Page 16 of Now Comes the Dark

Phil exhaled smoke. “Kind of intense-looking? Miserable even?”

Roman perked up. “That sounds like him.”

“I didn’t know his name, but that sounds a like a bloke who has been in here a few times. Not really a regular. There must be weeks, if not months between his visits. In fact, I can’t remember when I last saw him. It’s been a while. He keeps to himself. He’s the one who kicked the arses of your attackers?”

“Yes. He did.”

Phil smiled and nodded. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. He’s not the biggest bloke, is he?” He mimed flexing his muscles.

“No, but he was strong.”

“Must be.” Phil took another drag on his cigarette, scratched his beard then said, “Oh, hang on. I do remember him.” He laughed. “He went home with Tyler one time last year. It must have been around Christmas.”

Roman stiffened as a coil of jealously wrapped around his insides. “Tyler?”

“You know, Tyler, the security guard. He’s on the door tonight. You’ll have passed him to get in.”

The coil tightened. Tyler the door attendant was a walking mountain of muscle and attitude. With his buzzed haircut and steroid-boosted physique, he came from the same body-builder mould as Patrick.Mallon is into guys like that. First a trashy queen like Cameron and now this.

“Yeah, I remember,” he laughed harder. “Tyler could barely sit down for a week afterwards. He said the French guy fucked him so hard he thought his teeth would drop out. For a big guy, Tyler got a lot more than he bargained for. No wonder those three last night came off second best. This guy Mallon must be deceptively physical.”

* * * *

Roman and Ashley were in the beer garden enjoying their third drink and having a laugh when Patrick caught up with them. He barged through the crowd, shoving a young couple aside without a glance. Roman only had to look at him to know trouble was coming. His eyes were bloodshot, and the pupils constricted. His bullish face was set in a mean expression he was already familiar with.

“The fuck you doing here?” he snapped at Ashley. “We’re supposed to be going to Sash.”

“I’m enjoying myself here,” Ashley said. Roman detected the defensive tone that was a familiar precursor to one of their fights. He felt his friend go taut in a defensive stance. “The music and atmosphere are much better.”

Patrick’s nostrils flared. “It’s crap. The music is shit in here. C’mon. We’re going to Sash.” He grabbed Ashley’s wrist.

The bastard needed to score. The real hardcore drug dealers of Blyham hung around Sash. Phil and his team kept them out of Julie’s.

“There’s no one stopping you,” Roman interjected. “You don’t need us to hold your hand.”

Emboldened, Ashley snatched his wrist away. “That’s right. Go and do your own thing. You usually do anyway.”

Patrick stepped closer, puffing out his over-inflated chest. “Stop being a cunt. You’re coming with me.”

Roman controlled the urge to butt in again. This would go one of two ways. Ashley would back down and concede to his bullying boyfriend, or he would stand up to him and a public slanging match would ensue. Roman was in no mood for either option, but he would back his friend all the way.

“Don’t call me that,” Ashley said, moving closer to Roman and distancing himself from Patrick.

A vein in Patrick’s throat throbbed. “It’s what you are…a bitchy little cunt. You and your girlfriend. The pair of you are as bad as each other.”

Roman couldn’t contain himself. “Have the steroids shrivelled your brain as well as your cock? Fuck off back to Sash with the rest of the tweakers and leave us alone. We were having a nice time until you arrived and spoiled it.”

For the second time in less than twenty-four-hours Roman found himself on the receiving end of a punch from a much bigger man. Patrick’s fist lacked the force and intent of the man who had attacked him on the street, but it landed in his belly with enough power to wind him. He staggered backwards, more surprised than hurt.

There was an eruption of noise around him, angry protests from those who had witnessed the assault. They surrounded and protected him as a group, while a glass of beer was dumped over Patrick’s head. He stood there, gawping as it gushed down his face and neck.

Before Patrick could react further, Phil and Tyler, the colossal door attendant, appeared. Tyler took Patrick from behind, twisting his arm behind his back.

“Let go of me, you cunt,” Patrick snarled.

“Out,” Phil snapped. “And don’t come back. You’re barred, for good. We’ve got enough trouble on the streets without the likes of you kicking off inside.”

Another bouncer appeared, and together with Tyler, they hauled Patrick to the exit. He twisted and snarled in their grip, kicking at their legs, but they carried him effortlessly to the door.

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