The Rack & Cue Page 2

  “Any chance I can see this table of yours?” Grant asked.

  “Why sure, sure,” Porky said, his grin widening. “Come right this way.”

  “Hang on. Any chance I can get another?”

  Porky looked at the clock mounted on the wall behind him, and saw that it was almost eleven A.M. “I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I shouldn’t have served you that one. It’s not opening time…”

  “But your door was open,” Grant blurted.

  “Yeah, I was just in the process of locking it again. I’ve been taking empty barrels out...”

  “I see. Guess I got lucky.”

  “You did,” Porky said. “What are you doing out so early on a Saturday morning?”

  “Just clocked off. Some of us boys were behind with our work, so we stayed on. All good now, though.”

  “In this weather? Porky asked.

  “We have tents to protect us as we work,” Grant said.

  “I guess one more won’t harm, seeing as I’m showing you the table,” Porky said, taking the glass off Grant and placing it back under the Ancient Breed tap.

  “How long have you been running this place?” Grant asked, watching Porky fill his glass with the mud-coloured liquid.

  “Oo, erm…” Porky wondered, as he rubbed his chin with his spare hand and closed his eyes in concentration. His mouth moved rapidly with his calculations. “Must be close to twenty-five years now,” he answered.

  “Phew,” Grant whistled. “Hell of a long time. Bet you’ve had some right bozos in here over the years.”

  “Ha! Yes, you could say that, sir,” he said, then snorted out a laugh. “But we deal with the troublemakers. They never come back.”

  “Oh?” Grant pushed.

  Porky placed the pint down in front of Grant, managing to slosh a little over the rim, which spattered the counter.

  “We see them on their way, sir, is what I mean,” Porky said, snapping his green braces, which covered a food and ale spattered white shirt. One of the middle buttons was missing, exposing a doughy portion of his gut.

  “I see,” Grant said, taking a long gulp of Breed. “Ah,” he gasped, putting the glass back down. “’Ell of a nice pint, this.”

  “Glad you like it. Maybe you can try one of my famous Porky Pies this evening?” Porky said, beaming ever so angelic.

  “Homemade pies?”

  “Oh, yes. The very finest,” Porky said, putting the tips of his right hand to his lips and kissing them.

  “The cash prize does sound very tempting; I have to admit.”

  “Let me show you something,” Porky said. “Maybe it’ll convince you to come and play this e’ning.”

  “I hope you ain’t going to whip out what I think you’re going to!” Grant said, snorting a laugh into his pint, which caused a bubble effect.

  Porky gave a nervous little smile and said: “No, no such thing, sir.” He then bent down, grunting and sweating as he did so, and retrieved a very old and decrepit looking chest. He set the grubby box down on the counter and set to work on the padlock with a small key he kept around his neck.

  “Did you get that from Long John?” Grant asked.

  Porky didn’t answer, just stood there working the lock with a portion of his tongue protruding from his mouth. “Damn thing is starting to rust,” he told himself. “Must get it replaced.”

  “What ya got in there – the family jewels?” Grant mocked.

  “You’ll see, sir,” Porky said, finally opening the lock and undoing the clasps either side of the box. He lifted the lid and spun it around to show Grant the content. “Two big ‘uns,” he uttered.

  Grant’s eyes almost fell out of his head at the sight of the money, which was placed in neat rows of crisp fifty pound notes.

  “My God!” he managed, then licked away a thin moustache of froth. “You really do have that cash prize. I thought you were shitting me, Tubs.”

  Again Porky let the comment slip and slammed the chest lid shut. “That’s your eyeful copped, sir. Now if you don’t mind…”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “You heard, Tubby. What’s the catch with this tournament of yours? Nobody salts that kind of money away each month, or whatever, just to give it away.”

  “The competition is held yearly, sir,” Porky said.

  “And you just go giving two-grand away?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t buy it,” Grant said, a harshness rising in his voice. “I want to know the catch.”

  “There is no catch, sir,” Porky said, his tone cheerful. “I swear to you.”

  “So you’re telling me that your customers enter it, play one another until there is only one left, then walk away with the lot?”

  “Well, yes. But only if that winner can then go on to beat The Champ, that is.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Champ, sir. The house champion.”

  “So the one who beats everyone else has to go on and play The Champ for the money?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s very good, too. Never lost a game.”

  Grant snorted. “So there is a catch. I bet that money has never been won in all the years you’ve been running the game?”

  “No, sir. Never.”

  “I bloody knew it!”

  “But there isn’t a…”

  “Of course there’s a catch. Who’s The Champ – Ronnie O’Sullivan?!”

  “Er, no. My son is, actually.”

  Grant shook his head. “What a fucking swizzle.”

  Porky looked unimpressed, as he huffed then replaced the box back under the counter. “Right, now, if you don’t mind drinking up and leaving, I have a lot to do ahead of tonight’s...”

  “Show me the table first,” Grant said, almost threateningly.

  “No, I’m afraid it…”

  “Now!” Grant yelled, smacking his fist down on the counter.

  “Right, okay. But very quickly. Then you must leave.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Grant said, getting up and following Porky out to the lounge, which sat in darkness. The red velvet seating and plush tables smacked of wealth. The pool table itself stood under a massive ceiling lamp. There were also ceiling fans and mirrors on the walls that surrounded the playing field. Ancient Breed Beer Co. was etched into the thick glass, along with the pub’s name – The Rack and Cue. The baize also looked fresh, as though it had been brushed that morning. A cue rack clung to one wall, where a giant clock ticked the morning away.

  “Nice room,” Grant said.

  “Right, now, please, sir. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave,” Porky said.

  Grant took down one of the cues, unscrewed the butt and walked over to Porky. He was much taller than the stout landlord, whom he grabbed by the scruff.

  “Now this is how it’s going to go down, fat man. You’re going to give me that box in the bar, along with the key.”

  “You can’t—” Porky started, as he wriggled like a virgin.

  “Yes, I can. Now. Hand over the key, or I’m going to smash your cunting skull in with this cue!” Grant yelled in Porky’s face. “I’m fucking warning—”

  The cue was harshly yanked from Grant’s hand as he was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around; his grip on Porky lost.

  “Big mistake,” Porky told Grant, smoothing his shirt back into place.

  “Jesus Christ!” Grant bellowed, as he stared into the eyes of a gigantic woman, clad in what could only be described as bondage clothing. A gimp mask, complete with zipper across the mouth, covered the woman’s face.

  “Who…” Grant begun, but his words were cut short as he was hoisted off his feet and slammed down onto a table.

  Grant screamed a high-pitch scream as the S&M freak pummelled his face and skull with the cue. Blood spattered the walls, tables, and slowly seeped and soaked into the carpet.

  The smacking sounds turned wet and sloppy after the twentieth or thirtieth welt, as Grant’s face st
arted to resemble a mound of mashed potato. His body twitched and flopped as the huge woman continued to beat at the obliterated face.

  “Enough, Baby,” Porky said.

  On that command, the woman stopped lashing Grant and stood up straight. Her chest heaved with rapid breathing.

  “Take him to Doc,” Porky ordered Baby.

  Listening, Baby scooped Grant up and off the table, throwing him over her shoulder like a sack o’spuds.

  “It would seem the party has started early,” Porky said. Then begun laughing hysterically, and slapping his thigh, as he watched Baby carry the carcass off to the cellar entrance. The wall of a woman threw the body down the cellar steps, which tobogganed the wooden hill with unruly speed.

  Chapter 3

  “Mandy. Mandy, love. Wake up,” Grace called, as she shook her friend who was asleep in a sleeping bag by her side. “I think the rain may have stopped now,” she continued, unzipping her bag and getting to her bare knees – being naked around her best friend didn’t bother her.

  Crawling over to the tent’s flaps, she pulled the zipper down and peeled one side back. Grace then proceeded to tie it to the inside of the tent.

  “Glorious,” she scoffed, as she watched the rain pour down. “Any more of this, and we’re going to get washed away.”

  “Ugh, ugh,” Mandy groaned, beginning to stir. “Turn the lights out, will ya. It’s too bright and way too early.”

  “Too early?” Grace laughed. It’s gone midday, you lazy cow.”

  Mandy got to her elbows and peered out of the tent. “That’s some shitty weather out there, missy.”

  “Ha-ha, have you seen the state of your hair? You look like a scarecrow, woman. Shock’s not the word for that crow’s nest.”

  Mandy gave Grace the finger while pulling a sour face. She found it hard not to smile. “Says the girl sitting in open view with her bangers hanging out. Yeah. Awesome look, Grace.”

  “Pfft, please. You love it. Dirty bitch. Always knew you wanted a piece of this,” Grace quipped, running a finger down her body.

  “You wish,” Mandy said, getting out of her sleeping bag. She stretched and joined her mate at the open flap of the tent. They hugged each other, and watched the rain come slanting down through the trees. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m not sure,” Grace answered, still embracing her friend. “But I think we should pack up and move on. If we stay here any longer, our tent is going to sink.”

  “Huh?” Mandy asked.

  “Over there, look,” Grace pointed. Mandy broke the hug and looked to where Grace was pointing. “Shit, it’s getting boggy.”

  “Not such a hot idea, bedding down on marshland, chick,” Grace said.

  “Guess we best haul arse, then,” Mandy suggested. “It’s not like we knew this last night, is it?”

  Grace nodded. “True. We were walking around blind in a storm.”

  “Yeah. If we hadn’t decided just to bunk down when we had, God knows what would have happened. It was so dark out here,” Mandy said.

  “Yep,” Grace agreed. “Any more of that soup left?” she asked, looking back into the jumble that was their gear inside the tent.

  “There should be,” Mandy said, starting to root around looking for her cigarettes. “Ah, there you are,” she said, picking up a tobacco tin buried under her sleeping bag. Inside the tin lay a row of fifteen rolled cigarettes, her lighter and one joint. The green was being saved.

  She removed a fag, popped it into her mouth, and sparked it. Mandy took down a deep drag of Golden Virginia.

  “That’s some good shit right there,” she said, blowing the smoke out through the opening in the tent. “Want a puff?” she asked Grace, who was digging through the rucksacks, coats and wet gear in search of their flasks.

  “No, thanks. Any idea where…Ah-ha! I’ve got one of them. Ooh, it feels reasonably full,” Grace said.

  “Save me some, you greedy wench,” Mandy said.

  “Of course,” Grace said, unscrewing the lid to the flask and pouring a nice hearty beaker full. “Here you go,” she said, passing it to Mandy.

  “Oh, you’re a dear,” Mandy said, taking another drag on her cigarette.

  Grace couldn’t help but admire her friend’s beauty as she passed the cup over to her. Her figure was full. Much fuller than her own. Mandy’s breasts were ample for her frame. Her brown hair was rich in colour, which brought out the best in her lightly tanned skin. Her pupils were a mix of green splashed with grey. She could have any fella she wanted to, Grace thought. But she wasn’t looking. Mandy was too busy enjoying the single lifestyle.

  “Girls just want to have fun,” she’d always tell Grace, mimicking the Cindy Lauper song. This made her smile.

  “Something amusing about my nakedness?” Mandy asked.

  “Yeah, you’ve got a hair growing out of your left nipple. If I pull on it, will the butler come running?” Grace laughed, as she watched Mandy look down at her breasts.

  “You little fibber. I should throw this soup over you,” Mandy said.

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Hunger!”

  “Ha-ha,” Grace bellowed, pouring another beaker of soup for herself.

  The girls greedily drank their lukewarm broth as they watched the rain continue to fall as heavy as it had done the previous night. They’d been hiking along the main road when the thunder and lightning had started and had decided to go into the forest to set their tent up for the night. But before getting the tent fully erect, the rain had begun to blast down, soaking the girls to the skin. Once the tent was standing, they’d thrown their gear inside, stripped, and then headed straight to bed.

  “Guess we’ll have to stick to that road we were on last night, Grace. See where it comes out.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully, we’ll see more traffic today. Maybe get ourselves a lift as far as Birmingham.”

  “That would be nice. We haven’t had much luck yet.”

  “At the rate we’re going, we may as well turn around and go home,” Grace said, almost pouting.

  “Hey, don’t talk like that.”

  “We should have just caught the train or bus down to Gina’s. We could miss the gig.”

  “We aren’t going to miss the gig,” Mandy said.

  “Sure about that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I still think we should have caught public transport,” Grace said.

  “We both agreed it would have been too much money and more fun travelling like this, Grace. Come on. Don’t go all moody on me now. It’s been a great laugh so far!”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right,” Grace said, putting her dirty beaker back in her rucksack. “Best we get moving, then.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Mandy said.

  By the time both women had finished packing up their gear from inside the tent, had dressed, then stored the tent itself away, it was gone one in the afternoon. The rain had also slackened.

  Their hiking boots squelched and slopped as they traipsed through the boggy forest, causing them to pant and huff. The only other noise in the woods was the patter of rainwater, as it struck leaves and foliage.

  After a few minutes of tireless mud-trudging, the road came into view. A car whizzed by.

  “This way?” Mandy asked.

  “Yes, I think so. Didn’t we enter the woods from over there?” Grace pointed in the opposite direction to Mandy.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Both women had to raise their voices to be heard over the rain, which pelted the tarmac with vehemence.

  “I think the bloody rain is picking up again. We need to try and hitch a ride, Mandy!”

  “Okay, let’s get walking.”

  The women headed in the direction which Mandy had suggested until they’d travelled half-a-mile without a car passing them. This forced the women to trudge on a bit further, and further still, until Grace asked to stop for a rest.

  Both women took off their packs and
sat on a couple of large rocks by the side of the seemingly disused road.

  “Where the hell are we, Mandy, love?”

  “I’ve no idea…Look, over there,” Mandy said, pointing towards trees on the opposite side of the road.

  “What?” Grace asked, peering through the gaps in the tree line.

  “A building. Looks like it could be a farmhouse or something. We could give them a knock – see if they can point us in the right direction?”

  “Or give us a lift to the nearest town?” Grace added.

  “Yeah. Come on; let’s get our lovely arses over there.”

  Huffing, Grace put her heavy rucksack back on and trudged after Mandy, who seemed to be sprinting to the trees.

  “Wait up, Mands! I only have little legs.” By the time Grace had reached the spot Mandy had been at, Mandy had disappeared through the trees. “Where the hell did you go to?” Grace muttered as she battled her way through the bushes. Her rucksack clawed by nettles and brambles. “Shit,” she uttered. “Mandy?! Where are…”

  “Over here, Grace.”

  “Where? I…What the…Mandy…” Grace’s words trailed off as she stepped through the last of the green. Mandy stood before her, staring. “Ha-ha,” Grace bellowed, pouring another beaker of soup for herself.

  The girls greedily drank their lukewarm broth as they watched the rain continue to fall as heavy as it had done the previous night. They’d been hiking along the main road when the thunder and lightning had started, and had decided to go into the forest to set their tent up for the night. But before getting the tent fully erect, the rain had started to blast down, soaking the girls to the skin. Once the tent was standing, they’d thrown their gear inside, stripped, then headed straight to bed.

  “Guess we’ll have to stick to that road we were on last night, Grace. See where it comes out.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully we’ll see more traffic today. Maybe get ourselves a lift as far as Birmingham.”

  “That would be nice. We haven’t had much luck yet.”

  “At the rate we’re going, we may as well turn around and go home,” Grace said, almost pouting.

  “Hey, don’t talk like that.”