Free Vigilante by Kerry Wilkinson Page B

fist down on the bar, harder this time. The pump handles shook and glasses rattled. ‘Do you really want me to come back there?’
    The man shook his head furiously. ‘No, no. Please…’
    ‘Right, well, you better get pouring then, hadn’t you?’
    The barman reached under the bar and pulled a glass out. Des grinned as he saw the man’s hand shaking as the liquid flowed from the tap into the glass. He put the drink down on the bar and looked up at Des. ‘Two pounds eighty please.’
    Des looked at him incredulously, picking up the drink and turning around. ‘You must be bloody joking,’ he said, still walking.
    Back at the table, Ben was re-lining up his shot. ‘Hughesy, what do you reckon? Pink or blue?’
    Des put his drink down on the table between the other two men and walked towards his friend. ‘Blue. Just kiss off it and roll down for that final red. Piece of piss and fifty quid in the bag.’
    Ben hunched back for his shot as Des took a step back. The other two men stood and took a step towards the table to watch. Ben pulled back the cue and pushed forwards.
    He knew instantly he had missed.
    The white ball did slip nicely off the blue and run down to set up the red but the coloured ball rattled off both jaws and rested over the centre pocket.
    ‘Shit.’ Ben clattered the bottom of the cue down onto the floor and looked up to see Des shaking his head.
    ‘It’s all right. These two still have to clear up,’ Des said, not sounding entirely convincing. He walked over to the drinks table and picked up his full pint glass, taking a sip from the top and then looking over at the other two players. He narrowed his eyes and spoke menacingly. ‘We’ll see if pretty boy’s got any balls now, won’t we?’
    Des and Ben’s opponents looked at each other and then one of them reached out to take the cue from Ben. He settled over the table before comfortably potting the red and then turning around and sinking the black. His friend replaced the black ball as Ben nervously walked around the table. He was a similar build and shape to his friend – short and hunched – but without the menacing demeanour Des had. He scuffed his feet as he shuffled, carefully watching each shot.
    The yellow, green and brown balls all followed into the pockets and the man with the cue settled down to line up the simple blue. On the side of the table were four twenty-pound notes and two tens. Before he could crouch properly over the table to take his shot, he moved the money to one side.
    ‘Oi,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve not won yet.’
    The man looked back at him. ‘I was only moving it.’
    Des was still by the drinks table, pint in hand. He mumbled something but none of the other three could hear exactly what it was. The man with the cue gently rolled the blue into the pocket, leaving himself on for a straight pink.
    ‘Two more,’ the man’s friend said excitedly. Ben gritted his teeth but said nothing.
    The pink was hammered straight into the centre of the pocket but the white rolled slightly past the spot where the black was situated. The man with the cue crouched over the cue ball then stood up again. ‘Do you reckon it’ll go?’ he said to his friend.
    ‘Probably. Just be careful not to pot the white.’
    Des walked over to the table and nudged the man holding the cue with his hip. ‘Tough shot that, sonny. Tough, tough shot. Fifty quid at stake too. There’s a lot of pressure on this.’
    Ben joined in. ‘Aye. Not easy, that. Looks to me as if the white’s going to go in if you take it on. Might be better just playing a safety? Lot of money at stake.’ Des nodded along with his friend’s assessment.
    The man crouched over the table and set himself, pulling back the cue and softly hitting through the ball. The black rolled towards the table and bounced off both jaws before dropping. The white was heading for the centre pocket, gliding almost in slow motion, before colliding first with the top jaw, then the bottom,