Vinnie swore softly and clenched his hands as the moon sailed out from behind the clouds again. Christ, he was getting too old for this, he thought, as he crouched in a huddle of trees above the car park of Knapp’s Inn. Fleetingly, he recalled his youthful ambition – pull off one big one and retire to the Bahamas or South America. Well, on second thoughts, no, maybe not the Bahamas and not South America either, too hot. Vinnie couldn’t stand the heat – always brought him out in hives, great itchy lumps all over his body. He shuddered. No, definitely not the Bahamas. Somewhere nearer home, like Douglas or Blackrock, posh areas, all locked gates and high walls. He grinned, imagining the horror on the faces of the stuck up gits who lived there, if their new neighbour turned out to be plain Vinnie Byrne, a school dropout from Oliver Plunkett Street.
When the moon was hidden behind the clouds again, he cautiously clambered down the steep wooded incline behind the pub, clutching a small maglite. Suddenly he stopped. Without moving a muscle except his right hand, he pointed his torch downwards. Ah, for fuck’s sake. . Dog shit. He nearly puked. His brand new trainers covered in fresh dog shit. If there was one thing Vinnie couldn’t stand beside the heat of the Bahamas and lumps of hives, it was fresh fucking dog-shit. He felt his stomach heave as he quickly turned and wiped off the slime in a patch of grass before resuming his awkward descent towards the car park
Then he was there, the dark shadow of the Knapp Inn looming out of the darkness in front of him. He hurried to the back wall before the moon emerged again edging his way along, until he came to the small window he’d unlatched earlier, when he’d called in for a pint. Bingo! Good preparation was the key to everything, Vinnie grinned smugly as he greased himself through the small opening.
Christ, it was small though. It hadn’t looked that bleeding small from the inside. Panicking, he shoved and pushed and suddenly a loud tearing noise broke the silence as the arse of his pants ripped and he could feel the soft gush of air fanning his lower regions. Fuck. He shoved again and a fresh wave of panic rolled over him, as he found he couldn’t advance any further. Jesus Christ, he was stuck, too far in to come out and too far out to get in. Small beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Christ Almighty, he’d be stuck there, till someone found him in the morning, arse out through his pants and more than likely than not, smothered by the fumes of the dog shit from his new trainers. Already, in his mind, he could see the Sun headlines. The awful thought of being tomorrow’s front page galvanised him into renewed activity and with a sudden swivel, curiously graceful like the swaying of a snake to the music of the pipes, he found himself free…………
What happens to Vinnie? Take a guess by leaving your thoughts on his fate in comments box below Best guess gets a free copy of Just Because…. A collection of short stories by the writing group Circle of Friends from which this extract is taken…..