"Harry Adam Knight - Fungus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Knight Harry Adam)
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Tuesday, 10.55 p.m.
The landlord of the One Tun, Eric Gifford, decided to check the Lounge Bar on his way back up from the
menтАЩs room in the basement. It was, he saw, almost empty except for a few of the regulars. No matter,
heтАЩd had a good nightтАЩs take in the Public Bar, he told himself.
It was then he noticed the tall, blonde woman drinking a red wine by herself at a table near the door. Odd
to see a woman drinking alone in this pub, but she looked too well bred to be a whore. Then again, he
reflected, you got some unusual types of women on the game these days. He blamed the recession. . .
He looked at her more closely and then decided heтАЩd seen her before. She wasnтАЩt a regular but she was
definitely familiar. Maybe sheтАЩd only been in the pub once before, but he remembered her face. It wasnтАЩt
the sort of face a man was likely to forget. She was a looker, all right, and from what he could see of her
body it made a good match with her face.
He whistled as he headed back to the Public Bar. Looking at beautiful women always cheered him up.
Even at times like this when his bowels were playing up.
It was all the fault of the Yard of Ale competition heтАЩd organized earlier in the evening. He hadnтАЩt
actually taken part in it, because he was too good, but as usual heтАЩd given
a demonstration of how it should be done just to impress the youngтАЩuns. Oh, he knew they wouldnтАЩt be
up halfway it would dawn on them theyтАЩd seen a master of the art in action . And then heтАЩd really rub it in
when it was all over by casually downing a second yard of ale, which is what heтАЩd done tonight as usual.
HeтАЩd managed it okay but it had been a struggle at the end, he had to admit. His guts had been giving him
hell all day and this had been his fifth trip to the toilet, without success. He was so constipated he felt like
a pregnant elephant. Perhaps heтАЩd better do what his damned doctor kept advising and cut down on the
drink. One of these days. . . .
Despite his acute discomfort he pulled himself together as he entered the public bar and began the task of
getting people to drink up with his customary diplomacy:
тАЬCome on, you drunken buggers! HavenтАЩt you got homes to go to?тАЭ he bellowed.
He loved to play the tough landlord and, although the regulars knew it was all a game, the tourists and
other drop-ins always looked satisfyingly alarmed when his red-faced, pot-bellied form appeared
suddenly in their midst breathing fumes and yelling insults at them. It was always a great way to end the
day.
And as a point of principle, when everyone was gone he always helped to clean up. He knew he was often
more of a hindrance than a help by that stage of the night but the staff didnтАЩt mind. He was quite a good
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employer as landlords go. Even the girls didnтАЩt get too upset when he rubbed his belly against them
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