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El Peculiar — Chapter Two: Seven Stars, Earl’s Court

⚠️ Content Warning: This chapter contains strong language, drug use, and adult themes. Reader discretion advised.

Sadie worked behind the bar, packed with men who watched her every move. The counter, polished to a shine, reflected the naughty look splashed across her face. Her man was in tonight, and she buzzed with anticipation.

‘I see your boyfriend’s in,’ said the manager, Nigel, his face twisted with bitterness.

‘You’re jealous. Isn’t it time you got yourself a girlfriend?’ she said with a wink. ‘What’s that aftershave you’ve got on? Back in the 1990s, are we? Move with the times.’

She knew Nigel wanted in her knickers. She hated working with him, often catching his stare when she bent to collect glasses. When a customer waved her over, relief washed across her face. Anything to move away.

Nigel made a mental note to change his aftershave. He always felt like a cretin around Sadie. Every time he tried to impress her, he failed. He was in his fifties, five foot three, overweight, with gold-rimmed spectacles and a hangdog look. Twenty-five years in the pub trade. He had money and a Mercedes, but he was a jobsworth with a poor deal in life.

Meanwhile, Sadie’s boyfriend, Sean O’Hara, was in the toilets. The Irishman leaned over the bowl, slammed the lid down, and wiped it clean with his sleeve. From his pocket, he took out a wrap of white powder. He grinned. She’d never know.

He poured a thick white line that shimmered with hints of aquamarine. Quality with a capital Q. The gear sparkled against the dull toilet lid. Out came the gold Mastercard. He chopped, crushed, and sliced through the crystals with precision, the sound echoing through the cubicle.

He rolled a fifty, bent low, and snorted the lot in one go. The blast hit him hard. His lips swelled. Superman now. Focus razor-sharp. The stink of stale piss didn’t touch him. He was king.

He stood tall, nostrils flaring, head back. Every grain in. Yeah, this was the good stuff. He flushed the empty wrap, washed his hands, slicked his jet-black hair with a comb, and stared at himself in the cracked mirror.

Ten years in London since Belfast, still hungry for the big time. The coke hit full tilt. He could taste it thick in his throat.

Like a king, he swaggered out, twitchy, bouncing on his heels. He spotted Sadie. Her satin shirt dipped low, breasts wobbling as she poured pints. His cock stirred as he pushed through the crowd, nearly spilling someone’s drink. No apologies.

The pub roared. Guitars screamed from the corner stage. The drummer hammered away, strung out on something stronger than lager. The frontman jumped into the crowd, bellowing London’s Calling.

Sean winked. Sadie beamed. She poured him a Guinness. She was thirty, all curves and charisma, with a mole on her cheek that made her face unforgettable. Five foot eight and every inch a magnet. Men came back just to see her. Nigel worshipped her.

Sean’s pupils, blown wide, swept the room. That’s when he clocked Rodriguez — the Colombian’s errand boy.

Rodriguez spotted him too and swaggered over. ‘Let me buy you a drink, amigo. Got a message for you,’ he said, whistling at Sadie. ‘Two whiskeys, señorita!’

Who the fuck does he think he is? Sean’s jaw tightened.

Rodriguez slid him a whiskey and grinned. Sean downed it, slammed the glass, and ordered two more. ‘Keep the change, fat boy,’ he told the manager. Nigel muttered under his breath, Flash bastard.

Sean turned back, eyes hard. ‘Why are you here, you tricky little fucker?’

‘Hey, amigo, calm down. Just a message. Don’t bully me.’

‘Don’t give me shite.’

Nigel scurried to the far end of the bar. He’d seen enough rows to know when trouble was brewing.

‘The boss says back off,’ Rodriguez whispered, breath hot in Sean’s ear. ‘You’re knee-deep in his business. He says you’ll be a dead man if you don’t.’

Sean shoved him. ‘Let’s get this straight. I’m not your hombre. You’re a runner. A rat. Back home, you’d be on your knees polishing my boots.’

Rodriguez’s throat tightened. Sweat ran down his back. He wanted to tough it out but knew he was out of his depth.

‘I don’t like your arrogance,’ he snapped, but his voice quivered.

Sean laughed, pointing to the door. ‘Finish your drink and fuck off before I cave your face in.’

Rodriguez drained his glass. His fists trembled. ‘You’ll regret this, motherfucker,’ he hissed, then turned and pushed through the crowd. Sean chuckled and called him a wanker.

Sadie missed the whole thing, too busy pulling pints. By closing time, she was wiping down the bar. Nigel counted the till. Sean mouthed, *See you outside.*

Outside, the frost hit. Sean lit a cigarette, jittery, high, ready to go home and have his fun. The band loaded their van, girls giggling round them, some heading off disappointed into the night.

Five minutes later, Sadie came out in her coat. He kissed her. A cab rolled up.

‘Cheyne Walk, mate. Chelsea,’ Sean said.

They sank into the worn leather seats.

‘You could be more respectful to the manager,’ Sadie said.

‘Why? He’s a prick.’

‘I bet it’s mutual.’

‘Imagine him in your bed every night,’ Sean said, grinning. ‘Packed lunch on Hampstead Heath. Candlelight, egg sandwiches.’

She burst out laughing. ‘You’re a piss taker.’

‘You know I’m right. Bet he’s half a fairy. Pink cufflinks, ruffled shirts — Butlins compere vibes.’

‘Stop it,’ she gasped between laughs.

‘He’s the type who’d make you watch porn, point out the dirty bits, then whip out two peas and a chip. Two and a half inches of fury, thirty seconds later he’s snoring.’

‘Stop it! I’ll wet my knickers!’ she cried.

‘You know me, babes,’ he said, laughing.

‘You bastard,’ she grinned, kissing him all over.

The cab jerked to a stop. ‘Calm down, you two. You’re home,’ said the driver.

Sean handed him a tenner. ‘Cheers, mate.’

The cabbie’s eyes lingered on Sadie as she stepped out. He wished it were him.