Colm Brady

Justice on the Prom

Skipper Dunne went into the toilet in McNamaras public house. It was not an attractive area and customers didn’t tend to spend any more time than was strictly necessary there. Obviously someone had spent time in the cubicle though; the door was festooned with such witticisms as “Darren is gay!”. This was followed by “No I’m not!” and “Darren loves pipe. Signed Darren.” Skipper was fascinated by this literature and wondered if he wrote this stuff down in a book could he make money out of it. Skippers pension barely kept himself and his dog Banjax in food never mind the occasional visit to McNamaras. Job done, Skipper washed his hands in a sink that has been dripping for so long there is a brown slimy trail down to the plughole. McNamara spends the absolute minimum on the place. He knows he will get the custom as this place is the closest thing to a community centre on the estate. The old men come in and watch the racing channel; the young lads drink Red Bull and Mickey Finns and disappear into the toilets together occasionally.
The council was trying to put up a CCTV camera at the back of the Pub to stop anti-social behaviour. McNamara opposed the project because his takings and anti-social behaviour were closely related. He had hired a Solicitor to claim his civil liberties were being infringed upon.
Skipper emerged from the Gents, just in time for the 2.40 from Kempton. His quarter glass of Smithwicks (Skipper was a glass half full optimist.) was intact on the bar. McNamara had watched him nursing the drink for forty minutes now but said nothing.
Two men were at the bar. The younger man had a pair of white Ipod earphones in his ears and ordered a coffee.
“Sorry Naoise, we don’t have any of them fancy Lattes you get in the college, its either Maxwell House or Tay.” Said McNamara.
Naoise nodded and a huge hand appeared on the counter beside him. The enormous hand belonged to an enormous man in a rumpled blue suit and beige working boots. The grey curls identified the man as Prometheus Michael O’Reilly, Tiler to the stars. He glanced up to the race on the television over the bar and patted the copy of THE STAR protruding from his suit pocket. Skipper looked over in admiration.
“Well Prom, you are looking very important altogether.”
The Prom grunted at McNamara and pointed at Skippers drink.
“So that’s a pint of stout, a Smithwicks and erm a coffee so.” Said McNamara.
Naoise took out his headphones and nodded towards the Prom.
“He was in court today, that’s why he is dressed up. Four bloody hours in that place.”
“Well I could hardly drive myself home after being disqualified again, now could I?” asked the Prom.
“Jaysus they are a sight in there, a man cant even have a couple of scoops after work.” Complained Skipper who had never actually owned a car.
“Skipper you should have seen the eejit, the judge said if he is up again he would be sentenced so next thing he starts doing his Solicitor act.” Said Naoise.
“I was helping the Solicitor,” said Prom. “I was explaining the facts of the case.”
“What facts were those?” asked Skipper Innocently.
“Well I got hungry out in the house so I decided to go for a Kebab. Naoise was gone home in the van so I took the Missus’ car and took a quick scoot into town. Her car is one of those little Korean yokes so there I am doing sixty looking out at the road from between my knees and trying to work the wipers.”
Naoise snorted.
“Yeah those little cars can be a real hoor, did you mention that you were locked and already disqualified?”
“I told the judge I wasn’t drinking, I just had a couple of cans. I have a very high metabolism you know.”
McNamara delivered the drinks and Naoise looked into the murky coffee.
“So Prom the bottom line is you will need Naoise here driving for another year.” Said McNamara trying not to look too pleased. His best customer was immobile for the foreseeable and so would be hanging around his beloved estate on a daily basis.
Skipper blew into the froth on top of his pint.
“God bless you Prom for a decent man.”
“Yeah God bless you.” Sneered Naoise.
Prom held his pint up to the light like a talisman.
“Ye are dead right lads, God bless me indeed.”

posted by Colm Brady @ 5:58 PM