Barry tierney leaned into the bar, raised himself on the little brass rail that skirted its base. The barmen were ignoring him.
‘Prick’s not wanting to serve us, Vee.’
Vee twiddled the black straw in her vodka and Coke. She looked uncomfortable in the George Street style-bar, twitching and jerking at her new blouse.
This part of town was for people with money to spend, lots of money. It was for the bank workers and the young professionals, thought Tierney. They didn’t want him there; they hated him and he hated them back.
‘Hey, you going to serve me?’ he shouted.
One barman was polishing a glass, looked over to Tierney and sighed. The action sparked something in the junkie. He wanted to take the glass from the barman’s hand and thrust it in his face. The bastard, the cheeky bastard looking down his nose at me, he thought.
‘Look at this, Vee… He’s talking to his boss.’
Vee put down her glass, slapped the bar. ‘Hey, you serving here?’
The bar staff looked around them, approached Vee and Tierney. ‘If you don’t keep the noise down, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘Eh, what you on about?’ said Tierney. ‘I’m just trying to get a few drinks in here.’
The barman who had been polishing the glass rolled eyes, said, ‘I think, perhaps, you’ve had enough, sir.’
‘Oh do you, perhaps?’ Tierney spat out the last word. Some flecks of spittle landed on the barman’s black waistcoat.
‘Right, that’s it. Out!’ The other one pushed forward. He slid past the cappuccino machine and opened up the bar counter. He stood hands on hips as he called over the door stewards.
‘Fuck this,’ said Tierney. He launched himself at the man behind the bar. He could feel himself being pulled back as he lunged and immediately realised the door steward had caught a hold of him.
‘Right, don’t make this hard on yourself.’ He sounded Australian, or South African; he was foreign.
‘Get your hands off me, you’re not even Scottish… Get back to your own fucking country.’
Vee threw back the last of her vodka and Coke and joined the melee. She smashed the glass over the steward’s head and screamed, ‘Leave him, you bastard!’
Shrieks went up around the bar. Chairs scraped on the floor as people moved away.
‘Get them out! Get them out!’ shouted the manager.
People ran to left and right, headed for the edges of the room to be free of the scene. A group of reinforcements — more stewards — arrived from the front door and Tierney and Vee were bundled onto the pavement. Tierney struggled with the men in black jackets, lashed out and kicked. As Vee was dragged she lost one of her new shoes and removed the other to hit at her attackers.
‘Fuck off… Bastards!’
When they got them far enough from the bar, the stewards dropped them on the ground and backed off. They brushed down their jackets as they went.
Tierney ranted, ‘You’re fucking dead, you are!’
‘Calm down, just calm down,’ said the biggest of them. ‘We’ve called the police and they’re on their way.’
Tierney got up, jutted his head at him. ‘You’re dead! Do you know who I am? Barry Tierney, ask about town. I’ll be back to do you in.’
Vee swung her bag as the men retreated indoors, shaking their heads. ‘You’ve lost it, love,’ said one of them.
‘Let the cops deal with them,’ said another.
Tierney watched them go inside. The blood rushed in his veins. He felt his adrenaline spike and looked around for something to throw at the window. There was nothing, no brick or an ashtray even. He scoped about — further up the street there was a chrome stanchion, outside the next bar. He ran over and unhooked the red cord. The stanchion was heavy; he struggled with it down the street but somehow managed to get it onto his shoulder.
‘Vee, get ready to run. I’ll show those bastards.’
Tierney edged closer to the window and started to spin with the stanchion in his arms. When he felt he had enough momentum he released his grip. The noise from the smashing window was like the one o’clock gun. Tierney and Vee ran off, laughing and jeering.
The pair made for Hanover Street and kept going until they were completely out of breath.
‘Did you see their faces?’ said Tierney.
Vee struggled to stay upright, gasped. ‘Yeah… Total fucking idiots. You showed them, Barry.’
‘I showed them.’ Tierney felt proud of himself; no one was going to talk to him like that. It was a great feeling to have a few quid in your pocket. He didn’t want to think about how he’d come by it, but that didn’t matter now. He was free of his debts to the Deil, he’d scored enough to see him through the weeks ahead and he had a new set of clothes and more money in his pocket to spend.
He stepped into the road and flagged a black cab. ‘Come on.’
‘Where to?’
‘The night is young, so it is.’
Vee giggled as she was dragged into the cab. Tierney gave the driver the name of another bar — he couldn’t sober up. Not now. As he sat in the back of the cab his mind returned to the events of the last few days and he felt his bolster subside.
‘What is it?’ said Vee.
‘Nothing.’
She knew well what it was, he thought. As he looked at her, eyes slow-blinking, out of it as ever, he knew she was going to be a constant reminder to him. He looked away, out to the road, the hum of street lights and the blur of shopfronts and takeaways on Broughton Street. He felt sick — not physically, deeper than that. He felt sick in his soul.
‘Barry, what the fuck’s up now?’ said Vee.
‘Shut it,’ he snapped.
The driver’s eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror. Tierney flagged him down. ‘It’s okay, mate. No bother here.’
Vee tugged at his arm. ‘You’ve gone all moody again.’
‘I told you to shut it.’
The driver was getting anxious, kept looking back.
Vee spat at him, ‘You’re not telling me to-’
He snapped, grabbed her head in his hands and screamed in her face, ‘I told you, shut it. I don’t want to hear your fucking voice again.’
The cab screeched to a halt. ‘That’s it!’ shouted the driver.
Tierney watched the cabbie open his door and walk round to his side of the street. He pulled the handle and opened up. ‘You can walk from here.’
Tierney squeezed Vee’s head in his hands, then banged it off the seat. ‘That was your fucking fault. It’s always your fault!’
As he got out he eyeballed the cabbie, who reached behind him and helped Vee to her feet. ‘Hey, she can walk herself…’ Tierney watched the cab driver help Vee and felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He let out a fist that connected with the back of the man’s head and he fell to the ground. Where he lay Tierney started to kick him; when he tired of kicking he started to stamp on his head. Soon he was too exhausted to continue, panting and wheezing, his chest aching.
When Vee got out of the car she staggered over the cabbie. He spluttered blood as he tried to speak, raised a hand.
Vee looked at Barry and then she brought her foot down on the cab driver’s face. There was an audible crunch, the breaking of bone, and she laughed out.
Barry watched her for a moment. She was lining up another blow, balancing herself by holding the taxi’s roof to give her more purchase. She looked enraged. Barry wondered why.
‘Vee, pack it in.’
She didn’t listen as she tried to drive her heel into the cabbie’s face.
‘Vee… leave it,’ Barry roared, but the words had no effect.
A crowd had started to gather, a few muttering and gesturing to others to intervene.
Barry knew it was time to move on. He grabbed Vee’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Away… away from here.’