Pie and Pint night

This story carries an 18 certificate. :-) 

John didn’t like the animal-like atmosphere of the room, there were about 30 fellas all baying for naked flesh. Beer, food and other men seemed to bring out the worst in his gender. The testosterone hung in the air along with the illegal cigarette smoke. How had he let himself be talked into coming to a ‘pie and pint’ night? Dave his old mate from school had suggested it.

‘Private room of a pub, 30 blokes, you pay £30 up front and then you get a plate of pie and mash, a comedian does a little routine and then two strippers do a show. There is also a barrel of beer on the bar to help yourself from. It’s a great night.’ Dave had explained.

John had said no at first, he was nearly a married man, a respectable Cardiff teacher but when Karen said she was out for the night teaching an aerobics class he thought what the hell, phoned Dave back and accepted the ticket.

John had at least managed to talk Dave into sitting in a darkened corner of the room out of the view of strippers looking for willing volunteers but he was still regretting his decision to come. Pie and pint night? More like pig and pint night looking at the assembled clientele.

The comedian was okay, a bit hackneyed but quite funny. Then he announced the name of the first stripper.

‘Gentlemen put your hands together and keep them above the table for the lovely… Suzy.’

She was lovely too, only ‘stripper’ was surely the wrong term. Strippers should strip, but Suzy didn’t have any clothes on to take off. She came out as naked as the day she was born apart from the highest pair of high heels John had ever seen, how she managed to dance in them he’d never know. She was a beautiful girl, she had dark hair and dark eyes, a firm slender body with a pouty face. John thought he might know her from somewhere but where would he know a stripper? Her act really whipped up the men and the applause when she left the room was amazing. John hated to admit it but he was enjoying himself. The comedian came back and announced the arrival of the second girl.

‘Gentleman, this girl has come all the way from Cardiff to be with us tonight, she’s a real classy lady so show her some respect. Please give a warm welcome to Miranda.’

A long stocking clad leg appeared form behind the door wearing black shinny boots with a huge pointy heel; bigger even than Suzy’s. The music kicked in and the leg kicked in the air and the girl entered the stage, lazily smoking a cigarette in a long holder, smoke covering her face, a huge boa around her neck, a black bra, tiny black panties, and of course those fishnet stockings, she did indeed look very sophisticated. But as the smoke cleared John couldn’t believe his eyes, despite the blonde wig it was Karen, his Karen, this wasn’t bloody aerobics.

John was in a quandary, what to do, what to do? He could stand up and stop the show, ask her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing but there were 29 other men in the room who would probably kill him if he stopped them from seeing what he saw every day. He could walk out, but he was pinned in a corner, to get out he would need to walk right across the stage, right into the path of his now braless fiancé. All he could do was sit there to suffer in silence as his girlfriend provocatively danced her way through her routine. It was all so obvious now, of course he knew the other girl, it was Sammy, Karen’s fellow Aerobics instructor, they’d often sat in his kitchen planning their routines. Why hadn’t he found it odd that the ‘lessons’ Karen taught were so irregular and went on so late into the night? Why hadn’t he found it strange that she often came home with the feint smell of cigarette smoke in her hair?

After what felt like a lifetime she finished dancing to wild applause and grabbing hands. As she made her way off stage, the comedian announced a break and John made his way to the door. He definitely needed some fresh air.

Karma

Lee drained the last few dregs out of the bottom of the beer bottle and placed it on the wall in one easy movement hardly breaking stride as he walked down the street. ‘Put it in the bin you vandal.’ shouted an old man with a grey beard from across the street. Lee agilely spun round, flicked the Vs in the old man’s direction and continued on his merry way. He was young and free, he didn’t care about litter, that’s what road sweepers were paid for wasn’t it? If he didn’t drop litter, they’d be out of a job and anyway one beer bottle wouldn’t hurt anyone would it?

The little boy had a stick, he loved his stick it was the best stick in the world. His stick was better than any other thing he could imagine. He could hit anything with his stick; the flowers, the walls, the bottle standing on the wall, anything. The bottle made a wonderful noise, he didn’t know it but a perfect F rang out. He hit it again, another perfect F, but the third time he hit it a bit harder, the bottle tottered on the wall and then fell to the pavement with a crash. What once was whole was now a thousand pieces scattered across the tarmac.

His mother, seeing the carnage her boy had caused, grabbed him and pulled him away leaving the shattered glass behind them.

Christie was minding her own business, listening to her music, in a world of her own She was enjoying the warm, early spring sunshine on her face. It must have been comical to anyone watching her as she put her foot down her face crumpled in pain and her leg collapse underneath her. She fell onto the floor in a heap and let out a scream as glass pierced her hand. The pavement beneath her began to turn red as blood poured from her feet and hands. Luckily Ron had seen it all and had not found it comical. He was just on his way over to clear up the glass that the boy had smashed having already shouted out to the youth to put it in the bin. Now he was the one who called the ambulance that saved Christie from bleeding to death.

The ambulance men were the kindest people Christie had ever met. Skilled swift and professional they dealt with her cuts and got her into the back of the van with minimum fuss but maximum care and attention. But under the profession smiles were serious concerns. The glass in the foot had meant Christie had lost a lot of blood, they may have patched her up but they wanted to get her to a doctor ASAP. They put the blue lights on and put their foot down.

Lee was feeling quite merry, the sunshine and the beers had gone to his head. The music in his headphones was putting a spring in his step. He saw they were opening up at The Bridge Inn and decided a nice beer in the sunshine would suit him down to the ground. Without looking he stepped off the pavement and into the road. The ambulance wasn’t going that fast but it was going too fast to stop in time, the driver tried to swerve but it was too late. 

VOTE
If you hit an empty beer bottle with a stick what note would ring out. I went for F was I right? Vote here

Carry on - A Steve Rant

‘I bet that was carry on.’

‘What?’ said Johnny confused by his friend’s sudden change of topic. They had been talking about the rugby.

Steve nodded in the direction of two lost looking tourists checking their map outside the pub. Two chunky suitcases and two heavy rucksacks by their feet. ‘That, I bet it was carry on.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ said Johnny fearing that Steve was about to go off on one ‘Carrion? do you think they have dead animal in there?’

‘Carry on, as in luggage, as in aeroplanes you muppet.’ Johnny was smiling at his own attempt at humour but as usual he was alone in his mirth.

‘You know I was away the other week, well when I was coming back there were two muppets like them two, with bags as big as that, then rucksacks, laptop and duty free bag, all as carry on luggage.’

‘That is a bit annoying.’ For once Johnny agreed with his prickly friend, but that didn’t stem the flow.

‘It’s so fucking selfish, why can’t they just check it in? I bet they say it saves them time at the other end, well who is so busy that they can’t wait 15 minutes for a bag, have you ever waited more than 15 minutes?’ Johnny shook his head in agreement ‘Twenty tops but because their fucking time is so fucking precious  they cause discomfort for the rest of us.’ Steve took a swig of his pint. ‘Selfish bastards.’

‘And’ said Johnny, this was unchartered territory. Johnny had never joined in a rant before, who knew where this would lead? ‘Have you ever noticed that the ones with the biggest bags are always in a rush to be on the plane first, why?’

‘So they can get their luggage up in the overhead compartments.’ Steve had taken over, they were singing from the same hymn book now. ‘So they don’t have to have it under the seat in front of them’

‘So they have all the comfort as well as all the space.’ Johnny chipped in ‘leaving you no room to put your legitimate 1 item of luggage up and so having to sit with it between your legs all flight. I don’t know why the airlines let them get away with it.’

‘Cos they don’t care, in fact they encourage it; it means they save on baggage handling fees and have quicker turn-arounds.’

‘Ah really? I’d never thought about that. Bastards!’ Johnny shook his head.

‘Anyway no point dwelling on something we can’t change, same again?’

Johnny looked at Steve askance; was he being serious? Dwelling was what Steve did, Steve was a dweller, Steve dwelt, it was his raison d'être. But Steve was straight-faced, the irony of what he’d said utterly lost on him. Johnny nodded in disbelief and let his friend buy the next round. 

Vinny the Diamond - a prequel

For the original Vinny the Diamond story please click here


Vinny puffed out his chest, it always made him proud when his boss picked him for an important job and this was a biggy. He’d been chosen to escort the Big D, and the Big D was a big man, a big man who was apparently in town to do a big deal. A couple of million Euro would change hands over the next few days and Vinny would be the Big D’s bodyguard.

Vinny had been given strict instructions, he was only to speak if he was spoken to and for those three days he was to do anything the Big D asked of him. He would be at his beck and call. His boss made it clear he should be on his best behaviour, no messing around with the girls, no taking his eye of the ball.

Vinny had been disappointed as soon as he set eyes on the Big D. He was a strange fruit. He ambled through the airport almost apologetically. He didn’t look like a ‘businessman’ or a ‘tough’, to be honest he looked more like a teacher than a gangster. Vinny wondered how he commanded respect in meetings, he just didn’t seem to carry any weight, any presence any je ne sais que. Vinny didn’t like him. They drove in silence, Vinny only too happy to respect the boss’s wishes. The Big D seemed lost in his thoughts, miles away from the world while conversely Vinny was all eyes, assessing the situation, assessing the threats but there were none. He was beginning to think that this guy’s importance had been exaggerated. Not so much Big D as a lowercase d. Were there really million dollar deals going down or was this guy a fraud?

The days were long and boring, the Big D rode in silence, went to meetings, clutching his briefcase, came out clutching his briefcase. Vinny watched, observed, waited and drove, getting more and more convinced that this man was more a phoney than a hotshot diamond dealer. Vinny had offered him girls, theatre tickets, champagne but the Big D had waved him away.

On the last day the Big D had a meeting with Vinny’s boss. Vinny sat and waited in the outer office. The boss’s other two drivers were there but no words were exchanged.

Meeting over the boss and the Big D came out all smiles, all handshakes and backslaps. The boss asked the Big D to wait in the office while he had a quick word with Vinny. 

Vinny entered an office that was still thick with cigar smoke, a half empty whisky bottle and two glasses sat on the desk.  He sat down opposite his boss wondering if he was in trouble. He’d kept his eyes on the ball, kept his fingers away from the girls. The boss looked at him for a second, Vinny recognised the look, knew what would come next.

‘Take care of him Vinny. You can keep the case.’ The voice was barely audible but the message was clear.

Vinny nodded and left the office, challenge issued, challenge accepted. He understood now why he’d been chosen to play chaperone.

For Vinny, making people disappear was a way of life. he had no qualms, had no worries, he didn't give it a second thought. The Big D was so lost in his own importance he didn’t notice the detour Vinny was taking until it was too late.

‘Where the hell are we?’ Vinny could hear the irritation in his voice, ‘I’ve a flight to catch.’

Vinny shrugged, ‘I’m just taking in care of you in the way my boss told me.’ Vinny’s words were simple but his voice was cold. The Big D knew then he was a dead man.

Vinny opened the case and could not believe his eyes, there must have been 20 diamonds in a small bag and maybe a million euros. This guy really was the Big D. Surely his boss could not have know what was in the case - he’d never offered him that much for a job before. Or maybe it was a test, a test of character, would Vinny go back to the boss and tell him exactly how much was there?

Vinny made a decision. He would give the case to his boss but not before dipping his beak first.

At his flat he opened the safe and deposited a large bundle of money and 5 diamonds. Then he headed to see his boss.

His boss received him with a smile. The cigar smoke had cleared and the office aired. The whisky glasses cleaned away. Vinny told him about the contents of the case and handed it over.  His boss smiled. ‘You’ve pleased me Vinny, you’ve pleased me,’ he said almost paternally. He opened the case and gave Vinny some diamonds and a wad of cash.

Vinny had been nervous, he’d been worried that the boss would notice the content wasn’t all it should be. But he needed have worried, the senile old bird hadn’t noticed a thing. Maybe Vinny could start creaming off a bit more, maybe it was time to start a little business of his own. It was certainly food for thought; after all Vinny the Diamond was an expert at getting away with murder. 

Steve Rants - Hotels

‘How was your trip?’ Johnny hated to admit it but he'd missed his weekly pint with Steve.

Steve took a sip of his beer and nodded,

‘yeah okay, all went to plan.’

‘Nice hotel?’ Johhny immediately regretted asking the question.

‘Very nice but hotels annoy me.' Johnny could tell by the tone of voice that a rant was coming. He took a glance at his watch, only 5 minutes since they’d met, was this a new record?

‘You see, I just don’t think I get value for money in hotels. If I stay one night or 3 nights, I pay the same daily rate, I don't get a discount for 3 night but I do get different service.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well take this hotel last week, when I checked in in the room there was a small bar of chocolate, a bottle of water, a full bottle of shower gel and a fresh soap. I used all of them, but when I got back to the hotel on day 2 there was no chocolate, no water and I was expected to use the same soap and the same half empty bottle of shower gel.’

‘Oh poor you, you are so precious. Johnny smiled, Steve didn’t. ’ ‘It’s not the end of the world is it?’

‘It is the principle.’

Johnny pessimistically looked at his pint, his usual way to shut Steve up was to get a round in but it glass was still half full. For once the optimistic outlook was half empty.

‘I pay the same every day, therefore I expect to get the same for my money. If I checked out and checked back in again I'd get the chocolate and water again, plus fresh soap and full bottles of gel.’

‘Yeah but then you'd have to pack your bags and leave at 12 and check in again at 2 so you are actually getting 2 hours more for your money, not to mention the convenience.’

‘Yeah I'd thought of that, but that is the sheets and towels isn't it? You don't get fresh sheets and towels everyday do you?’

‘I’m sure they’d give you fresh water, or shower gel if you asked.’

‘Again not the point. The point is it should be there automatically or they should give you a discount for booking more than one night. I’m telling you it is the way they make their profits.’

‘Mate you need to build a bridge and get over it’ Johnny had had enough, he took one long last slug and headed for the bar. 

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