Bad Catholics by James Green

Author:James Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Accent Press

SEVEN

King’s Cross, February 1995

Inspector Joe Deal did not drink and didn’t like pubs, especially pubs like the one in which he found himself waiting for Tommy Flavin. He had asked for coffee. That exotic drink not being available, he had settled, after some discussion with the barmaid, for bottled water. It was a brand he had never heard of.

He felt and looked out of place. The pub was in a back street in a part of London he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. There was no food, it smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and it was dirty. All the tables had ashtrays and they were all full. He assumed they paid someone to fill them before the pub opened because it was only midday and there were only two other men and himself in the bar.

He sipped his water. The two men smoked and shared a table in silence, except for the occasional hacking cough. Each had a pint glass on the table which they occasionally noticed, considered, and took a drink from. The barmaid stood wiping a glass with a grimy cloth. She managed to cough occasionally without losing control of the fag that hung from her mouth. She had certainly not been employed for her looks, conversation, social skills, or hygiene. Her talents, whatever they were, remained a mystery to Joe Deal.

He looked at his watch. Flavin had said twelve. He would wait until twelve twenty and then leave.

He would not have another drink.

About five minutes later the door opened and Tommy Flavin walked in, came to the table, and sat down. Clearly he was not going to be the one to supply the drinks.

‘What’ll you have, Tommy?’

‘A pint. No good coming here if you don’t have a pint. The beer’s the only good thing about this dump. Best pint in London, some say, and I don’t say they’re wrong.’

‘It’s a bit early for me.’

‘It’s only beer, Joe, not real alcohol, it won’t slur your handwriting. Let’s make it pints, eh?’ and he looked significantly at Deal.

Deal went to the bar. There were two handles and three automatic taps.

‘Which is it, Tommy?’

‘Stanley’s, the rest are rubbish.’

Deal turned back to the bar. The barmaid continued wiping the glass, ignoring him and everything else. Deal tapped on the counter with a coin. She put down the glass and cloth and came and stood before him, silent.

‘Two pints of Stanley’s.’

She moved down the bar and began pulling the pints. This pub might be worth mentioning, Deal thought, a dump, of course, where you need breathing apparatus and maybe a tetanus shot, but worth it for the Stanley’s. He must write the name of the beer down. Some say it’s the best in London, I wouldn’t disagree.

Two pints of murky liquid, each with a thin foam on top, were placed in front of him.

Back at the table, he took a sip. It was revolting, worse even than it looked. He concealed his reaction as best he could. ‘Thanks for coming, Tommy.

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