Rodney Piggott grumbled to himself as he poured a perfectly good cup of coffee down the sink. Three o'clock in the bloody morning and here he was wasting his time making coffee for people that didn't even want it. When he saw that Stuart next, he was going to give him a right piece of his mind.
He looked up as the door to the Gents swung open and the chavvy-looking lad stepped back into the café, eyes on the empty booth near the door.
"He's gone, lad," Rodney called, nodding towards the booth himself. The kid spun around, facing Rodney. "Ran out of the place like he left the oven on."
"What…" the lad seemed to run out of breath as he spoke, like Rodney had given him a dig in the ribs something. Oh they were an odd pair, these two. One with his manic eyes, jittering about the place, speaking a mile a minute as he told Rodney what he wanted him to say. The other, staggering about the room like he'd been kicked in the stomach.
"What…" the lad started again, but didn't get on much better the second time. His face was like a smacked backside as well, Rodney thought, screwed up into an awful contortion. Since he didn't seem to be having much luck asking questions, Rodney decided he might as well relay what he had to relay.
"He said to tell ya," he began, eyes on the ceiling as he tried to remember everything. "Thanks for trying... And that he's sorry… Oh yeah, and that you should call… Douglas, yeah, that were it."
Rodney lowered his eyes from the ceiling now, satisfied he had hit on all the salient points. "Whoever Douglas is!"
The lad said nothing in response. He had stopped gasping like a fish on land, at least. Stopped falling about the place like the building was collapsing on him. He was just standing, mute and dead-eyed, staring unseeingly at the wall in front of him. Again, Rodney felt a little twinge of sympathy for the kid. He looked quite sad. Still, Rodney thought, that's what you get when you go getting mixed up with these gangsters. It's always the little man that gets burned, never the kingpin. You could bet your bottom dollar that Irish fella wouldn't be lying awake tonight worrying about whatever this kid was worrying about.
"So," Rodney said, breaking the silence. "Will you be wanting your coffee then, or should I pour it down the sink as well?"
He waited a full minute for a response, but the lad just stood there, deaf and dumb. Finally, Rodney took the tepid cup and tipped it over, watching the brown liquid disappear quietly down the plughole. What a waste, he thought.
And at three o'clock in the bloody morning. Above his head, the electric like continued to splutter and flicker. Oh, he'd be talking to Stuart about this alright.
THE END
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AN: Thanks to everyone who read all the way to the end, I hope you enjoyed it! And particular thanks to anybody who reviewed, the feedback was really appreciated as I hadn't written anything like this before.
I'd be really eager to hear what people thought of the way the story finished, as I know it wasn't the happy ending that some of you were looking forward to and I know the style changed a little in the last four chapters – I hope it didn't disappoint, please let me know ;)