all sorts of different ways in which drunkenness manifests itself, no question about that. Leyman Blizzard's was fairly harmless. He didn't get aggressive, he didn't slur his words, he didn't get maudlin, he didn't marry someone he shouldn't, he didn't pick fights just for the hell of it. What did happen was that he talked incessantly about Elvis.
'Don't,' said Barney. 'Just don't keep telling me about bloody Elvis. I know you cut the bastard's hair. I know you told him he should stick to rock 'n' roll and that if he'd listened to you he'd still be alive today. I know all that. Give us a break, will you?'
'Are you saying that I've told you all this before, is that it, Mr Fancy Pants Haircutting Bastard?'
'Aye, you told me last night, and the night before that. And you also mention it in the bloody shop every time some idiot with black hair walks in. Just give us a break. Could you no' have cut John F. Kennedy's hair tonight or something?'
'But I didn't cut that bastard's hair. I cut Elvis's hair, didn't I no'?'
'Aye, so you've said.'
Leyman Blizzard held his hands up in some sort of weird, drunken gesture; waved them around a little; nodded his head.
'All right, son, all right, you may have a point. But face it, at least I'm pissed when I start going on about the King, and at least it's a true story. You, on the other hand, are always sober and haven't shut up about how you're Barney bloody Thomson since you got here.'
Barney did the 'Penalty, ref!' gesture and shook his head.
'What do you want me to say, Leyman? I am Barney Thomson, I can't help it. I am who I am.'
'There you go with your cod philosophy. Why don't you hand yourself in to the polis, then?'
'Come on, Leyman, I've tried that. You know I've tried it. They're no' interested. The second lot I went to I even suggested they do a DNA test on me, and the bloke told me to clear off. Said they'd run out of money to do DNA tests 'cause they'd done so many in the past year. What can I do, Leyman? I'm stuffed. And you're stuck with me.'
Blizzard swallowed the last of his fourteenth and final whisky for the night – a man who knew his limit. He shook his head, reached across the table and gripped Barney by the hand. Barney felt a little self-conscious and hoped no one was looking.
'You'll be the saviour of my shop, son,' said Blizzard. 'I can't imagine it without you now. I hope you're going to be here for years to come. You're a good pal, 'n' all.'
He took his hand away as he spoke, allowing Barney to feel more comfortable and appreciate the sentiment. Needed, liked and respected. What more could he really want?
'Just a couple of bits of advice,' continued Leyman, and Barney was not entirely sure he wanted to hear them. 'First of all, you've got to get yourself a shag, Big Man. There are plenty of women out there, you've got to get stuck in, you know?'
'Right.'
'And another thing. Don't know if this is for you, or no'. Might be, might not. We'll see.'
He did an exaggerated thing with his hand while he paused, indicating maybe, maybe not. Barney leaned forward, although he didn't know why he was that interested. When is advice from drunk men ever even remotely applicable to this planet, never mind the situation to which they are referring? Barney was not to know that this advice would seem strangely relevant, would seem like the perfect foil to the uncertainties over his past and would ultimately plant him firmly, once more, in the nest of vipers.
He strained to hear above the cheering coming from the dartboard area.
'I know somebody who knows somebody else,' said Leyman, lifting his eyebrows.
'Aye?' said Barney, when nothing else was immediately forthcoming.
Blizzard tapped the side of his nose in an exaggerated manner; winked excessively; nodded his head. And then he slowly collapsed onto the table, so that his face lay in among the whisky swill, his mouth was squashed open and his nose was bent to the right.
Some other time, then, thought
'Don't,' said Barney. 'Just don't keep telling me about bloody Elvis. I know you cut the bastard's hair. I know you told him he should stick to rock 'n' roll and that if he'd listened to you he'd still be alive today. I know all that. Give us a break, will you?'
'Are you saying that I've told you all this before, is that it, Mr Fancy Pants Haircutting Bastard?'
'Aye, you told me last night, and the night before that. And you also mention it in the bloody shop every time some idiot with black hair walks in. Just give us a break. Could you no' have cut John F. Kennedy's hair tonight or something?'
'But I didn't cut that bastard's hair. I cut Elvis's hair, didn't I no'?'
'Aye, so you've said.'
Leyman Blizzard held his hands up in some sort of weird, drunken gesture; waved them around a little; nodded his head.
'All right, son, all right, you may have a point. But face it, at least I'm pissed when I start going on about the King, and at least it's a true story. You, on the other hand, are always sober and haven't shut up about how you're Barney bloody Thomson since you got here.'
Barney did the 'Penalty, ref!' gesture and shook his head.
'What do you want me to say, Leyman? I am Barney Thomson, I can't help it. I am who I am.'
'There you go with your cod philosophy. Why don't you hand yourself in to the polis, then?'
'Come on, Leyman, I've tried that. You know I've tried it. They're no' interested. The second lot I went to I even suggested they do a DNA test on me, and the bloke told me to clear off. Said they'd run out of money to do DNA tests 'cause they'd done so many in the past year. What can I do, Leyman? I'm stuffed. And you're stuck with me.'
Blizzard swallowed the last of his fourteenth and final whisky for the night – a man who knew his limit. He shook his head, reached across the table and gripped Barney by the hand. Barney felt a little self-conscious and hoped no one was looking.
'You'll be the saviour of my shop, son,' said Blizzard. 'I can't imagine it without you now. I hope you're going to be here for years to come. You're a good pal, 'n' all.'
He took his hand away as he spoke, allowing Barney to feel more comfortable and appreciate the sentiment. Needed, liked and respected. What more could he really want?
'Just a couple of bits of advice,' continued Leyman, and Barney was not entirely sure he wanted to hear them. 'First of all, you've got to get yourself a shag, Big Man. There are plenty of women out there, you've got to get stuck in, you know?'
'Right.'
'And another thing. Don't know if this is for you, or no'. Might be, might not. We'll see.'
He did an exaggerated thing with his hand while he paused, indicating maybe, maybe not. Barney leaned forward, although he didn't know why he was that interested. When is advice from drunk men ever even remotely applicable to this planet, never mind the situation to which they are referring? Barney was not to know that this advice would seem strangely relevant, would seem like the perfect foil to the uncertainties over his past and would ultimately plant him firmly, once more, in the nest of vipers.
He strained to hear above the cheering coming from the dartboard area.
'I know somebody who knows somebody else,' said Leyman, lifting his eyebrows.
'Aye?' said Barney, when nothing else was immediately forthcoming.
Blizzard tapped the side of his nose in an exaggerated manner; winked excessively; nodded his head. And then he slowly collapsed onto the table, so that his face lay in among the whisky swill, his mouth was squashed open and his nose was bent to the right.
Some other time, then, thought
Similar Books
