Should Have Killed The Kid (8 page)

'It was very nice.' Dave winced at how ridiculous and redundant a statement he made but fortunately Marcus didn't even seem to notice. Dave was quickly getting the impression that Bruno's son wasn't shy of hearing his own voice.

'It's going to be hard enough getting people in as it is. 'Specially with the name he picked. Cheerful, yeah? Ha! Try telling him that. Just goes straight over his head. Doesn't even get the pun.' Marcus paused for a shake of the head. 'But bah, don't need to hear my sob story. What can I get you?'

'Um, a pint, thanks.' After a pause during which he pondered requesting something else just to see if anything but Carlton was on offer, Dave settled for the easier decision and nodded toward the tap, digging his wallet from his pocket at the same time.

Marcus scuttled down and filled a glass before returning and shaking his head at the twenty Dave offered.

'Nah mate, this one's on the house, alright? For the mix up, yeah?'

'Ah, cheers. Thanks.' Dave tucked the money back into his top pocket and raised the glass to Marcus who winked at him before heading for a waving patron down the other end of the bar.

Kind of chuffed for the freebie, Dave took a long swallow but grimaced as it still went down sour.

Free pint though,
he thought a little sarcastically, placing it back on the bar,
maybe things are looking up.
The smile that started to spread across his face stalled as he looked across and saw Monty hunched over and staring in his direction. The eyes burning into him, scouring away any mirth, transforming it into unease.

Dave quickly turned away and took another swallow of his pint.

Fucking nutter.

7.

Dave was on his fifth or six pint when he made the mistake of talking to Monty.

Things were starting to get a little hazy, though it was not the fun-filled drinking blitz Dave had pictured earlier. Each successive pint had grown sourer as Naomi's voice had looped over and over in his head.
I don't like the way you act when you're drinking. It's uncomfortable. You think you get happy but you don't...

Rather than talking to the locals – a group that had swelled to a surprising level for how uninhabited the surrounding land appeared – Dave had done a passable impression of Monty instead. Staring down at the bar as all the fights they'd had over the past five years played through his mind. Lined up like that it'd been hard to miss the common theme. It saddened him even as he indulged in it to fight that very sorrow.

The only thing breaking up his reflections: the occasional trip out into the chill night air for a cigarette.

That was until, over the babble of the crowd, he heard Monty mutter something that sounded like, 'Yeah, you know what it's like,' and turned to see the old man staring at him again, nodding away.

Dave didn't know why he bit but he did.

'Sorry?' Regret followed the second the word exited him mouth but it was too late.

Monty latched onto the invitation and slid across the two barstools that separated them. He leaned in close enough that Dave could smell that his earlier surmise about the man's clothes might very well be correct.

'Gets you down, doesn't it?' Monty smiled, showing a hint of yellowed teeth. The grin did nothing to set Dave at ease though. It did not alter the lunatic gleam in the old man's eyes one bit. If anything, it enhanced it. Dave had to remind himself that he was in a room full of people.
He's not going to do anything with such a crowd about,
Dave reassured himself.
Surely not.

'What do you mean?' Dave winced at the buffet of fumes that spewed out with Monty's words. He leaned back a little as Monty leaned in closer.

'All this,' Monty slurred, his grin spreading wider and sloppier. Dave realised that the man was a lot drunker than he appeared.

'All–'

'Everything's changing and it shouldn't be.' Monty cut Dave off, his slur suddenly transforming into a vicious whisper. 'They're ruining everything. Fucking everything. Lived here my whole life and everything is peachy but now these dumb cunts want to come and fuck everything up. They don't even know what they're playing with. That don't even fucking comprehend the scope of what they're toying with. Just fuck up their pretty city and when that's done, come out her and fuck that up cause they can no longer cope with the stench of their own fucking shit.'

Dave wilted beneath the intensity of Monty's gaze. He tried his best to find something of deep interest at the bottom of his pint but it was like his eyes were hypnotic. No matter how many times he looked away they dragged his gaze back.

'I–' He flailed for an answer but Monty was already talking again. Dave was not a fan of how each sentence seemed to draw the man closer and closer.

'Look at this fucking place. Used to be a nice pub, this one. Sure a little run down but nice. Homey. The old guy who used to run it, he understood things. Knew there was stuff that you just didn't fuck about with. Poor fucking bastard’d be turning in his grave if he could see his place now. See what these prats are fucking doing to it.' Monty paused for a long swallow from the pint that had migrated across with him. 'And this is just the start. I can tell you that. Just the first inroads. No, the cunts won't be happy until the whole place is just another fucking tourist trap. Till it's all cleared and redeveloped. Till they've fucked everything.'

Dave slugged from his own pint as Monty degenerated into indecipherable mumbling for a second. He stared around the room over the rim of his glass, certain that every eye in the place must be on them but everyone still chattered away, ignoring them.

He had to wonder how often this particular scene with Monty had been repeated.

'And it's getting worse and worse, every single day.' Monty suddenly rallied as Dave placed his pint back on the bench and was shocked to find that it was empty. He waved to get Marcus's attention and then pointed at the pint as Monty continued to hiss at him. 'Klara was always saying that it was inevitable, that nowhere can stay untouched forever but I always said that here was different. I always told her that I could keep it safe. Should have known better, she never was wrong...' Monty's whisper suddenly turned to a mumble and he mercifully dropped his gaze from Dave and returned to staring at the bench.

Dave breathed a sigh of relief as Marcus appeared with a fresh pint and plonked it down in front of him.

'How are we going here?' he asked as Dave went to the fresh pint with gusto. 'The usual lament, Monty? Why's everything got to change. Woe is me. Huh?'

Dave felt his stomach go into free fall at the mocking tone of Marcus's voice. He awkwardly swallowed and with a shaking hand placed his pint back on the bar while Monty glared at Marcus. Dave didn't know how he did it but Marcus didn't seem at all fazed by Monty's stare. Instead of wilting and slinking away like Dave would have done, he instead winked at the old man. Then, as Dave stared in disbelief, blew him a kiss before heading back down the other end of the bar.

Dave didn't really find the action at all humorous so he was confused by the snort of mirth he let out in response. Maybe it was an effect of the nervous tension that had built up in him? Dave didn't know but whatever it was, he instantly knew it was a mistake.

Monty's eyes pinned him in place as they fixed on Dave. Locked onto his own, they felt like they were burning into the very depths of his being. Seeing everything he was. No secrets. Everything stripped away by the gaze. Even the slight buzz the beer had given him seemed to have vanished. As Monty snarled, Dave had never felt more sober in his life.

'What the fuck would you know anyway?'

'WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW?' Monty succeeded in getting the crowd's attention when he repeated it. Much louder the second time. As he roared at Dave, all conversation around them halted and as one, Dave felt their eyes swivel around to focus on him and the old man.

Clearly Monty noticed the attention too.

'NONE OF YOU HAVE SEEN SHIT!' He wheeled around, tipping over the stool and roared as best as his lisping voice would allow. The clatter echoed through the room. 'NONE OF YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT I'VE HAD TO DO TO PROTECT YOU.'

Marcus came scooting down the bar toward them.

'Now, Monty, that's enough–'

'NONE OF YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DO AGAIN.'

'HEY, MATE. ENOUGH!' Marcus's voice rose in volume to match Monty's and the old man stopped spinning and yelling and turned to glower at him instead. 'Here, have a pint on the house. Just calm down.' Marcus's voice returned to its usual level as he worked the taps.

Monty was already scrabbling for his coat, though, toppling another bar stool as he yanked it free. The clatter and his muttering filled the air as the crowd watched the old man spend an awkwardly long time yanking the coat on. Behind the bar Marcus stood holding the full pint as he shook his head.

'Stupid bunch of fucking cunts,' Monty muttered as he stormed to the door.

The crowd parted obediently to let him go. Dave was glad he was already seated once the jittery adrenaline flooded in. He doubted his legs would have been able to support him. It felt like all the blood had drained from his face. He heard the screen door slam and immediately reached for his pint. His hand was shaking too badly to risk lifting it though so he merely spun it a few times on the top of the bar.

Silence briefly reigned in Monty's wake. Dave didn't know if they were – he didn't want to check – but it felt like every eye in the place swivelled from the door to fix on him. Dave felt his cheeks reddening as he made a show of studying his pint.

'Fair enough.' Someone finally broke the silence and the few chuckles the comment garnered segued back into the usual chatter.

Dave drew a shuddering breath and set about controlling his racing heart. Outwardly, he tried not to let his shock show too badly but clearly it was a poor cover up.

Another pint plonked down on the bar next to the one in front of him.

'Looks like you might need this.' Marcus winked at him and Dave drew another shuddering breath.

'Yeah, I think you're right there.

8.

You've been drinking again, haven't you?
Naomi's voice followed him the whole way from the shower down to the bar. That tone she got that always let Dave know he'd fucked up again. Really fucked up. The blend of anger and sadness that never failed to tear into him, straight to the core.
Why, David, why? It's pathetic...

Most of the previous evening was lost to an alcoholic haze. As he eased himself down on a bar stool, Dave tried to think back but it was gone. He remembered Monty storming out. Remembered Marcus plonking an extra pint down in front of him but beyond that...

It's not just you that you're making a fool of, David...

Dave rubbed his crusted eyes, his stomach somersaulting. He propped his head onto his arms and leant against the bar to rest for a second. He had no idea if he'd eaten the previous evening. Judging by the noises his stomach was making probably not.

Rookie mistake,
he thought as another burst of sawing sounded from the other room and he winced. The contractor's had already been well into it by the time Dave managed to stumble down the stairs.
Shit it's lucky I even made it to the bedroom last night,
he added as he remembered how confused he'd been when he awoke in the strange bed, drenched in sweat.
Definitely the worst session for a good long while. Definitely should have eaten.

There's always an excuse isn't there, David? Of course it couldn't possibly be your fault.

Dave raised his head again, seeking a distraction from Naomi's voice in his head. He briefly eyed the gleaming tap that was the cause of all his current woes but knew that was just asking for trouble.
Need to get some more water into me first.
A job easier said than done, Dave already knew – when he'd first awoken, he'd sculled a decent amount from the tap in the bathroom and nearly vomited at the brackish and foul liquid that had emerged. It was not an experience he cared to repeat.

Need some bottled–

You need to admit you have a problem,
Naomi interrupted his thoughts,
I'm worried David, worried and a little bit scared...

Dave rubbed his temples as he felt a surge of frustration.

Smoke then,
he thought, deliberately ignoring Naomi's words. He dug in his pocket for the crumpled pack and placed it on the bench before rubbing his face again. He didn't know exactly how many smokes he'd had the previous evening, only that the nearly full pack of fifties he'd started with was now down to ten.
Explains why my mouth tastes like an ashtray,
he mused, caught in the morning after dilemma: his brain screaming for nicotine but his tortured throat screaming for respite.

So was it at least worth it, David? Huh? Was it everything you wanted?

'Ah, there you are!' Bruno's voice provided a welcome distraction from Naomi's but Dave winced at how cheerful it sounded. He dropped his hands from his face and turned to see the man heading his way, holding a tray. 'Must have just missed you,' Bruno continued and clanged the tray down next to Dave. 'Brought you some lunch. Imagine you must be quite famished. Big night and all, eh?' Dave stared down dolefully at the peanut butter smeared Saladas that topped the tray. 'But that's what you get when you take on Jim. Man's got hollow legs.' Bruno settled onto the stool next to Dave and laughed.