After a fruitless look in the local streets, which even in the early hours of the morning were still relatively busy with late night clubbers finding their way home, he returned after half an hour to see the arrival of armed police sealing off the road and entering the hotel. Glad he wasn’t alone on the streets, he walked for five minutes and then asked the first couple of guys he came across if there was somewhere he could still get a drink. They directed him to a bar just a couple of streets away, which they said they regularly frequented and would be open all night.
When Connor arrived, he wasn’t entirely shocked to find it was a gay bar. He needed to be inside both to avoid the police and to keep out the cold, so wasn’t going to go looking for anything else. The bar wasn’t terribly busy and he bought a pint of the Black Stuff with a whisky chaser before seating himself at a small table where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the bar. The only half decent thing about the Brits was their pubs all sold Guinness. The lighting was subdued and a George Michael song was playing in the background. A couple of men were shuffling around an improvised dance floor near to their table. He didn’t get how a man could dance with a man. Men were great for having a few drinks with and many things but he found the thought of sex with a man as disgusting. They were mostly ugly, hairy, dirty sods who farted too often. How could you ever fancy one of them!
His demeanour didn’t invite company but still a couple of men approached him individually to start conversations, which were abruptly met with a succinct “piss off”. One persevered by ridiculously asking if he wanted to go round the back with him. Was the idiot deaf? Connor pointed out the only reason he would go around the back with the man would be to beat the crap out of him and he shuffled away. Being alone Connor realized he probably would be mistaken for someone looking for some late night action. He needed to be more careful if anyone else approached. He couldn’t afford to get in a fight and have the bloody police arrive.
As he sipped his drink he cursed the day he’d ever set eyes on the Murphy girl. She’d brought him nothing but trouble. What the hell was he going to tell the Chief? Certainly not the truth. He wouldn’t approve of him putting a mission at risk for a shag. Then again she wouldn’t be the Chief’s favourite person either. He could tell the Chief it was her who had ratted him out to the cops. That would seal her fate. Even if she felt she had a good reason, the Chief would never forgive her for calling the cops. Anything she said would be tainted by that action. Whatever lies she tried to construct, Connor would just have to say she was lying and had it in for him. Connor had done a lot of good work over the years. The Chief would surely believe him before her and even if he did suspect something was not quite right, Connor knew he was too useful an asset to be disposed of lightly. If it came down to it the Chief would simply measure his value against hers and there could surely only be one winner.
His mind went back to how he was going to get out of Brighton. It was risky to take the train but he had little choice as his car was in the hotel car park and now no doubt being crawled over by the cops. He checked his phone and found the first train to Victoria went at 5.10am. Only just over an hour away. That was good news. He would have to tread carefully in case the cops were watching the station. Though they might not react that fast. He’d buy a ticket from one of the automatic ticket machines.
He drank the remainder of his pint slowly. After a while he looked at his watch again. He didn’t want to be hanging around the station too long, so time for one more scotch then he would be on his way. He would spend the journey mulling over what he’d do to Sam Murphy, if he ever came across her again.
He approached the bar and ordered his drink. Two men were chatting at the bar and looked up as he came near. He could see their reflection in the large glass mirror behind the bar.
“Let me get that for you,” one of them offered.
Connor was about to object when he had a second thought and decided to accept. “Don’t mind if you do,” he said pleasantly. “The name’s Brendan. Can I join you?”
“Please do,” the man who had offered to buy the drink said. “I’m Ian and this is Simon.”
Connor noticed they both had tattoos all the way up their arms. Their hair was cut very short and they were both thickset. They looked like they both worked out regularly at the gym, probably lifting weights.
“You Irish?” Simon asked.
“As Irish as they come,” Connor answered, adding an additional lilt to his normal accent. “Where you guys from?”
Ian answered, “We live in Haywards Heath. That’s about twenty minutes from here.”
“You two brothers by any chance?” Connor asked. He thought they looked very alike.
That elicited a laugh from both of them.
“Definitely not,” Simon answered. “We’ve been married for a couple of years.”
Connor thought the idea of two guys being married fucking weird. It wouldn’t happen back home. He forced a smile.
“Haven’t seen you in here before,” Ian stated.
“It’s my first time,” Connor replied. “It’s a bit quiet isn’t it?”
Simon responded, “A combination of the weather and being early in the week. The place is packed out at the weekend.”
“Actually we need to
