He was happy to sit in a secluded corner of the pub. He ordered his pint and after that was pretty much invisible. She only seen him when he approached the bar. Charlie had full view of Ruby. His little doll. Probably Russian he thought randomly. He watched her as she flirted with her predominantly male regulars. It looks like she has settled in he thought. He hadn’t heard anything about her having a relationship with any one of them. Harry Broon hung about the bar all day. He thought he was in with a chance. He was nothing but a loser. Dole dosser. It’s not that Charlie is jealous, he just wants Ruby to be his. Simple. Sometimes, after closing time, he would take his Heinz 57 out for a last walk. He would wander up the high street and look at Ruby’s flat above the pub. He wanted to make sure she was in, more to the point, alone. Every other night she was. Tonight, he looked up at her window and realised by the shadows she had company. He hung around the doorway of the Chinese takeaway, his collar up in a vain attempt to shield him from the rain that had drizzled all day, the harr from the coast creating a dim haze from the street lights. The door opened and out came Harry Broon, taking a jaunty skip down the steps. Charlie took a walk with the dog along the river. They both liked this walk, for differing reasons, him to calm his mind and the dog’s to sniff all sorts of feral animals not smelt in the town. By the time he got home and had the kettle on for his favourite cup of tea before bed, he had decided that Harry Broon had to be dealt with. How though? He hated violence. It should only be used as a last resort. Blackmail often sufficed, but who cared about Broonie's reputation anyway? Nope. Withholding of finances often worked, he liked to keep his boys lean from time to time, but no, that wouldn’t work, Broonie’s a dole dosser. Withholding of drugs was often very effective, but he wanted something more physical for Broonie. He wanted to feel the contact with this little runt but didn’t want to do it himself.
He tossed and turned in bed, wondering why this little maggot had got to him. A phrase his Mother used came to mind, it being everything would look better in the morning. He hoped this was true, for Broonie's sake.