The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  ‘Come on soft lad, let’s talk outside.’ Paddy began shepherding Razor out of the door into the street with an arm around his best mate’s shoulder.

  ‘First, please tell me you’re kidding,’ said Razor hopefully.

  ‘I can’t do that fella, let’s just talk outside.’

  ‘I’m going home you fucking lunatic. You’re on the fuckin scag. You’re going to get us killed.’

  Paddy watched as Razor left the café. He could have got the hump with the scag comment and Razor knew that. He and Razor both hated scag and scag heads. He shrugged his shoulders and followed slowly behind Razor. Neither said much. He thought he knew Razor. For all the laughs he wasn’t that stupid and was deeply loyal. He was guessing he would go for it. He watched him. His shoulders were going up and down. He was kicking stones, and then looking to see where they ended up. He was, in Razor’s own way, mulling over the idea. It wouldn’t take long, of that Paddy was sure.

  He’d known and hung around with Razor all his life. Except that is when he went off to join the Navy – something he was fiercely proud of and always talked about given the opportunity. Paddy, likewise, saw it as his duty not to tell anyone that he didn’t pass his basic training because the lanky twat couldn’t tread water for fifteen minutes. He was a sound lad though, as long as he was regularly fed with Burger King and strong cider. They had walked quite a way now and he had expected an answer before they got to the first Moby, the usual drunks were gathered outside with their wag and coupons. It must be around 11:30 he thought, quite a nice day, maybe he’d try his luck in the bookies later.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Razor standing in front of him, casting a shadow over and beyond him and blocking out the heat of the morning rays. ‘I have a few questions, la.’

  The warmth returned to Paddy’s body as he realised that Razor was halfway to saying yes. ‘Go right ahead, I might not have all the answers though. That’s why I need you with me.’

  ‘Where the fuck will we go? Do you realise its forever? What will we do with all that money? How will we get to where we are going? How will we…’

  Paddy stopped dead and held his arms up. ‘Hold tight there, Razor, I don’t know all this stuff. What I do know is this, if we take that money we’re not the only ones in trouble. Yeah they’ll want to kill us, but people will want to kill them too. It will create a fucking turf war. They will probably kill each other. They’ll wipe a generation out trying to win the city. It’s all scag, we hate scag. This could be a chance to make history, no?’

  ‘Yeah, history in fucking silence, and fucking exile.’

  ‘True.’ Paddy smiled, ‘But what an exile, Razor, think of all the places on earth we could go to, live in. Away from this place. Put another way, if we don’t do this we will be working for George until we go to prison for him. We’ll get no thanks, just a warning when we’re nicked that grasses are easier to kill inside prison than out. Think on that soft lad.’

  ‘Fuck it though, Paddy, not seeing me ma and pa? I don’t think I could do it.’

  They don’t give a toss anyway, Razor. They’re both rinses down the fucking Legion. There either in the boozer or in bed, too drunk to fuck.’

  ‘Hey, Dickhead, you’re out of order, that’s my family, I’m not slagging yours but I could.”

  ‘Razor, I don’t give a toss. Ma is dead, my Da’s involved in peddling scag with my wanker of a brother in law. I really don’t give one fuck at all, lad.’

  Razor had started to realise what they were considering. They muted their conversation as a group of lads came towards them. There were some low-key nodded scally acknowledgments and shortly they were alone again.

  Razor looked into Paddy’s face, looking for some tip as to where he was leaning, he could see he’d go for it. His mind was made up. He had known him too long. He would be thinking through all the shots right now. Right down to the snooker on the black and the double to finish, remembering to chalk his cue after every shot and rubbing the end before giving it away. Liverpool was a great city. There were many in England. However some people in those cities got a bad deal, leaving them without much choice but to take their chances when they came. He’d miss his mum and dad but he kinda knew Paddy was right. This time the response was the one Patrick Wherry was looking for.

  Let’s do it, la. Let’s do a runner.’

  ‘Fucking boss!’ Paddy grabbed Razor and gave him a hug. ‘Come on pal, we’ve got loads to talk about.’

  Paddy led them to a quiet boozer where he insisted they drank shandy, which not only shocked Razor but the barmaid too, who replied to the order, ‘This is Liverpool boys, watch yerselves.’

  Razor was furious, ‘Knobhead, now you’re pushing it, I’m fucking telling you.’

  Paddy changed the order to a Strongbow for Razor and they retreated to a booth.

  The plan was easy. Paddy explained in detail how they would do it. They would go for the two Scousers with forty grand in a holdall, on a weekend break in London look. They both laughed but it wasn’t far from the truth. They didn’t need clothes, they could buy new ones. All they needed to do was wash, wear clean clothes and Reeboks, and most importantly remember to bring their passports.

  Razor’s immediate thought was For fuck’s sake what are we doing? But he decided to leave it well alone. After all, he’d just agreed to everything.

  They agreed they would go their separate ways and sort their shit out, do what they had to do and meet at the Druid’s Head near Lime Street. From there they would go to London and make a plan to get abroad as soon as possible.

  Paddy wandered home deep in thought. He had gotten his own way and now had an assistant of sorts. He hoped Razor would be ok; after all he only had to keep his cool, get his passport and fill up a holdall for fuck’s sake.

  1.6 Gym

  Paddy turned into his road and counted his footsteps, 172 to the point of turning the key in the door. The house was quiet. It would have only been his dad anyway since Ma had died of cancer two years back. At the thought of her he crossed himself and promised to attend confession and mass as soon as he could. His sister, dressed smartly in her school uniform, stared down at him from the wall in the hallway. She was much older now, was married to George and was a nutty bitch, he didn’t speak to her. He still remembered being held down and his sister’s friends practising their blowjob technique on him, fucking slags. It would have been ok if they were fit but they were all dogs. All of them. He realised then that he would miss none of them except Ma, and there wasn’t anything he could do about that.

  Maybe I could give some cash to the Macmillan Fund. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a confession this would make! He walked through the house into the kitchen grinning, and then spun around as the door clicked.

  Hello, Da.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing skulking about with a huge fucking grin on at this time of day, son?’

  ‘I’m not skulking about anywhere. I’ve just got in and I’m off to bed for a kip.’

  ‘Well don’t kip too fucking long, George has you and Razor in mind for a little job later on.’

  ‘Ok, Da.’ Paddy retreated upstairs, eager to get away from his dad in case he smelt the betrayal coming. Fuck you and that George twat. I’m gonna fuck you both over. He smiled to himself as he sat down on the throne for part two of the morning’s bum opera.

  He heard his dad grab his coat and unlock the door chains and mortice lock. Things were looking up he thought.

  ‘Paddy!’ He shouted up the stairs. ‘Another thing, if you see that Sean lad, you tell him I wanna word with the wee fucker.’

  Paddy pulled the door open a few inches, ‘What for Da?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m gonna shoot that fucking little turkey.’ He then walked out and slammed the door shut.

  Paddy heard him as he walked up the path, then strangely he heard him stop, turn around and walk back. He listened as his dad returned to the house, climbed the stairs
and leered around the bathroom door looking straight into Paddy’s eyes. Paddy felt his arse cheeks bubble as his dad began to speak.

  ‘And I naa what you’re up too with that soft-lad mate of yours too, you fucking little jockey, so if you fancy still having your knees where they should be leave the fuck well alone, you daft little cunt.’

  Paddy blinked. Blinked again and stared at his dad in total disbelief. His dad was still speaking to him and he needed to concentrate on what he was saying, how did he fucking know?

  ‘I said, make sure you check in on that pissy uncle of yours tonight before you do anything, he’s a fucking liability.’ He felt like he’d had some kind of flashback, like he’d seen in films. He felt faint and for the first time has misgivings about what he and Razor were going to do.

  ‘OK.’ Paddy gasped in some very important oxygen and felt his eyes slip back into their sockets as he watched his Da walk away back down the stairs and out before he leant back against the cistern and mopped his brow of the beads of sweat that had gathered there.

  Paddy thought about what his dad had just said, and what he had thought he had said at first, before he had got his composure and listened properly. He made a mental note to pop into see his uncle Joey before he left. He finished and wandered downstairs, munched on a cold bit of toast and considered his next move. While eating the toast he realised he was shaking like a leaf. He threw the toast in the bin. He didn’t want to think about his next move just yet.

  Razor was very scared; he had always wanted to go abroad but this wasn’t how he’d imagined it – forever abroad, never home. Just constantly on holiday, it sounded good the first time he said it to himself but on refection he wasn’t so sure. He fished around for his key and couldn’t find it, an extra deep rummage finally struck gold and he retrieved the key from his trousers, he looked up and saw two girls who had obviously been laughing at him groping himself outside his own front door. He smiled behind a weak laugh and a semi-blush as he pushed open the door and closed it behind him. He still lived with his Ma and Da who, unlike most in the area, were both at work. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a piece of scrap paper, scribbling down toothpaste/passport/clean clothes/cash/train times and then opened the fridge and made himself a cheese and pickle sandwich. Half an hour later he was at the front door, he checked the list and everything on it was in his bag. He was pulling the door shut when he realised a he had made a small but very important mistake – he had left Crispy Sue under the bed and needed to get rid of her before his mum cleaned the room. Back upstairs the offending sock which was stiff with masturbatory residue was removed from her hiding place and ceremoniously placed in the bin in the kitchen as he knew this was the one that would be emptied most regularly. As the door fell into place and he made his way toward the city centre he wondered if he’d be shot, caught, tortured or killed before the end of June 1991.

  Paddy was ahead of himself and the 3.30 train seemed ages off, so he decided he had time to change his clothes again – the sweat, paranoia and emotional turmoil that had been spent in moving the forty grand from under the floorboards into his Head holdall had left him drained and looking as if he’d been mugged in a water-park. He put the bag in the hallway and slipped his passport and smellies into the side compartment. One of the zippers had bust and he considered this piece of good fortune as he wrapped some plasters around the top, after all, the last thing he needed was someone else picking up the wrong bag and becoming the recipient of his balls of steel moment in sunny Liverpool. It was 2.00 and time for the visit to Uncle Joey’s could become a problem. The only reason his Da wanted him to go round was to make sure his Auntie Breda hadn’t killed Joey in another of their pisshead fights.

  He didn’t bother looking back as he walked out of the house he had lived in for twenty-one years carrying forty grand, not one penny of which was his own. The door slammed and he did a right at the end of the gate and headed towards Joey and Breda’s counting his steps as he went. Their house wasn’t far, it would be a 10-minute stop over and then away to Lime Street and away for good.

  He reached the top of the road and walked toward the crossing that would take him over and past the Leek and Whistle. The lights changed, red, red-amber, green. The sound of the pelican crossing pierced his ears and he stepped out into the road. At this point he could see the pub car park and in it a black BMW, barely a few months old. His guts lurched and he had to concentrate to stop himself from instantly throwing up on the pavement. He readjusted his bag and put his head down as he quickened his step. Then there it was, a loud bang. Was it in his head? No, there it was again. A bang on the window, and another. This time only harder. He ignored it and tried to walk on. The next bang felt like the window had broken, he looked up and waved, there was a massive crack in one of the decorated windows in the pub. Behind the broken window was his brother-in-law holding a pool cue and gesturing that he wanted Paddy to come inside.

  Paddy’s thoughts were racing, should he run? Cry? Fuck, he was probably going to die. He began to recite a ‘Hail Mary’ as he approached the front door of the Leek, they never fucking drank in this boozer, it was a shit hole. It had gone up in flames three times this year, all of them insurance jobs and the like. Why the fuck were they in there? Time seemed to slow down and he seemed to be able to pick out the smallest details on the doors and posters, screws missing and tired wooden furniture outside, begging like him, for salvation from the pain of existence. He put his hand on the dirty brass door plate and pushed the door open. Inside, by the pool table and surrounded by the Stones brothers stood George Meachen and Gary Sparks. All nasty cunts in their own right.

  ‘Hey, look who it fucking is; it’s my fucking brother-in law!’

  ‘Alright lad.’ They all seemed to say in unison, like fucking parrots in a cage.

  Paddy nodded to the man he had just relieved of £40,000.

  ‘Will ya have a drink with us, Patrick?’

  ‘No, I can’t really. I got shit to do.’

  George’s face pulled into a cold stare as he surveyed the pool table for his next shot. He looked up at the group with him and then over towards Paddy. He spoke in a cold menacing way that made it clear he should stay and respect the offer of a drink.

  ‘We’ve all got shit to do. Have a drink with me.’

  Paddy Wherry could feel sweat running down his legs, chilling as it met the top of his socks. He thought he’d try one more time to get out of this potential death sequence in his tortured life.

  ‘I’d love to George, but I’m off to the gym,’ motioning with his bag in the air.

  In a blur George was round the table and had grabbed Paddy’s holdall. George, bag in hand looked at him, ‘Fuck the gym you little cunt, have a fucking drink when it’s offered.’

  Paddy watched in slow motion as the bag of money was launched through the air and landed by the bar. He flinched as he saw the open end with the broken zip. His passport was just visible. His voice choked back into life, ‘I’ll have a bottle please.’

  George turned to the barman, ‘A bottle of Export, please.’

  The beer duly arrived and Paddy gulped at it, trying to finish it as soon as it hit the bar, eyes constantly watching the bag, sat alone on the floor almost screaming, ‘George, open me, your brother-in-law is a thieving little cunt.’

  At any moment, Patrick Wherry knew it could be all over. George would also work out he wasn’t in this alone.

  An arm flew round his neck and he his head was pulled into a huge armpit with a sweet but off-putting odour. They had probably been up on it all night.

  ‘You alright, you wee little fucker?’

  ‘Yeah I’m fine cheers. Thanks for the beer.’

  Bottles were raised and the Stones brothers argued about who was actually playing his brother in law at pool. In the space of five minutes all four of them had been in and out of the toilet. Clearly of all them were fully charged on the marching powder.

  Paddy began to look for an exit.

/>   George had won the last game but the mood had gone weird.

  ‘So, what are you boys doing down this way today?’

  Gary Sparks looked incapable of speaking; the Charlie must be superb.

  ‘Just a little visit to see a friend.’ George made a gesture for another round of drinks.

  ‘No thanks, mate, really.’

  ‘Fuck off la, I want to show you something.’

  This was serious. Paddy still had to visit Breda and Joey and then meet Razor at Lime Street, and that would only happen if he could get out of here with his life. He looked at the clock on the wall and gulped down more booze, he looked at George.

  ‘What do you wanna show me, la?’

  At this point the barman had just arrived with a new set of drinks for them which he placed down carefully on the bar. As he did George swung around and smashed the barman round the face with the pool cue. Paddy heard the crack of bone as the nose split, along with the top of his eye. He fell back into the bar area and was followed by George who lined up the cue and smashed it into the barman’s legs, causing him to scream out in pain. He then stood over him with glass, crisps and beer towels everywhere and started stamping on his body and face.

  The bar emptied in seconds and another female member of staff ran in and tried to hit a panic alarm in the bar area, she was met by one of the Stones brothers who grabbed her, pulled her arms down onto the bar and smashed both her hands with a hammer. Paddy did not know what the fuck to do. This had all happened in seconds and been done in absolute silence. The woman was howling, with massive open wounds to both hands, the barman had passed out. He saw George lean over and pull the barman’s head up, bloodied and broken. At last he spoke, quietly and under his breath, ‘Don’t ever, ever fuck about with me la.’

  Paddy looked towards the Stones brother who was holding the woman’s head against the bar. She was screaming and her hands were bleeding heavily, with bits of loose skin hanging off them. He pulled her up to his face height and said, ‘You fucking talk to anyone bitch and I’ll cut your cunt out with a jigsaw, got it?’