman and Diane opposite him.
“It’s OK Simon, I’ve ordered you some tea and a sandwich,” said Diane turning to the Officer. “I’m not sure I can help Simon here. He seems to be looking after himself well enough, probably better than at home. He keeps warm, feeds himself here and there, keeps relatively clean. I’ll give him some clean clothes, shirt, pants, warm socks and a new warm coat.”
“No coat! No coat! Wiseguy takes!” shouted Slug looking worried.
“Calm down Simon. You can keep your old coat,” said the Officer and turning to Diane said, “This Wiseguy he’s referring to is another beggar that we brought in. He’s a nasty peace of work, gets simple people like Simon working for him begging. Takes all their takings on pretence he’s looking after them. We have warned him more than once. At least he gives Simon some protection from the other beggars. This Wiseguy as Simon here calls him, spends the cold and wet days in a pub drinking his life away. OK Simon, you come with me and you can get dressed in some clean clothes. You can still keep your coat. There will be a sandwich for you and you can go. Can you find your way back Simon?” Slug nodded his head and stands up ready to go.
On leaving the Police Station Slug walks to the nearest Rail Station with paid public toilets. They charged twenty pence to get in which he has but they were at least heated. He would have jumped over the style if there was nobody in sight. He washes his hands in the warm water letting his hands dangle in to get warmth into his fingers, then the hot air drier including a warm draught over his face. Finding a free stall, his first task is to take copious amounts of toilet paper, crumple it up and stuff it down his trousers for extra insulation until the paper runs out. He changes stalls and does the same with his shirt then sits down and snoozes until a cleaning lady wakes him and orders him out.
Hunched up, he wandered along the street checking out the bins, especially the ones near fast food outlet for thrown away food. He was in luck on a few occasions. Eventually he made his way to Donald Towers. Instead of going up to his flat he took the half stairs down which led to a lake of murky water. A broken-down baby buggy without wheels made the water seem deep but Slug gingerly stepped onto sunken bricks and made his way under the stairwell, sheltered by a broken wheelie bin and stepped onto a couple of pallet boards, well above the water level. This was his den. A thick layer of cardboard covered the boards. Picking up the top layer of card he opened it into a box and climbed into the rudimentary tent. From underneath the card he pulled out his newfound blanket, carefully folded over himself and lay down for a snooze.
The next morning the sun was shining so Slug made his way to his pitch. Wiseguy was not there yet. He tapped a rhythm on his mug, kept smiling and was gifted with an occasional coin. An hour later Wiseguy shows up, checks on Slug’s tin, takes out the silver and leaves the brass. With a nod he goes back to his position on the crossroad. “As tuken the big coins. Wiseguy can have the shiny ones, I have the big ones. Hidden.” Slug smiles to himself.
Just before midday a man in a black hoodie walks up to Slug. “Have you got the package I gave you yesterday, Slug? Or did the police take it?” he said gruffly, leaning down to Slug.
“Wiseguy, Wiseguy,” answers Slug pointing down the road. The man walks over to Wiseguy and an argument ensues. Meanwhile Slug retrieves the package for the man he calls Tarzan, from his secret hiding place in the wall. Tarzan and Wiseguy walks back to Slug who is now cowering in his recess.
“Where’s the package Slug. Give it back!” shouts Wiseguy and to make himself clear he knocks Slug’s tin pot out of his hands, spilling the coins all over the pavement. The next thing he is on his knees picking them up. During the distraction Slug hands over the package, Tarzan gives it a brief inspection and dips into his pocket slipping Slug a fiver. By the time Wiseguy has collected all the spilt cash, Tarzan is walking away and Wiseguy looking puzzled. “Give the package back!” shouts Wiseguy.
“Slug give, Slug give,” says Slug with his hand outstretched for the mug.
“Next time give the package to me to keep Slug, understand!” shouts Wiseguy, shaking his fist at Slug. “Wiseguy tuken to jail,” says Slug quietly. Realisation comes to Wiseguy that he was also taken away for questioning. He waves his hand at Slug and stalks off, handing the mug back to Slug, forgetting to take the big coins.
Pouring the coins into his coat pocket, Slug rises and slowly walks away down the road on the way to his tower block. “Slug hungry, Slug go to flat. Slug knows key hide. Slug drinks water, Slug takes crisps.” Taking the lift to the seventh floor and onto the balcony corridor, he looks through the window and the place looks empty. Knocks on the door and no answer. Waits patiently for a few minutes then opens the door with the key and hides it back in the slot. Fills a glass from the tap and drinks a gulp, takes a packet of crisps from the cupboard when he hears someone opening the door. He hides behind the settee.
“What a shit hole you’ve brought me to!” shouts a man.
“What do you expect for a fiver, the Savoy?” shouts back the girl. “Come on in the bedroom, its better in there.” Slug sits quietly behind the settee, listening to the noises from the creaking bed. Suddenly he hears a slapping noise and the girl crying out.
“You’re no bloody good! What a waste!” the man shouts as he emerges from the door, zipping up his flies. Slug pears around the settee, sees the man peel off two fivers and throw them up in the air and leave the flat slamming the door behind him. Slug picks up the two fivers, stuffs one in his coat pocket and walks into the bedroom with a fiver in one hand, glass and unopened crisps in the other.
“What are you doing here!” shouts the girl as she cleans herself up with a tissue, throws it to the floor and pulls down her mini skirt. “You shouldn’t be here Slug! How did you get in?”
“Door open,” says Slug handing the fiver to the girl who leaps up from the bed, snatches the fiver and stuffs it down her bra. She then grabs the glass of water and crisps from Slug as he slowly pivots around, walks to the door, slams it shut behind him and mutters to himself, “Tart! Slug Go, Slug Go!”
The next day Wiseguy approaches Slug and tells him, “It’s too cold for you Slug out here. I’ve got an indoor job for you. Much warmer and you’ll be fed. Follow me.” Slug dutifully follows Wiseguy to the back yard of a greasy spoon café and introduces him to the owner. Slug is shown how to scrape the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. He is given a grey cotton overall coat and told to carry on. Slug happily does his job in a lobby off the kitchen, nibbling at the better leftover scraps and feeding the dishwasher. At the end of the day he helps a man load the bins full of waste into a bin. The driver tells him the scraps will feed the chickens.
“Come back early tomorrow, Slug,” says the owner. “There’s hot breakfast for you in the morning and tea.” Slug arrives before the café opens but no breakfast forthcoming. He doesn’t mind since the leftovers on the plates are plentiful. The owner arrives and slaps Slug on the back saying, “Well done Slug, keep at it and make sure you don’t scrape the cutlery into the bins!” Slug grins sheepishly and carries on. He doesn’t dare tell the man that he’s been scraping everything into the bins. He finds a bucket with water where the kitchen guy chucks the dirty cutlery and throws the cutlery in when he remembers.
A week later Wiseguy comes in, talks to the owner and then approaches Slug. “Got a better job for you Slug. Tonight, you go with the man who collects the slops. You will be feeding chickens and collecting eggs. You like chickens Slug.” Wiseguy wanders out. At closing time, Slug puts his coat over his grey overall coat and helps the man load the waste bins who then gets Slug to climb in the back of the van. It’s warm and Slug falls asleep. He’s roughly woken up and shoved into a cold barn. The man with the flashlight shows him a piece of floor where he can sleep. He notices other men asleep on the floor.
Next morning they are woken up before daybreak with a loud banging on the door. Seven scruffy men shuffle out to an outbuilding and given a sandwich and a plastic beaker of weak tea. They then collect their fluorescent jackets and are ushered into the huge chicken sheds. Slug is given a trolley full of empty egg cartons and told to fill them with eggs that have rolled down to the front of the cages. When his trolley is full another man come and collects it swapping for an empty one. This seems to go on all day. Another man working the opposite row to Slug, nods to him, winks, breaks open an egg, swallows the contents, crushes the eggshell into little pieces and chucks them into the food hopper. He nods to Slug and walks off. Slug tries the same and quite likes it. He finds a tap at the end of the row and takes a drink then back to work. The supervisor walks around with a big stick.
At the end of the day all the men are escorted out, given a measly sandwich and herded into the cold barn to sleep. Slug does not like his new environment especially when the supervisor catches him eating an egg. He gets beaten with the big stick. By the end of the week, he gets to know some of the men and more importantly their methods of survival in these harsh surroundings. One man called Billy gives him a black bin bag to sleep in and tells him to hide it.
Slug arrives at an end of the row with a full trolley which is wheeled away by another man telling him to wait and he’ll bring an empty one. Slug sees the supervisor along his row and shout “Toilet, Slug toilet!” The supervisor waves his stick allowing Slug permission to go. Slug walks into the corridor and notices that the far door is unusually ajar. It’s normally locked. He walks past the stalls, through the door and into the open air. He closes the door, locks it with the protruding key which he pockets. He can see traffic on the road on the other side of a large field bordered by some scrubby land. He takes off his fluorescent jacket and stuffs it into a waste bin and hurries off to the scrub land.
He makes his way as far as the road unnoticed. At the roadside he takes off his scruffy coat, stuff it into his bin bag. He is now half respectable wearing a grey overall from the café. A base ball cap is pulled over his scruffy hair. With the bin bag slung over his shoulder he walks along the road away from the farm. Eventually he gets to a bus stop and waits. A bus arrives, Slug shows the driver a bus pass and utters, “London, Slug go London!”
“You’re on the wrong side of the road Pal,” answers the driver pointing. “You need the other side of the road mate. This goes to Stansted,” Slug waves to the driver, crosses the road and waits. A bus picks him up, driver telling him that he will take him as far as Enfield and he should take a train. The bus takes him past the farm he’s escaped from. Slug waves. Using various stolen bus passes, Oyster cards and credit cards he manages to get back to home territory. He sleeps late in his den under the stairs.
Next morning he goes up to the apartment, has a drink of water, finds the cupboards bare. He empties his pockets of cutlery that he’s collected from the slops at the chicken farm and places them in the already full sink. He picks out the shiniest knife, fork and spoon and pockets them.
Later he walks to his pitch and finds someone else there begging.
“Slug here, go away, go away, Slug here,” he shouts at the beggar who isn’t going to budge. Wiseguy turns up.
“Where the hell have you been Slug? The farm manager says you have run away,” shouts Wiseguy. “You’ve got me into big trouble. I’m looking after your welfare Slug.”
“Slug hate farm, Slug go, Slug here, Slug here,” says Slug standing firm.
“Hey, you dimwit, you can’t stay here. I’ll get you back to the farm,” shouts Wiseguy pushing Slug away from his pitch.
“Slug no go. Man hit Slug. Big stick. Slug stay,” says Slug raising his voice as Wiseguy punches him a couple of times in the face. Slug covers his face and bursts into tears.
“Hey, leave him alone you bully,” shouts a passer by.
“I’ll call the police if you don’t stop,” shouts a man taking out his mobile. Wiseguy and the beggar scarper quickly leaving Slug bemused. A passing woman who had witnessed the scene crosses the road and gives Slug a take-away coffee. Slug sits in the recess with his mug before him sipping his coffee as the businesspeople pass by.
Next morning Slug is sitting in his usual recess, tapping his mug with a knife and smiling at the passers by. No Wiseguy in sight. He is now sporting a huge black eye which has completely closed up. The passers by are more generous today and Slug sift out the big coins before Wiseguy turns up. Slug notices the Tart walking towards him. He curls up to be as small as possible.
“What’s happened to you Slug? You have a black eye. Tell me who hit you and where have you been the last few weeks? You haven’t been at your pitch here. Tell me who hit you Slug.”
“Wiseguy.”
“I might have known. You know Jerry’s out. That’s why I have to work the streets. They’ve kicked me out too. I’m desperate for a fag Slug. Give us some money. Ta Slug,” she says and gives him a smile as she totters off on her high heels.
“Slug go, Tart go,” says Slug to no one in particular as he continues to tap his mug and the coins drop in.
Two days later Slug sees Wiseguy physically ejected from the pub on the corner, followed by Jerry. “You don’t give my brother a black eye you varmit. Don’t you ever touch him again,” shouted Jerry and thumps Wiseguy really hard, causing him to fall then starts kicking him.
“He didn’t turn up for work. It’s his fault.”
“What work?”
“At the café and the chicken farm. Please stop kicking me. It’s his fault.”
“You miserable bastard. You are up to your tricks again. I bet you Slug hasn’t been paid. I should put you in hospital,” shouted Jerry as Wiseguy cowered away.
At this point a police car arrives and the policemen jump out and separate the two. “What’s going on here? Why the fighting. Hey, aren’t you Jerry, just out of the clink. You’re in big trouble breaking the peace whilst on probation.” Wiseguy giggles and gets a well aimed kick in the jaw.
“This useless peace of shit has attacked my brother over there and given him a black eye. He’s also got him working for nothing. My brother is not all there and this lump of shite has been praying on him and others. They call it the white slave trade, don’t they,” shouted Jerry, trying to put up a defence for himself.
“We need to take you all in for questioning. This is serious allegations. Get another car Mike, whilst I apprehend the other beggar. Can’t have these two fighting in the car,” said the policeman getting hold of Slug who had come to see the action.
To get a lower sentence by helping the police, Wiseguy spilled all the beans on all the businesses he had supplied labour to. The police made fifty arrests and released some twenty unfortunates who had been treated as slaves in appalling conditions. Jerry was released with a warning. Slug went back to his pitch, keeping all the money. Tart went by frequently cadging money from Slug for a fag. The police got the glory and commendations.
