Born Under Punches Read Online Free

directly in front of the vulgar monstrosity that he considered Rio to be, the Chairman of the Board blasting from the sound system. ‘Sounds for Swingin’ Lovers’. Impossible to top. Nev, monolithic and monosyllabic, sat silently in the passenger seat.
    â€˜Just wait here, Nev. This won’t take lu-lu-long.’
    Nev grunted his assent.
    Tommy got out of the car, walked towards the main doors of the bar, palmed a folded twenty to the doorman, walked straight in. The noise, heat and smell hit him. At least the women here looked like they’d made an effort, he thought. Not like the other place. Music’s still shit, though.
    Tommy scoped the room. This was the place, definitely. Every Saturday after a home game, Tony Woodhouse ended up in here. And it was time for that arrogant little shit to pay. One way or another.
    Tommy’s eyes locked on the target.
    Tony looked around. Tommy tried to hide behind some lagered-up lad, retain the element of surprise, but Tony had seen him.
    Tommy pushed through the crowded bar, displacing bodies and drinks, ignoring threats and names, shrugging off attempts to grab him. He reached the spot where Tony had stood, but he was too late. The bastard had flown.
    Tommy looked around, struggling to keep his welling anger contained. He saw the side exit, the fire door bar down and wide open, and pushed his way quickly towards it, through it, and out on the street, alone but for the usual Saturday-night drunks weaving their way around the pavement. No sign of Tony Woodhouse.
    â€˜Fu-fu-fuck!’ shouted Tommy aloud and sighed in exasperation. Composing himself, he slowly made his way back to the car.
    He had other visits to make, other things to do with the night, other opportunities for fun. He would catch up with Tony Woodhouse eventually.
    And that would be worth seeing.
    Tony held Louise in his arms, moving his hands slowly over her body. When he strayed too far down or crossed some invisible line, he felt her move, twist away from his grip, shift to a less intrusive position. He didn’t mind, though. Holding her was enough.
    They were on the dancefloor of the Tuxedo Princess, a floating disco ship moored on the Tyne, moving slowly together to the last few songs of the night. Paul McCartney’s ‘No More Lonely Nights’ had given way to Jeffrey Osbourne’s ‘On the Wings of Love’, ending the session with the Cars’ ‘Drive’.
    After leaving Whitley Bay, Tony had driven as fast as he dared down the coast road back towards Newcastle, the shock of seeing Tommy Jobson cancelling out the effects of the alcohol. Louise was still seeking an explanation for their sudden departure from Rio.
    â€˜Someone came in that I didn’t want to see,’ Tony explained.
    â€˜Who?’
    Tony tried for lightness, didn’t quite pull it off. ‘Oh, just some girl I used to know. Best not to see her. It would have been messy.’ At least the last sentence was true. He looked at her, hoping to be believed. ‘I’m sorry, OK? It won’t happen again. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, shall we?’
    Louise didn’t answer, but Tony could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t happy with the explanation. He decided to change the subject.
    â€˜So,’ he said, giving her a fragile smile, ‘do you fancy a dance?’
    They had then made their way to the Tuxedo Princess, where they ate, drank and danced.
    The song finished, the lights went up and they found themselves looking at each other, eyes locked.
    â€˜So,’ said Tony, ‘who’s going to drive you home tonight?’
    Louise smiled. ‘The cab driver, I should think.’
    â€˜I could. Or I could drive us both back to mine.’
    Louise teased the corners of her lips into a smile. ‘What for?’
    â€˜What d’you think?’
    Her smile deepened. ‘Tony, I’ve really enjoyed tonight – really – but I