When others clocked off at 5:30pm ending the monotony like work-a-day-zombies, Jack Hard’s life only began. The throng of people clogged the narrow inner city streets with fuss and noise as Jack leaned against the bus shelter. He fished in his pocket for his lighter and cigarette case and like channel hopping landing on random scenes from a film he listened to the snippets of conversation he felt rubbed raw by the menagerie and mosaic of city life as it bustled getting on and off the buses or arguing over who was first for the next taxi cab.
Jack’s mood soured like so much milk left in the sun but that was life – a man got what a man got – God was just there to take the notes like a referee at home watching the bout mildly entertained with His finger on the shopping channel. Another argument broke out over a taxi and Jack humoured himself with the stray thought thinking about God in a fight over a cab; God’s voice he imagined would probably be that of James Mason, that breathy wisp of syllables and accent somewhere between a whisper and chronic boredom.
A flash cut across the sky as if the angels were at a party taking photos then the expected hurrah of thunder punctuated the evening like a bad joke. It wasn’t just raining cats and dogs now, it was raining the whole farm, Jack dipped his hat against the spray of annoyance and the wind kicked up a stink but Jack was grateful for the rain, it kept the smell down; shame it didn’t keep the rats, snitches, eyeballs and toms off the street too.
The throw-out from cheap cafes, office sorts and the general hoi polloi started to trickle to a few stragglers and those poor saps left to lock up and switch off the lights. Jack glanced at his watch and sparked up a cigarette, he couldn’t find Chuckles and Freddy the Meat was out of town on some escapade with Fingers O’Brien, he badly needed muscle on this one but life taught him a hard lesson, what you need is rarely what you get and even more rarely what you want. Jack took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, another hurrah in the darkening sky, then put it back on and flicked up his collar. Jack liked the rain, it was an excuse for his mood.
‘You still needing a hand?’ said a deep gravelly voice. Jack looked up and saw Chuckles lumbering across the street. The permanent frown that Chuckles wore was the irony itself, like a badly drawn comic-book villain but the man was a solid type, a brick with hands like meat-hooks and a jaw made of granite, a man-mountain worth his salt.
‘Yeah,’ Jack replied feeling a little less disgruntled, Chuckles was always a reassuring presence.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ gravelled Chuckles rubbing a thick hand across the stubble of his chin like sandpaper. ‘Was taking a hairy-hump missed you by minutes.’
The euphemism prickled Jack’s sensibilities but he tolerated the mildly irritating slang and simply nodded. ‘When ya gotta go ya gotta go.’
Chuckles looked left and then stood next to Jack towering over him like a menacing clump. ‘So, what’s doin?’
‘Got a bead on Snakes,’ Jack replied eyeing the giant.
‘Oh man, not this again, you’re not still working that case?’ Chuckles said dryly.
Jack shrugged and flicked his smoke across the street, like a tiny meteorite it shot through the air and bounced into the gutter. ‘Yeah,’ Jack replied lighting another cig. ‘Can’t let it go Chuckles … I just can’t!’
Chuckles shrugged his massive shoulders with his frown deepening into a black line and clapped Jack on the shoulder a little too hard sending him sideways. ‘Well I’m here, got your back, eh!’ The last bus edged around the corner. ‘We get this done quick, we’ll go for an early gargle at Rick’s,’ commented Chuckles as the bus stopped and he got on.
Jack merely nodded, preoccupied with the past filling up his mind like day-old porridge. He knew chasing this recent lead and going after Snakes was probably yet another dead end. Jack glanced down the street before getting on the bus, but maybe tonight, he thought sombrely, he’d catch a break, catch Snakes and put the past to bed like a tired old drunk …
Jack got into the nearest seat feeling damp and uncomfortable, but then again he considered, life was life, Snakes wasn’t going to be there! He never was. No doubt draw another blank but Jack still had to try, just in case. This time another roll of thunder cut across the sky and Jack couldn’t help but think it sounded like laughter.
‘One day I’ll get you Snakes, one day,’ he whispered to himself. The bus rolled off into the gathering gloom of empty dreams and failed promises.