Free The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene by David Carter

and hurried away and went and sat with Vicky, all the while keeping a wary eye on the weird stranger with the high waistline and ridiculously long legs.
       ‘Reach for the sky, man!’ Paul said, punching Gringo playfully on the shoulder. ‘I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?’
       ‘No,’ said Gringo, ‘not that I know of,’ and he ordered Paul a pint.
       ‘I think that dusky maiden might fancy me,’ said the ever optimistic Paul, and he turned round and gazed across the bar like a lighthouse keeper peering through fog.
       ‘I don’t think so,’ said Gringo, and his judgement appeared vindicated, as the girls picked up their drinks and coats and disappeared into the front bar.
       Gringo looked up at his pal. He was wearing his Gooner’s shirt, the latest expensive model, though Gringo wouldn’t have known that because he hated football. He had far more important things to do with his time, his Saturdays, his energy, and his cash.
       ‘So how’s it going?’ said Paul. ‘You still seeing that fat wench?’
       ‘You mean Brenda?’
       ‘That’s the one. The voluptuous Brenda.’
       ‘Now and again.’
       ‘You dirty bugger. I’m on the lookout for someone new.’
       That was not new news. In all the time that Gringo had known Paul he had only had one girlfriend. Maureen, that was her name, and they went out for all of three weeks. She was a foot and half shorter than him, slim build, good clothes, two lovely eyes, it was just a pity, Gringo thought; that they didn’t quite match. He imagined that Paul, forever peering through those glasses that always seemed to need cleaning, simply didn’t notice. Gringo would always swear that one night in that very bar, with Maureen standing between the pair of them, she was looking at both of them at the same time, eyes like a reptile, swivelling this way and that. Ah well, no one is perfect. He never discovered why the unusual couple fell out and Paul never told him. Paul glanced around again.
       ‘Have the tarts gone?’
       ‘Yes Paul, some time ago.’
       ‘Damn! We were in there.’
       Paul, the man of many nicknames, but he had his uses. He was a sales person at the local Ford dealer, and he could always get you a good deal on a new car, not that Gringo Greene was too keen on buying Fords. Besides that, Paul was good hearted and good company, and just what Gringo needed when he grew tired of the company of women, something that happened rarely, but occasionally, for if nothing else, it reminded him of how beautiful the company of a pretty girl really was.
       Afterwards they went for a bite to eat in Shaman’s Wine Bar and after that Gringo drove him home, way out into the suburbs, a 1920’s semi detached house, where Paul Shepperton lived with his mother and father and their three cats.
     
    The following night Gringo ambled into the bar at 7.40. The pub was empty. Wednesday night, always quiet, especially early on. He wondered if she’d show. He wondered if she was playing games. A different barman asked him what he’d like. Gringo said he was waiting for someone and the barman was miffed at still not making a sale. She came in ten minutes later, and it was just as well she did, because he’d decided to leave in another minute.
       ‘Hi Gringo,’ she said. ‘Sorry if I’m a little late.’
       ‘No worries.’
       She was wearing a tight fitting beige jumper and white slacks. Ordinarily he did not like women in trousers, though he had to admit she looked pretty cute. She’d obviously changed from work, and he found himself wondering if she had been home, wherever that was, or had she rung the changes in the ladies loo at Frobisher Buildings? She stood at the bar, taking the occasional chance to glance up at his rugged face, and that turned down muzzy of his that she still wasn’t sure about.
       ‘What are we having?’ she said.
       ‘You’re buying,’ he said, ‘Remember? I’ll