Free The Barbershop Seven by Douglas Lindsay Page B

the floor. Looked awkward, like a seventeen year-old boy not wanting to tell his father he'd written off his new Frontera San Diego. He struggled with himself, then his eyes briefly flitted onto Barney and away again.
    'Em, this isn't very easy, Barney. I'm not really sure how to say this,' he said. Looked anywhere but into Barney's eyes. Barney stared, a look of incredulity formulating across his face. He couldn't be going to say what he thought he was, could he?
    'I'm afraid we've hired a new barber, Barney. It's an old friend of my dad's who's just moved into the area. You know, my dad wanted to give him a job and...'
    Barney switched off, knowing what was coming. He couldn't believe it. Felt a strange twisting in his stomach, a pounding at the back of his head. Cold, wet hands. The gutless, gutless coward, making himself out to be merely the messenger of his father's decision, rather than the instrument of it.
    How the hell could they let him go? He was the only one in the place who could give a decent haircut. Certainly he was better than these two young idiots, surely everyone could see that? But of course, Wullie would have been telling his father something completely different. Maybe his mother had been right; poison wasn't good enough for him, not violent enough.
    '...so, you can work here for another month if you like, or we'll understand if you want to leave now, and we'll keep your wages going for the rest of the month. You don't have to make any decision right now, but if you could let us know in the next couple of days.'
    Not once had he been able to look Barney in the eye, and then he sat, an attempted look of consolation on his face, eyes rooted to the floor.
    Barney was in a daze, a thousand different thoughts barging into each other in his head. Could not believe it had happened, could not believe that they had had the nerve to do this to him. He was by far the most superior barber of the lot of them. This was ridiculous. His immediate thoughts were of violent retribution. Vicious, angry thoughts involving baseball bats, sledgehammers and pick axes.
    But he couldn't show his hand. Not yet. He had to be calm about it. If he was going to avenge this heinous crime, he had to be calculating and cold; he had to pick his moment. Cool deliberation away from the scene of the crime was required. And as he sat staring angrily into Wullie's eyes, which remained Sellotaped to the floor, he decided that he would have to stay in the shop, however great the feeling of humiliation, however great his desire to leave.
    'I'll stay for the month,' he said abruptly.
    'What?'
    Wullie looked up at him, for the first time, surprised. He hadn't expected an answer so quickly, hadn't expected the one he'd been given and, moreover, he'd been thinking about the phone call to the shop that morning from Serena, the girl from the Montrose. Wondering if that was her real name, anticipating Friday night; vague intimations of guilt.
    'I'll stay for the month.'
    Wullie stared briefly at the floor again. He and his father had assumed that Barney would just take his leave. Hadn't reckoned on an awkward month with Barney still in the shop. He looked up.
    'All right, that'll be great. You're sure now?'
    'Aye,' said Barney, almost spitting the word out. Managed to contain his wrath. Fingernails dug into palms. Wrath would have to be for later.
    'Right then. That's great, Barney. I'll let my dad know.'
    That's great, is it? You've just stabbed me up the backside with a red hot poker, and you think it's great because I accepted it. Fucking bastard. He thought it, didn't say it.
    Wullie attempted another look of consolation, succeeded only in a  tortoise-like grimace. Went about his business.
    Barney stood up to clear away a couple of things which didn't need clearing away. Didn't want to immediately storm out of the shop, knowing his presence would unsettle Wullie. Didn't want him to be at ease any earlier than he should be. Although, should he ever