the other Son

Chapter 17

The sea had been dark and foreboding for days now and the clouds hung low and grey over the island. The radio station had announced snow for the weekend and the temperatures dropped day by day.

Nevertheless Walter wore a tight, threadbare vest which he'd tucked into the waistband of his corduroy trousers. His fleshy arms were wet from the persistent drizzle.

They unloaded the van with 'Walter's Beverages' printed on the side and rolled the barrels through the backdoor of the pub. Somehow, Walter managed to inhale one cigarette after the other, leaving an impressive pile of stubs in the ashtray which Griffin had placed on the windowsill next to the door for that reason alone.

Tristan pushed back his damp hair after he had set down the last box of liquor bottles. Walter slammed the doors of the van shut and grinned, showing the sparse amount of teeth remaining in his mouth.

"Guess that'll hold ye ower a few weeks," he remarked and gestured at the delivery.

Tristan nodded. "You've spent all your life in Ramsgate, didn't you, Walter?"

The man in his early sixties paused for a second but then nodded. "Aye, a' ma damn life. That jobby nook grows oan ye, I tell ye."

"If I were to look for easy fun, where would I go?"

Walter's grin widened and he coughed out something that might've been a laugh. "Didnae think you'd be that kind o' laddie."

Tristan waited quietly for his amusement to tapper off.

"Well, ye see, thir's Polly's girls-"

"Let's say I don't like Polly."

Walter furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Unfortunate. Her girls are the best, crakin' 'n' wash if ye know what I mean."

"Where else would I go?"

"Thir's a business at the harbour. Real fishy. You'd hae tae be desperate tae go there." Walter hacked up a glob of mucus from deep down in his lungs and spit it on the ground.

Tristan watched him suck on the cigarette to the point where he'd might just as well inhale the whole fucking thing. "Anything else that comes to mind?"

"I bet thir's some private businesses. But Polly's yer best bet if ye dinnae wannae get shit like warts oan yer boaby." Walter chuckled and tugged his pants up which was a futile endeavour since the waistband simply wasn't wide enough to get over his sizeable belly.

"Thank you for the advice, Walter," Tristan replied with a hint of a smile. "Greet your lovely wife from me, alright?"

The other man scowled. "If ye shook ma hand I'd count ma fingers eftir it." Another glob of mucus hit the cobblestones.

"Good idea, Walter. There's been people who came out with one less." Tristan raised his hand in a farewell and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He listened to the van drive off and pushed some strands of dark hair out of his face.

He threw the invoice on the messy stack of papers Griffin had left on the desk in the office and walked to the front where Brenda flipped through a hefty baking book and jotted down notes here and there.

Their only customers were an elderly couple seated at a table near the windows with tea and scones in front of them.

"How's Walter doing?" Brenda inquired and looked up from her book.

Tristan shrugged noncommittally. "Still breathing."

"What a surprise." Brenda shook her head in disbelief. "Griffin wouldn't dare touch cigarettes."

"Because you'd have his damn ass," Tristan replied dryly and Brenda smiled innocently, winking at him before she went back to her recipes.

That's why he didn't do fucking relationships. He couldn't fathom how the victim – Martin Guttman – had handled a marriage and other women on top of that, even if they were just escorts or however they called their occupation.

Sure that Brenda could handle the elderly couple and any other guests on her own he went about storing the boxes and barrels where they belonged. It was an absolute pain in the ass to lug it all down into the old cellar and he didn't hold back cursing the shit out of the heavy items.

Since the dead lawyer apparently hadn't been allowed around Polly's girls anymore he must've found his pleasure elsewhere – it could be in Ramsgate but not necessarily, there were plenty of inviting opportunities around, Tristan reckoned. On the other hand, people were creatures of habit and if the victim had driven to Ramsgate to get his dick wet he might as well have kept it up, just a road or two down from where he'd met Polly's girls.

Tristan stretched his arms with a groan and rubbed the back of his head where the hair was shaven short, prickly on his skin.

It wouldn't hurt to ask a question or two, would it? Eddy wouldn't rat him out to the police – Tristan had lived long enough on the island by now to be considered one of them, protected by their stoic silence – and he could easily find a plausible reason for leaving the island so frequently. Hell, this damn rock was tiny and everyone was bound to grow sick of it at some point.

Back behind the counter he brewed himself a cup of strong coffee and watched Brenda flip through the pages as he took those first few scalding hot sips. Her auburn hair, tied to a messy nest at the crown of her head, bobbed back and forth as she read the ingredient list to what looked like chocolate cake.

"What do you say to this?" She slid the book closer to him and he raised his eyebrows, silently asking her why the hell she expected his verdict to something like cake.

"It's chocolate cake," he finally drawled to stop her expectant staring.

"With pears." She tapped the end of her pen on the page and wrinkled her forehead. "Probably too sweet for your bitter soul."

An amused grin flitted over Tristan's face and it might even have been sincere.

"Try it." He shrugged his shoulders. "No matter what, Griffin will eat it."

This time it was Brenda who laughed and she marked the page with a yellow sticky note.

Tristan changed the music to Kings of Leon – it was purely by accident that he picked the album Only by the Night which happened to be Brenda's favourite one.

The brooding sky's floodgates finally opened up to a heavy, almost apocalyptical downpour and Caleb Followill sang, "Skies are blinking at me, I see a storm bubbling up from the sea, and it's coming closer, and it's coming closer."