When the Pilot Light Goes Out

by Daniel Stone

  I walked back the way I had come, back towards the main dance floor. I looked over my shoulder to see one bouncer return to the room where the manager was with the girls while another stood at the top of the stairs watching me walk away. My adrenalin was pumping so hard my brain felt like it might explode and my knees were turning to jelly.

  I’d picked up all my stuff. I hadn’t lost a thing: I had six pills in my pocket and was walking back into the club, re-entering the fray. No harm done! I looked back again and the gorilla was still following me with his eyes. I guessed he wasn’t entirely convinced I was as innocent as I maintained; perhaps they were going to be watching me for the rest of the night or for however long I was in the club – they had CCTV. Either way I had best be careful. I made it back to where it had all started and James was still skulking about.

  ‘What the fuck happened to you, mate?’ he said whilst we had a little man hug.

  I said to him, ‘Not here, mate, let’s walk and talk. And besides – I know not this man!’

  We both laughed as we made our way through the throng of clubbers. I discreetly handed James three pills.

  ‘What the… how the fuck?’ was his reaction as he slipped them in his pocket.

  ‘Don’t say anything or do anything, just get rid of them,’ I said whilst grabbing his beer and necking a pill. ‘Listen, I think they might still be watching me and I suppose you as well. I suggest perhaps we double drop and see what happens. They might be a load of shit and this was all a big to-do over nothing. Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter, one of the side rooms?’

  On the way we grabbed a couple of bottles and two JD and cokes and I relayed the happenings over a few cigarettes and a few more JDs and of course another pill. We had a laugh over the Judas moment and the whole shenanigans and decided the pills weren’t working and necked the last one. By my reckoning that was three in about half an hour. That’s when they hit us.

  The room we were in was playing a mixture of classic house and funk mixed in with old school northern soul. Before I knew it I was dancing like Michael Jackson and Elvis Presley’s long lost love child and James was reversing in every direction possible. Shabam! We had arrived at the gates of Fooked City.

  Hours started drifting by in a technicoloured sunset with florescent hail stones chucked in for good measure. Boy was I dancing now. Where was James? I remembered my partner in crime, me old mucker. He was sitting down, chewing an invisible pineapple. He was also rubbing his leg and someone else’s!

  I danced over to where he was sitting; it was easier dancing and moving than stopping and walking normally. I had forgotten what normal walking was; if I had to go anywhere now it would be dancing, wherever it was, right then it was necessary. So I danced over to him.

  ‘You alright, mate?’ I said, looking at him while still dancing, slightly bemused. I couldn’t tell if he thought he was rubbing his own leg or one belonging to what he believed was a girl sitting the other side of him.

  ‘Mate, you’re rubbing this fella’s leg!’ I said, although noting the bloke didn’t seem to mind; in fact he looked like he was rather enjoying it.

  ‘James, you’re rubbing his leg!’

  ‘No, I’m not, I rubbing hers,’ he said with through content, rolling eyes and a gurning, chewing mouth.

  I wasn’t entirely sure on the rules at this point. It was utterly necessary to dance, of that I was sure. I wasn’t sure whether rubbing a complete strange man’s leg believing it to be a woman’s could be classed as a homosexual act or indeed a liberty. Perhaps the fact that James thought it was a girl’s leg when in actuality it was a man’s leg in some way excused him of the gay act, but the fact still remained that he was rubbing someone else’s leg, presumably without prior consent. Although I figured they were both consenting adults. James generally wouldn’t be the type to get touchy-feely with strange men, certainly not that I knew of anyway. Not that I’d have been overly bothered, that is, unless he was partial to rubbing my leg, in which case I’d probably have had to dance away or something. No, whatever way I looked at it, it might have been acceptable James behaviour had it been a girl he was busy leg rubbing, but it wasn’t, it was this fella, and the fact he didn’t mind kind of meant he was taking advantage of James in his leg-rubbing state.

  I let out a massive, exasperated sigh before continuing.

  ‘Look, you nutter, that’s your leg there right?’

  James looked gormlessly at his leg for a second and then back at me.

  ‘And that’s his other leg there, see,’ I said, pointing. ‘And you see that hand of yours there? It’s on his leg, see!’

  James looked at the guy sitting next to him, briefly looking into his soul.

  ‘Oh, sorry, mate,’ James said.

  The stranger replied, ‘That’s okay, I was enjoying it!’

  ‘See!’ James said snappily to me as if he was now a master of leg rubbing and because the bloke didn’t mind and quite enjoyed it actually that meant I was the one with the problem.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ I said, letting out another enormous sigh. I needed more JD.

  46 – Sultan’s gaff – Sunday, 4pm

  After looking at the place on the internet and having been past there before with Chloe, my levels of anticipation seemed remarkably in check. Perhaps it had been the coke, but I was feeling self-assured and calm, almost matter-of-fact about the whole thing. Yes, I was going to do this.

  I moored the boat up about a hundred yards short of the house. I’d have to remember to swing it round when I left; thankfully it wasn’t a narrow boat as I’d have hated trying to do a U-turn in a hurry in one of those.

  I put on my black Timberland jacket and black cap and walked towards the home of one of the richest men in England. I wasn’t armed as such. I had the taser I’d got from Millwall Mike, but apart from that I was going into this with good luck and love on my side and was simply hoping to perhaps re-home some unappreciated relics. His house was littered with priceless treasures – I’d read about it – and they were famous and unloved. I reassured myself that not everything in the world was priceless, though, and although he wasn’t usually in at the weekend his nonchalance and security protected him from normal, everyday worries. I doubted he would miss anything I happened to rescue; after all, he had more money than sense. He was worth billions, his house was worth millions, his dynasty would be worth billions, yet he couldn’t see the worth of insuring or protecting his house. He would have been out clubbing the whole night before, probably spending the evening competing with any other millionaire who happened to be in the club that evening, like most weeks, both trying to outbid each other in wasting thousands of pounds on bottles of champagne.

  There would only ever be one winner, though. That night the competition had been two premier league football club directors. Wads of cash were thrown into the excitable crowd of clubbers; security guards joined the revellers on their hands and knees scrambling around on the floor, looking for the unwanted readies. In a move of breathtaking arrogance the club manager was told to move a table of celebrity girl band singers to allow more room for desperate gold diggers and bleached-blonde, high-class whores to attempt to relieve them of some of their unwanted cash. Each time a ten-thousand-pound bottle of bubbly was purchased the DJ stopped the music to allow the bar staff to perform a firework display. That night, after the club had begun to bore him and his entourage had filled to the required numbers, he was going on to Vegas via his private jet where he was due to buy another thoroughbred race horse.

  I scampered up the garden, hugging the conifer-lined edge. At every wall, of which there were three, I ducked down, checking I hadn’t sprung any security traps of which I was unaware. I hid behind a well-manicured, miniature pine tree. The lawn was damp and recently cut; I guessed the gardeners must come every day. It was either a surprisingly barmy warm evening or I had a mild case of the alcohol sweats. I wouldn’t normally be running around wearing a hat and coat and was sure I could easily
have fallen asleep in that weather without them and woken up feeling confused in the middle of the night as fresh as a daisy. Was I feeling tired? I couldn’t tell.

  I couldn’t see any dogs; the crazy paving gave way to my pitter patter as I streaked towards the light of the house. I stopped for a second to pick up a big stone and put it in my pocket. Am I really going to do this? I thought. I shook my head like a dog as I tried to remove the idea from my mind, casting the doubts aside. In and out, what could go wrong? More to the point, what did I have to lose? I decided the geezer was a prick and nothing more to me.

  47 – The End at The End

  Stacey had warned me: ‘Be careful, these pills are seriously strong. I don’t want you going mental and getting me or my other half in any trouble.’

  Double dipped or something, twice as strong as usual, yellow callies or Mitsubishi turbos, either way they sounded perfect to me. I appreciated she was doing me a favour and didn’t want to be stuck with the thought of me locked up in a nut house covered in drool for the rest of my days, busily chewing my shoulder or trying to get behind every radiator for as long as I lived.

  ‘Only take a half,’ she recommended, ‘these are like double strength.’

  She could have said wash it down with Cinzano and lemonade for all the good it did. If someone said do half, I’d do one; if someone said do one, I’d do two.

  We were at The End courtesy of Peggy. We had been friends since school; she was one of Sarah’s friends and we had stayed mates through the years although all my other female relationships had gone to pot or fizzled out. She had been involved in clubs for years. First at Turnmill’s when the Chemical Brothers were resident DJs during the Heavenly Social period before the shift changed and welcomed the Trade punters. I’d usually got out of the club just before Trade got going, making the most of my evening at the Heavenly Social. There’s gay clubs and nights and then there’s banging hardcore gay clubs. It wasn’t hardcore in the dirty sexual type of way with blokes fisting each other all over the show; it was hardcore in the sense that they were completely mental, totally off their tits and on a vibe that was so intense you wouldn’t find it in normal clubs. I couldn’t relax there for sure unless Peg was with me the whole time, although I loved the music. On the door you would be handed a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle card or a top trump card, and your super hero strength defined your status as a VIP or guest list or regular clubber.

  Hayden, Adam, Tom, Bob, Ryan and I ventured around the chill-out room and main dance floor, scoping out fit girls or likely suppliers of additional substances. We’d drunk a fair few beers in the local pub beforehand and were now switching to JD and cokes and vodka Red Bulls before entering the water stage of the evening.

  I’d been down my sock and retrieved my special, super-strong jack and gills. I ignored Stacey’s advice and popped a whole one whilst the others set about sorting themselves out.

  As we wandered around the club, drinks in hand, I gradually became focused on nothing more than Hayden’s back. It was as if I had become The Terminator or The Predator and I couldn’t lose my target. As we walked away from the calming Balearic beats of the chill-out room and bar towards the banging main room I lost my target. I was also losing my grip on reality. As I searched for Hayden and the others the green lasers fired out from the projectors became solid blocks of substance, and all around me light became a motley kaleidoscope of patterns, green whirling shapes of paisley and black, building blocks that created real matter itself. I wasn’t at The End, this was The End. Everywhere I looked nothing made any sense and yet it was crystal clear. I was part of The Matrix and an extra in Tron, I wasn’t on earth as we know it any more, I was much higher. I’d left our realms of existence; I was now a visionary seeing unchartered landscapes. If a spaceman discovered new planets with life they wouldn’t look like some burnt-out rock, they’d look like this: this was heaven of the future. If Lego could represent light beams then that was what I was seeing. Lego and psychedelic mottled snake ties made up of fluorescent and effervescent colours, magpie and jay feathers and dancing peacocks, luminous socks and shoe laces and big marker pens scribbling pictures in front of my eyes, industrial paint pots spilling light through my mind.

  ‘God is that you? Are you doing this? Where the hell am I? How long have I been here? Where is here? Who am I talking to?’

  As I gazed around the room, blinking to try to make some sense of it all, figures appeared in the darkness, people sitting in chairs in corners. I made out a light up ahead; perhaps light could help me figure out what was going on. It might be a bar: I needed a drink, and it might clear my head a little. My mind still felt detached from my body; as I walked it felt like I was continuously one step in front or behind myself. There was me and there was me. Somehow I’d left a part of myself behind and it was struggling to keep up. Is it my soul? I thought. I looked around. Perhaps my soul was my ghost and I’d lost my soul at The End. I searched around for myself but it was difficult because I was walking on a bouncy castle. Faces emerged from the darkness and then quickly vanished before I could ask if they had seen my ghost. The white lights were getting brighter, wider and bigger – were these the pearly gates? I wasn’t sure if I’d been walking for days to get here, wherever here actually was. It looked like a space bar. Perhaps I’d travelled from space to drink here. It’s simple, you see: you just go to The End and venture onwards. I needed a drink. These other beings seemed to understand, and I’d travelled through space, you see.

  ‘JD and coke, please,’ I called to the intergalactic alcoholic beverage supplier. I hoped they sold JD in space.

  Leaning forward, I tried to rest on the bar; unfortunately my feet were still a few steps behind my body so I ended up in a sort of half-standing press-up position. My feet took the hint and joined the rest of my body, enabling me to stand up properly. I gazed around behind the bar, hoping to grab someone’s attention, slightly concerned that I had done already and everyone was ignoring me. I puffed like a horse or an impatient old person in a post office as I waited for the drink to be delivered. Had I already ordered?

  A man or angel turned up with my drink, so I quickly asked for another, but requested a double this time, and drank the first while I waited. After producing a few more horsey puffs he returned and asked for ‘Benign pond plays’. I figured it must be a space amount and wasn’t sure I had the right currency. I offered what I had in my pocket, which turned out to be a receipt which he wouldn’t accept.

  ‘Nine pound, please,’ he said again, looking a little angry, so I rooted around for my wallet. I passed him a ten-pound note which he graciously accepted and then he was gone.

  My feet had decided to take control of the situation and returned me to the press-up position on the bar. I obliged by doing a couple of bar push-ups; it seemed the right thing to do, almost polite, as a token of my gratitude for the sterling effort the staff on the intergalactic space bar had shown.

  I picked up my drink, took a sip, let out an almighty horsey puff for good measure and went back into darkness towards the public melee. I was soon weaving my way through bouncy castle land, holding my drink like the controls to my body which were now either one step behind or in front. I decided the faces that were emerging from the darkness were potential drink-spilling foes; my sole mission was to protect the JD. I opted for a cyber-dimensional karate chop and horsey puffs as a subtle reminder to keep well clear. It seemed to be working: the faces I saw seemed to smile and be happy although I wasn’t messing around – it must have been nervous laughter at the sight of my karate chops and horsey puffs. It didn’t matter: the JD was surviving and I was making progress on my mission. What was my mission? The music was aiding my descent for sure as I wandered around the club, half dancing, half targeting likeminded fools likely to risk taking me on in a cyber-galactic karate standoff.

  I stumbled across Hayden and the other lads.

  ‘Alright, you fucking nutter?’ Hayden said whilst immediately entering into
a karate fight and chopping me on the arm.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘You’re not supposed to actually hit me!’

  ‘There are no rules in space,’ he said as I took a mouthful of my JD.

  ‘Where have you lot been? I’ve been looking for you for ages. Fuck knows where I’ve been!’ I said.

  ‘You’ve been standing over there,’ Hayden said, pointing at the wall. ‘We’ve been standing next to you the whole time, until you went to the bar, that is.’

  ‘What the fuck happened to me? I was off my tits,’ I said.

  ‘Yep, you were staring at the wall for over an hour.’

  48 – With my back – 4.30pm

  With my back to the cold glass window I pressed up against the partly illuminated building. I could hear rumbles inside but was sure it was my hyped-up senses and paranoia. I certainly couldn’t discount them being the dishwasher or the heating clicking on or something left to its own workings whilst the house was deserted. I decided I was making excuses and my paranoid mind was deliberately delaying me in an attempt to take over and stop me doing something stupid.

  I took a deep breath, counted to three and went to whack the brick against the window. At the very last moment I remembered my gloves in my pocket and as the brick hit the window I had virtually stopped my hand moving, so the window cracked like a spider’s web rather than imploding. I put my leather gloves on, which had been a pressie from my grandad, and smiled at them insanely. With the pane partially shattered it was easier to break the glass without making one massive crash. I felt like I’d been quite lucky. Once the window was clear of jagged shards I tucked my jeans into my socks and stepped through. I was now in enemy territory. My heart felt like it was beating too hard. In the past after exercising or consuming illegal substances it had beat extra heavily, but now I could hear it in my ears like a big drum from an orchestra reverberating through my brain and body.