Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [22]
‘Well if it isn’t little, Annie! How ya doin’ Annie?’
He lunged forward trying to hug her. Annie sidestepped, and Brett staggered across the floor, barely able to stay upright. He tottered back towards her.
‘Jus’ tryin to be friendly!
‘What’s the problem, Joonas?’ Annie wasn’t in the mood.
The bar was busy and Brett nearly always caused trouble.
‘This bugger won’t serve me!’
Annie glanced at the lad behind the bar. ‘What’s he had?’
The lad nodded at a pile of Ogron Ale bottles. ‘That lot.
Now he’s after Draconian sake!
Annie nodded. ‘You’ve had enough, Joonas.
‘What?’ Brett tried to pull himself up straight. ‘Are you refusing to serve me?’
‘Damn right, now get your drunken arse out of my bar before I get them to throw you into the same cesspit that Greebel’s in.’
Brett reeled back as if struck. For a moment Annie thought that he was going to hit her, and braced herself to catch his arm. Then Brett pulled his jacket untidily around him, and peered around the crowded bar.
‘To hell with you! To hell with you all!’
With that he staggered out of the bar.
The young barman gave a sigh of relief.
‘Thanks Annie!’
‘You’ll get used to it, kiddo.’
Annie let her gaze wander back over to the alcove that had captured her attention. But the occupants, if they were ever there, had gone.
Brett wove his way across the street, pulling his coat around him in a vain effort to ward off the rain. His head throbbed and he could barely see a thing – shapes weaved in and out of focus. The cold sting of the rain was starting to sober him up.
He hiccupped.
‘Miserable bitch. How the hell could she throw me out on a night like this?’
He stooped and picked up a discarded beer can.
‘Bitch!’
He threw the can at the bar window. It clattered noisily off the glass and rolled into the gutter.
A gust of wind threw freezing rainwater into his face, and with a curse Brett lurched into a doorway. He was damned if he was going to go home before he had had another drink. He peered up the street, rubbing his eyes. There was a low rumble as a cargo thruster cleared the tops of the tower blocks and roared towards the distant stars. Brett watched it become a distant spot of light.
‘Cargo docks. Sid’s bar at the cargo docks.’ he muttered.
Staggering and slipping on the wet tarmac, Brett headed towards the distant glow of the cargo docks.
The business sector soon gave way to the edges of the industrial estate. Warehouses and cranes towered into the night sky and there was a constant blare of klaxons as shuttles launched from the cargo pads.
Brett blundered blindly on, head down, collar up, weaving down the centre of the wide road. A noise behind him made him stop. He peered into the gloom.
‘Who’s there?’
The wind blew papers in a tight spiral down the street.
Brett squinted through the rain. Nothing.
He snorted to himself in disgust, spat into the gutter and shuffled off again. At once there was another noise from behind him, the sound of something moving softly along the pavement.
Brett turned again. A shape flickered through the shadows cast by the street lamps. Then another.
‘There’s no point hiding. I can see you.’
He rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t make out how many there were in the dark. Kids probably. Locals finally bored with television.
‘Why don’t you just piss off home?’
He started walking again, faster now. There was rarely any trouble on Blinni-Gaar, let alone with the locals, but his head was still spinning and he was in no mood to start playing silly buggers.
The shadows kept pace with him, narrow shapes hovering on the edge of the lamplight. Brett felt his heart begin to pound. These weren’t local kids.
Suddenly aware that he might be in danger, he speeded up.
His blood chilled at the sound of something baying behind him, a low warbling howl, joined by another then another.
Suddenly more sober than he had ever been in his life, Brett ran. The warehouses hemmed him in on every side, the only signs of life came from the distant docks. Brett could see vehicles moving in the distance.
There was another howl from behind