Here is an excerpt from my next and possibly final Thomas Radwinter book, the eighth in the series. Thomas decides to have a swift drink before heading home after a wearisome day’s work:
So, feeling bored after another perfectly nice client had commissioned me to do a perfectly harmless but dreadfully dull job, and heading slowly back to the carpark, an area apparently awaiting development as it had for the last half dozen years, and thinking I might bob into the Orange Tree for a swift half before going home, I noticed a new micro pub.
I decided to reward myself with that swift half and check it out. The micro pub was called The Black Bonny and I stood for a moment looking at it. It had been a small shop, something dingy and tatty but now it looked smart and inviting. Its oak door was held open by an old black iron something, the glass etched with an elegant horse’s head. Was Black Bonny a race horse, and was this her?
The door swung open and a couple of rather burly blokes came through and I stepped back to let them pass but they stopped and stared at me. My heart sank and I didn’t have a good feeling. I’d never seen either before but they seemed to recognise me.
One turned back into the pub and called someone. Should I revert to my original plan of dropping into the Orange Tree? Before I could gather my rambling thoughts another man appeared between the two blokes and came straight up to me standing so close I had to step back.
“You bloody Pollack!! Think you can treat me like shit?”
Before I could protest that I had never seen him before in all my life he aimed a blow at me which only glanced off my cheek as I ducked away. Being bullied as a child taught me well the art of ducking and diving and I hadn’t quite lost it.
“I don’t know who the hell you are!” I shouted loud enough for passers-by to turn and look at the potential brawl even as they tried to avoid us.
I kept to my feet and backed off ready to retreat further, my fists coming up in defence – although I was no good at fighting and would pretty soon be flat on my back and somewhat hurt if these strangers attacked me. The man however was peering at me and began to look marginally less aggressive.
“Hang about, you’re not that bloody Pollack, are you?” he said as if disappointed and I agreed I wasn’t.
“Bloody sorry mate, mistaken identity, soz, ok?” And he stuck out his hand.
I took it expecting a bone crusher but no it was an ordinary handshake and a fist bump and I was dragged into the Black Bonny, the glass panelled door swinging wide as the four of us almost tumbled into a small bar.
“Oi! Out! I already told you, you’ve had enough! See you another time but not now!”
We were being ordered out by a tall man behind the bar wearing a flame-coloured dress and a long curly beard.
What an interesting welcome. The men with me were saying fair do mate, soz man, see you later, laters and shuffling out, harmless drunks – unless they mistook you for someone else.
I was sufficiently intrigued by the Black Bonny to look indignant and tell the man with the beard that I didn’t know the three drunks but they’d mistaken me for some Polish guy.
I guess I looked respectable enough in my smart trousers and grey jacket and although he didn’t apologise, he asked pleasantly what I wanted and I stepped up to the tiny bar.
I’m working as hard as I can, foot to the peddle, nose to the grindstone, fingers to the keyboard to get this story edited, checked, and published – I won’t set a date until I’m more sure of it. Also, I’m not exactly sure of the title, the one I had in mind doesn’t seem quite right.
In the meantime, if you haven’t read them already, you might like to catch up with Thomas Radwinter’s other adventures, as e-reads or as paperbacks:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Lois-Elsden/author/B007JWXZ9U
Lois Elsden 