Mate. you want to go halfers with me?
A voice husked conspiratorially from my phone's naughty undercarriage.
I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and looked around furtively. No one was watching. Good. After all, I was on work time and it seemed like some kind of deal was about to go down.
It had been some time since I had been asked to go halfers on something. A long time indeed. No matter, I still had it. I still had them moves.
Self consciously, I tugged at my jeans so they hung a little lower on my hips.
Sup, homes? Halfers eh? How much we talking?
I tipped my head up as if acknowledging one of my bloods on the street even though I was in the attic and no one could see me.
Think, sixty each would cover it.
My mate Daz sounded shaky and well he should. 60 big ones? Looks like we were moving into the big league. I wondered if I still had my baseball bat in the garage. Might have to dust it off, crack a few skulls.
Sixty. Might have to shift some funds about, might need a few hours, hombre. Tell me, what we buying? Powder? Pills?
I could already imagine it, standing on the superyacht, ball-deep in some skanky street-wife whilst tugging at the Captain's horn.
The big deep horn that ship's have, not the captain's penis you cheeky fuckers.
HOOOOOOOOONNNNK ... HOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNK
I didn't ask for this life but it's the life I have been given and god damn I am gonna live it.
Nah mate. It's this deal. Old J rum, 120 bucks on UKdeals. Will I send you the link? 6 assorted bottles. I mean the gold one itself is worth fifty quid! We could chip in and half it, three bottles each?
Daz had that same high pitched voice he got when he tried to put a cat in a sock.
I came down to earth with a bump.
Sixty quid?! Sixty fucking quid? Fuck sake man, I take more than sixty quid into the toilet with me in case I get caught short?
I heard Daz flinch from the man-slap of my voice.
I continued on.
Why do you want to go halfers on something that costs 120 quid? I mean, we ain't teenagers anymore. Can't you just buy one and I will buy one? Boom. Problem solved and we don't have to fight over who gets the bottle of Gold stuff.
I shook my head. Daz was a great guy but sometimes, especially since becoming a Dad to about a million fucking spawn children, he didn't think straight.
I can't mate. She would kill me if I spent a hundred and twenty bucks on rum.
A silence followed Daz's admission as if he had just fessed up to touching cats arses.
to be honest, it's a tempting thing. they are so fucking fluffy looking.
Mate, seriously, fucking buy the thing and get your wife told. It's your money and you are on the wrong side of forty-five. Buy what the fuck you want.
I didn't like to administer the tough love but sometimes a man had to hear another man tell him he was worthless. It's like that old story about the Monkey's Paw or something.
Daz was silent, then he sighed.
You know what, mate? You're right. It's my money. I am 48 years old. I can buy what I want! I am off to tell her right now.
He hung up.
I nodded. Another man saved.
I wandered downstairs into the lounge, the Good Lady looked up from some website that was siphoning all of my money out of me via her.
Daz phoned. He was telling me about this awesome deal on the Old J rum. Six bottles for £120 and lots of other goodies. It looks awesome. We are both gonna get it... Yum yum get the rum in my tum!
I smiled then mimed chugging bottles of Rum from both hands and did a little rum dance.
120 pounds? Are you fucking insane? We can't afford to spend that on Rum. I mean what the fuck?!
The Good Lady slammed the laptop lid shut.
What about the furniture we were going to buy for the Little Boom's room? What about the repair to that hole in the side of the house, I swear there is something horrible living in there?!
She stood up so as to dress me down better.
We need to be careful with our money whilst I am out of work and don't mention the bloody Cubs again. Ok?
She glowered at me. Her once-proud norks quivering with annoyance.
Yeah, yeah, cool. I will just get one bottle then. You know that Daz, he is practically a fucking alcoholic. Six bottles. Pffrrrrrt.
I made that apologetic face that you make when apologising for a drunk friend who has slept with another friend's wife when he actually thought he was wiping his arse after a mad shit.
Yeah, one will do. Six bottles. Bloody Daz, he needs help.
