Mac

This is Chapter 8 of my story. This is where the narrator goes for a pint with his brother in law. This book deals with some heavy themes, but is chapter is lighter.

Mac was back from Germany. “You should’ve seen it, pal. Honestly, Stevie. This street in Dusseldorf, the Kon… the King… hold on.” He checked his phone. “The Königsallee. It’s fucking beautiful, man. A canal, shops, restaurants. It puts this wee place to shame, let me tell you.”

I took a sip of my beer. “Well, there’s a bit of difference in circumstances between this wee toon and a city in Germany, mate.”

“Aye, you’re damn right there is.”

There was a moment of silence between us, but it seemed he was warming to his subject.

“I tell you what, mate, the clubs out there… they call the area the Kö. It’s beautiful cobbled streets, and then you’ve got all these folk partying. A German guy I was working with over there took me ’round all the sites. I just called him Hans, eh, after Die Hard.”

“What the fuck? What did he call you?”

He turned a little red. “Well, he called me ‘Highland Charge’ after we got in a little bit of trouble.”

“Oh, Maccy-boy, what happened?” I asked. He looked uncomfortable.

“This is just between me and you, alright?”

“Alright, pal.” He looked around. I raised my eyebrows.

“So, we are in this club, right? Music pumping. The Germans are mad for their techno and that. Anyway, it’s me, Hans, and this fella he knows. He called himself BMW… Big Mother Humper or something. Anyway, we all just called him Beemer. We’re in this club at the bar, and this lassie walks up to us. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen… erm, your sister excluded, of course… you know what I mean.”

I chuckled.

“Anyway, she’s all glammed up—tight dress, hair tumbling down—and she says something. Haud on. I can remember this: ‘Sterbe ich jetzt vor Durst?’ ‘Am I gonna die thirsty, or are yous going to buy me a drink?'”

“So, Big Beemer is straight in there. Hans is running a translation for me.” It was back and forth, quick.

“I’ll buy you a drink, doll.” “You couldn’t afford one.” “They call me BMW.” “I prefer Volkswagen.” “Playing hard to get, eh?” “I’m something you’ll never get.” “Alright, well fuck off then.”

“At this point, this guy, the size of a hoose, appears behind the lassie. Turns out this is the girl’s boyfriend. The guy’s got forearms the size of your heid, pal, and your heid is a jumbo.”

He chuckled. “Alright, fannybaws. Need that for all my brains.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “this guy’s got a couple of pals, too. They all start in on BMW. Hans goes over, and mate, one of them just picks him up and throws him out on the dance floor. Like he’s nothing, you know?”

“Christ, what are you doing?”

“I’m just kind of watching this. The lassie has got a look on her face like pure spite as the three of them are laying into Beemer. I keep expecting security to show up, but nothing happens. It looks like Beemer’s getting it pretty bad.”

“So?” I asked.

“So? Well, you know how it is. I pick up a bottle of beer from the bar, run over, and wrap it off one of these guys’ fat heads, and down he goes. The other two don’t notice. I’m half-expecting one of them to throw a punch or security to grab me. I’m kind of hoping security are going to grab me… but… a moment passes and I stand behind this big guy. He’s baldy, see, just like one big solid piece of rock. And I kick him as hard as fucking possible in the nuts.”

I was laughing.

“Thing is, right, nothing happens. He just keeps going. So I try again. Full force, in the nuts. The guy doesn’t even flinch. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I’m thinking, ‘Oh, fuck.’ I’m bracing for a punch or a kick. It’s Hans. We look at each other, and as we turn to help Beemer, these fucking crazies appear, barking something. It’s all foreign, all German,” he said.

“Well, aye, it would be. You’re in fucking Dusseldorf, pal,” I laughed, and he flinched.

“Anyway, a couple of minutes later, we’re out on the street. Beemer’s a little the worse for wear, but now I’m Highland Charge.”

“Fuck’s sake, mate, I’d keep that quiet fae Jeanie,” I laughed.

He showed me a picture: the three of them together, bruises showing under a streetlight on the streets of Dusseldorf.

You can read the full book here. This is a lighter chapter and the rest of the book deals with heavy themes, please read with care.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon