Should Have Killed The Kid (6 page)

As Bruno continued to fidget in front of him, Dave made up his mind.

'What sort of discount are we talking about here?' he asked, doing his best to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

5.

Five minutes after Bruno Gallo started fumbling around the bar, Dave worked out that he had pretty much no idea what he was doing. After watching him leaf through the same stack of papers and ledgers for the third time, it had become harder and harder to hold back laughter. Especially with the unending stream of grunts and groans and muttered Italian the man had unleashed as he'd searched for whatever it was that eluded him.

Even now, as he poured himself a pint from the Carlton tap, Dave was uncertain of exactly what the man had been trying to achieve. All he knew was it had taken a lot of scrabbling by Bruno before he admitted defeat and summoned Marcus from beyond the drop-sheet with a terse yell. What followed was a brief but fiery altercation, the majority of which had been in Italian and would have been quite amusing if it hadn't included several pointed looks and gestures toward Dave that had started to make him feel quite uncomfortable. Whatever solution they'd arrived at, it was clearly not acceptable to either party and the end result had been Marcus storming back through the drop-sheet affording Dave a brief glimpse of congregated workmen beyond. Then the hammering and power tools had started up once more and Bruno had returned to his pottering, muttering away to himself under his breath.

When Dave had briefly mentioned, 'I don't want to cause any trouble.'

He was just told, 'Don't be stupid, it's no trouble.'

And then finally the whole charade had ended with Bruno crying, 'aha!' and removing a ledger from beneath a stack of other papers, toppling them in the process before thrusting it under Dave's nose and requesting him to sign what Dave was pretty sure was just a blank page.

Then had come a flurry of instructions as a key was lobbed in his direction. 'Room is the second on the left, through the drop sheet there, turn right top of the stairs. Left. Don't use the right they still need some work, yeah? We'll work out the payment stuff later alright? I have a couple of things to attend to. Room has a shower and whatnot... We'll sort out food later. All good, yeah? Brilliant, enjoy your stay at the Gallo's Hotel.'

Bruno had been heading for the drop-sheet almost before the last of the words exited his mouth. Dave had needed to call his name twice before he managed to get the man's attention. He'd halted, one hand holding the drop sheet aside to reveal Marcus glowering out from the other side. The pose making it seem as though Bruno was staring into a magical mirror that cast his reflection back minus two or three decades. 'What?' Bruno had sounded a bit short which had only made Dave's next words even more awkward.

'I was hoping for... Well... You know.' Dave inclined his head toward the gleaming row of taps, wilting beneath Bruno's steady gaze.

He'd been relieved as the man's face split into a grin, revealing yellowed teeth and he'd called, 'Help yourself.' Then he headed through the plastic, his voice rising in anger above the sound of the power tools.

But the relief had only lasted a few seconds.

Even now as he listened to the argument continue and went about filling his second pint, Dave wasn't entirely certain if he should be doing what he was doing. He couldn't stop shooting glances at the drop-sheet, certain that at any second someone was going to emerge from behind the plastic curtain and roar, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

He'd kept up the glances the whole time he'd worked his way along the bar trying each tap until he realised that only the Carlton one was actually hooked up; they continued as he'd struggled with the modern and elaborate till until he was forced to admit defeat and settle for dropping a twenty on the bar next to it.

As he took the first sip of his second pint, his eyes headed to the drop-sheet once more but it remained undisturbed. He looked away, staring around at the strange interior and winced as the beer went down a little sour.

Just the Carlton,
he told himself.
Too used to the fancy imports. Either that or the taps... fuck knows when they were last cleaned...
But no matter which excuse he went to it didn't quite ring true. There was something else at work that Dave couldn't quite put his finger on but he'd noticed it with the first pint as well; how it wasn't going down quite as nicely as he would have liked. Every time he took a mouthful there'd be a quick flash of Naomi shaking her head in disapproval and the beer would turn sour in his mouth.

In a way, Dave could see the funny side. He'd spent so long with Naomi thinking about how good it'd be to be able to settle in for a pint or two without her complaining that it was sort of bitterly amusing that he now had the perfect opportunity and couldn't seem to stop thinking about her.

Every mouthful just sent him barrelling back down the rabbit hole...
You are a fucking cunt. A fucking poisonous person.

But he pressed on anyway. His sips quickly turned to gulps as he told himself he was damned if he was going to let her ruin his freedom – it was the only upside he could see to their break up at the moment. Though briefly, as he drained the dregs of his glass, he was assailed by the image of her smile and the terrifying thought that he'd never see it again.

Dave quickly pushed it away. He headed to the tap to pour another. Tears strangely felt very, very close and while the amber liquid flooded the glass, Dave stood wiping his eyes with his free hand.

Keep it down,
he told himself.
Don't think about it.

The pint was nearing the top when he felt eyes on him. He quickly flicked the tap off and blinked away the dregs of moisture before looking up. He raised the pint for a long swallow in the hopes it would look more casual but that just meant he almost spat the mouthful all over the new arrival when he saw the way the old man across the bar was glaring.

Wild, glittering, ice-blue eyes that burned into Dave. Eyes that made it very plain they wanted nothing more than his complete and utter destruction.

Dave had never felt such hatred flowing in his direction. The closest he'd come was the final argument with Naomi but even that was dwarfed by the old guys eyes.

Oh crap, the real owner.
Dave's mind raced as his eyes flicked down the long trench coat that looked threadbare and moth-eaten and dripped a steady stream of water on the wooden floor.
Fuck! The other guys were probably just contractors taking the piss. .

The old guy took a step forward and looked left to right carefully. The coat swung open to afford Dave a glimpse of a rumpled grey suit that looked like it belonged to an earlier decade and clay smeared boots. His appearance confused Dave immensely.
Doesn't look much like the boss type,
he thought but didn't focus on that for too long. It was hard to focus on anything but the man's eyes as he took a step forward and inside Dave the certainty grew that he was going to attack him. A ridiculous concept, really. Beneath the coat the man looked coat-hanger thin and judging by the lines road mapping his face and the thinning white hair that the rain had plastered into a hideous comb-over, he must had been at least sixty or seventy. But that didn't make it any less awkward.

'Hi, mate.' Dave tried his best to sound calm but the sour edge the pint had left him with blossomed into the full blown taste of bile.

The man's eyes widened at his words and Dave's heart started to speed up to a skittering beat.

'Where's Bruno?' The man's voice did not match his appearance at all. It was high and lisping, almost effeminate. Though it did undercut the tension somewhat, the smile that started to twitch at the corners of Dave's mouth dropped away as the old man fixed him once more in his paralysing stare. 'Where's Mr. Gallo? He did not say that he was hiring.'

Confused, Dave even went so far as to look up and down the length of the bar before it dawned on him what it must look like.

'Oh I'm not work–'

Dave's words cut off as there was a crinkle of plastic and the old guy reacted like it was a gunshot. He flinched so badly that for a second Dave thought he was leaping at him, then whirled to see Bruno emerging from beyond the drop-sheet studying some sort of folded blue print as he walked toward the front door.

Dave felt relief as the old guy's attention immediately transferred to Bruno. As he scuttled across muttering something that Dave couldn't quite hear – though the finger jutted in his direction informed him of the subject – Dave collapsed forward, leaning on the bar and sucking in some much needed oxygen.

Must be a regular,
he mused. The half-distracted manner in which Bruno listened – still studying the plans as he nodded occasionally – told him that much. More relief flooded in.
Every town's got their harmless loon. This guy must be Hent's.
Briefly the new arrival's voice rose, the lisp crackling with what sounded like unadulterated panic and he definitely heard the words, 'I thought you said it was just you, your son and the contractors,' before the old guy managed to get it back under control and return to his whispering.

Dave polished off half of his third pint in one swallow.

After more hushed conversation, this time accompanied by a pointed finger toward the muddy footprints the old guy had tracked across from the front door, Bruno laughed and Dave felt the last of the tension leave the room. Bruno slapped the old guy on the back good-naturedly, then took him by the arm and led him back over to the bar.

'Monty, meet Dave, he's just arrived and seems nice enough. Are we happy now? Now he's not a stranger, yeah?'

'Hi,' Dave said awkwardly as he once again found himself wilting beneath the old man's glare. Monty did not look any more impressed by the introduction and awkward silence reigned as Bruno, obviously considering his work done, walked off, absorbed once more in his map.

'Fine, I'll have a pint,' Monty finally muttered and shucked off his trench coat. He draped it over one of the bar stools and dragged another out for himself. Dave winced as it grated noisily over the wooden floor.

After settling in, Monty fumbled in the pocket of his coat for a second before removing what Dave was pretty sure was a bulging tube sock. The chink as it hit the counter told him what was inside. As the old man started to count out coins onto the counter, Dave realised Bruno might not have been quite clear enough on how things stood.

‘I don’t actually– ‘

‘Make it Carlton, too,’ Monty cut him off, his eyes still on the ancient looking coins emerging from the sock. ‘None of that fancy shite.’ He waved a hand across the deceptive length of taps. ‘Never understood the need for so many fucking types of beer anyway.'

‘Mate, I–' Midway through the sentence Dave decided it was just too much effort and filled another pint glass instead.

He slid it across to Monty just as he finished counting and tapped the top of the coin mountain he’d formed on the bar. ‘That’s for two, okay?’ Monty’s glittering eyes locked with Dave’s.’

‘Okay,’ Dave went for the coins as Monty reached for the pint. It barely even touched the sides and Dave was still scraping the coins over to where he'd stacked his notes when the glass thunked back down on the bar. He picked it up, refilled it and settled it back in front of Monty as the man muttered away under his breath. Dave heard something that he thought sounded like, ‘fucking things, always fucking changing,’ but with the way Monty was still glaring around, there was no way he was going to ask the man to clarify.

He took a step back and off to one side and breathed a sigh of relief that Monty didn’t try to stop him. Instead the old man merely picked up his pint and stared at it in anger for a second before sipping away instead of draining it in another big gulp.

After a couple of mouthfuls, he slammed the glass down and returned to glaring around.

Dave decided it was as good a time as any for a cigarette.

It was almost comical how he tiptoed around the bar as though Monty was some sleeping dragon. Logically, Dave knew he shouldn’t be such a sook. He clearly had Monty’s measure in height and bulk – not to mention Monty looked about half a century older. But he’d never been a fan of confrontation and there were those eyes. That glare that chilled him to the core.

Reaching for his duffel bag felt like it took a life time. When he saw it sat less than a metre from Monty, Dave briefly felt his heart leap to his mouth again but fortunately the old man only let out a grunt as Dave retrieved the bag from where he’d propped it against the front of the bar.

As he headed to the front door, Dave slowly released a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding and hugged the bag close.

Shame Naomi’s missing all this,
he thought and almost snorted at the absurdity of it. Imagining her reaction to what had just passed had him wincing even though her voice was only in his head.

6.

The rain still drummed down around him but at least it looked like it might be slackening off. Dave fumbled in his duffle bag – fortunately the fabric seemed to have blocked out the worst of the downpour – until he located the pack of Horizons he’d lobbed in there earlier. Purple 12’s. In the fifties. Just like he’d always used to smoke.