Sam had heard it all before. The gang politics. Turf wars. People to avoid no matter how innocent they appeared.
His mind wandered, subconsciously taking in the noises of his surroundings. The other patrons of the pub idly chatting, the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the annoying beeps of the fruit machine followed by the clunking of coins as it paid out — probably considerably less than it had taken.
Upstairs, a group of lads were playing pool, arguing about the two-shot rule after a foul shot.
‘You can’t move the fucking cue ball!’ Sam heard one of them say before the mingling of opposing arguments blocked any coherent statements from being heard.
'Oi, Sam, are you listening?'
Sam was dragged back from his mind-wander, much to his chagrin.
'Yes, Dave, I'm listening. Red haired bloke. On his way up.'
Dave continued, stride unbroken.
'That's right. He's making waves alright. He's already got a girl out working. Loves her bed she does, it's almost like it goes everywhere with her.'
Sam once again let his mind start wandering, this time making sure he nodded his head at the appropriate places. He took another sip of his drink, glass nearly empty.
At least I can escape to the bar in a minute, he thought.
'And then you've got his dealer.' Said Dave. 'Nasty looking bloke. Weird hair, three spikes. Like the bloke from the Prodigy, what's his name?'
'Keith Flint?' offered Sam.
'Yeah, that's him. Took up Superbikes for a while, but now producing again.'
'The very same.' agreed Sam.
'Well, anyway, the one who's got the three spikes on his head deals rocks. Loves them he does. The purest, cleanest rocks you can get.'
The pub door opened and two twenty-something girls walked in giggling. Stopping off for a drink before hitting a club.
'Jesus!' exclaimed Dave, 'Check those two out. Fit.'
Sam looked around at the girls and then turned back to Dave.
'Dream on, Dave. You've got no chance, you're at least twice their age.'
'One can always dream.' Replied Dave, with a sigh. 'Right, as I was saying, there's the working girl and the dealer, but to keep things running smoothly he's got three enforcers.
‘Now, to look at, they’re nothing special. One of them’s even a bird. But man, they are vicious. They collect from the workers — the working girl and the dealer. They also run a little racket, got a couple of houses they “protect”. They target big families, threaten the kiddies. Ruthless.’
The pub door opened once more and Mickey walked in. The outside heat rushed by him as if desperate to get to the bar and quench its thirst. He took off his baseball cap and sunglasses and waved his hands up and down in front of his face in a fan-like way, desperate to get the heat away from him and cooler air on his face.
He looked around the spacious pub, looking for Sam and Dave, oblivious to the fact that just about every woman in the pub was gazing at him.
Mickey spotted his mates and headed to their table. Dave was mid-sentence, Sam looked bored.
‘And that’s why you don’t fuck with this mob.’ Finished Dave.
‘Evening gent. Is he on about bloody gangs again, Sam?’ Asked Mickey.
‘Afraid so mate.’ Replied Sam.
‘Right Dave, you twat. How many times do I have to tell you? In The Night Garden is a kid’s show, not a documentary. Now shut the fuck up and get the beers in.’
They all laughed. The best of mates. They’d heard Dave’s interpretation of the children’s show many a time, and Sam had to admit that when the show was on in his house, for Jack to watch, he’d always have a chuckle as he matched Dave’s descriptions to the actions of the strange characters on screen. It was uncanny. At times he thought that he could imagine them in the roles Dave had dreamt up. But what worried him more was why Dave was watching the show in the first place.
Dave stood. ‘Right same again?’
Sam and Mickey looked at each other. Puzzled.
‘Fucking hell, Dave,’ exclaimed Mickey, ‘are you getting the beers in without any prompting?’
‘Yeah, I need to talk to 007 about something. I think I might have something of great National Security to discuss with him.’ He winked, shot finger-guns at Sam, turned, and headed for the bar.
‘What was that about?’ Sam asked, smirking at Mickey.
‘Haven’t got a clue mate,’ replied Mickey, ‘you know what he’s like, full of shit.’
‘Yeah I’ll drink to that. So how’s things?’
‘Not too bad mate, nearly got into the MOD before I came out. Jesus they’ve got some good security. I’m quite glad about that, actually. Wouldn’t want any old tosser getting their hands on the country’s nuclear launch codes.’
‘Mickey, you do know who I work for, right? Are you sure you should be telling me this?’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter, because I didn’t get in.’
‘Even so, mate, just telling me puts me in an awkward position.’
Mickey smiled meekly.
‘Yeah, I know, sorry mate, but you know I never actually do anything. I only try to breach the security, and then I get the hell out of Dodge.’
He smiled again, but felt slightly put out by his friends lack of enthusiasm.
‘Yeah, I know mate, sorry. I’m just a bit stressed, didn’t mean to have a go.’ Sam replied, sheepishly.
‘So how’s it going, the investigation?’ Mickey asked.
Sam was about to answer when Dave returned, precariously holding three pints. He slid them onto the table and took his seat. With a smug look on his face, he leaned forward staring, as serious as Sam, or anyone for that matter, had ever seen him.
‘You need to call your boss.’ He told Sam.
‘Why’s that, Dave?’ Sam asked, already sure this was going to be a long, laborious conversation.
‘Remember I told you about that interference the other week?’
‘Yeah, I have a vague recollection.’
‘Well we’ve found the source.’
‘So it’s not pirate radio?’
‘No it’s an alien mothership. It’s sat on the dark side of the moon.’
Dave cracked up. To him it was the funniest thing ever.
Mickey shot a look at Dave, followed up with ‘You’re such a twat, you know that?’
‘Yeah, I know, but a funny twat.’ He took a sip of his drink.
‘Anyway. If MI5 look after the UK, and MI6 is interested in international affairs, who looks after space then, Bond?’
Sam put his drink back onto his beer mat.
‘I don’t know Dave, the European Space Agency, NASA? Who cares? Might be the bloody Men in Black for all I know.’
‘They’re Yanks though,’ said Dave, seriously.
Mickey joined in, smirking like a schoolboy.
‘Actually Dave, I think you’ll find they’re an international organisation that operates above any government.’
‘Really?’ Asked Dave, as serious as ever.
‘They’re not real, Dave.’ Sam said exasperated.
‘Anyway, if you can be serious for a moment, did you get to the bottom of that interference?’
‘No, not yet, it’s happened again since. Couple of times actually.’
‘Bizarre.’ Sam concluded.
They all silently agreed, with nods and subtle gestures.
‘Anyway lads, I needed this.’ Explained Sam. lifting his pint and nodding toward it.
‘It’s great to see you both. Been a bloody difficult time. I’ve hardly been home.’
Mickey nodded a ‘Hello’ to a girl passing their table.
‘Jesus, he’s got no idea.’ Said Dave.
‘What you on about Top Gear?’
‘What am I on about? Did you see the way she was gawping at you? If that wink wasn’t a come-on, I don’t know what is.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ replied Mickey.