there’s a look on his face that straddles the border between angry and bored. The look of a man who doesn’t like his night out being interrupted by those less important. A look that says he’s used to people doing just exactly what he tells them. He’s telling Fraser to back off.
Fraser, obviously the big guy, is looking at him too. Just staring back. Not saying anything. Leaving it too long. Anything he said now would sound too considered. Taking a step back. Trying to stare down the more important man, but not willing to open his mouth. Now turning and stepping down to the dance floor. Peterkinney and Glass are watching him go, walking along the edge of the floor to the exit.
As soon as he’s gone, Peterkinney is turning to Glass. Nodding a thank you, getting a nod back.
‘Find a bin for that,’ Glass is saying. Sooner the mess is cleared up, sooner everyone chooses to forget about what they saw. If there’s no evidence, no consequence, there’s no need to let it spoil a good night.
Peterkinney is gathering up the bigger bits of glass he can find. Glass is leading his girl back to the table, exaggerating his gentlemanly performance. Hoping he’s scored a few macho points. The silent girl is moving seat, dropping into Glass’s seat before he can take it. Making sure she’s next to Peterkinney now. He’s standing up with the glass in his hands. Smiling at the girl, who’s now smiling back. That’s a step forwards.
Now he’s turning to look at the middle-aged man who stepped in to help. Too late. He’s already sitting back down, whispering something to the girl next to him. She looks like a teenager. A pretty teenager. Not one of the bottle-blonde, orange skin brigade. There’s a few of them here, but not many. Marty’s more discerning than that. He knows his clients look for something better. Something that gives the appearance of being a higher class, even when it’s not. The aura of unattainability; nothing sells better. No point interrupting. That wouldn’t be any kind of a thank you.
There was a bin over by the doorway. He tipped the broken glass into it. On the way over and the way back, three people patted him on the back. A couple of others gave him a smile and a nod. Men and women. People here to party, and people here to work. Obviously Fraser was not a popular partygoer. Back at the table, sitting in his seat. Someone’s tipped it back the right way. On the tabletop there are white lines ready. Silent Girl is passing him a note and smiling. It suits her. The party’s starting.
7
Had a couple of drinks, which was a couple more than he intended. Now going to visit a friend of his. Well, friend’s the wrong word. Old associate. They knew each other a long time ago. Back when they both had hair and good health. Been a while since Arnie Peterkinney had either of those. At least as long for Roy Bowles. Roy’s a few years older than Arnie, mind you. Roy is sixty-six, Arnie three years younger.
Been a while since they had any kind of a conversation. Shouldn’t be an issue. You go a long time without talking to people, but they don’t forget who you are. They sure as hell don’t forget what you’ve done. Not if they’re any kind of smart. And Roy Bowles is all kinds of smart. That’s why he’s lasted so long in this business. So long since the police even looked twice at him. He knows what he’s doing, and always has done. That’s why he’s the right man to talk to.
There’s a reason why it’s been a long time since Arnie spoke to Roy Bowles. Since he spoke to anyone in the business. Arnie takes no pride in some of the things he did to make money back in the day. Nothing too extreme. He avoided the worst of what could be done, but he made some extra money doing things decent people should frown upon. He always thought he was decent. Always wanted to be. Spent most of his life doing legitimate jobs, working hard. But no great training, no great brain at work and no great luck.
Fraser, obviously the big guy, is looking at him too. Just staring back. Not saying anything. Leaving it too long. Anything he said now would sound too considered. Taking a step back. Trying to stare down the more important man, but not willing to open his mouth. Now turning and stepping down to the dance floor. Peterkinney and Glass are watching him go, walking along the edge of the floor to the exit.
As soon as he’s gone, Peterkinney is turning to Glass. Nodding a thank you, getting a nod back.
‘Find a bin for that,’ Glass is saying. Sooner the mess is cleared up, sooner everyone chooses to forget about what they saw. If there’s no evidence, no consequence, there’s no need to let it spoil a good night.
Peterkinney is gathering up the bigger bits of glass he can find. Glass is leading his girl back to the table, exaggerating his gentlemanly performance. Hoping he’s scored a few macho points. The silent girl is moving seat, dropping into Glass’s seat before he can take it. Making sure she’s next to Peterkinney now. He’s standing up with the glass in his hands. Smiling at the girl, who’s now smiling back. That’s a step forwards.
Now he’s turning to look at the middle-aged man who stepped in to help. Too late. He’s already sitting back down, whispering something to the girl next to him. She looks like a teenager. A pretty teenager. Not one of the bottle-blonde, orange skin brigade. There’s a few of them here, but not many. Marty’s more discerning than that. He knows his clients look for something better. Something that gives the appearance of being a higher class, even when it’s not. The aura of unattainability; nothing sells better. No point interrupting. That wouldn’t be any kind of a thank you.
There was a bin over by the doorway. He tipped the broken glass into it. On the way over and the way back, three people patted him on the back. A couple of others gave him a smile and a nod. Men and women. People here to party, and people here to work. Obviously Fraser was not a popular partygoer. Back at the table, sitting in his seat. Someone’s tipped it back the right way. On the tabletop there are white lines ready. Silent Girl is passing him a note and smiling. It suits her. The party’s starting.
7
Had a couple of drinks, which was a couple more than he intended. Now going to visit a friend of his. Well, friend’s the wrong word. Old associate. They knew each other a long time ago. Back when they both had hair and good health. Been a while since Arnie Peterkinney had either of those. At least as long for Roy Bowles. Roy’s a few years older than Arnie, mind you. Roy is sixty-six, Arnie three years younger.
Been a while since they had any kind of a conversation. Shouldn’t be an issue. You go a long time without talking to people, but they don’t forget who you are. They sure as hell don’t forget what you’ve done. Not if they’re any kind of smart. And Roy Bowles is all kinds of smart. That’s why he’s lasted so long in this business. So long since the police even looked twice at him. He knows what he’s doing, and always has done. That’s why he’s the right man to talk to.
There’s a reason why it’s been a long time since Arnie spoke to Roy Bowles. Since he spoke to anyone in the business. Arnie takes no pride in some of the things he did to make money back in the day. Nothing too extreme. He avoided the worst of what could be done, but he made some extra money doing things decent people should frown upon. He always thought he was decent. Always wanted to be. Spent most of his life doing legitimate jobs, working hard. But no great training, no great brain at work and no great luck.
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