Tony Black - Gutted

As I sat at the bar my Guinness had settled nicely.

I raised the glass; beads of moisture shone like jewels down the side. The first taste felt like my Ice Cold in Alex. Had I ever waited longer for a drink? I savoured every drop.

Mac stood silently, knew better than to ask.

I called for another drink. As I did so, Hod walked in. He’d lost the beard, but I didn’t comment on that.

‘It’s yours,’ I said.

‘What is?’

‘This place… the bar.’ My eyes were still burning. I could feel them, saw their fire reflected in Hod’s. He said nothing.

Mac put three shot glasses in front of us, poured a Talisker bottle over them. He didn’t make a toast.

Hod was the first to speak, said, ‘Gus, I’ve been thinking…’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘If you write this up, you could make some serious cash.’

‘And?’

‘It could be your salvation.’

I felt my heart sink. ‘That’s what you’ve been thinking, is it?’

‘I have, yeah.’

I stood up, shoved in my stool, beckoned the dog. I could see Debs patting Katrina’s back as she sobbed. ‘Know what I’ve been thinking?’

‘What?’

‘I’ve other plans.’

Hod spun as I walked for the snug. ‘You’re not serious…’

‘ Deadly.’