Chapter Six
Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting
Roman couldn’t afford to go out two nights in a row, but when his flatmate Ashley suggested a few beers in the village, he jumped at the chance. Mallon had said he was leaving the next day, but there was a chance—a slim one—that he might be in one of the bars that evening. He had been noncommittal about seeing Roman again, but Roman was certain if Mallon saw him, he would not be able to resist.
Ashley had other ideas. “You can’t let what those bastards did to you last night scare you off. You need to get out as soon as possible and overcome your fear.”
Roman was not afraid. The men who had attacked him were opportunistic bullies. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when they’d come along. The stupid bastards had gotten more than they had reckoned for and would seek an easier target next time, he was sure of that. It was the hope of seeing Mallon that drew him back to the village, rather than a need to overcome any trauma relating to the assault.
He took time getting ready, lingering in the bathtub for an hour to ease the tenderness in his torso. His assailants had struck a couple of powerful blows before his hero had arrived, and Roman was starting to suffer the consequences. He put on a pair of his favourite boxer-briefs, the ones he saved for hook-ups when a good fuck was guaranteed. Mallon had seemed so into his arse last night, worshipping with his eyes and tongue. He wouldn’t be able to resist Roman in this pair of underpants. Fresh jeans and his favourite blue shirt completed the look. The weather had taken a cold turn, and he had to make a last-minute addition of a jacket before leaving the flat.
They took an Uber into the city centre, and Roman was disappointed when they ran into Ashley’s prick boyfriend Patrick in the first bar they visited.
“You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
“Why wouldn’t he be here? He is my boyfriend. It’s what couples do on Saturday nights,” Ashley said defensively. “They go out together.”
As long as that’s all they did . Ashey and Patrick had a habit of starting arguments and fights when they had both been drinking. They couldn’t seem to help themselves. With Patrick along, this would not be the fun evening Ashley had promised him.
If he found Mallon that wouldn’t matter. Roman would ditch them the first chance he got.
They started at The New Inn, which was far busier than when he had been here last night. While he waited for Ashley to order their drinks, he scanned the crowd in the bar and the terrace. The resident DJ played a selection of camp classics, though it was difficult to hear the songs over the loud conversations. How likely was he to find Mallon here? Not at all, after the French man’s comments on the quality of the drinks, but it did not keep him from looking. Roman was an optimist.
He spotted Cameron, the slutty twink who had sucked off Mallon at the club. He held court on the terrace with a group of his party friends, cackling as they smoked and vaped. Despite the cool night, he wore a skimpy white T-shirt and low-riding jeans that revealed the waist band of his jock and an inch of butt crack. Roman grimaced and wondered what Mallon had found so attractive about him. Not much, he reminded himself. After a toothy blow job, Mallon had ditched Cameron to seek him out instead. That’s all he needed to know. Still, Cameron was persistent. If he ran into Mallon tonight, he would take another shot.
“Who are you looking for?” Ashley asked when he brought their drinks over. Two beers . Far safer than the awful house spirits.
“I hoped I might see the guy from last night, to let him know what the police said today.”
“Didn’t you get his number? Text him.”
Roman shook his head. “He didn’t give it to me.”
“Probably married, then.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Rich businessman, away from home. It’s classic. He’ll have a wife and a couple of kids in France who have no idea he likes to stick it to other men.”
Roman hid his irritation. “Not all men are the same. He didn’t seem the type. Besides, no straight man could fuck another guy the way he fucked me.”
Ashley guffawed and rolled his eyes. “Did I say he was straight? Lots of men identify as bisexual these days. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a family tucked away.” He swigged his beer. “You were just an easy mouth and open hole for the night. Accept it and get over it.”
Roman bit his tongue. Just because Patrick couldn’t be faithful for more than a couple of weeks, it didn’t mean all men were the same. Patrick treated Ashley like shit, and Roman was always there to support him afterwards. The least he could do now was return the favour.
From The New Inn they moved to Julie’s. To Roman’s relief, Patrick met up with one of his drug buddies and fell behind.
“What’s he taking now?” Roman asked as they hurried to the next venue. After the assault, he wasn’t keen to spend too much time on the streets.
“Nothing,” Ashley said. “That’s what he told me, anyway.”
“Don’t tell me you believe him?”
Ashley sighed. “Of course not. Just because I love him, it doesn’t make me an idiot. He’s still using steroids, though he doesn’t really count those. He classes them as supplements.”
“What else?”
“Judging by the look in his eyes tonight, he’s taken speed or coke already.”
Roman put an arm around Ashley’s shoulder. His friend had his faults, but he had always been very anti-drugs. He’d cut ties with previous mates in the past when their partying ways had gotten out of hand. Roman had never understood why he made exceptions for Patrick. It wasn’t like Patrick was even that hot. Roman found his ballooning biceps and bulging veins repulsive. Ashley had dated far sexier guys than him, men who were more worthy of his affection than that meathead.
“Why do you put up with him?” Roman asked.
“Look… I know you don’t like him—”
“That’s an understatement. He treats you like shit and thinks I’m even worse than that. I can’t stand the man.”
“But I love him. I can’t explain why, but I do. You must accept that.”
Roman squeezed him caringly. “I accept you have the worst taste and judgement in men of anyone I know, but I put up with him, don’t I? For your sake.”
Ashley laughed and leaned into him. “You say that like you didn’t hook up with a married businessman last night, the oldest cliché in the book.”
“Let’s agree to disagree about men, eh? At least for tonight.”
At Julie’s, Roman queued at the bar to get the next round of drinks. As he waited to make payment, the manager Phil spotted him and came out from behind the counter.
“Are you all right? I heard what happened.”
Roman raised his shirt to display the bruises, which had spread and turned a dark shade of purple. “They look worse than they are.”
“Oh my God. What were you thinking?” Phil gathered him to his chest and hugged him gently. “Did it really happen after you left here?”
Roman nodded. “Just up the road. I was looking for a taxi when they jumped me.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I could have called you a cab. You didn’t have you go out there by yourself.”
“It’s fine, really. I didn’t think I needed one. They took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“They could have killed you—or given you a lot more to worry about than a couple of bruises.” Phil told him to put his debit card away. “Your drinks are on the house tonight. It’s the least we can do for you. What about the police? Please tell me you reported this.”
“It’s okay, I did. I spoke to them this afternoon.”
“And? What did they say? Did they take photos of your injuries?”
“They haven’t even seen them. I gave my statement over the phone. They’ve given me an incident number, and I suspect that’s as far as it will go.”
Phil’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding. Another major assault in the village, and they do fuck all about it. This is outrageous. How many more people need to be attacked? How many have to die before they give a shit?”
Roman nodded. He shared the older man’s anger and exasperation, but if the police wouldn’t do anything, he didn’t see how they could change that. “This guy came along and helped me.” He told him about Mallon. “You should have seen him. He was like someone from a Marvel movie. He took down all three of them.”
“Then you’re bloody lucky. You might not be the next time.”
A group of overexcited young women pushed to the bar, giggling and screaming. Roman and Phil stepped aside to give them room. Phil pulled a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his apron and indicated they should go outside. The beer garden was busy but quieter and cooler than the interior.
“We need to do something about this,” Phil said. “The police are useless, the press doesn’t even report these attacks anymore, and we need to take matters into our own hands.”
“What are you suggesting? A vigilante group?”
Phil shook his head. “That’s not my way of working. That will only make matters worse. The homophobes will see it as a challenge to come down here and fight the gays. But if no one will listen to us, we need to make more noise. Rallies, petitions, we need to march on the town and make sure the news cameras are there to see it.”
Roman said nothing. He didn’t share the militant spirit of a lot of the older people in the community. They loved a loud protest. He preferred to keep his head down and avoid confrontation, not that it had worked too well for him last night. “I wondered whether you knew the guy who stepped in to help me?” he said, changing the direction of their conversation.
“Who was he?”
“A French guy called Mallon. He said he’s here on business, but it’s not the first time. I got the impression he’s here quite often.”
Phil shook his head, drawing on his cigarette. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“He’d be in his mid-thirties, dark hair, really startling grey eyes—square jawed, handsome.”
Phil exhaled smoke. “Kind of intense-looking? Miserable even?”
Roman perked up. “That sounds like him.”
“I didn’t know his name, but that sounds a like a bloke who has been in here a few times. Not really a regular. There must be weeks, if not months between his visits. In fact, I can’t remember when I last saw him. It’s been a while. He keeps to himself. He’s the one who kicked the arses of your attackers?”
“Yes. He did.”
Phil smiled and nodded. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. He’s not the biggest bloke, is he?” He mimed flexing his muscles.
“No, but he was strong.”
“Must be.” Phil took another drag on his cigarette, scratched his beard then said, “Oh, hang on. I do remember him.” He laughed. “He went home with Tyler one time last year. It must have been around Christmas.”
Roman stiffened as a coil of jealously wrapped around his insides. “Tyler?”
“You know, Tyler, the security guard. He’s on the door tonight. You’ll have passed him to get in.”
The coil tightened. Tyler the door attendant was a walking mountain of muscle and attitude. With his buzzed haircut and steroid-boosted physique, he came from the same body-builder mould as Patrick. Mallon is into guys like that. First a trashy queen like Cameron and now this.
“Yeah, I remember,” he laughed harder. “Tyler could barely sit down for a week afterwards. He said the French guy fucked him so hard he thought his teeth would drop out. For a big guy, Tyler got a lot more than he bargained for. No wonder those three last night came off second best. This guy Mallon must be deceptively physical.”
* * * *
Roman and Ashley were in the beer garden enjoying their third drink and having a laugh when Patrick caught up with them. He barged through the crowd, shoving a young couple aside without a glance. Roman only had to look at him to know trouble was coming. His eyes were bloodshot, and the pupils constricted. His bullish face was set in a mean expression he was already familiar with.
“The fuck you doing here?” he snapped at Ashley. “We’re supposed to be going to Sash.”
“I’m enjoying myself here,” Ashley said. Roman detected the defensive tone that was a familiar precursor to one of their fights. He felt his friend go taut in a defensive stance. “The music and atmosphere are much better.”
Patrick’s nostrils flared. “It’s crap. The music is shit in here. C’mon. We’re going to Sash.” He grabbed Ashley’s wrist.
The bastard needed to score. The real hardcore drug dealers of Blyham hung around Sash. Phil and his team kept them out of Julie’s.
“There’s no one stopping you,” Roman interjected. “You don’t need us to hold your hand.”
Emboldened, Ashley snatched his wrist away. “That’s right. Go and do your own thing. You usually do anyway.”
Patrick stepped closer, puffing out his over-inflated chest. “Stop being a cunt. You’re coming with me.”
Roman controlled the urge to butt in again. This would go one of two ways. Ashley would back down and concede to his bullying boyfriend, or he would stand up to him and a public slanging match would ensue. Roman was in no mood for either option, but he would back his friend all the way.
“Don’t call me that,” Ashley said, moving closer to Roman and distancing himself from Patrick.
A vein in Patrick’s throat throbbed. “It’s what you are…a bitchy little cunt. You and your girlfriend. The pair of you are as bad as each other.”
Roman couldn’t contain himself. “Have the steroids shrivelled your brain as well as your cock? Fuck off back to Sash with the rest of the tweakers and leave us alone. We were having a nice time until you arrived and spoiled it.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four-hours Roman found himself on the receiving end of a punch from a much bigger man. Patrick’s fist lacked the force and intent of the man who had attacked him on the street, but it landed in his belly with enough power to wind him. He staggered backwards, more surprised than hurt.
There was an eruption of noise around him, angry protests from those who had witnessed the assault. They surrounded and protected him as a group, while a glass of beer was dumped over Patrick’s head. He stood there, gawping as it gushed down his face and neck.
Before Patrick could react further, Phil and Tyler, the colossal door attendant, appeared. Tyler took Patrick from behind, twisting his arm behind his back.
“Let go of me, you cunt,” Patrick snarled.
“Out,” Phil snapped. “And don’t come back. You’re barred, for good. We’ve got enough trouble on the streets without the likes of you kicking off inside.”
Another bouncer appeared, and together with Tyler, they hauled Patrick to the exit. He twisted and snarled in their grip, kicking at their legs, but they carried him effortlessly to the door.
“Oh my God,” Ashley gasped, rounding on Roman. “Are you all right? I can’t believe he hit you.” Ashley’s face was slack with shock.
“I can,” Roman said bitterly. The walls in their flat were thin, and he’d heard more than once how Ashley’s rows with Patrick could descend into violence. “I think the ban on Patrick needs to extend to our home. He’s trouble, and neither of us needs it.”
Ashley nodded numbly. “Sure,” he said. “He’s out.”
Roman didn’t believe him. He had forgiven Patrick for worse than this.
Phil came over. “Twice in two days. You’re becoming a magnet for trouble. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Roman assured him and the concerned on-lookers. “For a big guy, there was no force to the punch.”
“That’s not the point,” Phil said. “We caught the whole incident on our security camera.” He turned on Ashley. “Tell your boyfriend I’m reporting this to the police as well the community newspapers. And I’ll show the footage to every bar and restaurant manager in the area. He’ll be banned from all of them by this time tomorrow. Count on it.”
Ashley gulped. “Okay.”
“He’s a piece of shit. Do yourself a favour and get rid of him.” With a final look of concern for Roman, Phil left them alone.
“Saturday night’s alright for fighting,” Roman said humourlessly.
“I…I… I don’t…” Ashley’s lips trembled.
“Don’t try to defend him.” Roman eased himself into a chair. Now the shock was wearing off, his legs trembled.
“I’m not,” Ashley assured him. “I won’t. Not after that. It’s just…I can’t believe he did that. That he hit you.”
“But it’s all right for him to hit you?” Roman said softly. “Just not anyone else.”
Ashley’s face turned red. He sat down with a long exhalation. “I didn’t think you knew.”
“In a two-bedroom flat… Do you think I’m deaf as well as stupid?” Roman swigged his beer. “I’ve never understood what you see in him. He’s ugly, inside and out.”
Ashley put his fist to his mouth. “It’s over now. It really is. I can’t make excuses for him anymore.”
Roman moved closer and put his hand on his friend’s arm. He spoke soft and gently. “You deserve better. Now that you’re rid of him, you’re going to find it.”
There were tears in Ashley’s eyes. He bit his knuckle, holding them at bay.
“Come on,” Roman said. “Let’s go home. I’ve had enough of these bars and being used as a punching bag for one weekend.”
They both laughed. Ashley wiped his eyes. “Okay.”
“Let’s get a pizza. And a bottle of red wine from the all-nighter. It sounds a lot less dangerous than hanging around here, don’t you think?” Roman said.
“Absolutely. Let’s go.”
* * * *
The taxi came to a stop in front of the three-storey terraced house. Two men got out of the back seat. Roman and his flat mate, Ashley.
From the other side of the road, in the alley between two houses, a figure, dressed head to toe in black, watched them.
There was muted laugher as they paid the taxi fare. Roman held a large pizza box while Ashley searched his pockets for keys. From a distance, the watcher could not catch what they said to each other as they climbed the steps to the front door, but there was more laughter and merriment. They were obviously having a good time.
They went inside, and a few minutes later a light came on in one of the second-floor windows. The living room . The watcher knew the layout of the flat, how the living room led to a small kitchen at the back. The two bedrooms were situated off the front door with a shared bathroom. Roman had the smaller of the rooms, the one that faced the rear of the house. The watcher knew everything.
What brought them home so early? The flatmate usually went out every Saturday night and never returned before three. Roman was less predictable. Some weeks he went out, others he stayed home, making use of the empty flat to entertain his endless hook-ups.
Something was different tonight, and that wouldn’t do. It had to be a typical Saturday for this to work.
After another minute, the watcher faded into the shadows and disappeared through the alley that led to the next street.
The time would come. And soon. But it would not be tonight.