Sucker Punch Read Online Free Page B

winding him up. Testing the water. Knowing that Mo's not going to start a kick-off in the one pub he can drink in. Besides, knowing Rossie, this is all blustery, chest-puffing bollocks. The bloke's packing a knife, yeah, but he needs the nod to do anything. And Mo's not going to give it to him.
    “Fuck you doing, taking the piss, man?” says Mo. “We done all our talking.”
    “I'm telling you to leave Paulo alone.”
    “That a fuckin' threat?”
    “It's a friendly piece of advice.”
    “The fuck d'you know about friendly? This is my place, you come in here and you're giving us orders? Fuck gives you the bottle to talk to me like that? You know who I am.”
    “I know who you were.”
    Rossie's hand moves again. I catch it out of the corner of my eye.
    “I'm warning you, Rossie-mate. You pull a blade and I'll put your head through that fuckin' wall.” I remove my hands from my pockets. There's sweat on the palms and I hope to God the light doesn't catch it. “I'm not holding anything, alright? Settle down.”
    “Fuck's that supposed to mean?” says Mo. “You know who I were?”
    “You know what it means.”
    “Nah.”
    “You still in tight with your old man?” I say.
    Mo pauses, still staring at me. He scratches some dried blood from the side of his nose. “So we need a man-to-man, eh? In the bogs, right?”
    “Okay.”
    He gets up, kicks Baz until the fat bloke moves his chair back.
    “Where you going?” says Baz.
    “I just said, man, I'm going to the bogs.”
    “I wouldn't trust this cunt,” says Rossie.
    “Like I fuckin' care. You're not gonna try owt, are you, Innes?”
    “You wanted to talk. That's good enough for me.”
    “See,” says Mo, holding out his arms, a cracked smile on his face. “He's gonna do nowt. Have a bluey, man. Calm the fuck down.”
    And we walk to the gents, Mo still smiling like we're old mates just catching up.

5
    “There y'are, lads. Curse of the prostate, eh?”
    There's an old guy in front of the urinal when we step into the toilets. He looks like he's been at it for a while without joy, so I suppose the eye-watering stink in here must be from the other drinkers. One hand spread against the wall to steady himself, the other hanging onto something I don't want to see. Salty-looking stubble takes up most of the guy's face, thickening into a nicotine-stained moustache.
    Mo's smile has disappeared. “Eh?”
    The old bloke gives us a knocked-out grin before looking down. “Size of a bloody walnut, apparently. Bursting for a piss and it's like a fuckin' drip then that's it.”
    “Don't give a shit, mate,” says Mo. “Get out else I'll chuck you out.”
    “I won't be long.” The guy sways at the urinal, his bottom lip out in concentration. “Normally takes a few minutes, but that's all I want.”
    Mo looks at me, blinks, then glares a cross-hair at the old bloke. “I tell you, I'll give you the count of three before I come over there and put your skull in the pisser, you get me, mate?”
    “Here, c'mon, eh? I'm suffering here, mate.” He glances at Mo. “Looks like you know all about suffering, a face like that, eh?”
    Mo's arms drop loose at his sides. I step up to the old bloke, lean towards him but keep my eyes averted. “I'd do what he says.”
    “Not you an' all.” When he speaks, there's a stink like stale brandy stirred with a cigar.
    “Go on, get out,” says Mo.
    “Fuckin' hell.” The bloke fumbles with his zip. “Can't even piss in peace these days.”
    “Out.”
    “I'm going.” The bloke moves from the urinal, his feet going in opposite directions. “Used to be a bloke didn't have to put up with this shite . I hope whatever bloke did that to your boat, I hope he finishes the fuckin' job next time.”
    Mo watches him leave, his fingers twitching. Even after the door clatters shut, the tension stays with him, knotting him up. “I should've done him.”
    I lean against the one working basin, fold my arms. “You think so?”
    “Yeah, I