‘You know what, Nathan,’ I says, licking froth off me tash, ‘I honestly don’t know—’
‘Calls yerself manager, you does. And don’t say you don’t cos I knows you does. There’s more to managin’ a place like Hoppers than standin’ at the door. A blind dog can stand at the door. Takes a business brain to keep the till movin’.’
‘All right, all right,’ I says, glancing sideways. There weren’t more than four or five other punters in the place, and they was talking shite of their own. But it were the principle—a boss oughtn’t to be talking to his staff like Nathan were doing here. ‘Can we stop talkin’ about all that?’
‘Never mind that. I gat a plan to get Hoppers back the way she ought to be. Tomorrer night I wants that place runnin’ tick-tock, like you claims to have it runnin’ already. I wants no brawlin’ and no public displays of indecency, such as I been hearin’ about.’
‘That were—’
‘I don’t care. I want none of it the morrer. And I wants no slackin’ staff neither. Tell wossname to leave her nails alone and put her heart into the job fer once.’
‘Aye,’ I nodded. ‘I were tellin’ her that just—’
‘But don’t scare folks off. Most of all, the morrer night, I want folks to relax. Get em relaxed and watch that till slammin’ in and out like a stallion on a brood mare.’
I were nodding away. See, I had this question for him, but it still weren’t the right moment. I weren’t in the right frame of head. Flummoxed us he had with all this talk. ‘Nathan,’ I says. ‘Nathan, woss goin’ on the morrer night?’ Cos it weren’t normal, see. Hoppers ran herself the way Hoppers wanted to. You couldn’t tinker with her. Whatever came to pass of an evening, it were all part of the rich tapestry of a night at Hoppers.
‘Well, Blakey,’ he says. I fucking hated it when he said that. ‘That’s fer me to know and you to keep yer job over.’ He winked at us and started moving off. ‘And oh,’ he says, stopping, ‘keep the stage area clear.’
‘What fuckin’ stage area?’
‘Come on, Blakey. Worked in that place all yer workin’ life, you has. You knows where the stage is.’
‘Aye but it ain’t a stage no more, it’s a raised drinkin’ area.’
‘Call it what you will—the morrer it’s a stage again. So stop arguin’ and keep him cleared, will you? I gat summat planned.’ He winked at us again and went to serve a punter. After that he picked up the blower, which were ringing. ‘Oh, all right, doll,’ he says into it, then turned away and started mumbling.
I nursed me pint, watching the bubbles rising and savouring the unique taste you got in the Pry. Sometimes it’s better concentrating on such things than bogging yerself down with all the bollocks life throws up.
I were reflecting on the ripe corn hue of the lager in the subdued light of the Paul Pry when Nathan stuck the blower out to us. ‘Fer you,’ he says. ‘Your Sal.’
I shook me swede, mouthing, ‘I fuckin’ ain’t here.’
He shook his and gave her the news, then went to serve another punter.
When he came past again I put me empty down quiet and raised an eyebrow at him. ‘One other thing,’ I says, glancing left and right to let him know it were summat of the highest import. He leaned in, bushy eyebrows reaching out like aerials. ‘You heared about a new motor goin’ about town?’
‘Sort o’ new motor?’
‘New un. Big and shiny. Ugly.’
He turned down the corners of his gob and shook his head once, firm. ‘Can’t say I has.’
It were already palmed in me right, see. The fiver. My last fucking fiver. I moved me hand forward and showed him the blue edge.
He leaned in closer. ‘Wanna get those ears of yours testin’, you does. Says I ain’t seen no shiny new motor, didn’t I? And if you’ll take my counsel you’ll keep clear o’ shiny new motors, cos shiny new motors ain’t your concern. Your concern, Blake, is keepin’ door at Hoppers.’
I went out to the car park, quietly calling Nathan a wanker and a cunt and a few words that don’t bear repeating here. He knew full well I were manager as well as head doorman. He were aiming to knock us down a notch by leaving that one out. And he did know everything, despite his saying different. If he weren’t bleating about the motor, not even for a fiver, it were cos he had a good reason not to.
And I didn’t like the fucking sound of that.
4
DRINK MORE, SEE MORE
The Management is proud to announce, after a long absence, the return of STRIPPERS to Hoppers. From now on the most beautiful young ladies in the Mangel area will be paraded before you every night of the week STARTING TOMORROW. Get yourself down there early if you want a good eyeful. And that’s not all…
We all know how frustrating it can be when you’re sat there rubbing your hands only to find she don’t take enough clothing off. Well, these ones are the genuine article. Our girls know NO LIMITS. But here’s the catch…
The more drink sold at the bar, THE MORE KIT SHE’LL TAKE OFF.
What? Still not happy? All right then…
To mark this historioccasion—for one night only—all DRAUGHT BEER will be HALF PRICE for the whole evening.
So do yourself a favour—get down the Hoppers tomorrow night.
HOPPERS
FRIAR STREET
MANGEL
What followed, after I’d jumped in me Capri and coaxed her across town, were plain and simple one of me greatest ever nights on the door. And do I hear you ask what makes a great night? Well, ask you might. And I’ll tell you.
But not before I’ve telled you summat else.
On my way over, gently slipping her fourth to fifth up the Wall Road, who should pass us but Mr. Big Shiny New Motor himself: the feller Doug had hired us to sort out. I clocked him a mile off in me rear-view, cruising along in the fast lane a shade quicker than meself. You couldn’t hardly miss the fucker, that great cow’s arse of a bonnet coming up behind you.
Nice one, I thinks. Saves us waiting around for him to show up. Or following young Mona into town like Doug had suggested. I ain’t in the habit of following young girls around, nor older girls neither. I don’t have to, see—they comes to me. Perk of being head doorman, that is. So I lagged back a bit and shoed it when the feller turned left at the lights.
I followed him westward and over the river, which had me guts going a mite queasy for some reason. A short while later the reason turned clear: we was headed for Norbert Green.
I didn’t enjoy Norbert Green. Besides them who lived there already, no folks in Mangel got much pleasure from that district. But you already knows that, like as not. There can’t be many folks who ain’t heard of Norbert Green and the stories what went with it.
Over the years I hadn’t had much luck in Norbert Green, unless you counts the bad variety, in which case I’d had fucking plenty. And as a rule I didn’t venture there. Not that I were scaredy of it, mind. I ain’t fucking scaredy of nothing, me. And anyone who tells you different can fuck right off. No, it were Fin who were afraid of the place. And you couldn’t blame the poor cunt, not with the shite he’d been through out there not so long back, shite that had condemned him to a life of sitting on his arse, reliant on others. So no, I weren’t afraid of the place. We’re all straight on that. But I’ll tell you what.
I cacked me strides when he pulled up outside the Bee Hive.
Norbert Green is one thing, but the fucking Bee Hive? Come on. Aye, Norbert Green’s a bad place, but all its badness came from that one pub, so they says. The Bee Hive just weren’t the sort of place nice folks went, know what I mean? All right, I ain’t nice folk and never have been nor never will be, but bad folk never even went there neither. Not unless they came from Norbert Green, course, which opens up a whole new grade of bad folk. So where Mr Outsider here in his shiny new motor fitted in…w I’d be scratching me head till I got bits of brain under me fingernails and I still wouldn’t know.
I were up the far end with the engine t
icking. I weren’t even driving past that place if I didn’t have to. As I let the handbrake off I watched him climb out. He were dressed much same as when I’d met him outside Hoppers: hooded jogging top, baggy jeans, and odd-looking trainers. If he only knew what a cunt he looked—no one wore baggy jeans like that. And as for the fucking hood—that ain’t gonna help him much if it starts pissing down, is it? The door of the Bee Hive opened and two fellers came out to meet him:
Nobby and Cosh.
Been yonks since I’d seen them two cunts. And I don’t use that word lightly here. Put quite simply, Nobby and Cosh was the biggest pair of cunts Mangel had ever thrown up, which is saying summat considering the competition. I knew they must have been hiding out somewhere in the Norbert Green area on account of the bad reputation they had, to put it mild. They could handle emselves like the best of em, but there ain’t much you can do against a ton-strong lynch mob, which is what they’d get if they showed up in town. I’d tell you why they was so hated but I can’t bring meself to just now. Later, perhaps, if I remembers to.
They chatted for about half a minute, then wossname handed one of em summat and went inside, leaving em to walk across the road to where a few motors was lined up.
I pissed off sharpish.
All right, so that’s what I were wanting to tell you prior to describing this top night of bouncing I went on to have. Weren’t so painful, were it? Course not. And now let us ask you summat:
What is a top night of bouncing?
It’s one of them question that bothers us all from time to time. Like “why don’t folks have tails, like cats and monkeys does?” Or “why do fellers have nipples, eh?” Well I’ll tell you then, shall I? (About the bouncing, that is. I can’t account for tails nor nips.)
Action, mate.
I’ve heard all that about a bouncer’s job being to keep the peace and make sure nothing kicks off, and a good doorman being one who gets folks to leave their aggro by the door when they goes in. You know what I says to that?
Bollocks.
There’s only one reason a feller takes to door work, and that’s cos he likes a rumble. And the more of it the better. But you got to deal with em right, ain’t you? No point taking on all-comers and getting the shite knocked out of you. Should be you doing that to them. Most of em, anyhow. And tonight…well, I were using boot, paw, and swede all night, and I won every time. Every fucking time.
How’s that for percentages?
And it were good, see, cos Nathan had wanted the next night to be an aggro-free one, like you gets in places you might take a bird to. And the best way to get your punters behaving is to knock the shite out of em the night prior. Then they’ll behave all right. Be too knackered to do otherwise. And the ones who ain’t knackered won’t be keen on starting nothing, memories of my bouncing prowess being so fresh. So by the time I’d kicked the last cps.ut I were in a right jolly old state of head.
I sat myself at the bar right opposite Rache. Looking fine tonight, she were. Tight-fitting skirt showing off her arse, nice bit of squeezable out front. What more could a manager want from his bar staff? ‘Giz a pint, eh,’ I says, a mite narked that I even had to ask.
She tutted and did like she were told.
I sank it in one and demanded another, glaring at her.
She carried on wiping the bartop or whatever she were doing. I had to wait nearly a full minute before she got round to my beverage. Night like I’d had, birds ought to be swarming to us like flies to shit, so what were up with Rache here I truly did not know. Didn’t like it, neither. I were so put out I necked the new pint in two seconds flat.
And demanded another.
She tried to carry on ignoring us for a bit. It were plain as my head that she were putting it on. She knew I were there and what I wanted. I opened me gob to tell her as much, then shut it.
See, I’m a clever lad. They wants you to bite, don’t they, birds? Like the old honey trap, ennit, but with shite instead of honey. They puts summat manky under your nose and waits for you to bawl about it. Then, soon as you does, they lets rip on you. And if there’s one thing a bird does better than a feller it’s letting rip on you.
So forget it. I weren’t playing that game. I’d had enough of it with Beth, me first and only dearly bethrothed, God rest her charred remains.
I reached over the bartop and pulled one meself.
She whacked us across the knuckles with a damp cloth and started shrieking about her doing her job and me doing mine and the day she walks round the bar and starts beating up poor innocent younguns, that’s when I can start pulling meself pints.
We went quiet for a bit, her returning to her wiping, me to my smoking. And it were hard sitting in front of all that booze and not having a drop of it to call me own. So hard, as it happens, that after a bit I shrugged and picked me fags up. It were all right watching Rache’s arse wiggle about as she went at her polishing, but there’s no point dying of thirst for it. Not with all them tinnies waiting at home.
Aye, bet you’d forgot about them.
Well, I fucking hadn’t. Been on my mind all day they had. Four hundred tinnies and four hundred smokes. Half now, half later. Stingy fucker, weren’t he? But you couldn’t blame him. And he had restored me credit, which were a bonus. ‘Well, Rache,’ I says. ‘Nice chattin’ an’ all, but—’
‘I just don’t understand,’ she blurts as if I’d missed half a conversation. ‘What’s happened to you, Blake? You used to be such a…such a…I dunno, but you weren’t nuthin’ like what you are now.’
‘Oh aye?’ I lit another one up and sat back down. ‘And what am I like now, eh?’
‘You knows what you’re like. You seem to love it so much.’
‘Love what? Come on, I’m interested. I’m all ears over here. Look at us, a big pair of ears and fuck all besides, waitin’ for you to—’
‘Ears? How about a big pair of fists, a big pair of boots, a big nasty mind, and a big beer belly?’
‘You what?’
‘You heard.’
‘No, go on, that last bit…’
‘You heard. All ears, you said, and I agreed.’
‘I fuckin’ ain’t got no beer belly, all right?’
She turned away. There might have been a little smirk on her chops—I ain’t sure. Fucking better not have been though.
‘I said I fuckin’—’
‘I heard you,’ she says. ‘Half of Mangel heard you.’
‘Well…well how can this be a fuckin’ beer belly? Look…’ I slammed my right fist hard into me gut. It weren’t too bad. I did it again and again, harder each time. It hurt a bit that last one. Not that I’d winded meself nor nothing—my guts was rock hard. Just felt like I’d bruised that soft layer atop em.
‘Well, Blake,’ she says, picking up her coat, ‘you’re right, I’m wrong. See you tomorrow.’
I locked the door after her, then went back in and pulled meself a pint of lager. I were manager, see. Managers can do what the fuck they likes.
Next morning I got up a bit late. It were half two when I looked at a clock, which were after I’d had a piss and near sucked the tap dry. I went downstairs and fried up what were left in the fridge from yesterday, ignoring the ringing phone. I had a few smokes and a couple of tinnies while I tried recalling what day it were. But you can’t do that all day, sitting in your trolleys in the kitchen, thinking about stuff. I stood up. Me arms and shoulders was aching from all that bouncing I’d put in last night. I didn’t feel like getting dressed so I put me coat on, picked up a couple of fourpacks, and went downstairs to rest me poor workingman’s limbs and watch a bit of telly in the cellar.
There were fuck all on. Nothing but the war, which had been going on for so long it didn’t qualify as news no more, though folks had no better an idea of what it were all about than when it had started. It were just summat that went on out there on the outside, same as all them other bad things you saw on telly. None of it happened in Mangel, so I dunno why they bother
ed showing it us. Might matter to folks in the big city, mind. All kinds of shite happens there, I hears, and none of it’s nice. But they’re all barmy there, ain’t they? They don’t bring their younguns up proper, so the younguns dunno woss what and ends up knifing some old dear so they can buy drugs, or whatever they calls em. But Mangel weren’t like that. All right, Mangel folk were a bit barmy, but they weren’t thick. They knew woss good for em and how to get along all right.
I flicked around the channels for a bit then turned the fucker off. There were never nothing on worth watching at that time of day anyhow. You wanted tits or a good film, you had to wait till late or watch it on the vid. And I had plenty on vid, I can tell you. But do you know wat? I weren’t interested. The world sits on his arse for no man, and it’s the early chicken who counts his worms, or summat. I kicked the four empties in the corner, picked up the other four-pack, and went upstairs to get dressed.
After that I came downstairs again and bumped into Fin. Well, how were I to know he’d be there, sitting in the hall in his chair? I didn’t clock him till too late, and while me legs was stoppered by the back of his chair the rest of us sort of ploughed on. I toppled over him and went arse up, knocking the chair over and bringing it down atop us.
A cripple chair ain’t a nice thing to tangle with, I can tell you. My ankle jammed under a wheel and got scraped to fuck, and one of the handles lodged himself right between me knackers, which were a lucky thing in a way but didn’t feel it at the time. I cursed that dozy twat Finney, crawled clear of the chair, and nursed me nethers for a bit. Then I had a gander to see how Finney were. He were lying on his back by the front door, eyes shut.
Booze and Burn Page 4