It was quiet in the pub, the Mullaney
brothers at one table and a couple of guys from the bank in Carrick at another,
and Jimmy Byrne at the bar, nursing a pint. I wiped non-existent spills from
the counter top and tuned in and out of the conversations, as you do. Joe
Mullaney was holding forth at the corner table, a bit loud maybe. I might have
to stop serving him soon, but I’ll see what develops. I need every sale, these
days. The recession might be over in the city, but the boom times haven’t
returned around here. I wished he’d be a bit quieter though, we could do with
less of his mouthing.
‘I made a fucking fortune on them’ he said,
‘bought them at five grand apiece and they’re worth four times that much now.
I’m telling you, dogs are the way to go, lads.’
One of the bank boys wasn’t going to let it
go, bragging rights were at stake.
‘I bought dogs too, Labradors. Got ten of
them off the receivers down the midlands the year of the crash, twenty cent on
the euro, I’d have my money back on them now if I just let two of them go, but
I’m holding out for a bit more. I reckon if you buy Labradors you’ll always
make money.’
Joe was defensive. ‘Fuck them Labradors, fuckin Jack Russells
are always the best bet, even in bad times. They mightn’t be as classy, but
they’ll sell quick if you have to cash in a few. Aye, the Jack Russell is your
best investment, great for a pension or if you’re looking for safe returns.’
The other bank guy was getting a bit drunk
too, he wasn’t to be outdone.
‘I always bought Poodles, or Bichon Frise,
myself. Always liked the foreign stuff.’
The older Mullaney brother, the one who
used to work in England, seemed to come alive at the mention of the exotics.
‘Spare me that foreign shite, too many
people got burnt on foreign dogs during the last boom, they were stuck with
Bernese Mountain dogs and stuff like that, they couldn’t get rid of them when
the crash came. I agree with the brother, the Jack Russell is way better. You
might pay a bit more, but your money is safe.’
The first banker called for two more
drinks; those lads won’t demean themselves by coming up to the counter. I
poured the wine and delivered it to their table, collecting a few empties while
I was out on the floor. He paid me and carried on with the debate.
‘Anyway, whatever breed you like, dogs are
the best investment out there, and always will be. Other gimmicks might come
and go, but your canine is the one we’ll always lend on.’
I slid a fresh pint along to Jimmy Byrne
and he swallowed the last of the one he had been minding. I wiped the bar and I
saw that glint in his eye. I spoke quietly to him.
‘Let it go, Jimmy, don’t start anything,
now.’
Sometimes I think I might as well be
talking to that toilet door over there, for all the heed anyone takes of me.
Jimmy took a long swallow of the fresh pint and wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand.
‘Ye’re all wrong. Dogs is history.’
There was a rumble of dissent from the
tables. The banker with the penchant for poodles spoke out.
‘Don’t mind us, we’re only investment
professionals. And what, pray, do you consider to be the next big thing, so to
speak?’
Jimmy didn’t turn around, he addressed his
remarks to the mirror behind the bar.
‘Chairs.’
‘Chairs?’ The banker couldn’t conceal the
sneer in his tone. Chairs, well that’s novel, anyway.’
‘Aye, chairs. They were never as cheap, and
you can get them for less than it costs to make them, so it stands to reason,
like. Chairs are the future, lads, remember when you look back and kick
yourself for missing the boom, remember where you heard it first. Chairs, put
your money in chairs.’
He sat back and let the argument rage for a
while. After a bit Joe Mullaney looked up an addressed his remarks towards the
stool at the counter.
‘So, are you saying you bought chairs?’
‘Aye, I did, surely. Five hundred of them,
and I’ll buy more too.’
Joe was incredulous.
‘Five hundred chairs, and what are you
going to do with them while you’re waiting for the price to rise, or fall off a
fuckin cliff, more likely?
Jimmy gave a wink in my direction. I
wiggled a finger to warn him not to start a row in my pub; I didn’t like that
look in his eye. He spoke to the mirror again.
‘What’ll I do with them? Well, nothing at
all. I think I’ll just wait for the price to rise. In the meantime, well, I
think I’ll just sit on them.’
