Chapter 3

*****

“I think this calls for a celebration.” Conners pops the cork and pink foams spews over the table, carpets and ceiling.

Someone at the bar gets the wrong message. Mind-curdling muzak suddenly blares up with ‘Happy Birthday to You….”

God save us….

…. and Conners shrugs apologetically before splashing the champagne into glasses….

…. then looks sidelong. “You do drink? Yes?”

“Some.”

He pulls a face and passes me the glass. I take a sip for the sake of appearances.

Frank knocks his back, refills his glass, then offers to top up mine. I cover it with my hand. “I’m fine.”

He shakes his head. “Sheesh, let your hair down, why don't you. You don't smoke. You barely drink. What do you do?” Then his eyes roam the room. He jerks his head across the bar. “Hey, Larry, you’re single? Right?”

“I’m single, yes.”

“Which one do you fancy?” As he fills his glass again, his eyes roll to two bimbos at the bar, one blonde, one not, both giggling mindlessly as they see Dom Perignon splash over the flutes….

Still, they're not bad looking.

Wonder what they look like when they take the makeup off?

They're obviously already drunk but still working on it, leaning into each other, whispering and tittering mindlessly.

They look as though they've been around the block a few times.

Can I be bothered…?

How long has it been?

Why not?

“Does it matter? Take your pick.”

For a moment his triumphant smile fades. “One piece of ass is much the same as another, eh?” Then the grin blooms again. “I'll take the blonde then.”

“Fine.”

Bottle in hand, he strolls across to the giggling pair then stands between them, flinging an arm around the shoulder of each. “Now then, ladies, what can we get you? Would you like some of this?” He brandishes the bottle, then shouts across to the bar. “Another one over here, please.”

The barman deposits another bottle in the ice-bucket while Frank cracks off-colour jokes. The brunette doesn’t seem to have the basic intelligence to get the punch lines, but she follows her friend’s lead with a laugh like a dentist’s drill.

How much contact do I want with either of them?

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute,” I say.

In the bathroom, I stick a coin in the slot and pocket a pack of rubbers.

Frank winks at me as I return to the bar. “Cassandra and Bev have rooms upstairs. They’ve invited us back for coffee.”

“Is that right?”

*****

In the elevator, the attendant stands rigid. His eyes flick briefly to the two tittering sluts hanging on Frank’s arm, and then to me….

Mind your own fucking business….

He flushes, then stares determinedly forward.

*****

I button up my shirt. The little brunette tart lies sprawled in the sheets, still asleep...

Asleep? Or unconscious from alcohol?

Hardly matters….

Christ, but that snoring's loud.

Conners is in the next room with his blonde slut.

Should I disturb him?

No need….

What time is it?

I check the clock. Three am.

I need air.

A walk in the night. Just the thing.

As I step out onto the street, a group of youngsters in hoodies look my way and strike a pose which I assume they think will intimidate. I pause and look back at them. After a second or so, they find something else to interest them.

The City is cool, dark and empty, with that thin mist that somehow makes the streets sound hollow. Buildings, roads, even grass and trees are painted from a monochrome palette; the only colour is the sodium yellow glare of the streetlights and the amber of the back-lights of the occasional passing vehicle.

The sound of my footsteps rises over the dim hum of traffic and the occasional siren, echoing back from stone walls and high tenements as I pace back to my hotel.

Darkness folds around blind windows and locked doors and the night air clears my head. Alone, I leave behind the fake celebration.