Wednesday 18 November 2015

The Dangerous Smile

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One pint before going home seemed reasonable enough. It had been a long, tiring, unrewarding day, a pint seemed like a good reward for my unfulfilled efforts. It was wet and windy and not in a good way, I stepped off the bus into the deluge, it only a matter of metres before I got to the pub, but that was enough for me to present myself at the bar looking like I'd just been baptised. 
“Pint of Guinness please mate.”
“Still raining is it?”
I smiled, I knew he was being friendly, but I was not really in the mood for witty banter. 
I took my pint to the furthest corner of the bar and sat down, glad to be alone. 
I took out my iPad and half-heartedly checked Facebook, ignoring all the tricolours, looking for cats scared by cucumbers, that was all my head could deal with. 
“Thanks mate, I’ll have that” A young man walked past my table and took the full pint off it like a seagull swooping for a chip. 
“Oi,” I said. 
He turned around and smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile, it was a dangerous smile. 
He walked towards me and put the pint back on the table. 
“Only joking mate,” he said, I could see from his eyes that he was completely pissed.
“Having a good day?” I asked, what do they say about keeping your enemies close?
“Just got out of prison mate,” he said. “Nine years.” 
I shifted a little uncomfortably. I’d wanted to be left alone; I certainly didn’t want to be bothered by a drunken ex-con. 
“Oh,” I said. I’m never sure at this stage if you are meant to ask what he was in for.  
“A bloke beat up my mum, so I beat him up. 14 years I got,” he volunteered the information.
Charming, I thought, “Fair enough,” I said. 9 years for GBH though, I kind of knew the tariff for GBH was about 5 years, so this must have been some beating to get 14. 
 “Cardiff Prison?” I asked
“Nah mate,” he slurred, “Parc, Young Offenders.” 
“I see,” his story was beginning to unravel, if, he’d been in a Young Offenders institute for 9 years, he must have been what, 12 when he did the crime. Did he really beat up a grown man when he was just 12?  Also, he should have got parole long before. I decided not to press the point. I didn’t want to push him into a corner that he could only fight his way out of.
“Anyway cheers mate,” he took a long swig of my beer while staring at me with that dangerous smile in his eyes, daring me to challenge him. I held the stare but smiled. I was not about to cement a bad day by challenging this kid to a fight I was pretty sure I would lose. What do they say about picking your battles?
“Cheers, you deserve it mate,” I said, putting my iPad in my bag, checking the time and heading home. 

A knock on my door. I shuffled the papers on my desk and straightened my tie. 
“Come in,” I said. 
A rather dishevelled, hung over looking young man came into my room. A young man who I knew had broken his curfew last night. 
“Where’s Jeff?” he said. His dangerous smile had gone, replaced with a look of horror as he remembered where he had seen his new probation officer before. I felt like a bond villain.
“I’ve been expecting you,” I said, the dangerous smile was now my own. 

1 comment:

  1. Petra Goláňová22 November 2015 at 07:33

    My favourite lines:
    "Thanks mate, I’ll have that” A young man walked past my table and took the full pint off it like a seagull swooping for a chip. ...

    ReplyDelete