by Ernesto Lee
“It’s Sean, but Superman also works for me. How about a quick drink before you go home? No strings attached, just a thank you for the advice.”
“I can’t. Sorry, but I really need to get going – another time maybe.”
“What’s wrong – husband waiting at home with your dinner on the table, kids to put to bed, or maybe you’re late for bible class? It’s bible class, isn’t it? You have that angelic look about you.”
This makes her smile and I can tell already that I nearly have her.
“Cocky bastard, aren’t you? For your information, there is no husband or kids and I can’t remember the last time I even picked up a bible, but then you knew all of this already, didn’t you?”
If she really wanted to leave, she would have left already, so I press my advantage, “Is that a yes then – one drink with Superman?”
“Okay yes, one drink, then I really need to get going. The King George is just around the corner and it’s right next to my bus stop. Do you know it?”
I know it very well, although in 1994 I have never been there. It is, however, exactly where I need to be and having someone else with me makes it a damn sight easier to blend in. The fact that she is a stunner is a bonus.
“No, I’m not from around here, but I’m sure it’s nice. Let’s go.”
This makes her laugh. “You’re really not from around here, are you? If you were, you would know that the King George is a shithole, just like the rest of the pubs in this town. Just as well I have Superman with me. Come on, let’s go.”
Inside the pub the air is thick with cigarette smoke and the bar counter is crowded, but Maria is obviously well known.
“Bacardi and Coke, love?” the barman calls over to her.
“Thanks, Barry”, and without asking me, “and a pint of Stella for my friend here – is Stella okay for you? You look like a Stella kind of bloke.”
“Stella is fine, thank you. And what kind of bloke am I?”
“Well, apart from being Superman, maybe a bit of a wide boy. You don’t look or act like any of the blokes around here. Where did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t say. Actually, I’m from Romford in Essex. I’m just in town to look up an old friend. What about you? Are you from Feltham?”
“Yes, been here since I was four. My parents moved here from India – we have been in Feltham ever since.”
We continue to flirt and make small talk and after four Bacardi and Cokes, Maria has forgotten all about her bus, most of the early evening commuters have moved on, and the pub is starting to fill with the evening regulars.
I might be just using her as cover tonight, but she is the kind of girl I would normally go for: cute, smart, funny, and a good conversationalist. But I still have a job to do, so while we chat I continue to watch the door.
“You said earlier that you were here to look up an old friend – don’t you need to go soon?”
“That’s okay, he can wait, and he isn’t nearly as attractive as you anyway. There’s a free table over there by the pool table – shall we grab it before anyone else does?”
I had been waiting for this table to become free since we arrived. It has a good view of the door, is right next to the pool table – and, if my information is correct, my targets should be arriving soon.
“Bit of a charmer, aren’t you? It makes quite a change from the usual creeps around here. Get me another drink and I may consider staying a bit longer.”
Maria sits down at the table and I excuse myself to get the drinks, detouring first to the bathroom, where the condom machines on the wall and the usual smell of stale piss make me feel I could be standing in any pub bathroom in 1994 or 2018. This is one thing that, unfortunately, hasn’t changed much over time.
As I turn to leave, the poster on the back of the door catches my attention. It is an advert for a Pub League Pool Tournament. The King George is due to play against the Three Crowns this coming Saturday at 7.30 pm. I knew this already, but it is still weird to know that I am so close to witnessing something that I have spent months working on.
Tonight, is my opportunity to get some insight into what to expect on Saturday and ideally to find a way of gaining an advantage, or something I can use in 2018 to finally close this case.
As I head back with the drinks, another girl has joined Maria and they are having an animated conversation about a hot new boyband from Ireland.
I hold myself back from telling them that Stephen Gately is working in a newsagents in Staines; the humor would be lost on them.
“Oh, hi, Sean, this is my friend Gina. Gina, this is Sean. He beats up skinheads and lures young women into pubs, don’t you, Sean?”
I don’t know why, but the way she said it actually makes me blush. I always try not to mess with the emotions of anyone I meet when I travel, but when they are as hot as she is, it is hard not to.
“So, you’re the guy from the train,” Gina said. “You are quite the hot topic – word travels fast around here. I am sure Maria has told you already, but those two guys you flattened are out for your blood. You need to watch yourself, Sean.”
I thank her for her concern and offer to get her a drink, but she is already on her feet.
“Thanks, but I need to be getting home. Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt you two love birds. Make sure you look after her, Sean.”
We chat for another twenty minutes and I answer enough questions to keep her interested, whilst trying not to give too much away. She is particularly interested in what I do and where I learnt to fight.
“You handled yourself well on the train. Most guys would have walked past or backed down right away, but you seemed very sure of yourself. And what was that thing you did with the newspaper? That was very impressive.”
“It was nothing really,” I replied, trying to sound modest. “I was a special constable for a couple of years, so I know a few self-defense techniques.” Not a total lie, and believable enough as an explanation. “The rolled-up newspaper was something I was taught. It’s about using everyday items as weapons.”
“Oh really? And throwing the dog out of the window – was that also a self-defense technique? Or you just don’t like dogs?”
This comment makes me smile. “No, nothing like that. I love dogs. That was about shock factor and making a point. I think it worked. Pit bulls are tough, and we weren’t going that fast anyway. It would have been fine.”
Before we can say anything else, the front door is pushed open and three hard-looking guys in their early and mid-twenties head past us towards the pool table.
Two young guys are already halfway through a game, but the biggest guy in the group leans over the table and picks up the black ball.
“You two, piss off, we need to get some practice in.”
They don’t argue. They hand over their pool cues and retreat towards the bar while the big guy sets up the balls for another game.
“Right, Terry, get the drinks in and try and get it right this time, ya twat: snakebite and a chaser.”
I gesture towards the pool table, “You know those guys?”
Maria nods and says, “Yep, unfortunately, I do. The loud guy is Paul Donovan and his mate is Mark Fletcher. They were in the year above me at school – local troublemakers, but more noise than action – and the guy at the bar is Mark’s younger brother Terry. Bit of a simpleton, but he idolizes Paul and Mark.”
I watch as they finish setting up the balls and then Paul makes a show of breaking to Mark.
“Watch this, Mark, those assholes from the Three Crowns don’t stand a bloody chance.”
I am expecting to see something special, but he turns out to be a shitty player. After failing to pot anything, he sulkily moves to the side to let Mark take his shot, muttering, “Bloody cue must be bent.”
He is still complaining as he downs half of his snakebite and tips in the whisky shot.
“Terry, pass me another cue.”
Terry is five years younger than his brother Mark and from what
I know already, and what I can see now, Paul treats him like absolute shit.
This is no surprise to me, though. By all accounts, Paul has always been a bully. But I can’t understand why Mark allows it.
“Oy, cloth ears, I said get me another cue.”
“Sorry, Paul, here you go,” Terry said as he handed him the cue, adding, “I think the one you had is okay, though. It doesn’t look bent to me.”
You could hear the slap from across the other side of the bar and for just a second the whole place is silent, as Terry struggles to hold back tears.
“Are you trying to make me look like a bloody idiot in front of everyone? What the hell do you know about pool anyway, you bleedin spastic? Now, make yourself useful and get another round in.”
Terry was visibly shaken, and it was all I could do to hold myself back from saying or doing something – to the point that Maria put her hand over mine and told me not to get involved.
As it was, she said it a little too loud and Paul turned towards us. “Do yourself a favor, mate, and listen to your slag. Drink your drink and keep your nose out of what doesn’t concern you. Time you were leaving and offering that table to us anyway.”
Maria tells Paul that we are not ready to leave yet, but I tell her that we should probably get going anyway and Mark walks over and clucks like a chicken as we finish our drinks.
Much as I would love to stay to slap the shit out of them, this is not part of the plan, so we get up and head towards the door as Paul continues to abuse Terry.
“Stop your bloody crying, it was only a slap. Go and get those drinks before I really get angry. Sort that prick out, Mark. Can’t believe you two are from the same mother.”
It’s nearly 9 pm, and the streets are quiet, other than for some kids hanging around outside of the chip shop and a couple of private taxis loitering for business.
Maria is unhappy about what happened in the pub and apologizes to me, but I reassure her that it doesn’t matter.
“Don’t worry about them. It’s time I was getting you home anyway. Those guys are real assholes, but plenty of time to put them straight on a few things later.”
“Yes, I’m really sorry about them, Sean. Paul has always been a bit of an idiot. He loves to throw his weight around. The other two are okay when they aren’t with him. Unfortunately, most of the time they are with him. As you could see, Paul is a crap pool player, but the landlord is too scared of him to say anything.”
Crap is an understatement, but the Saturday pool tournament is the reason I am here, and I know already that Paul, Mark, and Terry are the team from the King George. The game on Saturday is going to be memorable for all the wrong reasons and the quality of the players is not one of them.
“It’s getting late, Maria. Let’s get a taxi and let me take you home.”
“That’s very kind, Sean, but there really is no need. My bus stop is just here, and they come every twenty minutes.”
Until a few hours ago, I had never heard of Maria, but because of a chance meeting outside the train station, she has suddenly become an extremely important piece of the jigsaw that I am putting together and there is no way I am going to let her get rid of me just yet.
“I really would feel better if I could take you home, Maria. This town seems to have more than its fair share of nutters and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you, particularly after I made you come for drinks with me.”
“I’m not sure, Sean. I’m still trying to work you out, and I haven’t decided yet whether you are actually as charming as you make out, or whether it’s all just a front to get in my knickers.”
For a second, we both go quiet and then we laugh.
“I guess there is only one way to find out. Your taxi awaits, princess – what’s the address?”
The ride in the taxi takes less than five minutes. We pull up outside a row of semi-detached houses and there is an awkward silence as we both wait for the other person to speak or do something.
Normally, I would have no qualms about inviting myself in, but I seem to be a bag of nerves around this girl.
Fortunately, she spares me from making a tit of myself with some cheesy chat-up line by asking me if I want to come in.
“Thank God for that,” the taxi driver interjects, “I thought you pair were taking up residency. Six quid for the ride, mate.”
I hand the cab driver a ten-pound note and without waiting for the change, I get out of the cab and follow Maria to the front door.
“Listen, I live with my mum. She’s probably in bed, but she’s a light sleeper, so keep your noise down, or we might miss finding out what your real intentions are. Does that work for you, Superman?”
I smile and nod, then follow her upstairs to her bedroom. The décor is typically nineties and the phone in the hallway, plugged into the wall, is a particular highlight that makes me smile. The décor, though, is not what I have on my mind.
Just because technically I am working, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some of the perks of the job. As long as the job gets done and nothing gets changed, there is no reason at all why we can’t have some fun. Maria is most definitely one of the perks.
Inside her room, she gestures to her bed. “Okay, sit there and don’t touch anything. I won’t be long, just going to the bathroom to freshen up. Try not to beat anyone up while I’m gone.”
Based on what Maria had said earlier about Paul and Mark being in the year above her at school, this would make her twenty-five or twenty-six, as I first thought. Her room, though, has a much younger feel about it and it is quite unusual for an Indian girl still to be living at home, or not to be married by now.
I notice also that she has not mentioned her father, just her mother.
Next to her bed there is a table with a lamp and two photographs in gold frames. The first, I assume, is a picture of her mum and dad. Both are very good looking – it is easy to see where she gets her own good looks from.
I pick up the second one for a better look. It is the same man, but he appears to be a bit younger than he is in the other picture. In this one, he is looking very smart in a pilot’s uniform and hanging over the frame is a silver St. Christopher pendant.
The patron saint of travelers makes perfect sense to be worn by a pilot, and I suspect that Maria’s father has probably passed away.
“That’s my dad, or he was my dad. He was killed a year and a half ago, a hit-and-run. They still haven’t found the driver.”
I was so engrossed in the picture that I hadn’t noticed her coming back into the room. “I am so sorry, Maria, I didn’t mean to pry. He was a good-looking guy. Have the police got any leads at all?”
It is probably not the right time to ask such a question and I can tell she doesn’t really want to talk about it, but I guess it kind of goes with the territory for me.
“Nothing much, it was a stolen car. There were a few witnesses, but people don’t tend to say much around here. They are too scared of what might happen. No doubt in a few months, the police will close the case and my dad will be just another statistic.”
Sadly, she is probably right, and I don’t ask her anything else, but I make a few mental notes. Then I pull her towards me and kiss her on the lips.
“So, have you made your mind up about me yet?”
“I made my mind up about you after the second Bacardi and Coke. You’re most definitely a charmer and you’re also most definitely trying to get into my knickers. The only difference between you and the other guys is that you’re happy to buy me a drink first and I have a feeling that it’s not going to be a race to see who comes first.”
For the second time tonight, I am lost for words, so she takes the lead and pulls me down onto the bed. “You can take that last part as a compliment, Mr. Charmer. I don’t do this very often, so let’s do it now before I come to my senses and change my mind.”
The sex is mind-blowing and by the time we climax, we are both sweating heavily, and I gladly accept Maria’
s offer to get me a glass of cold water.
I am starting to think that she might have been exaggerating, though, when she said that her mom was a light sleeper. I know for a fact that I am a noisy bastard when I come, and Maria was not exactly quiet herself, but there is nothing heard from her mother’s bedroom.
As she walks back into the bedroom with the water, her figure is silhouetted in the window and I can’t help staring at her pert breasts and shapely ass.
“Hey, Casanova, avert your eyes, drink your water and get your clothes on. It’s already past two in the morning and my mum is an early riser. Believe me, those skinheads have nothing on my mother. If you want to keep your balls intact, you had better get moving.”
It wasn’t part of my plan to stay over anyway, but I need to be able to see her again. “Can I see you again, Maria? This Saturday let’s meet in the King George around 7.30 pm and then we can go on somewhere for dinner.”
“Wow, the King George, you are such a romantic. But okay – if it means you’ll put your pants on and let me sleep, then yes. Make sure you book somewhere nice for dinner, though. Now go on, get dressed.”
By the time she closes the door behind me, it is nearly 2.45 am and the early morning chill has well and truly kicked in. Despite only having a light jacket on, it doesn’t bother me. I know it won’t be long before my way home appears.
I start walking without any idea where I am going, but it doesn’t matter. As I walk out of Maria’s street and onto the main road, my two skinhead friends are waiting for me. I wasn’t entirely sure it would be them, but it makes sense, as there is nobody else that I have pissed off enough during this trip.
“Hey, dickhead, I bet you didn’t expect to see us again so soon,” one of them taunts.
On the contrary, I suspected that I would, but no point trying to explain that to this pair of morons. I know that there is no point running either. This needs to happen and the best thing I can do is to do as much damage as I can before I leave.
“Hey, ladies, love the matching plasters. What’s this all about? Did you not get the message earlier? Do I need to take you over my knee again and give you another good spanking?”