Little Men - The E Book (10 page)

“So the fourth guys says, ‘I think the arsehole sphincter muscle is the fastest thing in the world.’ The other three give it: ‘Really? Why's that?’ ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I was on Concorde, it got struck by lightning, and I didn't know what to do ... so I shit myself!’”

The more inebriated members of the group laughed hysterically. Sam, who was a few drinks behind the others, managed merely a smile. And he couldn’t get Nikki out of his mind. He decided to pick up the pace of his drinking.

“Have you got any more, Rav? That was a good one.” Ian was keen to get his friend more involved in the conversation.

“Okay, okay, here’s one. This geezer walks into a pub with an ostrich and a cat. He walks to the bar and says: ‘Beer for me, beer for the ostrich, whisky for the cat.’ They find a table, sit down and drink their drinks.

“Next it was the ostrich’s round. He goes up to the bar and says: ‘Beer for me, beer for the man, whisky for the cat.’ He takes the drinks back to the table and they drink them.

“Then it was the cat's turn to buy the drinks, but he tells them to fuck off. So the man goes back to the bar and says: ‘Beer for me, beer for the ostrich and whisky for the cat.’
“But the barman was a bit confused about this and goes ‘I notice that you and the ostrich have both bought a round but the cat hasn't. Why is that?’ So the bloke says: ‘I helped a little old lady across the road, and she turned out to be my Fairy Godmother. She granted me one wish.’
“‘What did you wish for?’ says the barman. ‘I wished for a long-legged bird with a tight pussy!’”

Again, the men at the table laughed raucously.

“That reminds me,” said Ian. “Do you remember all that shit we were talking last week, after the club?” He gestured towards Sam.

“Dunno mate, I just know we were spangled,” Sam replied, grinning.

“You know, about the animals. We were arguing about what is the hardest animal.”

“Oh yeah! I remember. We had a mass debate! Pound-for-pound, which is the hardest animal in a fight situation.” The memory came back to Sam. It was one of those discussions his mates often had after a club. They would all be as high as kites at someone’s flat, usually Sam’s. The party would continue with music, more drugs and alcohol. Then someone would usually start a topic of conversation going and the others would join in. Usually it was something completely ludicrous.

“Yeah, that was a good one!” Sam felt more like joining in now. He really enjoyed the after-hours sessions at his flat. They were sometimes better than the club itself. Usually they would continue well into Sunday morning. They would usually bypass sleep altogether and head straight to the pub as soon as it opened. No wonder Sam regularly felt so horrendous on Monday mornings.

Sometimes they would come home from clubs in the early hours, take more pills, then head to another club. London, and now the UK as a whole, had long catered for this market. There were now plenty of places one could go if he felt like squeezing every last drop out of a weekend.

Sam took the opportunity to relive one of the fun memories of the early hours of the previous Sunday. “Okay, if a tiger took on a shark, who would win?” he said.

Ian and Chris, never ones to keep their opinions to themselves, also enjoyed these debates. “Well, a shark can’t live out of water, can it?” began Ian. “That immediately puts it at a disadvantage. How is it going to attack the tiger, if the tiger is on land?”

“That’s a good point,” said Sam. “But by the same token, how can the tiger attack the shark? Tigers can’t swim, can they?”

“Yeah they can,” argued Ian.

“But they can’t breathe underwater, so they can’t fight underwater. Therefore the Shark can have a go at the tiger while the tiger is trying to stay afloat.” Everyone was smiling now. It was a silly discussion but they were enjoying it.

“The shark is used to living underwater, the same way the tiger is used to living above water,” Sam went on.

“Okay, what if we take living environment out of it,” said Ian.

“Now you’re changing the rules to suit you.”

“What about a crocodile?” Ravi chimed in. “They can live in water and out, and they’re hard as nails. They’d kick the arse of a tiger and a shark, maybe both at the same time!”

“Yeah, but they carry a lot of weight. Have you seen them waddle around? They have to use a crane to move them bastards about,” Ian countered.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta consider weight. We’re talking pound-for-pound. How about a mosquito or a cockroach? They don’t weigh anything but they carry all sorts of diseases that kill you,” Ravi said after giving the matter some thought.

“Hmmmm, he’s got a point,” Ian had to concede.

“Pills and booze don’t half make you chat some bullshit, don’t they?”

“Yeah, why is that?” Sam had often pondered this very question.

“And also, why do pills make people want to dance? Why not do something else like… I dunno, go ice-skating or something?”

“You’ve lost me there, mate,” said Ian.

Sam continued. “Well, you do pills, right? They make you want to get up and dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And every pill does it, if it’s a good one, yeah? Well, why don’t they make you want to clean the car or something else sometimes?”

“I see what you mean,” said Ian.

“You could get one that makes you want to do the ironing or clean your room or something; but you don’t, you always want to get up and dance.”

“Yeah, it’s bizarre.”

Sam had clearly opened up another silly topic of conversation that would no doubt be continued at a later date. The thought made him smile. He surreptitiously glanced at his mobile phone. Nothing.

Ian, when drunk, could go one of two ways. He either got over-emotional, which often led him to start hugging and kissing his friends, or he could be obnoxious and aggressive. Tonight, as the booze continued to flow, it seemed to be the latter.


You obviously had a lot of time on your hands at university.

Ian fixed Sam with a stare across the table, he was almost shouting, only pausing to take sizeable gulps of lager.

Didn

t you do any work?

Here we go
,
thought Sam. He had often got the impression that Ian was jealous of his time at university, as at the time Ian had worked at a string of dead-end jobs. Now Ian was a well-paid salesman and, at the moment, very successful. Occasionally Ian liked to ridicule Sam about how things had turned out. The two men both had strong, forceful personalities, and although they were usually close friends, they could occasionally clash, usually when alcohol was involved. Sam was particularly vulnerable at the moment. Ian knew about his financial difficulties and he could sense from his mood that he had other problems. Ian couldn

t resist a little dig, the booze in his bloodstream eroding his self-control.


How long is it since you left that place?

But Ian knew the answer.


About eighteen months.

Sam thought this sounded better than

nearly two years
’,
which was closer to the truth.


And you

re still working in that gym? That was money well-spent!

Sam decided it was easier to go along with it than argue.

Yeah, I know. But I got out of work for three years, though.


At least you got pissed a lot, eh? No-one can take that away from you, can they?

Chris
chipped in, his tone surprisingly
mocking.

But Sam was used to the banter; he had a few ready-made replies waiting that he


d trotted out many times before.

That

s why I can

t get a job. Trouble is, they never ask at the interview how many shots I can down in one night, they want to know about computer skills and shit like that. My boozing abilities just aren

t appreciated. Look how quickly I can down this pint
…”
To emphasise the point, Sam purposefully sank the remainder of his drink.

That skill took me three years to learn!

The others roared with laughter. Sam


s quick retort had taken the wind out of Ian

s sails. His mocking would sound ridiculous if he continued with it now. Sam felt pleased he had half-won the point with Ian, but deep down it hurt. He did feel embarrassed about how his life seemed to be panning out, and snide remarks from his peer group cut the deepest, even if it was just half-cut bar banter. Sam knew people were often at their most honest when under the influence of a substance or two.

As the laughter died down, the group noticed a figure approaching their table.


Dime-bar, how

s it hanging?

It was Stuart Dynes, another crony of Sam and his mates.


Not too bad. Been here a while, I see? I

m getting them in. Anyone want a drink?

Again, the order was taken and several minutes later Stuart returned with replenished glasses of alcohol, met with noises of approval.

What you been up to then, Stu?

Ian enquired.

Got me new car, it

s parked outside.

A proud smile played across Stuart

s face. He was the automotive enthusiast of the group. Sam was pleased the attention had moved away from him.

Oh yeah, what is it?


Astra GSI.

The others looked impressed. Although they were not into cars like Stuart, they knew as his friends it was decent protocol to voice a degree of admiration. He was clearly proud of his new acquisition.

Goes like stink, does it?

Ian said.

Oh yes. It

s scarily fast. I

m still getting used to it.


I bet it

s a fanny magnet!

Sam also appreciated the need to give Stuart his moment of glory. Why shouldn

t he get some credit? He had worked hard to buy his new car, and now he wanted to enjoy it. There was no harm in that. His mates were more than happy to humour him.

I hope so.


Yeah, birds love a fast car. They never admit it, but they do,

Sam added reassuringly, repeating an often-used conjecture.

Stuart spoke at length about his prized possession, occasionally using technical jargon which Sam and the others barely understood, but were happy to go along with. The evening wore on with more pints being downed, occasionally accompanied by a shot of vodka or tequila.

The inebriated banter became louder, and attracted the attention of Kevin Wilesmith, who was standing close to the group


s table. Kevin was a typical mouthy teenager. At eighteen years old he saw himself as something of a leader among his peers, like Ian or Sam. But, being five years younger, he still greatly lacked maturity, which often got him into trouble.

As he stood in The Crown the alcohol played havoc with his attempts to appear taller and broader than he actually was. He held a half-drunk bottle of Stella in one hand, a cigarette in the other. The contents of the bottle were frothy from constant movement as Kevin sauntered around the pub. He was small and skinny for his age, a late developer. He felt the need to make up for it by being aggressive and obnoxious.

Kevin wore the archetypal


satellite town lad out on a Friday night

clothing: a pastel-pink long-sleeved shirt with most of the front buttons unfastened, revealing several gold chains hanging around his neck, coupled with jeans and bright white trainers. His small hands were bejewelled with three large gold sovereign rings. His short hair was scraped forward, rigid with wet-look gel.

You got a new motor, Stu?

Kevin questioned. Stuart knew Kevin vaguely. The were both Crown regulars.

Yes mate, Astra GSI. It

s parked outside, the red one.

Stuart gestured to the window, and Kevin stooped to look.

Very nice, bruv. You seen my Imprezza?

Stuart looked at Kevin.
How could this little monkey afford a Subaru Imprezza?


Nah, I

ve not seen that. How long you had it?


Few weeks, fucking lovely motor. It

s outside, go and have a butchers.


Yeah, we can look at yours too, eh Stuart? Car, I mean!

Ian said.

The large group trooped outside accompanied by a few of Kevin


s companions, all wearing similar clothes and clutching bottles of Stella. They hovered around Stuart

s Astra. He opened the door, allowing his friends to sit inside and admire the interior. It was a truly impressive vehicle. Not to be outdone, Kevin started coaxing the group to the other side of the pub where his car was parked. In a similar way he opened the doors, allowing the accompanying gaggle to admire the machine.

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