Winner Takes All
It started when Wayne (I've blanked out his somewhat
rude nickname) Johnson walked into the Pig and Bucket at 7 o'clock on the last
day of the month. What month doesn't matter, the fact it was the last day does.
It's been a tradition at the Pig and Bucket for as
long as anyone could remember that whoever walked in at that time bought drinks
for everyone there. Just the once, mind, one round of drinks.
It's been going on so long no one gave it a thought.
Like, no one stood around and waited until 7 o'clock had gone, either. If they
were out there and wanted a drink, they walked in and paid up. It was something
we did.
The thing was... this night, the one when it all kicked
off, someone walked in alongside Wayne. A stranger.
Everyone in the bar went silent like a switch had been
turned off. Flick. Chatter stopped, glasses no longer clinked, feet did not
shuffle on the sawdust.
Every head turned toward the door.
He was tall, the stranger; dark but not in the way you
think, not like a dark man coming in but a man bringing in darkness. Oh, that
sounds stupid but you know what I mean: if you've ever met someone that seems
like they came from 'down there' rather than 'up there', you'll know just what
I mean. I can't put it in proper words like those writer people can.
The doors on the Pig and Bucket open wide, so they do,
it's possible for two people to walk in at the same time. The question -
silently mouthed by every last drinker in the pub -
was, which of them came in first? If it were the stranger, then we had a
problem, 'cos trying to explain our weird tradition to them who don't know is pretty damn difficult.
Wayne turned to the dark man and said; "whoever walks
in here at 7 on the last day of the month gets to buy everyone a drink,
friend."
And the dark man said, "I am not your friend and you
were a fraction ahead of me, sir."
Well now, I can't be remembering the last time anyone
said 'sir' to Wayne, he being the biggest loser I know but still... it was
polite, if nothing else. Wayne looked round for support but for once none of us
had been watching the clock to see if anyone would come in at 7, so it was his
word against the dark man. I wouldn't have put a bet on which one was right and
I definitely wouldn't have argued with someone who
looked like he came from somewhere not very nice, either.
But I'm not Wayne Johnson.
The talk started up again, low, almost self-conscious,
drinks were being drunk and feet began to kick the sawdust into piles again.
Everyone tried to act as if they weren't the least bit interested but they
were; they all wanted that free drink off one or other of them. If the dark man
played the game, of course.
"I walked in afore you." Wayne frowned at the
stranger.
"Sir," he was nothing if not polite, "I walked in
beside you. We entered the door at the same time. Now, should we not buy these
gentlemen their drinks between us?"
"No."
The tone in Wayne's voice made the landlord, Chev,
look up pretty darn quick, I can tell you.
It meant trouble in the worst
way. Wayne was an all right guy, even drunk he was an all right guy but get him
on the wrong side no matter when and you had a handful of aggro any sane person
would avoid.
The stranger wouldn't know that.
Chev leaned on the bar and looked at them both.
"Might I make a suggestion, you two?"
Wayne looked at him. "What?"
"Wayne, yo-" he stopped himself from using Wayne's
nickname just in time. "Listen up. You two got a dispute here. Now either one
of you leaves and the other one buys the drinks or you gamble for it. Toss a
coin, perhaps?"
"Nah." Wayne dismissed both suggestions without even
looking round at the stranger. I watched him, not Wayne and noticed his face
didn't change.
"What would you suggest, sir?"
"Cards. Play you at cards. You do play, don'tcha?"
"I did."
"Then you can play again."
The other thing I noticed was everyone was nursing the
last of their beers, not wanting a refill in case they had to pay for it. The
chance of a free drink was still on the table, as it were. If these two sorted
out their differences.
Then I noticed something else, something I ain't told
a living soul since that day. I saw through
the stranger. For a second, he was like - a faded photograph. Then he was
solid again and I thought, had too much strong beer, me. Not that it would stop
me having another when this nonsense was sorted out.
"All right."
Wayne looked displeased for a moment, he ain't the
world's greatest card player, he'd lose at Snap, for sure, but he suggested it
and he had to go with it.
Chev put two beers on the counter, nodding at the two
of them. "On the house, you can make up for it later, when you decide."
"Thanks." Wayne took his and drank half the glass down
before he looked at the stranger. He hadn't even touched his. "You all right
with the bet, sir?" and the 'sir' came out so sarcastic I would have given
money to bet the stranger would land him one. He didn't. He inclined his head
so slightly you hardly saw it.
"I am indeed." He picked up the beer and walked over
to a small table away from everyone. The message was clear, keep out, this is
private.
Wayne stomped over, banging his worn out boots on the
floor as hard as he could as a way of showing disapproval. Tom Watkins, at the
side of me as always, muttered "idiot. He could have paid up and looked big."
I had to agree with him.
Another silence fell over everyone like dust from the
never cleaned rafters as the cards were shuffled and cut. Wayne drew the
highest card, then they were dealt out.
Now you got to understand I didn't see the cards being
laid out, I don't know who held which hand and who put what down. The game went
on in near silence for a while, to the point when if drinks hadn't been at
stake here, none of us would have sat around and waited patiently for it to
end. We would have bought another drink and got on with our conversations, our
'setting the world to rights' talk which every true pub has on every true
drinking night.
But we didn't and we watched and we saw from the body
language that Wayne was not doing well.
He was tense, holding himself very stiff, muttering under his breath,
flicking non-existent dust off his jacket - like that would make a difference.
Then something was said and to this day no one knows
what it was. What we do know is - Wayne pulled a knife and in a moment the dark
stranger was on the floor, with his breath gone and his heart still. Like it
was that quick. Before any of us could move, Wayne turned round and looked at
us.
"What did I do?" he asked in such despair it near
broke your heart.
Then someone shrieked or shouted or something and we
all looked down. The stranger had gone.
And the knife Wayne held was black as sin and it
never, from that day to this, showed a scrap of silver once.
Ghost? Revenant, someone said, lovely word, better
than ghost any day. Revenant, but what was he doing in the Pig and Bucket and
why did he take on Wayne's challenge?
Chev asked around and found out, about a month later,
some dark seeming man had met a sorry end in the bar about a hundred years ago.
Had he come back to live it out again? He was gone, we would never know.
We do know Wayne wasn't the same man ever again. In
fact, he bought the drinks that night and we've hardly seen him since. The few
times he does call in someone was bound sure to ask to see the knife, to see if
it had gone back to being silver. It hadn't. It didn't.
I know. Wayne gave me the knife one afternoon, called
round at my place, asked me to take it off him and keep it, only it was tormenting
him, calling him to stab it right into his heart, like he stabbed the stranger
and he knew if he kept it, he would.
I check it now and then.
That's how I know it's still black and I don't doubt
for a minute it always will be.
The real big problem is, it's calling me now, faint
but there. Like I should have stopped it. Like I had the chance to stop it.
Winner Takes All, they say. I think that time old
Wayne won, in a manner of speaking, but then lost out big time. And giving the
knife to me means I lost out too. I guess I shouldn't have taken it but what do
you do when a friend comes calling like that?
Got to admit to a bit of morbid curiosity, too. I
wanted to see if it stayed black.
Black as the gleeful thought that went through my mind
when the stranger was on the floor, dead as I thought, because he was a
stranger. We don't overly care for them in the Pig and Bucket. Especially at 7
o'clock on the last day of the month.
Anyone know who I can pass the knife on to? Only the
calling's getting a little louder these days.