Dave slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Give me strength.’ He muttered.
‘Any leads then?’ Asked Mickey returning to the conversation.
‘Alright, this is too freaky to keep to myself.’
Sam looked around the pub conspiratorially.
‘This cannot go beyond these four walls.’
His companions leaned in towards him.
‘This is Official Secrets Act bollocks as Dave so eloquently described it last time.’
Dave looked pleased with himself at the fact his quote had been remembered. Sam continued.
‘If this gets out, I’m up on Treason, or some such charge.’
‘Drama Queen.’ Dave muttered into his pint.
‘Stop fucking about Dave. I know I can trust Mickey. The shit he gets up to with a computer, I’m surprised he’s not doing time already.’
Mickey looked aghast.
‘That’s a bit harsh mate.’
‘Yeah sorry, Bud, that does sound a bit, um, wrong. In quite a lot of ways.’
Mickey nodded acceptance of his friend’s apology. Sam continued.
‘What I’m saying is, Mick, I know I can trust you. As for this gobby little shite.’
He poked a thumb a Dave, who looked incredulous.
‘Thanks a bunch. Mate.’ said Dave.
‘You know what I mean Dave, you have a piss without getting some on your hands and you’ll send an email to your entire bloody company.’
Mickey started laughing, unfortunately with a mouthful of beer. He started choking, desperately trying to swallow the liquid before he had no other choice than to spit it out. It ended with a compromise. Half being spat back into his glass.
‘Don’t look so cool now, do you?’ Sniggered Dave. ‘And thanks again Sam. Good to know who my mates are.’
‘Now who’s being a drama Queen, Dave? Anyway I need to know I can trust you, because I could go down for a very long time.’
Dave and Mickey nodded affirmation.
‘Right, well Mickey can get the beers while I try and think of a way to tell you this without putting your lives in danger.’
‘You’re doing it again Sam.’ Said Dave.
‘Doing what?’ asked Sam.
‘Being a fucking drama Queen.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘No. Fucking. Way.’ Said Dave. A lengthy pause for emphasis between each word. Faye, the barmaid, wandered to the table, collecting empties. Mickey blushed.
‘Sorry, Faye.’ He said. ‘He gets a bit carried away.’ He nodded toward Dave, just so Faye understood who he was talking about.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Said Faye, seeing off the apology with a nonchalant flick of the wrist. ‘It doesn’t bother me. It’s just how you lads talk.’
At forty three, Faye looked at least ten years older. Too many holidays spent on the beach at Spanish resorts, and weekends in tanning salons in between, had aged her skin beyond the reach of any cream that eighty seven percent of women say made a difference and her hair was only blonde because she’s worth it.
Those who consider themselves to be of a higher social standing than Faye might describe her as common, her contemporaries would describe her as good for a laugh and up for it, while those of a lower social standing would more than likely think of her as glamorous.
Always tanned and well dressed in the latest market-acquired knock-off designer gear, or cheap imitations, she carried a few extra pounds due to the amount of pub leftovers and takeaways consumed in the course of her hectic daily life.
She was well known for speaking her mind and not caring what others thought about it, and would be the first to admit she’s been round the block a few times. Dave thought she was great.
She thought for a moment, then continued.
‘Anyway, you three are quite tame compared to some of the arses that come in here.’
She smiled, she enjoyed a bit of banter with some of her more welcome clientele.
‘Some right foul mouthed yobs we get in here sometimes. And at least you don’t just sit at the bar and stare at my tits like Nobber does.’
She paused, turned to Mickey and stroked his cheek.
‘Not that I’d mind you having a look at my tits Mickey. You’re more than welcome.’
Dave averted his gaze from Faye’s chest, just before she caught him looking.
Bloody hell. How does he do it and not know? Dave asked himself.
There’s just no justice in the world.
Mickey shook his head. An ice cream, brain freeze type of shake. Trying to bring himself back to the present. He looked bemused, his brow creased. He had no idea what Faye had just said.
‘Anyway Faye, how did he get that nickname, Nobber I mean?’ Dave asked, desperately, not wanting Faye to leave straight away.
Sam was getting impatient, the biggest story of his life and Dave was talking to the barmaid about a bloke at the bar who was rolling himself a cigarette. The contents of which didn’t appear to be the right side of legal.
Faye sat in one of the empty chairs situated at their table and put down the tower of glasses. Sam sighed. Faye ignored it before starting her tale.
‘Well, rumour has it, and it is just a rumour, that Nobber used to have a mate up North who ran a car dealership.’
Dave was rooted. Mickey was indifferent, though in reality, he was the only reason Faye was still there. Sam looked pissed off. He defiantly folded his arms and sat back. Defensive body language. He absently gazed around the pub. Faye didn’t get the message. The story went on.
‘Nobber and this mate of his used to partake in… well let’s say some dodgy additives for their fags.’
Just like the one he’s rolling now. At your bar. Thought Sam.
Dave nodded. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Mickey, was still indifferent.
‘So one day, after a few hours of recreational smoking, the mate decides it would be a laugh to swap Nobber’s number plates. Obviously, he didn’t want to draw too much attention to Nobber, or get him into trouble with the law and all, so he chose N-O-8-8-E-R. Funny Bastard, he made up a set of front and rear plates and put them on Nobber’s car.’
They were all starting to warm to the story now, even Sam was finding it quite amusing. A prank he could imagine his motley crew having a go at. Probably at Dave’s expense. He asked. ‘So did he notice?’
‘Well no.’ Faye replied. ‘That’s the funny bit. He drove all the way from Donnington to Andover with those plates on, then spent another three days with them on before his mate phoned, wondering why he hadn’t phoned him to give him an earful. Silly fool.’
She laughed and stood up, much to Dave’s annoyance.
The group laughed and Faye continued her round of pot collecting. Their laughter caught Nobber’s attention and as he looked over to the group, they raised their glasses to him and gave a cheer. Nobber looked confused. He went outside to enjoy his cigarette.
Dave was once again hit by desperation, Faye was at the next table.
‘Before you go Faye,’ Dave started, ‘did I ever tell you I was once…’ Sam and Mickey joined in, ‘security for Robert Plant?’ They all laughed and clinked glasses.
Then Dave suddenly remembered they were in the middle of Sam’s story.
‘So Sam, to get back to your story, the big fucker you was eying up that night? He’s the bomber? Are you having a laugh?’
‘I wish I was, Dave.’ Said Sam. ‘He’s been paying tramps a ton apiece to put bombs in litter bins.’
‘Shit.’ was Mickey’s only contribution. His pint had only made it halfway to his lips when that single expletive seemed to freeze it in space and time.
‘Wait until I tell…’ Started Dave.
‘Not a bloody word, Dave, or I’ll roast your testicles. Got it?’