When Charles and Beryl arrived at the inn it was obvious they were walking into something. Tables and chairs were being righted and a surly looking landlord was sweeping up broken glasses from the top of the bar.
"You just missed him," the landlord growled at the sight of Beryl.
"We're just here for our things," Beryl ignored his tone and held out her hand for the room key which he gave her without further comment. Charles hoped the man would know better than to fight Beryl over a key. "I'll be right back, Charles."
Charles set a chair back on its legs and waited for the landlord to finish wiping down the bar. "I trust this will settle up their bill," Charles pulled out his wallet and lay a ten pound note on the bar. "And cover your damages."
Begrudgingly, the landlord nodded. That would more than cover everything.
"If any letters arrive, please forward them to the Grand Hotel in Blackpool. I don't think I have to tell you not to mention that to Mr. McAvoy."
"Understood."
"You said we just missed him. When did he leave exactly?"
"Ten minutes before you got here. He was pretty far gone. I refused to serve him and he took exception."
"Apparently." Charles picked up a large piece of broken pint glass at his feet and placed it delicately on the bar. "Do you know where he might have gone?"
"If he didn't go home, there are only a few bars that would serve him in that state. They aren't nice places."
"Even at this time of day?" Charles was incredulous. "It's barely tea time."
"When there are no windows, time of day doesn't really matter," the Landlord told him philosophically.
"Could you please tell me where these questionable establishments are located?"
"Certainly," he pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. He jotted down the addresses and some simple directions.
"Thank you," Charles said as he received the note from the landlord.
"You should probably take a local with you," the landlord cautioned.
Charles pointed at the other occupants of the room, men who shared a lot in common with Colin. "Are any of this lot reliable?"
"Not really, but that's why you need them," the landlord shrugged. "Talk to Mikey over there, he and Colin are pals. Least ways, they share a drink now and then."
Charles suspected you could say that of most of the patrons in the inn. Beryl came back down carrying two bags. Charles put her in a cab outside the inn and debated his next step. He went back into the inn and approached the man the landlord had called Mikey.
"You're a mate of Colin's?"
"Who're you? A detective?"
"I'm his brother-in-law. My name is Charles Carson. I need to find him. His wife is worried about him."
"She should be. Buy me a drink?" He held up an empty glass.
"After we find him." Charles' distaste was palpable. "Are you willing to help me or not?"
"Fine, fine. I'll help you. Colin's not a bad lad. What happened? He wasn't making much sense."
"That's not important. We just need to find him. I have this list of places as a start." Charles showed Mikey the list from the landlord. Mikey nodded.
"I know these places. I'll take that drink now. You should join me, you're going to need it."
Charles could see that he wasn't going to get Mikey to budge without greasing the wheels. He stomped to the bar, paid for two glasses of whiskey and returned.
"You don't waste time, do you?" Mikey laughed before tossing back the drink. He gathered his coat, drank Charles' whiskey too and followed Charles out the door. "So what actually happened? Did his old lady finally give him the boot?"
"Something like that. Let's start at their apartment. Maybe he went back there."
"Unlikely. He's on what they call a 'bender'. He's looking to get obliterated."
"Has he done this before?"
"A few times. When he broke his leg he was on a bender. Some men can't hold their alcohol."
"I'd like to check their apartment."
"Two of these places are on the way there. We should drop in. I certainly hope he's in one of those."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not exactly welcome in this third one and I wouldn't advise you going there alone. If Colin went there, he's on his own."
"Then I hope he's not there," Charles muttered. Charles was a large man and could be intimidating, to hall boys and footmen, he thought wryly. But at his heart, he was not one for physical confrontations and fisticuffs. He desperately hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"Here's our first stop," Mikey said cheerily and ducked into a dark, recessed doorway.
Charles had been in places like this when he was on the stage. He hadn't liked them then and he liked them even less now. This place was just like he remembered. The air was smoky and filled with an odor of mildew. The floor felt sticky under his clean shoes. The chairs were mismatched and the tables were haphazardly strewn about the space. As unkempt as the room was, the clientele were worse. With his upright bearing and direct gaze, Charles stood out like an honest man at a poker table.
"For god's sake, slouch a bit," Mikey hissed at him.
Charles hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets in a very nonthreatening way.
"Oy, Trev, what's the do?" Mikey barked at the barkeep.
"Who's the rube, Mikey?"
Charles felt a half a dozen pairs of eyes boring into him.
"My cousin from York. I thought I'd show him what St. Annes is really about. Why don't you buy the boys a round so they know you're friendly, Charlie?"
Charles flinched at the unwelcome moniker but dug deep into his pockets as if unsure he had enough to cover a round. He was grateful that he found enough cash in coins. He did not want to open his wallet in front of this crowd. "Sure thing, Mikey."
Suddenly, Charles was surrounded by friendly faces clapping him on the back. This was an improvement, but Charles was impatient. It was clear that Colin was not here. Charles wanted to ask about Colin right off and move on, but he sensed that Mikey knew this crowd and decided to follow his lead.
"Any sport today, lads?" Mikey fished. "You've not been trying to prove you're faster than a dart again, have you, Georgie?"
A man with a patch over one eye did not look amused, but the rest of the group howled appreciatively at his expense.
"Did you have anything particular in mind, Mikey?" A man with a face barely visible behind a wild grey beard asked.
"I heard Colin McAvoy was on a bender. His old lady's worried. Any sign of 'im?"
"He's still not paid off his last bender," the barkeeper grumbled. "Ain't my fault he broke his leg."
"Right, well we've got loads more to see today, but I needed a bit of fortification. Ta, lads."
"Ta, Mikey," they all saluted him as Charles and Mikey bid them adieu. Before they reached the door, a hand grabbed Charles' arm. It was the man with the wild beard.
"Try the Bull if you're looking for Colin." He addressed Charles. Obviously, he didn't believe Mikey's story for a second.
"Thank you," Charles nodded and slipped the man a few shillings.
Even the dull afternoon light was blinding as they left the cave like atmosphere.
"Is the Bull the other pub on the way to the apartment?"
"No. It's the one I warned you about," Mikey said gravely.
"Let's try the other first and the apartment," Charles decided. There was no need to go running into the lion's den. "You're buying the next round."
Mikey started to protest, but Charles pressed a crisp five pound note into his hand. Charles was wary of flashing cash about. "I'm out of coins."
The name on the shingle was different, but the second pub was almost identical to the first; unclean and filled with men who lived rough lives. Though it was now five o'clock, this was not the kind of place frequented by clerks and shopkeepers.
Unfortunately, the result was the same; Charles was as conspicuous as Gulliver in Lilliput, Mikey bought a round for the house and Colin hadn't been seen.
Charles observed the bar patrons closely. Hadn't Elsie once told him there were three types of drunk? He couldn't remember when or where, but he distinctly remembered her voice saying, 'There are fun drunks, mean drunks and sad drunks.' He didn't see any fun drunks in this crowd. From what Charles could gather Colin was a sad drunk who occasionally turned mean.
Charles got the impression that even the other drunks felt sorry for Colin. Apparently, besides types, there were different degrees of drunk ranging from functioning to hopeless. Colin was universally acknowledged to be one of those unfortunate souls who couldn't hold it together.
Mikey was still enjoying the attentions of his friends who had been impressed when he produced a five pound note. Charles suspected their flattery arose more from the hope of another round than any true admiration.
"We have to go," Charles tugged at Mikey's sleeve.
"You go," Mikey slurred. "You know where the apartment is and I told you I'm not going to the Bull. I advise you don't go there either. Just go wait at the apartment. He'll show up. Or he won't."
Realizing he'd gotten all he could out of Mikey, Charles left the bar to check in at the apartment. He found it easily enough and let himself in with the key Elsie had given him. Charles checked all of the tiny rooms. There was no sign of Colin. There were broken plates next to the sink and several empty bottles of gin beside the couch. Charles didn't know if the bottles were from before or after the fight.
Charles sat down at the table to think. It was growing dark outside and his best lead was a bar that even a seasoned drunk like Mikey thought best avoided. He'd tempted fate by flying with Guy. Did he dare tempt fate again? His priority was Elsie and May. He wouldn't be helping anyone if he got himself mugged or worse.
The post office was closed, so Charles couldn't call Elsie to check in. He didn't want her to worry, but he didn't want to leave in case Colin returned. He decided to give it an hour before heading back to the inn. Surely they had a phone and he could call the hotel.
Sitting at the table, Charles realized that he was growing hungry. The whiskey he'd had at the two pubs still burned in his belly. He was rummaging in the cupboard when he heard someone fumbling with the doorknob. He went to open the door for Colin but stopped when he heard more than one voice on the landing. Charles pressed his ear to the door and listened.
"You're sure this is where he lives?" One voice asked.
"This is the address the barkeep give us," another answered.
"That was quick thinking, offering to bring him home. He's blasted heavy, but it will be worth it."
"Yeah, he was blathering on about how his missus left him, but he said she left him the cash which proved she cared what happened to him."
"If we leave the door unlocked and ajar, he can't say that we took the money 'cuz anyone could'a wandered in."
"Exactly. Here, you hold 'im, I can't get this key to work and hold 'im at the same time."
Charles heard some grunts as they readjusted. Then, a key began to turn in the lock.
Charles had to think fast. He pulled himself up to his full height, took a deep breath and opened the door.
TBC…
AN/ Sorry to leave it there, but it can't be helped.
