He wasn’t shouting. Yet. But he was very loud and verging on aggressive. Like this: “You have to remember Ferguson wasn’t successful when he started.” His companion, a small man with a small tone, nodded, staring into his pint, hoping it might help. It didn’t. Darcy finished his third Jameson, belched, said, “See, managers do be playing the long game.” A man farther along the bar, dressed in a black denim shirt, black jeans, visibly blanched. He had a long slender face with a slight scar above the right eye and it seemed to twitch now in annoyance. He lifted his tonic water, took a bitter sip. He wanted a double gin but it could wait. Duty must. Darcy said, more roared, “Gotta point Percy at the porcelain.” The man didn’t look but he was fairly sure that Darcy winked. He took a deep breath then followed Darcy. Darcy was zipping up then moved to wash his large hands. He clocked the man enter but he knew not to make eye contact in a men’s lavatory. Thought, “WTF?”
