you want me to.”
“Perhaps later, I’ll have a quiet drink first.”
“As you wish.”
Harry signed and went into the lounge and ordered a whisky. Wemyss watched him all the way through.
The bar area was empty but across the room, at the lower level, several tables had been pushed together and a party of about ten people were drinking heavily and laughing and joking loudly. Harry sat on a stool with his back to the bar. When he had finished his drink he turned to the barman,
“They’re packing a few away. How long have they been in?”
“All afternoon. I think they’re going on somewhere for a meal.”
“Do you know them?”
“A few I know, the man facing us in his fifties, that’s Steven Beecham and the larger older fellow next to him is Dermot Cassidy and one down again is Tommy Bunn. The rest I don’t know, a few of the women are just local hangers-on.
“Can I get you a drink?” Harry asked.
The barman, who was rarely given such an option, readily agreed,
“Thank you, yes, a small beer, and do you want a top up?”
“Yes please.” Harry glanced up at the images in the bar mirror,
‘So that is Dermot, and I’m going to meet him before Andrew can formally introduce us.’
“Good health to you sir.”
The barman distracted Harry from his gaze as he acknowledged his drink. Harry remained sitting on the stool as he resumed his reflective surveillance of the others. The barman busied himself polishing the bar. Harry then noticed Dermot swaying towards him. He was a huge man, ‘must be twenty stone at least’ Harry thought. He came closer and stood at the bar; he was now breathless as he wheezed out a command,
“We’ll ‘ave another round of drinks put it on my tab. I’m going for a piss.”
There was no please or thank you Harry noticed. He watched him weave his way through the tables and chairs to the toilets. He was wearing an old dark blue suit with brown shoes which the trouser bottoms didn’t touch. The bulk of his expanding waistline had eliminated that sartorial nicety long ago.
“That’s Dermot?”
“Yep, that’s him, nice and polite as usual.”
The barman continued preparing a tray of drinks.
“What does he do for work?”
“He’s part owner of this place as well as being in some property or building business I think.”
“The other men, Beecham and Bunn?”
“They run a garage in town. Both are ex-police by the way.”
Harry sipped his drink and watched the two men reflected in the mirror talking to the women. Then he heard Dermot coughing loudly and turned to watch him emerge from the toilets. He walked slowly back to his chair whilst still buttoning his flies. Harry also noticed that he had part pissed himself, a wet stain was slowly spreading across his crotch. The barman followed him across to the table with the fresh drinks, collected the empties and returned. He poured a drink for Harry,
“This is your’s sir, a gift from Mr Cassidy’s table.”
Harry turned to look and raised his glass in acknowledgement. Dermot held his hand up to wave Harry across to their table,
“Don’t sit there all alone come and join us for a drink. What’s your name?”
“Harry, Harry Davies.”
Harry went across and sat down next to Dermot who was still breathing heavily after the exertion of walking back from the toilet.
“The name’s Cassidy - Dermot Cassidy.”
His voice was loud and coarse.
“You’re new around here?”
One of the other men enquired.
“I have been here before; the doorman recognised me and let me in.”
Dermot cut in, “Doorman? That’s Wemyss he owns this place. Doorman he says!” Dermot exchanged the joke with the other men.
“You’ve obviously had a good day. Are you celebrating?” Harry ventured.
Dermot answered,
“No not really, we just arrange to meet up here once a month. What business are you in?”
Harry quickly decided not to say too much,
“Well I’m in between at the moment; I’ve only just come up from
“Perhaps later, I’ll have a quiet drink first.”
“As you wish.”
Harry signed and went into the lounge and ordered a whisky. Wemyss watched him all the way through.
The bar area was empty but across the room, at the lower level, several tables had been pushed together and a party of about ten people were drinking heavily and laughing and joking loudly. Harry sat on a stool with his back to the bar. When he had finished his drink he turned to the barman,
“They’re packing a few away. How long have they been in?”
“All afternoon. I think they’re going on somewhere for a meal.”
“Do you know them?”
“A few I know, the man facing us in his fifties, that’s Steven Beecham and the larger older fellow next to him is Dermot Cassidy and one down again is Tommy Bunn. The rest I don’t know, a few of the women are just local hangers-on.
“Can I get you a drink?” Harry asked.
The barman, who was rarely given such an option, readily agreed,
“Thank you, yes, a small beer, and do you want a top up?”
“Yes please.” Harry glanced up at the images in the bar mirror,
‘So that is Dermot, and I’m going to meet him before Andrew can formally introduce us.’
“Good health to you sir.”
The barman distracted Harry from his gaze as he acknowledged his drink. Harry remained sitting on the stool as he resumed his reflective surveillance of the others. The barman busied himself polishing the bar. Harry then noticed Dermot swaying towards him. He was a huge man, ‘must be twenty stone at least’ Harry thought. He came closer and stood at the bar; he was now breathless as he wheezed out a command,
“We’ll ‘ave another round of drinks put it on my tab. I’m going for a piss.”
There was no please or thank you Harry noticed. He watched him weave his way through the tables and chairs to the toilets. He was wearing an old dark blue suit with brown shoes which the trouser bottoms didn’t touch. The bulk of his expanding waistline had eliminated that sartorial nicety long ago.
“That’s Dermot?”
“Yep, that’s him, nice and polite as usual.”
The barman continued preparing a tray of drinks.
“What does he do for work?”
“He’s part owner of this place as well as being in some property or building business I think.”
“The other men, Beecham and Bunn?”
“They run a garage in town. Both are ex-police by the way.”
Harry sipped his drink and watched the two men reflected in the mirror talking to the women. Then he heard Dermot coughing loudly and turned to watch him emerge from the toilets. He walked slowly back to his chair whilst still buttoning his flies. Harry also noticed that he had part pissed himself, a wet stain was slowly spreading across his crotch. The barman followed him across to the table with the fresh drinks, collected the empties and returned. He poured a drink for Harry,
“This is your’s sir, a gift from Mr Cassidy’s table.”
Harry turned to look and raised his glass in acknowledgement. Dermot held his hand up to wave Harry across to their table,
“Don’t sit there all alone come and join us for a drink. What’s your name?”
“Harry, Harry Davies.”
Harry went across and sat down next to Dermot who was still breathing heavily after the exertion of walking back from the toilet.
“The name’s Cassidy - Dermot Cassidy.”
His voice was loud and coarse.
“You’re new around here?”
One of the other men enquired.
“I have been here before; the doorman recognised me and let me in.”
Dermot cut in, “Doorman? That’s Wemyss he owns this place. Doorman he says!” Dermot exchanged the joke with the other men.
“You’ve obviously had a good day. Are you celebrating?” Harry ventured.
Dermot answered,
“No not really, we just arrange to meet up here once a month. What business are you in?”
Harry quickly decided not to say too much,
“Well I’m in between at the moment; I’ve only just come up from
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