“Hi, sexy,” said Tom as Hayden approached. Tom was shy and soft spoken. “You thirsty?” He held up a spare champagne glass.
“Always,” said Hayden. He leaned over to kiss him, and Tom pulled him close, squeezing his waist. Hayden put his hand on Tom’s waist, which felt thick and solid, and trailed it down to his firm backside. There was a thick square in the back pocket of his jeans. Money. Last time they met, Tom had pulled out a wad of fifty-pound notes to pay for their drinks, and it felt like he’d brought even more with him this time.
Hayden pulled away and smiled at Tom. The older man’s brown eyes twinkled mischievously in the multicolored lights from the dance floor. A slow song started to play, and a few of the young guys who’d been dancing left the floor and started circling around the row of barstools. Three of them already had drinks on the go with the older guys, and they chatted and flirted and had their glasses topped up.
“You had a good week?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, I bought these jeans,” said Hayden, pulling up his tight T-shirt to reveal his washboard stomach and the top of his new Levi’s. Tom’s eyes lit up.
“Nice,” he said, tipping the flute of champagne back and downing the contents.
This is going to be so easy, thought Hayden.
A lad with a ratty face and hair dyed far too dark for his skin tone came dancing over to them. His name was Carl. His eyes lit up when he saw the bottle of Mo?t.
“You guys want a third?” he shouted, in the same throwaway manner as if asking for a portion of chips. His pupils were dilated like two large inkwells, and he had a cold sore on his bottom lip.
Hayden shook his head.
“Go on,” said Carl, leaning close. “Champagne makes me really slutty.”
Hayden turned so his back was to Tom, and he leaned over and said, “Get the fuck away from him, Carl. Or I’ll tell the bouncer on the door that you’re a rent boy hassling the punters.”
“All right, I was only up for a laugh!” replied Carl, his eyes wide with alarm. He reached into his jeans to get out his phone, staggered on his feet, and moved away to one of the other older men. Hayden had heard that Carl had recently been chucked out of his bedsit and needed to find a bed for the night. Hayden turned back to Tom.
“What did you say to him?” asked Tom.
“I told him to take it easy. He’s fallen off the wagon again. Do you want to go and sit down?” he said, indicating a long leather bench lining the sidewall.
“Sure,” said Tom with a smile.
They sat chatting for the next half hour and drank another bottle. Hayden did all the talking, telling Tom about his crazy roommate, Amy, who had recently dyed her blonde hair red with henna from a new-age shop in Torquay and then gone swimming at the leisure center.
“It was like a scene from Jaws,” finished Hayden. Tom laughed. He poured the last of the bottle into their glasses. “Would you excuse me a moment?” Hayden added, getting up and going to the toilet.
The gents’ toilet in the Brewer’s Arms was always a bit of a shock to the system. The bar was warm with dim-colored lighting. The toilets, in comparison, were starkly lit and freezing cold. Hayden blinked in the brightness as he went to the urinal and took a pee. The toilets were empty. When he finished, he washed his hands and studied his reflection in the mirror. Even in the bright fluorescent light, he looked good. He took a deep breath and dried his hands on a hand towel. He reached into his pocket and took out a small resealable plastic bag. It contained the finely crushed powder of four Rohypnol tablets.
The door crashed open, and Carl came stumbling in. Hayden quickly pocketed the bag. Carl had looked rough in the bar, but the light in the toilet made him look positively cadaverous. He went to the urinal and unzipped his trousers and started to pee, swaying on his feet. Hayden could see that his jeans and trainers were filthy.
“I know what you’re up to,” said Carl, shaking and zipping up.
“And what’s that?” asked Hayden.
“You’re going to put something in that guy’s drink and then rob him,” slurred Carl, adjusting his spiky hair in the mirror.
Hayden kept his face neutral. “You need to lay off the crystal meth, Carl,” he said.
Carl raised his eyebrows. “Do I? I got chatting to a guy at the Feather’s the other night, telling me about a tall blond from up north, with blue eyes and a metal bar through his bell end, who he took home . . . He woke up the next morning and all his cash and credit cards were gone. He thinks someone spiked his drink. I’ve peed next to you enough times to know that’s you.”