Read Online Should Have Killed The Kid by R. Frederick Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: R. Frederick Hamilton
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– told him that much. More relief flooded in. Every town's got their harmless loon. This guy must be Hent's. Briefly the new arrival's voice rose, the lisp crackling with what sounded like unadulterated panic and he definitely heard the words, 'I thought you said it was just you, your son and the contractors,' before the old guy managed to get it back under control and return to his whispering.
Dave polished off half of his third pint in one swallow.
After more hushed conversation, this time accompanied by a pointed finger toward the muddy footprints the old guy had tracked across from the front door, Bruno laughed and Dave felt the last of the tension leave the room. Bruno slapped the old guy on the back good-naturedly, then took him by the arm and led him back over to the bar.
'Monty, meet Dave, he's just arrived and seems nice enough. Are we happy now? Now he's not a stranger, yeah?'
'Hi,' Dave said awkwardly as he once again found himself wilting beneath the old man's glare. Monty did not look any more impressed by the introduction and awkward silence reigned as Bruno, obviously considering his work done, walked off, absorbed once more in his map.
'Fine, I'll have a pint,' Monty finally muttered and shucked off his trench coat. He draped it over one of the bar stools and dragged another out for himself. Dave winced as it grated noisily over the wooden floor.
After settling in, Monty fumbled in the pocket of his coat for a second before removing what Dave was pretty sure was a bulging tube sock. The chink as it hit the counter told him what was inside. As the old man started to count out coins onto the counter, Dave realised Bruno might not have been quite clear enough on how things stood.
‘I don’t actually– ‘
‘Make it Carlton, too,’ Monty cut him off, his eyes still on the ancient looking coins emerging from the sock. ‘None of that fancy shite.’ He waved a hand across the deceptive length of taps. ‘Never understood the need for so many fucking types of beer anyway.'
‘Mate, I–' Midway through the sentence Dave decided it was just too much effort and filled another pint glass instead.
He slid it across to Monty just as he finished counting and tapped the top of the coin mountain he’d formed on the bar. ‘That’s for two, okay?’ Monty’s glittering eyes locked with Dave’s.’
‘Okay,’ Dave went for the coins as Monty reached for the pint. It barely even touched the sides and Dave was still scraping the coins over to where he'd stacked his notes when the glass thunked back down on the bar. He picked it up, refilled it and settled it back in front of Monty as the man muttered away under his breath. Dave heard something that he thought sounded like, ‘fucking things, always fucking changing,’ but with the way Monty was still glaring around, there was no way he was going to ask the man to clarify.
He took a step back and off to one side and breathed a sigh of relief that Monty didn’t try to stop him. Instead the old man merely picked up his pint and stared at it in anger for a second before sipping away instead of draining it in another big gulp.
After a couple of mouthfuls, he slammed the glass down and returned to glaring around.
Dave decided it was as good a time as any for a cigarette.
It was almost comical how he tiptoed around the bar as though Monty was some sleeping dragon. Logically, Dave knew he shouldn’t be such a sook. He clearly had Monty’s measure in height and bulk – not to mention Monty looked about half a century older. But he’d never been a fan of confrontation and there were those eyes. That glare that chilled him to the core.
Reaching for his duffel bag felt like it took a life time. When he saw it sat less than a metre from Monty, Dave briefly felt his heart leap to his mouth again but fortunately the old man only let out a grunt as Dave retrieved the bag from where he’d propped it against the front of the bar.
As he headed to the front door,
Dave polished off half of his third pint in one swallow.
After more hushed conversation, this time accompanied by a pointed finger toward the muddy footprints the old guy had tracked across from the front door, Bruno laughed and Dave felt the last of the tension leave the room. Bruno slapped the old guy on the back good-naturedly, then took him by the arm and led him back over to the bar.
'Monty, meet Dave, he's just arrived and seems nice enough. Are we happy now? Now he's not a stranger, yeah?'
'Hi,' Dave said awkwardly as he once again found himself wilting beneath the old man's glare. Monty did not look any more impressed by the introduction and awkward silence reigned as Bruno, obviously considering his work done, walked off, absorbed once more in his map.
'Fine, I'll have a pint,' Monty finally muttered and shucked off his trench coat. He draped it over one of the bar stools and dragged another out for himself. Dave winced as it grated noisily over the wooden floor.
After settling in, Monty fumbled in the pocket of his coat for a second before removing what Dave was pretty sure was a bulging tube sock. The chink as it hit the counter told him what was inside. As the old man started to count out coins onto the counter, Dave realised Bruno might not have been quite clear enough on how things stood.
‘I don’t actually– ‘
‘Make it Carlton, too,’ Monty cut him off, his eyes still on the ancient looking coins emerging from the sock. ‘None of that fancy shite.’ He waved a hand across the deceptive length of taps. ‘Never understood the need for so many fucking types of beer anyway.'
‘Mate, I–' Midway through the sentence Dave decided it was just too much effort and filled another pint glass instead.
He slid it across to Monty just as he finished counting and tapped the top of the coin mountain he’d formed on the bar. ‘That’s for two, okay?’ Monty’s glittering eyes locked with Dave’s.’
‘Okay,’ Dave went for the coins as Monty reached for the pint. It barely even touched the sides and Dave was still scraping the coins over to where he'd stacked his notes when the glass thunked back down on the bar. He picked it up, refilled it and settled it back in front of Monty as the man muttered away under his breath. Dave heard something that he thought sounded like, ‘fucking things, always fucking changing,’ but with the way Monty was still glaring around, there was no way he was going to ask the man to clarify.
He took a step back and off to one side and breathed a sigh of relief that Monty didn’t try to stop him. Instead the old man merely picked up his pint and stared at it in anger for a second before sipping away instead of draining it in another big gulp.
After a couple of mouthfuls, he slammed the glass down and returned to glaring around.
Dave decided it was as good a time as any for a cigarette.
It was almost comical how he tiptoed around the bar as though Monty was some sleeping dragon. Logically, Dave knew he shouldn’t be such a sook. He clearly had Monty’s measure in height and bulk – not to mention Monty looked about half a century older. But he’d never been a fan of confrontation and there were those eyes. That glare that chilled him to the core.
Reaching for his duffel bag felt like it took a life time. When he saw it sat less than a metre from Monty, Dave briefly felt his heart leap to his mouth again but fortunately the old man only let out a grunt as Dave retrieved the bag from where he’d propped it against the front of the bar.
As he headed to the front door,
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