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

“Well, it’s like the song.”

“Wot song?”

“Ol’ Danny Boy.”

“Never heard that... can you sing it?”

“Not just now, eh... same again... of everythin’?”

Nikki looked at the empty glasses and shook her head.

“Something sweet, do you think they have that green stuff... It’s sticky.”

“No, they don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me on this, Nikki, I won’t be getting you that.”

What he did get her was a snowball, and she liked that. A lot. She chewed the cherry they’d popped on the head.

He could have told her how his father, for the only time, was afraid as he died. Afraid, because it was one thing that wasn’t his idea. Instead, he asked,

“Do you have any brothers, sisters?”

“One brother, Keif. He said to me,

‘if you weren’t my sister

but like a real woman,

I wouldn’t touch you with

a barge pole.’”

“Sounds like a real prince, does old Keif. I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s in the army.”

“Now why is that no surprise?”

“I said to him, ‘Keif, if you were a man you would.’”

Danny liked it. He found he liked her. Not sexually, not yet. She leant closer and said,

“Will you be fuckin’ me after?”

And he spluttered his drink.

“For crying out loud, girl, what a thing to ask.”

“Well, isn’t that wot men do to women?”

He wanted to say that sometimes they make love. But figured he had little right on this day to lecture on the human condition. Not this day when he’d fucked Richie permanently.

Nikki drank another snowball and then Danny said he’d walk her home. She lived in Cottington Lane, near Kennington Tube. Her flat was in a modern building complete with intercom and grilled windows.

“If you come up, I’ll cook you something.”

He did.

The flat was small, spotless, and decorated as if a studious teenager lived there. Fluffy cushions everywhere, Snoopy dolls and posters of European cities. Danny thought of how Darcy might have turned out.

“You look sad.”

“I was thinking of a little girl.”

“I can be that for you, of any fantasy you like. I know them all.”

“You mentioned food?”

She made omelettes and placed two glasses of milk with them.

“We can have ice cream after. I got that American one that nobody can say.”

They ate. Danny even drank the milk. It was surprisingly tasty and he cleaned his plate. She said,

“I read once, that around 1840, one in every 25 Londoners was a prostitute. They worked it out it was one for every 12 men.”

What Danny thought was “so what?” but he said, “How interesting?”

She got up and came over beside him, sat and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Do you feel bad because I’m a prossy?”

“No, because I’m twice yer age darlin’, and, believe me, I feel it.”

“Come on,” she said, and took his hand, “you don’t have to do anything,” and she led him to the bedroom.

They slept holding hands. A Snoopy duvet over them. Before she slept, Nikki said as she squeezed his hand.

“Like my Mum and Dad, I’m glad you’re here, Barry.”

And in all sorts of ways, Danny was glad too.

For the next four days, it was like a holiday for Danny. He returned to his flat to change, shower, and nothing else. The old songs were left unplayed. He spent the days with Nikki and they went to:

   1. Kew Gardens

   2. The Zoo

   3. The Cinema (Twice)

   4. Madame Tussauds

And in the evening they shared the bed. Sex didn’t take place. He knew he was treating her like a daughter, to have the brief time with her he knew he’d never have with Darcy. Glad he was, too, to have the rest and healing. Some sort of restoration was vital if he was to attempt the Brandon event. But, most of all, he just enjoyed it. On the fifth morning he slipped out of bed early and wrote her a note. He propped it against a glass of orange juice. He put a thick wedge of bank notes in an envelope. He went to the sofa and from underneath, where he’d hidden it, he pulled an ALF doll. Under ALF’s arm he lodged the envelope. The note read,

My Darling Nikki ,

You’re a wonderful girl. You’re smart and funny and beautiful. I have to go away, but I want you to know I wish you were my daughter. I’d be proud if you were. This is ALF, he’s a smart ass, but you probably know that already. Go into another line of work, you’re too vital for this. Here’s some cash to kick start. If I believed in God, I’d ask him to mind you well. I believe in you .

Back at the flat, there was a note from Frank.

“The pub at 1.00

Bring plenty, Frank.”

“So it begins,” said Danny, and selected Led Zeppelin, “Stairway to Heaven.” As the familiar rock began, he started to do his exercises.

Frank was dressed again in the building gear. If you touched him, clouds of white dust would rise. Danny wondered if he’d bags of it he applied at home. A somewhat pleasant scent emanated from him, so perhaps he used talc.

Danny bought the pints. A snot-nosed barman bounced his change on the counter. Frank smiled, said,

“You’d eat the likes of him for breakfast.”

“Yea’, but would I want to?”

“He’s what my ol’ fellah used to call a pup, a sort of apprentice thug. They manage somehow to have a swagger in their face. Not any easy accomplishment.”

They moved to a table. Next to it, a young man in a tee shirt and jeans was playing a Nintendo game. A ferocious amount of noise came from both. The back of his tee shirt read,

“Sticks and stones

May break my bones

But only chains

Sexually excite me.”

Frank raised an eyebrow, asked Danny,

“Do you want me to get him to hop it?”

“Naw, the noise will benefit us.”

Frank had a large blue sports bag. He moved it near Danny’s foot.

Then he took out a very ornate fountain pen and a scrap of paper. He scribbled a figure on it and pushed it over.

Danny looked and let out a low whistle.

“Steep.”

“But Japanese. Pure simplicity. You attach the main, make sure you’re well away and flick... it’s good-night, Irene. The bag is thrown in free.”

“Right, just give me a minute.”

And Danny went to the toilet, locked himself in a booth. He took out three large envelopes and piled wads from two into the third. In the bank en route, he caused apoplexy in the bank manager. Danny considered for a moment, then put another batch into the third envelope.

Back at the table, he slid the huge envelope to Frank, said,

“There’s a bit over the top, what you might call a sweetener.”

Frank looked offended.

“I know how to keep my bin shut.”

“I know you do, Frank, but let’s say it’s appreciation.”

Frank sulked and Danny let him simmer. Then he shrugged, said,

“Fuckit, Danny, you’re alright. I’m a bit touchy. O.K.?”

Frank went to the bar and got a couple of short ones.

“Guess I can afford to buy you a drink... eh, Dan?”

“Sure, cheers.”

“About that guy at Brandon, the Yusif character? He’s extremely valuable.”

“I’ll handle him.”

“Word to the wise, me old son... he lost a hand... some say they chopped it in one of those sand nigger customs. Hand in the till, so to speak. Any road, act as if you haven’t noticed it... O.K.?”

“Thanks for the tip, Frank.”

Danny tried to pin down what he was getting from Frank, apart from the merchandise. Then he clicked and bent close to Frank.

“What’s got the wind up you, Frank, eh... what are you afraid of?”