Cigarette, Chapter 2

“I’m just saying, you can’t expect her to give you a bit of hanky panky if you never buy her anything.” Jimmy uttered, with the air of someone who knows the fairer sex so well that he could get Megan Fox into bed if he wanted to.

“But I do buy her things, I buy her drinks when we’re out, and I pay for dinner all the time.” I retorted. I took a sip of my pint and breathed in deep. I loved that stale pub smell. All around me, people muttered in conversation and it all blended into one big wall of noise.
“You buy her pints, she doesn’t drink beer. You buy yourself dinner and order a salad and water for her.”

“She always says she wants to watch her weight and drink less, I’m just helping.” I honestly believe this.
“Good God Dave, you are thick.” He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his slicked back black hair. I couldn’t tell if it was slicked back with mousse or just with grease from his own body. His jeans and leather jacket were dirty and tattered and he smelled like something had died in them.

How could this guy be better with the ladies than me? I’m sitting here in a crisp suit, cleanly shaven face, and respectable haircut. He looked like he was homeless, but I suppose he basically was.
“If you’re going to talk to me like this Jimmy, you can’t sleep on my couch anymore.”
“But if I don’t tell you that you’re inept with the ladies, who will?” He leaned across the table and patted my shoulder, before whispering comfortingly, “They’re all laughing at you mate, I’m doing you a favour.”
His breath smelled like a homeless man showering in a sewer. I was suddenly very annoyed.
“I’m the one doing the favours here; don’t forget who paid for that pint, and who’s giving you somewhere to sleep.”

He looked down at his feet and I felt like an asshole. Why was I such an asshole?
“Jimmy, look…” I started.
“No, you look. I’ve fallen on hard times, I admit it. But I’ll be back on my feet soon and I’ll be able to pay you back for everything.” He said with earnest, looking up and meeting my eyes.
“I know, I believe you.” I didn’t.

Oh I forgot to clarify. This is before the incident with the cop and the cigarette lighter, and after the incident where I lost my finger. Did I mention the finger before? No? Ah well, it’s not important anyway.

After a few more drinks, feeling a bit tipsy, we left the pub and started walking back towards my place. There were better bars closer to my house but none of them let Jimmy in anymore. He had been barred from The Winking Horse for pissing on the pool table, and from Trotter’s Arms for getting into a fight with the slot machine.

I tended to spend my time in an upmarket bar with the guys from work called BAAR (I have no idea what the deal is with the name) but the bouncers wouldn’t even let Jimmy in the door to get a chance to piss anywhere or fight anything, so we had to settle for here.

“Dave, we’ve known each other since we were kids, right?” Jimmy started, after a long bout of not uncomfortable silence from both of us.
“As much as I hate to admit it in public, yeah, we have.” I sighed.
“Remember when we used to go out clubbing when we were teenagers, and I was your wingman?”
“I remember, back before…” I trailed off. Before Sarah, I was going to say.
“Yeah, before that bitch.” He finished. I didn’t argue.
“Anyway… you trust me, right?” He looked at me pleadingly, his eyes shining like hot coals in the stupid orange colour that streetlights make.

“About as far as I can throw you.” I kicked an empty Coke can into the middle of the road absentmindedly.
“I’m serious Dave.”
“Yes, fine, I trust you. What are you getting at here?” I was getting wild suspicious.
“Nothing…”
“Great.” Back to silence. A car drove past and honked its horn. I raised my hand in a lazy wave, but I didn’t recognise the driver.
“It’s just that…” Oh god, when he talked like this, bad news always followed.
“Come on Jimmy, out with it.”

“Okay, well one of my contacts reckons that he can sort out a big score, and that I can get in on a slice of the action if I can provide a bit of security and muscle for him.” He blurted this out so fast it was basically just one word.
“I take when you say score you’re not talking about music?” I said, smiling.

“Eh? No, I mean like…” He looked around covertly, and when he saw there was no one in ear shot, he leaned over and whispered his death breath into my ear.
“Like… drugs, and stuff.” With complete and utter gravity. I stopped walking.
“Dare I ask… and stuff?” My stomach was dropping out my ass. Not this rubbish again. He turned around to face me. He exhaled one word, practically inaudible.
“Guns.”
“What?”
“Guns.” Slightly louder.
“Gums? Like, wine gums?”
“No, guns!”
“Eh?”
“Guns! Bloody hell, guns!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. I looked around to see a woman pushing a pram look at us stunned and then sprint down the street and around the corner, pram wheeling in front of her and the baby inside screaming.

I burst out laughing. Jimmy looked at me funny for a moment and then exploded into laughter too. I leaned against a lamp post to support me and my sides ached. Then that was it basically, just like that; he was going to be security and muscle (despite being skinnier than an anorexic) and I was going to help, and get caught up his bullshit again. I only hoped this time it wouldn’t cost me anything more than a finger.