Read Online Night's Favour by Richard Parry - Free Book Online

accountant?”
    She thought about it.   “I think so.   I think I know what one of those is.   Are they — do you scrape those off your shoe sometimes after it rains?”
    Val laughed out loud.   “I think so, yes.   Now your turn.”
    Someone called down the end of the bar.   Danny gave him an apologetic look, and headed off again.   Val reached for his second beer, starting in on it.   Sure, his arm still hurt, but at least his chest and shoulders had eased up.   The alcohol was good for something at least.
    She arrived back, wiping the bar in front of him.   “Got to look busy.   The boss just asked me if I was wasting time down here.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “It’s too long.”
    “What?”
    “My name.   It’s too long for the name badge.”
    “You told your boss your name was too long?”
    She threw the bar cloth at him.   He got his hands up, fending it off.   It landed on the bar top, where she scooped it back up.   “Lucky.   I’ll get you next time.”
    “I consider myself reprimanded.   Your name’s too long?   So what’s it short for?”
    “I don’t think I want to tell you that.”
    “What’ll it take for you to tell me that?”
    “Is that your third question?”
    “No.   My third question is why are you still talking to me?”   Val gestured around the bar.   “I’m no one.”
    She looked sideways at him.   “Seriously?”
    “Seriously.   I’m not even a musician.”
    “Will you come back tomorrow?”
    “Is that your third question?”
    “That’s my third question.   You come back tomorrow, and maybe I’ll tell you what it’s short for.   I finish earlier.”   She left again, this time replaced at this end of the bar by another guy.   Val nodded at him, held up his empty bottle.   Another round couldn’t hurt.
    Yeah.   He’d come back tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    When they stepped out of Presence Unlisted, it was well on the wrong side of midnight.   The streets were empty of people; it wasn’t a hard Friday or Saturday night, and the big crowds were saving their money to buy happiness on a more popular evening.   The cool of the early morning was an old friend, reminding Val of the comfort of bed to come.   He probably should have been there hours ago.   They wouldn’t even find an open MacDonald's at this hour.
    John leaned against a lamppost, head down.   He groaned.   “I think I’m going to hurl.”
    “I’m not going to hold your hair back.”   Despite them both having drunk the small bar out of Peroni, Val was still buoyant.   The alcohol just couldn’t touch him tonight.   Sure, he was a bit unsteady on his feet, and he’d probably feel like John looked closer to arriving at home in a few hours.   Right now he just felt —
    “No really, I’m going to hurl.”   John’s back curled a little.
    — He felt happy.   He looked back over his shoulder at the doorway of the bar.   The details of the evening were losing clarity, their sharp edges blurring and becoming indistinct through overuse.   All except the conversation he’d had with Danny.   He knew he’d be back — nothing would stand in the way of that.   That memory wouldn’t fade, and he knew however drunk he’d become he’d remember it in the morning.
    He was interrupted by the sound of John throwing up into the gutter.   “Shit man.   Don’t get it on your shoes.”
    John retched again, then turned and gave Val the universal gesture, middle finger extended upwards.   He looked grey, eyes slightly unfocussed.
    “Yeah, fair enough.   I’m betting you’ve got work tomorrow too.”   Val chuckled.   “Let’s find you a cab.”   He helped John upright, half carrying, half steering him as they walked away from the bar.
    Typical.   Any time you didn’t need a taxi you’d find the cab ranks full of them, eager faces imploring you to take the easy route and just hop on in.   Right now there wasn’t a cab in sight, the rain slick tarmac