The Last Girl by Stephan Collishaw Page B

Lurching over from the bar he collapsed at my table.
    â€˜Didn’t see you here,’ he said jovially.
    I was in no mood for chat. His face glistened in the blinking lights of the bar. I fixed him with a stare. ‘Did you bring the manuscript?’
    He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes blank. Finally the thoughts seemed to arrange themselves into a vague order in his drink-befuddled mind. He scratched his crotch.
    â€˜Na, well, listen, Steponas,’ he said. ‘I asked Iv-’ His hand flew to his mouth, covering the indiscretion. ‘I’ve just got this,’ he said. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his trouser pocket. With trembling hands he attempted to open it out and straighten it. As he did so, the paper tore. I snatched it from his hands and opened it myself. It was the front sheet of the manuscript. Disease, a novel by Kestutis Rimkus , was typed in small letters. I folded the sheet again and slipped it into my own pocket.
    â€˜Where’s the rest of it?’
    â€˜Well, you’ll get that when you’ve paid for it.’
    The drink seemed to have made Jonas nervous. He was not as assured as he had been the previous morning. I felt that if I pressed him he would give more.
    â€˜Have you got it?’ I asked. ‘Where did you find it?’
    â€˜Well now…’ Jonas laughed nervously. The sentence was left unfinished.
    â€˜What about another drink?’ I asked.
    His eye lit up. He nodded and lifted his empty glass. I clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. He grinned.
    â€˜Well, a little drink and then we can do business,’ I said. His face shone with relief.
    I took my time getting the drinks. I ordered a bottle and a couple of new glasses. Jonas sat at the table, his eye flicking nervously around the bar. He was smoking a cigarette when I got back. I lit one myself and poured two drinks. His I poured full, so that the vodka spilled slightly over the lip. My own was shorter.
    â€˜To business,’ I said and raised my glass. He raised his. We downed the drinks and I poured another immediately. He was well ahead of me. If I paced myself he would be under the table before it had even begun to hit my system.
    â€˜You seen those girls at the bar?’ I said, nodding my head in their direction. I filled his glass again. He laughed crudely. ‘Bit expensive for the likes of me and you though,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know, they pay cleaners well these days,’ he joked.
    I laughed loudly and watched as he downed the vodka. I refilled as soon as his glass hit the table.
    â€˜Come on,’ I said, taking my own glass, ‘you’re not keeping up.’
    We downed the drinks.
    â€˜It wouldn’t be bad though, would it?’ I said, making a vulgar gesture with my hand. He laughed, his face glowing, bathed in sweat.
    â€˜The one in red isn’t bad,’ he said, smacking his lips. ‘Look at that arse!’
    His lips hung fat and loose, his eyes rolled and his head began to bob. He wiped his face with his hand, attempting to clear it. I could see he was having trouble focusing on the girls. I poured him one more drink and then began.
    â€˜So, now then, about the price?’
    He turned to me, grinning stupidly. Spittle dripped from his lower lip. He nodded his head slowly, churning the words over, gradually making sense of them.
    â€˜The price?’ I said slowly and clearly, worrying that he had gone too far.
    â€˜Hundred,’ he lisped.
    I shook my head definitely. ‘No, too much. Not that I’m against paying, you see,’ I clarified slowly, carefully, making sure he followed. ‘I’ll pay. It’s only right I should give you something for finding it. Where did you find it?’
    He shook his head. His lips worked, but he had difficulty getting his voice together. Tentatively the words emerged. ‘It wasn’t me.’ He paused, grinning. ‘I