The Point by Gerard Brennan Read Free Book Online

and wiped away the wet rings his glass left on the table. She smiled at him each time. Paul imagined what she would look like naked: hardly a huge stretch of the imagination. Her short skirt and unbuttoned polo shirt gave him a good start. He filled in the blanks with ease.
    A big man entered the bar and spoiled Paul’s view. This guy’s slow gait could best be described as a lumber. This was a word Paul had come across in books when the urge was in him to read, but he’d never actually seen it in action. The man’s walk, combined with his pure white hair, made Paul think of the clinically depressed polar bear that had died in Belfast Zoo a few years back. An expensive suit jacket stretched tight across his shoulders. John gave Paul a sharp nudge in the ribs.
    “That’s him,” John said.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Aye. Richard O’Rourke. Alleged car dealer. Uses his garage as a front for an illegal car smuggling trade. He started out as a mechanic, but look at his hands. Clean. They haven’t touched an engine in years.”
    “Fuck me,” Paul said. “He could squish my head in one of those fists.”
    “So don’t give him reason to.”
    “You going to introduce me, then?”
    “Fuck, no. I’m scared shitless of him. But you’re the one keeps nattering about going big-time. O’Rourke’s the man to talk to.”
    Paul felt like strangling John but, instead, he nodded and got out of his seat. The three pints he’d downed while waiting for O’Rourke to show up set him at ease. He walked up to the bar and winked again at the sexy wee barmaid.
    “Could I have another pint, please? And get this man whatever he wants.”
    The barmaid looked to O’Rourke and raised her shapely eyebrows.
    O’Rourke didn’t even glance at Paul but was happy to accept the drink.
    “Double brandy.”
    She smiled, nodded and got busy fixing the drinks.
    “It’s Mister O’Rourke, isn’t it?”
    His big boulder of a head swivelled on its elephantine neck. He locked on to Paul with a thousand-yard stare. “Until I know you better, son.”
    “I’m Paul. You look like a man who can’t pass up a good business opportunity. Will you hear me out for a second or two?”
    O’Rourke’s suddenly focussed glare conveyed that he wasn’t mad about the idea. But, because he didn’t outright say so, Paul gave him the pitch after the barmaid set down their drinks and disappeared out back.
    “I think I might be able to supply you with some good quality used cars. I moved down here from Belfast a couple of weeks ago. I’ve a few contacts in the city and a lot of relevant experience. I think we could help each other out. You don’t have to decide right now, I’m sure you just want to relax after a day’s work. But, if you have a business card with you, perhaps I could call you during office hours tomorrow?”
    “I’m a businessman, son,” O’Rourke said. “Every hour is an office hour.”
    “That’s my philosophy too. I hope it brings me as much success as it seems to have brought you.”
    O’Rourke shrugged off the compliment with a snort. Paul made a mental note. The man was not impressed by arse-lickers.
    “Right,” Paul said. “This is how I can see things working for us. I’ll call you once a week and you’ll give me a wish-list of cars. I’ll bring you everything I can from it, as soon as I can, and you decide if the motors are up to scratch. I propose we start small. One or two cars to begin with and we’ll see where it takes us.”
    O’Rourke adopted the same approach to conversation as he did to movement; slow, steady and economical. When the barmaid was out of earshot he answered Paul.
    “What makes you think I’d be interested in that kind of business, officer...?”
    “I’m not a peeler, Mister O’Rourke,” Paul said. “And I’ve done my homework. Eddie Matthews from Twinbrook says hello. You can phone him for a reference.”
    O’Rourke gave Paul the hairy eyeball. Paul held his ground and O’Rourke’s gaze.