Page 40 of Deep Waters

They were very similar in appearance—tall, athletically built, good-looking, with light-brown hair and high cheekbones. They both wore chinos and plain blue shirts. There was maybe a year or two difference in their ages and Christian decided they had to be brothers.

“Call the fucking police,” Potato-head sneered. “Like we give a shit. We just want rid of all the dirty Poles like you. You’ve ruined this fucking town.”

“Dirty bastards,” the woman jeered.

“Fucking stinking,” the man continued.

“Homos as well,” the woman said, cackling now.

“Aye. Polish queers. For fuck’s sake, man. As if we haven’t got enough queer fuckers of our own without having the take in Poland’s bum-boys as well.”

Christian had heard enough. The gallery owners might be too mild mannered to deal with these arseholes, but he wasn’t. He stepped forward.

“You can add Norway to your list,” he said, getting in the man’s face.Jesus. He’s even uglier up close.

“Huh?” The man took a step backwards, looking Christian over with tight, piggish eyes.

“Norway,” he said calmly. “You can add Norwegian to your list of international queers. Me.” He took a step forwards, getting back up in the man’s face.

Potato-head looked at the woman for support.

“What the fuck is this?” she screeched.

Christian shot her a venomous look. “It looked a lot to me like harassment—racist and homophobic. Those two aggravating factors should go down well when you’re up in front of the magistrates.” He turned his head to the men in the gallery. “Go on and call the police. I’ll be happy to make a witness statement so you can press charges against this pair of layabouts.”

The man backed off again. His nasty expression had been replaced by that of a petulant child. Christian could almost see the cogs turning in his tiny brain. He didn’t give him a chance to think before stepping forward again. He poked a finger into the centre of the man’s chest. “What’s wrong, little man? You seemed to have plenty to say before.” He jabbed him again. “Eh?”

“Get your gay fucking hands off me,” he said petulantly, turning away from him.

“Fuck off,” Christian shouted. “The pair of you.Now.”

The man jumped then turned around, hurrying down the street. The woman shot Christian a rancorous look before shuffling after him.

Christian turned back to the men at the gallery. “Are you guys okay?”

They both greeted him with a smile.

“Sure. Even better after that,” one of them said.

“You didn’t really have to do that,” the second man said. “They make a lot of noise, but they aren’t any serious risk. More a nuisance. But thank you anyway. That was the best laugh I’ve had all week.”

Christian sighed. “I can’t stand bullies of any kind. When I see shit like this, I have to call it out.”

“That was Dean and Linda Bewick, our resident bigots. They are right pains in the arse, the pair of them. I don’t think they are all there, like children.”

Christian shook his head. “No, they knew what they were doing. There was no excuse for it.”

The men introduced themselves as Antoni and Roger.

Antoni. Harry’s ex. Of course. He’d said something the other night about his Polish ex and the regular racist abuse he suffered.

Christian gave him a closer look. He was handsome, very, with a serious face and dark-grey eyes. Harry had good taste.

“Christian Coster.” He shook their hands. “I meant what I said…about the police. You should call them and report this. Give them my name and tell them I’m staying at Quay House. They can find me there for a statement. This kind of abuse has to go on record if they’re ever going to establish the size of the problem.”

* * * *

With Reece’s help, Harry had the boat cleaned down and all the equipment packed up by five-thirty.

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