by Ed James
‘Cheers, boss.’ Hunter carried the glasses by the handles and stepped out of the way as Chantal and a couple of the hens danced their way into the bar.
Chantal’s eyes didn’t get the memo to smile. Looked every inch as bored as Hunter.
He went back outside into the blinding light and put one beer on his table, one on his neighbour’s. ‘Thanks for that, mate.’
The neighbour slid his shades down his nose, frowning at the fizzing beer. ‘What’s that for?’
‘Looking after my seat.’ Hunter sat down and took a big gulp. Cold and crisp. Lovely. He rubbed at his wrist.
Chantal skipped out of the bar following the skinny girl.
His neighbour frowned over the top of his shades. ‘Come on, die young? What the hell does that mean?’
Hunter held up his right wrist, showing his tattoo. ‘It’s an army thing, mate.’
His neighbour shifted his chair, almost sparking fire from the slabs as he ground the legs forward. He offered a hairy hand. ‘Ricky.’
Hunter shook it, getting the old masonic thumb press for his troubles. ‘Craig.’
‘So, are you a squaddie?’
‘Ex.’ Hunter almost winced. Shite. Keep up the bloody cover. Can’t say you’re a cop, you daft bastard. ‘I’m in private security now.’ He took another sip of beer. ‘You?’
‘Still in, mate.’ Ricky’s eyes glazed over, like he wasn’t in southern Portugal any more. ‘Corporal. Just back from Syria. Brutal, mate, brutal.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Worse than Kandahar?’
‘You see action there?’
Another sip, the lump in Hunter’s throat almost throbbing. ‘Two Afghan tours plus one in Iraq. Trouble with Syria is the bloody Russians. I swear. In Afghanistan and Iraq, it was us against the bad guys. Too much pissing about in Syria, mate.’
‘Shitty business, innit?’ Ricky settled into his pint, clearing half in one long gulp. ‘Worst way to make a living. If I had my time again, I’d pay attention at school.’ He grinned. ‘I’d actually go.’ He bellowed out a laugh.
‘Know what you mean.’ Hunter toyed with showing him the photo. ‘Seen a few squaddies round here, though.’
‘Can’t bloody get away from them.’ Another gulp of lager, then Ricky’s expression darkened. ‘Tell you, though. Got chatting to a bunch of lads yesterday evening. Matt, Matty, something like that and his mate. Big prick. Thought he was something. Sean or something.’
Hunter drank some beer, his pulse racing. ‘Aye?’
‘Pair of pricks were pretending to be squaddies. Can you believe it? Cheeky bastards. Thought it would impress the birds or something.’
Hunter looked around the place. The walls seemed a good twenty metres or so further away than when they’d started drinking. ‘This was here?’
‘Yeah, right here.’ Ricky drilled a finger into the table and snarled into his pint. ‘Said they’d been in Kandahar, but the story didn’t stack up. I kept prodding at it, finding gaping holes.’
‘Did they look the part?’
‘Well, they was big lads. Taller than even you. Muscly, you know?’ Another gulp. ‘But it’s all disco muscles with these lads, right? Think they’re in the Premiership.’ He started lifting his arms like he was raising dumbbells. ‘Like that in front of the mirror for hours, mate.’ He scowled, darkness clouding his eyes. ‘I’m all about functional strength. Press-ups and kettlebells. All a man needs.’
‘What do you sling?’
‘Sixteen kilo. You?’
‘Just gone up to a pair of twenty-four kilos.’
‘Hardcore.’
‘Yeah, until I drop one on my living room floor late at night.’
‘Tell me about it, mate. Twenty-four’s a lot.’ Ricky went back to his beer. ‘This pair of pricks. Matty and Sean.’
‘Sean?’
‘Sean. Like that Bond actor.’ Ricky snarled. ‘Wankers. If I see them again… I swear.’ He wrapped his fingers round the beer glass like it was a neck.
Hunter took another sip and nodded. So Sean Tulloch was here, then. Just, where?
He pushed the glass away from harm, a vain attempt to slow down. ‘You reckon they were pretending to be squaddies?’
‘Right. Makes me sick.’ Another drink and Ricky didn’t have much beer left. He eyed Hunter. ‘Take it you’re not lying?’
Hunter laughed. ‘I’ve got the PTSD to show for it, mate.’
‘Right, yeah.’ Ricky’s stubbly eyebrows flicked up, a stray spike arcing its own way. ‘Don’t believe in it myself, but there you go.’
‘It’s real, believe me. So these blokes, do you want to—’
Ricky shook his head, his eyes screwed tight behind his shades. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to get involved. I had a word in their ears and they pissed off, sharpish.’
Tulloch pissing off at a warning? That doesn’t sound like him.
Then again, he knows the police are investigating him. Doesn’t want to get into any scrapes out here. The one crime the locals would actually crack down on is good old street fighting, unfettered by the Marquess of Queensberry rules.
If Tulloch is smart, he’ll keep his hands in his pockets. A very big if.
Hunter took another sip of beer. ‘Have you seen them today?’
‘If I had, they’d be in hospital.’ It looked like Ricky meant it.
25
CHANTAL
* * *
Chantal dumped the glass on the table and wiped her chin like she’d downed that shot.
Playing the odds here. Going to get caught sooner or later.
Their group was thinning out a bit but still at least twenty strong. No sign of them moving on from the hotel bar, either. Maybe this is where all the action is?
She leaned forward to pick up her wine, sunlight bouncing off the glass. ‘So, you were saying about last night?’
Bekah looked like she was going to be sick. She licked her lips a few times and stuck her tongue out. ‘Yeah, there were these lads here. Big strapping sorts, you know?’ She puffed up her cheeks. ‘A couple of them were Scotch, like you. One of them kept asking me about my fanny. Can you believe it?’
‘I can believe anything.’ Chantal grinned at her, hoping it looked genuine enough. ‘Did you say they were squaddies?’
‘My brother’s in the army. They acted like him, the bunch of wankers.’
‘I’m looking for a friend of my boyfriend’s. Did you meet anyone called—’
Another roar went up and a woman appeared with another tray. A bottle of some spirit lay on its side. Chunky and dark. Shite, it’s Jägermeister. Nasty. The glasses were way bigger than single shot glasses. The woman started tipping out measures, the size that a drunk aunt would give at Christmas, though not in the Jain household.
Bekah snatched up two glasses and handed one to Chantal. ‘Here you go!’
Chantal took the glass. Sickly drink sloshed over the side, running down her fingers. Horrible stuff.
The woman who’d bought the bottle joined them. Early forties, dyed blonde hair and a crop top twenty years too young for her. She thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Kerry.’ Sounded Manc. When she smiled, her face lined like old leather. ‘You with the hen party?’
Chantal shook her head. ‘Bekah here grabbed me.’
‘Right, right.’ Kerry linked arms at the left elbow and Bekah took the right. ‘Here we go, girls!’
No getting out of this one. Chantal downed the shooter and hissed. Disgusting. She put the glass down.
26
HUNTER
* * *
Ricky dumped the fresh pints on the table. ‘Here you go, sunshine.’
‘Cheers, boss.’ Hunter was still halfway through his previous pint. Don’t let them stack up, you stupid bastard. Feeling it, already.
He checked over the other side of the bar area, shielding his eyes from the sun. Chantal was lost in a hen party in full flow. Seriously hope she’s getting something other than pissed.
He touched the beer to his lip
s. ‘So what are you doing over here, then? Holiday?’
‘On a month off, mate.’ Ricky pushed his shades up. ‘After the shit I’ve seen over in Syria, I thought I’d treat the wife to a nice little trip for my fortieth.’ Looked at least five years too late for his fortieth. ‘Supposed to be me and her but she’s off with those bloody hens, getting sloshed.’ Ricky slammed the old glass upside down, like some sort of Viking. ‘Only thing is, our bloody son’s at home on his Jack Jones.’
Hunter frowned. ‘How old is he?’
‘Little bugger’s eighteen.’ Ricky growled at his empty glass, like that would refill it. ‘House’ll be a bloody bomb site by the time we get back.’ He lifted the fresh beer by the handle. ‘You?’
‘First holiday with my girlfriend.’ Hunter waved over at Chantal as she took a fresh shot glass. He got a wave before she started talking to another woman, much older than the waif who’d grabbed her.
Ricky smacked Hunter’s arm. ‘Jeez, mate! You’re punching above your weight there, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t say that to her.’ Hunter rubbed at his arm. Stung like a bastard.
Ricky aimed his finger like a handgun over towards Chantal. ‘See that bird she’s chatting to?’ He was pointing at two — the young waif and a short woman in her mid-forties, blonde hair and a smile halfway to a snarl. ‘That’s me wife. Kerry.’ His eyes misted over. ‘She’s me best mate, man. Best thing in my life.’
‘I know the feeling.’
Ricky locked eyes with Hunter. ‘Do you?’ The deep intensity of the mad squaddie, trying to peer into the recesses of your soul, pull out any doubt over the statement, any lies. ‘Do you?’
Hunter nodded over at them. ‘That’s how I feel about Chantal.’
Ricky cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Oy! Get over here, you bitch!’
His wife rolled her eyes at Chantal and shouted back. ‘You’ll have to come here, you daft bastard!’
‘No, you come here!’
27
CHANTAL
* * *
Kerry topped up Chantal’s glass again. ‘Here you!’
‘You’re crazy!’ Bekah held hers out, hungry for more.
‘Don’t talk to my husband about how crazy I am!’ Kerry joined in the countdown. ‘Five! Four! Three! Two! One!’
They linked their arms into Chantal’s and yanked them up, locking eyes with her. No choice but to down the drink. Fire burned in her throat. Felt like she was going to vomit. She pulled her arms free, then dropped the glass on the nearest table. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘Thanks for that, love.’ Kerry bellowed with laughter. ‘I bought that.’
‘I mean, it’s too much. And I usually have it with Red Bull.’
‘Bloody place has run out already.’ Kerry tutted. ‘Can you believe it?’ She tapped at her watch. ‘Not even one o’clock and there’s no Red Bull!’
‘It’s rubbish.’ Bekah burped into her hand, looking like she was going to be reacquainted with her lunch. If she’d even had any. ‘You’re not with us, are you?’
‘I am now!’ Kerry bellowed with laughter. ‘No, I’m here with my husband.’ She nodded over to the other side. ‘See that bald bastard with that— oooh, he’s lovely.’
Chantal clocked the object of her affections. ‘That’s my boyfriend.’
Kerry’s eyebrows flashed up and down. ‘What I wouldn’t give for…’ She gave him another long stare then grabbed her bust. ‘Do you like my boobs? Got them for my fortieth. Me husband paid for them. They’re smashing, aren’t they?’ They barely moved when she shook them. The skin on her chest was stretched tight.
Bekah couldn’t take her eyes off them. ‘Can I have a feel?’
‘On you go, love.’
Bekah bit her lip as she honked the left breast. ‘Wow.’ She stared down at her flat chest. ‘I’ve thought about getting some tits.’
‘Best thing I’ve done.’ Kerry nodded at Chantal. ‘Do you want a feel?’
‘I’m good.’
‘Yeah, pair of tits like you’ve got.’ Kerry shook her head. ‘Wait till you have kids, love, then you’ll want to see what these are all about.’ She gave them another wiggle. ‘So, you’re not with this lot, then?’
‘It’s mine and Craig’s first holiday together.’
‘Aw, that’s lovely.’
‘Aye, well. This is when I get to see how bad his personal hygiene really is, right?’
Kerry slapped her on the arm as she roared with laughter. ‘Don’t you live together?’
‘Not yet.’
Kerry leaned over for the bottle and tipped a dribble into her glass. ‘Oh, Christ, it’s all gone!’
Chantal smiled at Bekah. ‘So, did you meet anyone called Sean?’
Bekah was struggling to keep both eyes open at the same time. ‘Didn’t get any names, sorry. They were lovely, though.’
‘Who was?’ Kerry sipped the spirit.
‘I’m looking for a friend of Craig’s.’ Chantal nodded over the way. ‘Supposed to be a surprise, but we can’t find him. Can you believe it?’
‘Right, right.’ Kerry tapped her nose.
Bekah coughed into her hand and swallowed something down. ‘We’re going to a club soon, if you want to come?’
Chantal flashed up her watch. ‘It’s two o’clock.’
‘Is it? Well, we want to dance. Then we can come back for a siesta and hit it later. We were out till six this morning.’ Bekah stuck her arm in the air, fist clenched. ‘Whooo!’
‘You’re mental.’ Kerry’s husband shouted something over at her. She bellowed something back. No idea what it was.
Chantal leaned in to Bekah. ‘Have you seen any of those squaddie lads?’
Bekah was too far gone. Fast train to Partyville, stopping at Dance-floor Snog and Kebab Central, terminating at Hold My Hair While I Spew.
Kerry nibbled at her lip and rested her head on Chantal’s shoulder. ‘Here, this lot are getting too crazy.’ Sickly shot breath. ‘It’s still happy hour, do you want to get some booze and head back to our fellas?’
‘Come on.’ She patted Bekah on the shoulder and whispered into her ear. ‘Go and get yourself some sleep.’
Bekah staggered backwards, then took a few seconds to turn before sidling off, the hand on the wall the only thing keeping her upright. Kerry grabbed Chantal’s hand and pulled her inside.
The barman smiled at them. ‘What can I get you?’
28
HUNTER
* * *
Hunter checked his watch. Not even three and the beer was hitting him like a round from an SA80. Need to slow down. ‘So, what have you got planned, then?’
‘Nothing much, to be honest with you.’ Ricky pointed over to the bar. ‘Oh, here we go.’
Chantal appeared in the doorway, the bright sunshine glinting off her sunglasses, her black hair sucking it in. She walked over and put a tray down on the table. Four pints and a bottle of fizzy white wine with two glasses. ‘It’s happy hour, so this will save you boys a couple of trips.’
Ricky grabbed a beer by the handle. ‘Cheers, darling.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Ricky, by the way.’
‘I’ve heard all about you.’ Chantal sat next to Hunter and pecked him on the lips. ‘I’m Chantal.’ Then she poured out some wine.
Kerry joined them, carrying a smaller tray with eight small glasses filled with black liquid. ‘Now, before you get stuck into that, have a go of this.’
Chantal handed Hunter a pair of them.
Jesus… He took a sniff. ‘Is this Sambuca?’
‘Black Sambuca.’ Kerry raised her glass, sunlight twinkling on the frosting. ‘After three! One, two, three!’ She threw the first one back.
Hunter watched Ricky do the same. He tossed his over his shoulder, slaking the baked lawn behind them. ‘Urgh. Not had that in years.’
Ricky slammed his glass, toppling over Hunter’s and Chantal’s. ‘Lovely stuff!’
Kerry sat on Ricky’s lap, wrigglin
g around suggestively. ‘Those crazy Scotch boys yesterday were drinking it. Haven’t done this since our honeymoon, have we?’
‘Not in years.’ Ricky took the first of his pints below the halfway mark in one gulp. ‘I love the lager here. No messing about.’ He wiped the foam off his lips with the hair on his right arm. ‘I was telling Craig about those Scotch pricks.’
‘Bunch of wankers.’ Kerry picked up her wine glass and nudged one over to Chantal. She settled back, wiggling on Ricky’s lap. ‘Fighting and wrestling and showing off.’ She sipped at the fizz. ‘One of them kept taking his top off and flexing.’ She thumbed at the hen girls, their numbers now depleted. ‘Started flirting with him. Matty his name was, or something.’
Ricky held up his glass. ‘Disco muscles.’
‘Sounds like a twat.’ Hunter sipped at his beer. He was way behind now. How can I pass a pint to Ricky without him noticing?
Kerry swirled wine round in her glass. ‘Then this boy pulled his shorts really low. You could see he’d shaved off his pubes.’ She cackled. ‘So this girl, yeah? She reached down and grabbed his cock then shouted out about how small it was.’ She rested her arm against Chantal as if to steady herself. ‘He pissed off sharpish, I swear.’
‘Bunch of punks.’ Ricky finished his pint in another mouthful. ‘Not like you or me, Craig.’ He reached over for another beer and chinked it off the one in Hunter’s hand. ‘Not like you and me, mate.’
‘Damn right.’ Hunter took another sip of beer and looked around. ‘So what happened to them?’
‘Trust me, mate, you don’t want to have anything to do with them.’
Hunter set his glass down on the table and pointed at Chantal while he burped. ‘We’re supposed to be meeting some mates out here. Sounds like that bunch of clowns might be them.’
Ricky picked up his second beer, flexing his bicep as he drank. ‘Whoever they are, they took a lesson and cleared off. Think they went to some bars up the road there.’ He waved off behind the complex, the way they’d come into town. ‘If those arsewipes are your mates, then…’