The man sat slumped at the far end of the bar. Outside the dark night was giving way to a shimmering dawn replete with streaks of brilliant red, which only seemed to tauntingly mirror his bloodshot eyes. The other patrons had yielded to their beds hours before; even Colette, whose winning ways with many an alcohol-sodden tourist rarely failed her, had given up attempting to draw him into conversation and left to find more welcoming comfort elsewhere.
He stared down into his glass. It contained little more than a few half-melted ice cubes so, frowning, he raised it in the air and waved it unsteadily at the bartender.
‘I’ll have another one.’
No answer was immediately forthcoming. He tried again. ‘Hey!I need another drink.’
The bartender looked up from the small sink. ‘I think you’ve had enough.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he grunted. ‘Isn’t the customer always right?’ As if to illustrate his point further, he shook the glass. The remaining ice cubes clinked together feebly.
Sighing, the bartender walked over. He reached behind and pulled a bottle from a dusty shelf, then turned and began to pour in a finger of expensive amber liquid.
The man waved the glass in the air. ‘More.’
Another half inch slopped in.
Grunting, he raised it upwards in an unsteady toast, then gulped down half the contents. Unfortunately, a large quantity missed his mouth and dribbled down his chin instead and onto what had once been a pristine white shirt. The bartender watched with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, taking in the well-cut suit and gleaming gold watch. He may have more money at his disposal than the vast majority of other customers but, when it came down to it, all drunks were the same.
‘Lost your heart, have you?’
The man looked up but the words didn’t immediately register.
‘Huh?’
‘I said, have you lost your heart?You’ve got that look. She’s not worth it, mate.’
Scorn lit the man’s face. ‘You think I’m here because of a woman?’
The bartender eyed him. Even without taking his clothes into consideration, the man’s well-groomed golden curls suggested someone who took pains over his appearance. He shrugged. ‘Man, then.’
‘Spare me the pop psychology. There’s no man and there’s no woman. Love’s a myth. A sham. If you think otherwise, then you’ve been conned.’
Despite the obvious bitterness in the man’s voice, the bartender’s reaction was mild. Waiting for him at home was his fiancée. They’d met at a party barely three months earlier, bonding over a disturbingly phallic-looking ice sculpture which had apparently been originally designed as a swan. She’d uttered less than five words before he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He’d proposed a week later.
‘What would you call it then? Lust?A chemical imbalance?’
‘A steaming pile of shit.’
The man took another sip, more carefully this time, and managed to avoid spilling any more whisky. The bartender moved away.
‘What?’ the man called after him. ‘You don’t believe me?You think true love exists?’ He clasped one hand to his chest. ‘That you meet the one and you’re stabbed in the heart with a thunderbolt of love?’ His hand dropped back down to his glass. ‘How is that true love?’ he muttered.
‘How is it not?’ asked the bartender, picking up a glass and beginning to polish.
‘Love doesn’t work like that,’ the man said. ‘It can’t work like that. Love at first sight is a fallacy.’
The bartender smiled to himself. Catching it, the man opened his mouth to say something before a shadow crossed his face and he clearly thought better of it. Instead, he took another drink. A moment of silence crossed the stale air of the room then he spoke again.
‘You feel lust at first sight. And when that fades, you lapse into the comfort of companionship because you think it’s better than being alone. Anyone who thinks they’re really in love, like in the stories, has been tricked. Smoke and mirrors, my friend.’He eyed the bartender. ‘Not that you’d be able to accept that as the truth.’
‘And yet there are those who do fall in love. Who marry and grow old, and remain as much in love as the day they met.’
The man’s mouth thinned into a grim line. ‘They’re being manipulated.’
‘How can you be manipulated by love?’
The man drained his drink, staring into the bottom of the glass for a brief moment with a morose expression. ‘How can you not?’
The bartender opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the intrusive beep of an alarm. The man frowned, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out an expensive-looking phone. He stared down at the screen for a moment, a muscle clenching in his jaw, then turned the phone off and put it away, planted his feet onto the floor and pushed back his stool. He dug out a wallet and tossed some crumpled notes onto the bar, squinting back at the bartender.
‘That should cover it so far. You’re not closing any time soon, are you?’
The bartender raised his eyebrows. ‘We’re open twenty-four hours.’
‘Good,’ he grunted. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes then.’
The man spun round, swayed slightly and began to lurch towards the door. He veered off to the left, narrowly avoiding crashing into a table, before correcting himself and staggering forward. He stood at the door for a moment, as if suddenly lost in thought, then pulled it open, the sudden flood of sunlight causing him to wince. He muttered something inaudible under his breath and stepped out. The bartender shook his head slightly and scooped up the money, turning to the till to ring it in.
Outside, the man looked up and down the promenade. The early sun glinted off the azure blue of the sea and a few hungry seagulls soared keening overhead. Not too far away, an ice-cream vendor was setting up for the day, opening up a small red- and blue-striped parasol and humming away to himself. The man ignored him and focused instead on the beach. He could just make out a lone jogger approaching along the sand from the east. Other than a figure throwing a stick to a dog down by the water’s edge, the area was deserted.
‘Fewer witnesses for once,’ he muttered to himself, walking across the dull grey cement to where a set of uneven steps led down to the sand.
He supposed that she’d sent him here at this moment because she enjoyed the symmetry of the scene. The poetic justice of the beach’s beauty and the soft dawn sunlight. He shrugged, clasping hold of the iron railing at the edge of the steps to avoid falling over, and stumbled clumsily down. It made little difference to him. He’d been doing this for too long to care any more.
When he reached the bottom, he sat down, leaning against the railing. The jogger was getting closer. He could now make out her lurid pink shorts and brightly coloured headband. There wasn’t much time left. Closing one eye, he cocked his head towards the man with the dog, both of whom were still completely oblivious to his presence. He was tempted for a moment to let them be. She wouldn’t like that though. He rubbed his forehead tiredly and reached back inside his jacket, this time pulling out not a phone but a small golden box. He pressed on the lid and the device opened abruptly. Without looking, the man assembled the different parts together, screwing the barrel into place to complete the manoeuvre.
There was a clatter from above as the ice-cream seller dropped something onto the hard pavement of the promenade. The man ignored it and pulled what was now a gleaming gold weapon against his shoulder and aimed the crosshairs in the direction of the animal. He smiled as the dog bounded into the water, completely unaware that he had its heart dead within his sights. Then he swung upwards, switching to the dog’s owner. He might be drunk but his aim was true. Truth be told, he never missed.
He watched the other man for several more heartbeats, feeling the pressure of the trigger tight against his fingers.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’Then he squeezed.
He didn’t need to check to see whether his shot had succeeded in hitting its target. He knew it had; in fact, he was already turning to the jogger.
Now she was closer he could tell she was young and pretty. He allowed himself a moment of reflection about what her life would be like if he chose to let her be. If she’d go on to find someone to marry, to have children with, to grow old with. Not that it really mattered; he was taking all that choice and all that suggestion of freedom out of her hands. The dog splashed through the froth of waves and barked once sharply, as if in warning. Too late. The man pulled the trigger and struck her directly in the heart.
He unscrewed the barrel, clicked off the trigger, and pulled the gun apart, carefully placing each component back into the golden box. Then he stood up, swayed and turned. The ice-cream vendor was crouched down, writing down the day’s gelato specials on a small chalkboard. The man slipped the box back inside his jacket, and walked unsteadily back to the bar. He needed another drink. Or two.
Back on the beach, the dog was barking with increased fervour. The jogger had reached both the animal and its owner and stopped. The ice-cream vendor stood up from his writing and spared them a glance. They were inches away from each other and smiling with shy excitement, the deep and sudden knowledge they’d met the one person who could make them truly happy shining out from both of their faces. Meanwhile, pulling himself back onto his bar stool, Cupid, known as Coop to his friends and the God of Love to others, ordered another double Scotch.