The Car Salesman sat at the usual table in the corner of the Green Dragon. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of farts that used to be covered by a thick fug of smoke before the ban. He checked his watch and drained the last inch of bitter from his glass. “Last Orders” shouted the barmaid. He had fancied her once he recollected, before her décolletage had wrinkled and her jowls had dropped.

“They better bloody hurry up” he grumbled under his breath as he made his way to the bar.

“Pint of best please” he said.

“Make that two” said a voice behind him.

“Make it three – cheers mate” said another voice.

The Car Salesman turned round and saw the Estate Agent and the Traffic Warden.

“Cut that fine…drinks on me again is it?” he sighed.

The three men sat around the table, barely talking, sometimes glancing over to the door, sometimes at their watches or the mirrored pub clock bearing the legend “Barstons Beer – Mans Best Friend”.

“Nice Pint” said the Estate Agent. He had loosed his collar and tie but still a sheen of sweat shone from his receding grey forehead.

“It’s the same blood pint we always drink in here, why do you need to say anything about it at all?” Car Salesman was edgy, he didn’t like this day of the week, being here in this smelly dark pub.

“Relax.” said the Traffic Warden “It’s nearly 11:00.”

The Care Salesman winced and fidgeted in his seat. The Estate Agent glanced at him from the corner of his eye and slowly put his drink on the table.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re even more nervous than usual. Is there anything you need to tell us?”

The Care Salesman wiped his eyes and took a big gulp of beer. He looked at the Traffic Warden and wondered what would happen to him? He thought perhaps he should tell them now, get it over with, explain how he didn’t have a choice. Just then the men became aware of a figure approaching them across the sticky carpet. They all sat still and waited for him to speak.

“Alright!” greeted the large man, “what you got for me?”

His enormous belly was only an inch away from the Estate Agent’s face, he nearly gagged on the stale meaty smell that emanated from the man they knew as the Bin Man.

They all produced a folded brown envelope from their pockets, lumpen and dirty and passed these over to the Bin Man.

“Any problems?” he asked

The Traffic Warden and the Estate Agent replied “No” straight away.

The Car Salesman was staring at his glass.

“Oy, any problems?”

“Uh oh no, all smooth”

“Lovely, see you next week” and with that the Bin Man and his stench left the pub.

“Time ladies and gents” called the barmaid.

The men stood up, nodded a cursory goodbye and walked out of the pub for another week. The Car Salesman wondered if he would ever know their names and decided he better go back and just check that he had dug a big enough hole.