Night's Favour by Richard Parry

pushing through the crowd like a man possessed.”
    “Thirsty.”   On cue, Danny arrived back with two bottles, the green glass perspiring.   She dropped them on the bar with their change, and headed back down to another customer.   Val reached for one and took a strong pull.   “Oh man.   That’s good.”
    “So you don’t know what happened at the Blues?   I’m surprised you weren’t there.”   John took a more measured sip from his beer.   “You’re right.   That is good.”
    “Didn’t say that.”
    “You were there?   What the fuck happened?”
    Val rubbed his left forearm again.   “Shit man.   I don’t know if I was there.”
    “How can you not know?”
    “I had a few last night.”   Val’s forearm was really aching now.   “Christ.   This exercise thing will never catch on if it hurts like this after every session.”
    “Harden up, Tinkerbell.   You got so wrecked last night that you can’t remember where you were?”
    Val took another pull from his beer.   Damn, but those Italians knew how to brew a good lager.   “Man, I woke up without pants, alright?   I like to think I must have had a good time somewhere.   Orgies don’t just start themselves, right?”
    John laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”   They clinked their bottles.
    “Still.”   Val hesitated.
    “Still what?”
    “Something about it seemed real familiar.”
    “What do you mean?   Of course it’s familiar.   You drink there seven nights a week.”
    “No, not like that, like —”
    “Hey, it’s him!”   The shout came from just to the right, a couple of fit looking young guys crowded around a phone.   “Check it out!”   They came over.   The one with the phone held it out towards Val and said, “Hey man.   Is this for real?”
    The phone’s screen showed a frame of Val, on a bench.   An impossibly large amount of weight was on the bar above him.   The guy pressed a button on the phone and the movie played forward, showing Val pressing that weight down and up — and then throwing up on the floor afterwards.   Val turned away.   “Shit.”
    “Nah man.   That was awesome!   Hey, what’s your name?”   And — impossibly, simply — like that, Val was the centre of the group, being clapped on the shoulder, his hand being shaken, young guys high fiving around him.   He looked to John for help.
    “Hey buddy, don’t look at me.   You deserve this.”   He cleared his throat.   “Guys, this is my friend Val…”
    The crowd around Val started to grow.   People shared the phone with the video.   Someone worked out how to put it up on the screen behind the bar, showing Val’s massive lifting effort from earlier in the day.   People bought him beers, clapped him on the back like old friends.   They wanted to know how long he’d been lifting for, what his secret was.   There were cries of disbelief when he admitted it was his first day in the gym.
    “So it’s a fake then?”   The guy with the phone looked crestfallen.   He looked down at Val’s belly.   “Figures“.  
    John stepped up then, putting a hundred dollar bill on the bar.   “No fake.   I’m confident in my buddy here.   So confident that I reckon he’ll take anyone here in an arm wrestling match.   Right now.   So confident that I’ll put up this hundred against your fifty.”   The crowd quietened then.
    Val looked around.   “Man, what are you doing —”
    “I’ll take that bet.”   Working his way towards the back of the bar, the newcomer was young, cocksure.   He was muscled, lean, and moved like a wrestler.   A table was quickly cleared, and Val found himself very alone in the centre of a crowd, his opponent already with his elbow on the table.
    “What —”   Val swallowed, feeling panicked.  
    John came up behind him, put his hands on Val’s shoulders.   Leaning forward, he said, “Don’t worry man, you got this.   Just grab his hand, take it to the