Cigarette, Chapter 4

“Why are you standing out here in the rain Jimmy?” I was just leaving work for my lunch break, hoping for some peace away from my stupid boss, who still hung around like a bad smell insisting I get help.
“She kicked me out.” He muttered, looking like a drowned rat. I put my soaking hands to my soaking head and stood there for a moment, letting the rain ruin my suit and soak me to the bone.

“Uh, Dave? You alright?” Jimmy asked, bewildered.
“Yeah… I’m fine. Why did she kick you out?” I said through my hands, exasperated. Sometimes I wish everyone would just leave me alone for a day.
“She said I was stinking the place up, that I should get a job. But I can’t get a job ‘cus…”
“For the last time Jimmy, being lazy is not a mental illness. If the government won’t believe you, why would she?” I cut him off. The rain washed the wax from my greying hair into my eyes and made them sting. Jimmy looked at his feet; I wish he would stop doing that.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, alright? Come on, let’s get some lunch.” He always made me feel so guilty. I think he does it on purpose. Since Jimmy is either banned from everywhere, or no one lets him in the door because of his reputation or appearance, we have to settle for the same place as last night, the Elephant Inn.

This means that lunch is two packets of McCoy’s crisps and a pint of some sort of piss that vaguely resembles beer. The noise and atmosphere in here just annoys me today.
“So… how was work?” Jimmy is dried off a bit and doesn’t really care about how work was. I don’t think he even knows what I do there. To be honest I don’t know what I do there either.
“Well, my boss thinks that…”
“That’s great; I’ve got news about this big score.” Ignorant bastard. I lift up my pint and down half of it in a few gulps, and then I lean back in my chair and regard him coldly. Or at least that’s what I imagine I’m doing.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t swing that way.” I guess I wasn’t.
“Shut up, tell me about the score.”
“But you told me to shut up…” He says, smiling slyly.
“For fuck’s sake, tell me!” I practically scream. The place goes quiet for a few seconds then the noise builds up again. I remember what my boss said, and how much I wanted to punch him in his stupid wrinkled face.
“Jesus… Dave calm down, you need to take up yoga or something.”
“Tell me about… the score.” I say through gritted teeth, my head is pounding and my missing finger tingles.
“Right, well…” He looks around covertly, before leaning slyly towards me, just making it all the more obvious we’re talking about something nasty. I wish he would stop doing this, it’s like he thinks he’s in one of those stupid gangster films.

“Do you remember Bob The Bear?”
“Is that the one that lives in the big blue house?” I ask wryly.
“No, his house is pebble dashed, anyway, do you?” I have a sort of Vietnam flashback of a big hairy man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist punching me in the face while making bear noises.
“Vaguely, yes… is he the one who with the information?” Jimmy looks at me, then lifts his pint and downs the rest of it; it takes him a moment to meet my eyes again. He sighs and I wish to god that he would brush his teeth.

“Not quite… you see Dave, he is the score.”
“What do you mean?” Though I think I know. I suddenly feel like drinking something stronger than watered down piss beer.
“He’s the one getting the drugs and guns, and stuff…”
“There’s more stuff?” Oh dear god I am backing out of this. I earn too much to be caught up in this kind of bollocks again.
“Yeah, some plutonium or uranium or something too, my contact wants to sell it to some Russians.”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that. You’re stealing this stuff from Bear?”
“No… we are.” He says gravely. I get up and walk to the bar. I return with 2 double vodkas and coke and Jimmy reaches for one. I shake my head and down both of them, cough, almost vomit, then look at him.
“Fuck that, I don’t want a part in this.” I mean it. There is no way he is swaying me to his cause.
“But Dave, if you don’t help me with this, then I’ll be homeless forever and…”
“No! You’re not guilt tripping me. Get washed and get a real job.” I am stoic, I am unmoveable.
“Dave, I need you.” His bottom lip quivers and tears well into his eyes. I want to punch him in the face and cuddle him at the same time. I am too soft. I am going to lose all my fingers.
“Christ, alright, I’ll help, but I want you off my bloody sofa by tomorrow. I don’t care where you stay, but you’re not staying with me.” I’ll be firm about this one, I swear.

By the time I return to work after my extended lunch break, I am very drunk. My boss tells me that it’s lovely to see that I have calmed down.
“Dave, when you’re calm, you’re a real go getter.”
“Thank you sir.” Maybe he thinks I’m someone else?
“I think if you can keep this up there might be a promotion on the cards.” He takes my gobsmacked silence for grateful awe.
“There’s no need to thank me, but there is one thing…”
“Anything, sir.” I should have been an actor.

He turns to face the window and gazes out it for 5 minutes. This is when I vomit silently into his bin and drink half of his coffee to wash away the taste. I’ve always been able to vomit like a ninja; it’s a questionable talent and a poor party trick.
“I need you to go to therapy Dave.” He turns to face me and quickly adds, as if afraid, “Just once! Just to see if it helps. If it does, keep it up and the company will pay for it. If not, you can stop; no strings.”

He ambles around his desk and sits on the edge facing me, leaning unsettlingly close to my face and putting his hands on my shoulders.
“You’re a good man Dave, and an incredible worker. I don’t want that anger of yours holding you back.” He says earnestly, it’s almost touching. I just nod because I don’t want to breathe vomit breath at him, and I’m trying not to laugh.
“I’ve made you an appointment already, it’s today, and you can take the rest of the day off to make it. I’ll pay you for it, don’t worry. There’s a taxi waiting outside for you.”

He beams at me, he must be the best boss ever, sometimes I wish I knew what it was I was supposed to be doing here, I almost felt bad.
“That’s very kind of you sir, I’ll leave right now.” I said, trying not to slur my words, I was feeling remarkably calm and in this state, therapy sounded fun.

“Good man!” As I left his office, he called after me, “Think about it Dave, Assistant to the Vice Chairman of the Co-ordinator of the Ethics Committee! It could be you.”
“Fingers crossed.” I call back, but I’m not sure he was even speaking English anymore.