Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

She returned his look.

“You’re in fairly good shape for an older guy.”

“Yea, but in shape for what. Have you a name?”

“Nikki... spelt NIKKI.”

“Hey, I don’t want it tattooed on my arm, just to throw it into the odd sentence. Aren’t you a bit wary of strange men?”

“Honey, I can’t afford that luxury.”

“No, I mean... you should be more careful.”

“You’ve got nice eyes.”

“Ever see a photo of Ted Bundy?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Look Nikki, I’ve got to go.”

“Wanna have a drink with me, tonight?”

Danny was amazed. Whole blocks of time went by and it seemed as if he was invisible to women. Now they were all over him.

Before he could answer, she said in a world-weary tone,

“Forget it, wouldn’t want to socialize with a working girl... right?”

“I’ll have a drink with you.”

“What... oh, great. I’ll be in the Cricketers at eight... Is that good?”

“Remains to be seen... you be careful, Nikki.”

She gave a look of pure devilment.

“Isn’t that what condoms are for?”

Danny had arranged the meeting in The Mitre, a pub favoured by the building trade. He had to push his way through to the small booths at the back. Frank Norton was already there. A thin man, nearing sixty, he exuded a mix of energy and furtiveness. A sharp, thin face had pit lines, but the eyes showed deep intelligence when they smiled. His clothes suggested he’d just walked off the site. In fact, he hadn’t worked on one for years. But he liked the image.

Two pints of bitter were already before him.

“So, Danny, bitter right?”

“Yea’, that’s fine.”

They took sips, did the “Ah” business and exhaled. Frank said,

“Tastes like piss, eh?”

“Does a bit.”

“Hear you did alright from your fall.”

“I did.”

“O.K., then, what can I get you?”

Danny looked round, nodded and began,

“I need two things,

   Merchandise

   and

   Information.”

“The second one’s likely to be expensive.”

“I can pay; I need explosives and timers, five if possible, the smaller and more compact the better. Second, who runs Brandon Estate? Who’s the man?”

“A Lebanese named Yusif, nasty piece of work. The five items will be costly. When do you need them?”

“As soon as.”

“State of the art?”

“If possible.”

Danny took a fat envelope from his pocket.

“Down payment.”

Frank didn’t open it, but quickly put it away and asked,

“‘Nother pint?”

“No thanks.”

Father drained his glass, leant over and said,

“They had me in the hospital a while back... no, not any-fink serious. A loony bin. It’s a long story and not relevant now, but I learnt about psychopaths. Know about those?”

“London’s full of them.”

“They have no interest in other people’s suffering, no conscience, no morals. You can’t deal or reason with them. Once they get fixed on something, they follow it, regardless of anything or anyone.”

“Well, Frank, fascinating as this is... is there a point to it?”

Frank stood up and said,

“You and me, Danny. They’ve a name for us now. I’ll be in touch.”

Danny wasn’t offended, even surprised. He put it down to Frank’s flair for the dramatic. If he got the items, he could name call till Doomsday. A builder recognized Danny and hand-signalled a drink. Danny shook his head. The man approached.

“Jesus, Dan, sorry to hear about yer mate. Can’t says I liked him, but no man deserves that.”

“What... who?”

“Yer mate, the big black ’un, someone butchered ’im, threw bits of ’im all over a Brixton tip. Didn’t you know?”

Danny jumped up. Without a word, he elbowed his way to the street. Outside, he threw up and leant trembling against the side of the pub. Two women passed, tut-tutted, and said loudly,

“Should be ashamed of himself, arseholed before tea time.”

Danny forced himself upright and muttered,

“O.K.... I’m O.K.... I’ve got them before, I won’t think about this, I’ll blank it... fuckit, I can do that... yea, I’ll be O.K.”

As he turned towards home, he whispered,

“Only the dead know Brixton, eh, Richie?”

He threw up again in his bathroom and force struggled for control.

“Toast,” he said, “dry toast.”

And it helped. Not a lot, but in the general direction.

Then he lay down and sleep or shock took him. It was six in the evening when he came to. Came to, and remembered.

“Read, come on Danny, you’ve read mountains... think on that, let the lines come for this.”

The lines that returned were,

“the fortress had fallen

and we are pursued

naked and terror-stricken

through open country

by an enemy who knows

we will soon surrender

seeing the sanctuary of slavery

and the security of chains.”

He forced himself up and roared,

“Never fuckin happen... not yet.”

As he prepared for his date, he played the Stones, loud and pounding,

“Gimme shelter.”

Checked himself in the mirror, navy polo neck, faded to white jeans and well-worn brown midi leather coat. He looked sick, but thought,

“Can’t be helped, and, any road, she’s a hooker, she’s used to sick people.” He couldn’t really decide on whether he looked like a refugee from the set of The Avengers or an off-duty dentist. Or both.

The Walker Brothers’ were belting out “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” with those big voices.

All along the bar counter, people were joining in, it’s one of those bigger songs you can’t resist. Even the barman was adding,

Nikki was dressed in a light powder-blue track suit. Her blond hair was falling on the collar, she looked nineteen.

“My mum used to have those guys on her wall.”

“The Walker Brothers?”

“Yea’, they’re like the Chippendales with clothes.” Danny was glad to see her, and realized he’d have been glad to see almost anybody, even Roy. He was bone tired of himself. He said, and couldn’t disguise the disappointment,

“You didn’t dress up.”

“I dunno, to tell you the truth, I thought you’d know. They used to say, ‘Wranglers and wrinkles don’t match.’”

There were drinks in short glasses on the table. She indicated them.

“I bought you brandy, scotch and gin. I felt one was sure to be the business.”

Danny smiled, picked up the first glass, and said,

“Guess what, tonight they’re all the biz.”

After he’d lowered them, he continued,

“Times like this I wish I smoked.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Darlin’, it’s too late for a whole batch of stuff.”

Nikki seemed at a loss how to continue, so she asked,

“Didn’t all your generation smoke?”

“My Dad did, and I’ve tried never to do a single thing like him. Not one bloody thing.”

Nikki brightened.

“My Mum and Dad, they were crazy for each other, always smooching and cuddling. My Mum said they held hands in bed every night he was alive.”

Danny was going to ask a question, but changed his mind. She caught it.

“You’re thinking, so how come I’m a hooker? No big reason. I’m just a bit fucked in the head, always have been. What’s your name?”

“Danny.”

“Oh, I thought it might be Barry, I’d have liked a Barry... or Cliff even.”

Danny wasn’t sure he could apologise for his name. So he decided to try out the old chestnut.