Little Men - The E Book (9 page)

Dear Sam

Thank you for attending the interview with myself last week for the office junior position. I regret to inform you that on this occasion you were unsuccessful. This was due to the very high standard of applications for the role.

I would like to thank you for your interest in FPC and wish you the best of luck for your future career.

Yours Sincerely

Tristan Carrington-Smythe

Sam’s heart sank. The letter had been put on the kitchen table by Darren and was waiting for him when he returned home. He immediately saw the postmark, which told him it was from FPC. He knew from experience that small, flimsy envelopes were usually a bad sign as it took less than a hundred words to reject someone, but he still frantically ripped the paper apart.

He read the letter one more time then screwed the document into a ball and threw it in the bin. He walked into his bedroom and shut the door. He needed to be alone.

Sam had not cried for years, but he felt like doing so now. He just couldn’t understand it. It was hardly a high-powered position he’d applied for. He just hadn’t realised how difficult it would be. Thoughts flashed through his mind. This was beyond a joke, if he couldn’t get a poxy office junior job then what hope was there? He would have to re-think his career options. He couldn’t stay at Energise!
It was going nowhere.

Sam thought about Nikki. He’d been on another date with her last night. They had been out for dinner. She was full of encouragement when Sam told her about his interview and career aspirations. Now she would think he was a right loser. Sam despaired. He’d really thought things were starting to improve. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up too much before an interview, but he was a naturally optimistic person and never believed he would fail. Now he was stuck in a rut and didn’t know how to get out of it.

Sam’s despondent mood hung around until Friday.
Payday at last.
Sam finished work and headed to the cashpoint. He punched in his number in an attempt to withdraw £100. Nothing.
There are insufficient funds...
Sam re-keyed his PIN number and requested the balance. It was showing the same figure it had shown for the last two weeks. His money had not gone in. Those stupid fuckers at Energise! had cocked-up. Or the bank. Whoever it was had left Sam in the shit for the weekend. He owed money to everyone. Now he couldn’t do anything until at least Monday. Once again Sam drove home frustrated and miserable.

Sam remembered Sean. Shaking, he picked up the phone and dialled the number. It just rang and rang and rang. Sam didn’t have Sean’s mobile number, Sean didn’t give it to many people.
It just gets better
,
thought Sam.

He texted Nikki. At least he had her. Almost.

‘Hey Nikki, how was ur wk? Mine was ok. What r u up 2 this wkend?’

Sam’s mobile rang – ‘Ian’ flashed on the display. He was his usual gregarious self.

“Hey dude, you ready to get pissed? Friday night a la Crown publique house. It doesn’t get much better than that!”

Sam laughed half-heartedly.

“Not tonight, mate, I’m not in the mood. Shitty week.”

“All the more reason for a drink-up, then.”

“I dunno, my wages didn’t go in properly. I’ve got no money again until Monday.” Sam knew how down he must’ve sounded over the phone.

“I’ll sort you out,” Ian replied.

“I already owe you a fortune, and everyone else.”

“Don’t worry about it, just pay me back when you can. I’m having a good month with sales. I’ll get you a few beers.”

Sam hated this, depending on the charity of his mates. He had his pride. But he had done favours for Ian over the years. Sam thought of his options. He could wallow in self-pity in the flat for yet another weekend, or he could go to the pub and have a few drinks. It would at least take his mind off things for a few hours.

Sam had a shower and got ready, jeans and a T-shirt would do. The Crown always got hot on a Friday evening, even in late February. He pulled on a coat and caught a bus towards the centre of Dartford. The Crown was situated on the edge of the town centre on a main road which joined the one-way system. It was a regular haunt of Sam and his mates, it had been for years. They knew the bar staff, bouncers and a lot of the locals.

The pub had undergone many changes over the years, as different owners had come and gone, each with new ideas. It was now owned by a large chain which had completely renovated it, giving it a turquoise, art deco-style façade, making it look somewhat incongruous to the neighbouring Victorian terraced buildings which consisted of both homes and shops. It was fairly well served by public transport, but the car park usually filled up quickly.

The interior was divided into two main areas, the pub and the restaurant, the owners understanding there was real money to be made serving food. It had high ceilings supported by substantial wooden pillars which were sporadically decorated with traditional ornaments of brass and wood. On the walls hung pictures of the exterior of the building throughout its history, dating back about a century.

The owners of course didn’t miss a trick, and were quick to install the usual modern gizmos designed to separate punters from their money. The ubiquitous fruit machines, quiz games, fag dispenser and large plasma screens for football matches. A bright red carpet covered the floor, thick enough to withstand continually spilled beer and dropped fag-butts.

Sam walked into the pub, checking his mobile as he did so. No reply from Nikki yet. He saw his pals at a corner table. It was already busy and Sam had to squeeze past a few people to get to the far side of the room.

He reached his friends. The empty glasses on the table indicated they had already been there a while. There was Ian, Chris and Ian’s friend from work, Ravi. Sam had known them all for years, except Ravi, whom he’d met a few times and had accompanied the group on several clubbing missions. He was a good laugh.

“Sammy! How you doing? Let me get you a drink!” Ian stood up. “What you drinking, son?”

“Krony, please. Cheers, mate.”

“Anyone else?” Ian enquired. It was Friday night, the drinking was fast and furious. A chorus of replies came back with orders for various brands of beer.

It wasn’t long before Ian returned, his hands stretched with the effort of carrying three pint glasses and trying not to spill the precious liquid inside. He was full of himself tonight.

“You seen that new barmaid? The blonde piece?”

“Oh yes, ” Chris replied confidently. “Lovely, ain’t she.”

“Fu-ucking hell. Where did they get her from? She’s wasted working in a crappy pub like this. Did you see those eyes and that dirty smile? She looks like an extra from The Fantasy Channel. Imagine doing her. I reckon she’d fuck the life out of you.”

“I’d give her a run for her money,” Sam said.

“She’d eat you alive, mate. Why’s she working here?”

“Maybe she was a porn star and got sacked. She upset all the other porn stars by being too filthy, made them all jealous. Or they ran out of things for her to stick inside her, so she walked out.”

“Not really the type of bird you’d take home to meet your mum, though, eh?” said Chris.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’d lock her in the bedroom. I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. She’d be trouble. I reckon she’s insatiable. As soon as other blokes started sniffing round her she’d be off. You’d have to guard her from all the other tossers hanging round. Look! There, now.” Ian indicated to the bar area. “Those blokes gawping at her. She must get that all the time. Never left alone. It would be hassle going out with her.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t be capable of keeping her satisfied?” Sam asked.

“Well, I’d like to give it a go, but it’d be hard work, that’s all.”

“You’ve never even met her. How can you tell all this?” It was Chris again. He was perhaps the least ‘laddish’ of the four.

“You can just tell. Look at the tattoos and the piercings. And I reckon she’s got more you can’t see. I reckon you can tell a lot about people just from looking at them.”

“Of course you can,” said Chris. “But you can’t always judge a book by its cover. Looks can be deceiving.”

“Sometimes, but rarely. Look at the people in this pub. You’ve got your alcoholics. You can tell they’re alkies by the way they look. Old, skanky teeth, thin as a rake, chain-smoking. You know, the ones that come and talk shit to you when you’re standing at the bar.”

“Well yeah, that’s obvious,” Chris conceded.

“Take Sean, for example.” The others stopped smiling and looked at Ian. Sean was a constant fascination for Sam and his friends due to his reputation mainly for inflicting violence and harm on others. They were in favour with him, but this couldn’t be taken for granted. They knew they had to be careful, even when speaking about Sean.

Ian continued. He knew he had their full attention, but the alcohol was now taking effect in his body, sending his mouth into overdrive.

“He just looks like a psycho. The scars, the tattoos, buzz haircut, the way he stares into space when he’s talking. You can tell he could snap at any minute.” Sam thought of the money he owed Sean. Ian was unrelenting. “Are you telling me that in his spare time he sits at home reading and listening to classical music? Course not. He walks around the house punching walls and shit, doing whatever psychos do in their spare time. I dunno. I don’t want to know.”

Chris decided to change the subject.

“Hey Sam, what happened with that bird you met the other week at Snake?”

Sam wanted to tell the others about Nikki, but had been reluctant to do so in case it didn’t work out. But tonight the beer was already taking effect. “Yeah, I’ve taken her out a few times, which has been a bit difficult due to my lack of finances, but it’s going okay.”

“What does she look like?” Ian asked. “I was spannered that night, I can’t remember.”

Sam described Nikki. He wasn’t sexist, but as he was with his mates in a pub on a Friday night he couldn’t help adding “lovely arse and tits.” He inwardly apologised to Nikki for describing her in such terms. He knew she wouldn’t like it. Then again, it was a compliment of sorts.

Talking of Nikki made Sam slightly uneasy. He got up and walked to the toilet and locked himself in a cubicle. He looked at his mobile. Still no messages. He would have felt it vibrate in his jeans pocket if there was, but he still checked it anyway. He looked in the ‘sent items’ menu. The message had definitely gone, nearly two and half hours ago. Sam finished up in the loo. There could be a million reasons for Nikki not replying yet. He put it out of his mind and returned to his beer.

Ravi, who had been quiet so far, was telling a joke.

“There were four blokes in a bar. One of them asks the others what he thinks the fastest thing in the world is. The first geezer says, ‘I think Concorde is the fastest thing in the world, because it can go faster than the speed of sound.’ The second man says, ‘Bollocks to that, lightning is the fastest thing in the world, because it can go faster than the speed of light
and
sound.’ The third one says, ‘Nah, you’re both wrong. The brain is the fastest thing in the world, because whenever you need something, it’s right there for you.’