by Mark Ayre
The pen snapped as he spoke the final word, a jagged edge catching Tahir’s hand and drawing blood as it jumped from his hand as though desperate to escape his clutches. Lifting his hand, he sucked the blood from his finger, as James focused on the implications. Remembered the last person Harris had taken on a date at this bar and wondered what would have happened if someone had not been here to deal with Harris.
It was a struggle to comprehend, and as Tahir lowered his hand, wet with blood and saliva, James looked for any reason Tahir might be lying. Or, could he have been lied to?
“Who told you this?”
“I won’t say,” he said. “I promised her. But you can believe it’s true.”
James considered. Looked to the wall that separated Tahir’s office from Harris’. Something came to mind.
“If Harris was taping people in his office that must mean—“
“Don’t go there,” Tahir interjected, now wiping ink from his desk and binning the pen. “I disconnected the cameras myself after I found the truth. I’d have given them to Jane if not.”
“What about these videos?”
“Presumably they were on his phone.”
Tahir averted his eyes as he said this. No guarantee of a lie, but James did wonder. Would Harris have left them on his phone where they could be so easily found? Or did he have another solution, and if Tahir had seen them, why hide the truth?
“You must have been pretty angry?” he said, watching Tahir closely.
“Incredibly,” he confessed. “But don’t try make me a suspect. I saw a problem and dealt with it. The only thing remaining was for me to talk to Harris, which I would have done, had his death not got in the way.”
“Very inconsiderate of him,” James muttered. Tahir chose not to comment.
“I tell you this story because Jane wanted me to be open with you. Like I said, I’m aware how it makes me look, but I had nothing to do with Harris’ murder.”
“What about one of these girls?” James asked, going for the obvious. Tahir shrugged, his emotions back under control now the troublesome pen was gone.
“I only know the one who spoke to me. She didn’t do it; I can tell you that. As for one of the others—“
He left that hanging and James thought it through. It had nothing to do with either the money or Michael but if what Tahir was saying was right—and he would find it hard not to believe it given how Tahir had looked while telling the story—it provided a strong motive to one of the girls.
He thought of Megan. Forced himself to stop.
“What if—“
“I’ve told you all I know,” Tahir said, cutting him off. “Perhaps a member of the staff will know something more pertinent. Jane thinks you can extract information from them she could not. Maybe that’s true, but you won’t learn anything sitting here with me, will you?”
James opened his mouth to say something but found nothing there, so he merely nodded.
“Good stuff, now get out.”
Feeling a little dazed, he rose, a difficult task with this new information weighing him down. Already he had the money and Davis as someone who might have wished Harris harm. Now there were however many girls Harris had slept with, filmed and taunted. Wasn’t investigation meant to narrow down the options, not the other way around?
“Bye,” he managed.
“Oh, James? If you need anything. Have any trouble or whatever and want to ask a question. Remember to call Jane and don’t bother me because I’m not fucking interested.”
James stepped out of Tahir’s office and, in a replica of their first meeting ten months before, straight into Megan.
“Meg,” he reached out to grab her, but she had steadied herself already, and he wasn’t needed. His hands fell uselessly by his side as she straightened out the crinkles in her top and faced him.
“You came,” she said.
“Said I would, didn’t I? And you did, too.”
“I had to. You were right.”
“First time for everything.”
That made her smile. She took a step towards him, hands reaching out as his had moments before and dropping as his had moments before. A crease of concern attacking her otherwise perfect features.
“How was your, uh—“ she searched for the words, couldn’t finish that sentence so went for another. “How was Nina?”
“Distraught when we met,” he said. “Upset about her nephew. I made it worse.”
“Worse? What did you—” she saw the guilt in his eyes. “You broke up with her.”
“Yes.” She put hands on hips. “It was an accident.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
He gave her a light poke in the ribs.
“Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m not,” she put a hand to her mouth, felt it. “I’m not. Can’t believe you dumped her. Dick move.”
She was teasing. Harris was dead, Nina was hurting. James had once again been thrust into a complicated, horrible situation and yet, around Megan, he struggled to feel anything but happiness. He took her hands, squeezed them, and she came towards him until they were almost touching.
“I want to take you out,” he said
“I’m working.”
“Not now. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
She was smiling, too. Feeling what he was feeling. He could tell from the flash across her eyes. Both knew they should be sombre; both felt guilty, and yet, there was that giddy glee beneath the surface. They were going on a date. A proper date and neither of them could wait.
“Dinner?”
“Sounds good.”
“Where?”
“Don’t care,” she said. “Wherever you want.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Please.”
Closer again. She made his heart pound, adrenaline race through him. How badly he wanted to step away from all this. To be with her, and forget all the nasty things in the world. He couldn’t do that, not until he could be sure no one would come after Megan, but in the meantime, he could at least—
Her lips met his. A kiss so brief and soft and wonderful. It was ready to turn into something more. Something deeper and for the first time unburdened by other relationships. Before it could, they heard footsteps and sprung from each other as the door into the small staff area burst open to reveal a smiling man James recognised from Jane’s homecoming party.
Lars.
He saw them, now standing at opposite walls, but looking like kids caught playing doctor.
“Well now, what have we here?”
James recovered first, stepping away from the wall and approaching Lars, hand outstretched.
“Hi, James, I’m new. We met at—”
“My name ain’t James,” the guy cut in, “and what sort of a name is new?”
James stared at the newcomer, reassessing the smile. It was full and happy, but no longer seemed bright. Quite the opposite. Dark, like the look in his eyes as he offered James’ outstretched hand a cursory glance.
“What’s that for? You trying to grab my cock?”
James dropped the hand, ashamed and guilty, as though he had wronged Lars. But no, this was a game. An induction. Mess up, and he would be fighting an uphill battle to ingratiate himself with the staff. Fail this first test, and he could forget learning anything about Harris if indeed there was anything to be learned.
“Yeah,” James said. “You look the sort who likes that kind of greeting.”
A pause, in which James played fortune teller, searching the future for which way this would go. Then Lars burst out laughing and slapped James on the side.
“I like that. Name’s Lars, James, your new favourite colleague. Well, except Megan, by the looks. You two know each other?”
James looked to Megan, hating himself for the smug voice he was about to put on, but it was necessary.
“Not yet.”
Lars laughed again.
“Yeah, man
, who can blame you?” an arm was around James’ shoulder. “Ever done bar work?”
“No.”
“Mixed cocktails?”
“Not even once.”
“Jesus, that’s rough. No worries though, we have a pretty good induction process here. What we do is chuck you in the deep end and you either work it out as you go along or, and this one is always fun to watch, drown. Sound good?”
False bravado. That was the thing.
“Sounds fine.”
“Great. Oh, and just so you know, you won’t really drown.”
“Of course.”
“By drowning, what I mean is, if you fuck up, the drunks will beat the living shit out of you. I’ve seen them kill. Now come on, shove your bag in the staff room, and let’s get going.”
James had been accepted by the pack leader, whose introduction to the rest of the group guaranteed a warmer welcome than he might otherwise have expected. There were friendly jokes, and James was even able to participate in banter.
Then the customers flooded in, and it all counted for nothing.
It was a Saturday night. Always busy, Lars said, but this was something else.
“Morbid fucks,” his new ally proclaimed, expression darkening. “Someone gets killed and over they swarm, like vultures.”
He looked as though he could spit venom.
“You knew Harris well?”
“Yeah. Known him since he was five years old. Sweetest kid you could hope to meet. Breaks my heart what happened.” He turned, saw someone waiting at the bar and his entire visage changed. “Alright, love, how can I help you?”
The swell of customers grew. Another bartender grabbed James and yanked him towards a tap.
“Help me out, will you? Two Fosters, one Guinness. No, not that glass. What’s that say? Amstell. Use your fucking head.”
Things did not improve from there.
Beers were hard. Cocktails near impossible. As promised, no one offered help. Megan had positioned herself far away, and the person closest to James, a monosyllabic girl called Gretta, refused to help until customers were shouting in James’ face, threatening to drag him across the bar. At this point, she would glare at James and barge him out the way, taking over the order then slipping back to her post without a word.
This seemed to drag on forever before Lars appeared once more, clasping James on the shoulder and completely ignoring the raging drunk yelling at him.
“Do a glasses run, will you? Grab em, get 'em into the kitchen and try not to break any.”
James did as he was told, allowing Lars to take on the screaming man in his absence.
He felt better on the bar floor. People expected less of him. Most didn’t look up as he collected their empties and stacked them in the increasingly precarious tower in his hand. The only interaction he had beyond the occasional muttered “cheers” was, first, a man yelling that he had not finished his drink, though there appeared to be nothing left so far as James could see, and, last, the man who stepped out, grabbing the stack of glasses as they took their chance and dived towards the floor.
“Fuck,” said James. He hadn’t seen the man until the last second and had been sure the glasses were going to decorate the floor in so many pieces, possibly slicing someone’s ankle, making James a murderer. Again. Then the tower was steady, and with a heart beating like it was trying to break a record, James thanked his saviour.
“No bother. Get rid of that death trap. Then—“ he shook his almost empty glass—“you can collect mine.”
The saviour, as James tried not to think of him, was called Owen. A regular, and someone who professed to love watching newbies.
“It’s not that I like watching you get shouted at. My heart goes out to the new ones. It’s just—” he considered. “No, it is the shouting thing.”
“Understandable,” James said with a smile.
“Yeah. Hey, you ain’t seen a Tracy, have you? Blonde hair, gorgeous eyes. So high.” He moved his hand up and down like an indecisive lift, then confessed: “I don’t know how tall she is.”
“Uh, no.”
Owen waved a hand. “It’s pretty busy. She’s probably searching for me.” A brave smile. Then, acceptance. “Okay, I’ve been stood up. Obviously, I’ve been stood up. Here’s my empty. I suppose I shouldn’t have a second. Brought the car.”
“Probably not,” said James.
“Hey, you should get on.”
James was about to agree, then he examined Owen. Saw the hurt. Remembered what it was like to be stood up and how uncomfortable he felt being in places like this alone. His eyes returned to the bar. Saw his colleagues hard at work, with no time for even a word to each other, let alone a chat about who Harris might or might not have robbed besides his grandfather, who he might have pressured into sleeping with him, only to film them at it.
“Supposed to be a first date, was it?” he said. After all, he was stressed, he was tired. Maybe the man stood up wasn’t the only one who needed the company.
“It was,” Owen confessed. “It’s not uncommon, unfortunately. I’m on all the dating apps—‘cept Grindr—and the girls, man, they’re pretty ruthless. You’ll be getting on like tuna and mayo one second then, no warning, they disappear. That’s it. Called ghosting.”
James found this fascinating. He didn’t trust himself around people, so had never gone looking for friendship or love. It meant total avoidance of the new dating apps or anything like that, as well as, it seemed, the dodged bullet of this ghosting phenomenon.
“Or worse, you’ll go on a date, really connect, or you think so, then nothing. Again, just like that. Or they won’t show at all. That’s about as shit as it gets. It’s not like I’m exposing myself to these girls or anything. It’s the competition, I reckon. They’re getting chatted up by all these guys, and they keep going until they make their decision. That’s fine. That I get. I’d do the same if I could get more than one person to talk to me at once, but would it kill them to explain? Even a form message. ‘Thank you for your interest. Unfortunately, on this occasion, I’ve decided to go with a different fella. I wish you luck in your future dating endeavours.’ That would work.”
James laughed, and not knowing how else to help, jumped in with the platitudes and cliches.
“You’ll find someone. It’s just about meeting the right person. One day it’ll click for you both, and it’ll be the other guys she ghosts, not you.”
“What a positive outlook,” Owen said, pointing. “You must have found someone already. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s where this disgustingly unrealistic attitude comes from. Go on. You can tell me. I promise not to hate you or smash this glass on your head. Well, probably not.”
Trying his best not to look at Megan, James nodded.
“There’s someone.”
“You’re very coy. You in love?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah you do,” he said, waving a hand. “But you don’t want to say; it’s too soon, you don’t want to jinx it. I get that. But I’ve been in love. I know what it looks like. What it feels like. You’d do just about anything for this one you’re not sure you love, I reckon. I’ve felt that too.”
To this, James did not respond. Still resisting the urge to glance at Megan, he considered Owen’s comments on jinxing, knowing they were spot on. Wasn’t he in the process of proving he would do anything for her? They’d yet to have their first date, but he was already falling in love. Dumb, but true.
“Let’s not worry about me,” he said. “Maybe the love of your life is here tonight. Let’s find her.”
They spent time scanning the crowd for possible loves of lives, but it was clear Owen was too nervous to approach anyone. Not that it wasn’t fun to speculate. They continued to play until Lars brushed past James.
“Oi, useless, we’re closing. Sort another glass run, will you?”
James gave Owen an apologetic look.
“Hey, don’t worry. I got to get moving anyway. Cheer
s for keeping me company. You’ve been a wonderful stand-in date.”
They said goodbye and James did one more glass run, this time with greater care, collecting and delivering glasses as people finished drinks grabbed during last call and began to filter out, then he approached the bar.
“We got this,” Lars said. “Get your stuff.”
Although he understood Lars’ reluctance to readmit him behind the bar for cleanup, the comment still stung. James wondered if he was ruining his early progress with poor bar skills and crap effort.
Still, no use pouting, so he made his way up the metal steps he had limped down the previous night. At the top his eyes swept to the table where Megan and Harris had drunk together, today occupied by a bald guy and red-headed girl kissing with enough gusto to suggest they would need to be prised apart before they would leave. James watched them a couple of seconds, then rushed through the door and into the small corridor beyond the mezzanine.
It was quiet here. No sound emanating from behind any of the doors. James had seen Tahir on the bar floor early in the evening, but he’d gone out for a couple of hours. Since his return, James had only seen him once and guessed the bar manager had now gone home.
It didn’t matter. James made his way towards the staff room then stopped. Rotating with the speed of a rusting security camera, he faced the door he had stepped through last night.
Locked, presumably?
Then again. It had been open yesterday, and the police would have been through it. Would Tahir have had the presence of mind to lock it after? Probably, but he would have been preoccupied, and after all, there had been nothing of interest kept there, so what was there to lock away?
He reached out and gripped the handle. Knowing this would make a sound he listened again to determine if he was alone, and could hear nothing but the soft thud of music struggling through the near soundproofed door onto the mezzanine.
After a few seconds of waiting, listening, he pushed the door and stepped over the threshold, standing with his shoulder holding the door open as he had last night.
