features all compressed together in a permanent jeer in the center of his large round face. He pointed a stubby finger at me, mouthed my name, took off his hat, swept it down and across his chest and bowed his head. Then he turned away and muttered something, and his lackeys yelled with ugly laughter.
Change and decay in all around I see…
But Podge Halligan would always be a prick. He was bigger than us, but it was all fat; he used to be the one Halligan everyone could beat up. Half the time his brothers wouldn’t even come after you in revenge. They beat him up all the time as well, figured that was what he deserved. So Podge hung around with kids three and four years younger than him, and beat them up. Soon he had his own little gang. They preyed on the very young and the very old. When Podge was fifteen, he and two twelve-year-old mates mugged a seventy-six-year-old man for his pension. Only the man was a WWII veteran, the twelve-year-olds ran away, and the old soldier broke Podge’s right arm and three of his ribs. After Leo broke his left arm for making a show of them, the other Halligans decided it was time to take Podge under their wing. He might be more hindrance than help, but at least they could control the embarrassment factor if they were keeping an eye on him.
I got another double Jameson, from a tiny girl in crimson plaits this time, and drank it staring at Podge Halligan’s back. I went around the lounge and in through the side door that connected with the bar. My shoes clicked on the old tile floor. I walked up to Podge Halligan, chest out, fast enough for him to come off his stool and through his ring of thugs to greet me.
“Ed Loy, lookin’ good, man,” he said, his reedy voice too high-pitched for his bulk.
“Well, Podge. Looking good yourself. Working out and so on. You’re not a fat cunt anymore. Where does that leave you, just a cunt now, are you?”
Podge was so taken aback he began to laugh.
“Fuck’s sake, Ed. Nice to see you an’ all.”
Podge stepped back, and his boys began to move between us. I held them off.
“I’m here for Tommy,” I said.
“Who?”
“Tommy Owens. You asked him to meet you here. I’ve come in his place.”
Podge flexed his shoulders and rolled his massive neck.
“You got here early, Ed. Suppose that’s on account of you not being a crippledy prick like Tommy. What does that make you, just a prick, are you?”
Podge’s boys yelled with sycophantic laughter. Podge’s face glowed burgundy with stupid glee. I could feel the whiskey heat in my chest. My eyes were boiling. I stepped up to Podge again.
“This is a warning, Podge. Don’t fuck with Tommy Owens. Got me? If you’re trying to set him up for something, it’s not gonna work, all right?”
Podge was still beaming.
“Set him up? For what? I know lads, to knock him down, like a skittle, wha’?”
I grabbed Podge by the T-shirt, and heard the material rip.
“Tommy doesn’t have the gun anymore. So forget about it, okay?”
Podge stopped laughing. He turned around and said “Noel” to the barman, a burly fifty-year-old in a tight gray jumper. Noel vanished into the lounge and slid the gantry doors shut.
The first punch came from a blue baseball cap on my right, but I had to take it, as it was the tall guy on my left with the nose ring I needed to stop first. I jabbed Nose Ring twice in the Adam’s apple with my elbow, and having let my jaw ride with two punches from Blue Cap, I stepped inside the third and smashed him in the face with my forehead. I grabbed him by the ears and head-butted him again. I heard a crack, and could feel the squish of cartilage and the hot spray of blood against my forehead and in my hair. I pushed him down and stepped away. Nose Ring was holding his throat, still gasping for air. There were three others, but Podge moved in front of them. He hit me once full in the stomach and I doubled up and dropped to my knees, winded, desperate for breath. I felt
Change and decay in all around I see…
But Podge Halligan would always be a prick. He was bigger than us, but it was all fat; he used to be the one Halligan everyone could beat up. Half the time his brothers wouldn’t even come after you in revenge. They beat him up all the time as well, figured that was what he deserved. So Podge hung around with kids three and four years younger than him, and beat them up. Soon he had his own little gang. They preyed on the very young and the very old. When Podge was fifteen, he and two twelve-year-old mates mugged a seventy-six-year-old man for his pension. Only the man was a WWII veteran, the twelve-year-olds ran away, and the old soldier broke Podge’s right arm and three of his ribs. After Leo broke his left arm for making a show of them, the other Halligans decided it was time to take Podge under their wing. He might be more hindrance than help, but at least they could control the embarrassment factor if they were keeping an eye on him.
I got another double Jameson, from a tiny girl in crimson plaits this time, and drank it staring at Podge Halligan’s back. I went around the lounge and in through the side door that connected with the bar. My shoes clicked on the old tile floor. I walked up to Podge Halligan, chest out, fast enough for him to come off his stool and through his ring of thugs to greet me.
“Ed Loy, lookin’ good, man,” he said, his reedy voice too high-pitched for his bulk.
“Well, Podge. Looking good yourself. Working out and so on. You’re not a fat cunt anymore. Where does that leave you, just a cunt now, are you?”
Podge was so taken aback he began to laugh.
“Fuck’s sake, Ed. Nice to see you an’ all.”
Podge stepped back, and his boys began to move between us. I held them off.
“I’m here for Tommy,” I said.
“Who?”
“Tommy Owens. You asked him to meet you here. I’ve come in his place.”
Podge flexed his shoulders and rolled his massive neck.
“You got here early, Ed. Suppose that’s on account of you not being a crippledy prick like Tommy. What does that make you, just a prick, are you?”
Podge’s boys yelled with sycophantic laughter. Podge’s face glowed burgundy with stupid glee. I could feel the whiskey heat in my chest. My eyes were boiling. I stepped up to Podge again.
“This is a warning, Podge. Don’t fuck with Tommy Owens. Got me? If you’re trying to set him up for something, it’s not gonna work, all right?”
Podge was still beaming.
“Set him up? For what? I know lads, to knock him down, like a skittle, wha’?”
I grabbed Podge by the T-shirt, and heard the material rip.
“Tommy doesn’t have the gun anymore. So forget about it, okay?”
Podge stopped laughing. He turned around and said “Noel” to the barman, a burly fifty-year-old in a tight gray jumper. Noel vanished into the lounge and slid the gantry doors shut.
The first punch came from a blue baseball cap on my right, but I had to take it, as it was the tall guy on my left with the nose ring I needed to stop first. I jabbed Nose Ring twice in the Adam’s apple with my elbow, and having let my jaw ride with two punches from Blue Cap, I stepped inside the third and smashed him in the face with my forehead. I grabbed him by the ears and head-butted him again. I heard a crack, and could feel the squish of cartilage and the hot spray of blood against my forehead and in my hair. I pushed him down and stepped away. Nose Ring was holding his throat, still gasping for air. There were three others, but Podge moved in front of them. He hit me once full in the stomach and I doubled up and dropped to my knees, winded, desperate for breath. I felt
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