Seventy Times Seven Read Free Page B

country,’ she said, ‘mix a suit with some alcohol, you get an asshole.’
    Finn couldn’t help smiling.
    ‘They’ve been here since lunchtime, drinking Bahias,’ she continued. ‘I’ve stopped putting alcohol in them, but they’re too stoked to notice.’
    Finn’s eyes were on his beer: Marie had the angle of the glass all wrong. Before he could stop her, a large frothy head had formed, leaving just an inch of golden liquid at the bottom.
    ‘You live in Cottondale, this one’s on me,’ she said, looking at Finn like she felt sorry for him.
    ‘Am I supposed to drink that or use it for shaving my legs?’ said Finn.
    Marie laughed out loud. ‘Sorry. The college I graduated from didn’t teach “life skills”. I’ll bring you a newspaper to read while it settles down – I’ll bring you two, looks like it might take a while,’ she continued. ‘No razors either I’m afraid, but if you are contemplating suicide we've a shotgun behind the bar: it’d be messier, but it’d be over a lot quicker.’
    ‘It’s just an itchy beard.’
    ‘Oh. Sure. Well if you change your mind let me know and I’ll stick a couple in the barrel.’
    ‘Don’t look round when I ask you this, but the two guys sitting at the front door: they part of the furniture?’
    ‘Never seen them before in my life, but the one with the Aviators thinks he’s something: got a nasty bark. Kept staring at my ass like that’s where I was speaking from. Didn’t once look up to my face. First time ever, I considered talking out my ass could be a good thing. I could tell him what his chances were in a language he would understand.’
    She was off again.
    Finn followed her shapely, tanned legs as she headed towards the office workers’ table with a tray full of impotent Happy Hour cocktails. In a way he could hardly blame the guy in the Aviators for staring too.
    Finn watched the black guy stand up and shuffle out of the bar. The other guy stayed behind, leaning back in his seat giving the table of office workers a sideways glance.
    Something wasn’t right.
    Finn tilted the glass slightly, poured in some more beer and waited patiently as the cool, golden rivulets ran down the inside, pulling some of the froth with it. He let it settle for a few more seconds before lifting it to his lips.
    The first drink was always the best. Finn loved the cold fizz against the back of his throat: he looked forward to the initial wave of euphoria as the alcohol took hold and gently lulled the demons away.
    But as Finn tilted his head back he caught a movement over to his left: the guy with the Aviators was on his feet pulling something from under his jacket.
    Shouting now.
    ‘ Got a message from the boys back home, motherfucker! ’
    The guy was striding towards Finn, arm outstretched.
    Finn was already on his feet: his wariness having given him a split-second advantage that could be the difference between living and dying.
    Suddenly the air around him exploded.
    Finn’s glass of beer tumbled from his hand and caught on the edge of the table, flipping its contents in a large frothy arc over the booth.
    He was halfway through the fire exit when the second shot slammed into the wall beside him.
    Almost immediately another burst the doorframe just above his head and a fourth seared across the top of his shoulder.
    The shots were so loud it was like the guy was holding the gun right next to Finn’s head.
    Finn sprinted down the alleyway at the rear of the building: his ears ringing, muting the everyday sounds of the street and turning the ordinary surreal.
    A muzzle flash from up ahead sent him diving headlong over the bonnet of a parked car and crashing heavily to the ground on the other side.
    The black guy he’d seen in the bar just a few minutes earlier was firing at him from the other end of the alley.
    They must have been following him, watching his movements, waiting for him to drop his guard. But how could they have found him, how could they have known