The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  ‘Just remember old man, don’t ever, ever, fuck with me.’

  George opened the door of the BMW and climbed in. ‘We’re off to Essex.’

  1.12 Lassie

  Tom Adams woke with a distinctly cagey feel. His skin felt oily, and even though he knew he would benefit from a shower, he didn’t really want one... He fought his inner demons and dragged himself into the bathroom. He stood, in a kind of coma thinking about the two mad Scousers staying at the hotel. Hot water running down his body, he soaped himself and cadged a bit of Lassie’s shampoo. Nice lads, generous to the point of suspicion. He stepped out and grabbed a towel. He wondered if they had left the hotel for Amsterdam yet. It didn’t really matter. It was a funny evening and a nice way to forget he had to start painting fences Sunday week. As he walked into Lassie’s room he wondered what had happened to the No Name barmaid last night.

  ‘Morning Lass.’

  ‘Fuck off Tom, unless you have some toast or a hot cup of…’ At this point two arms popped from beneath the duvet and made the shape of a T.

  ‘Who’s the bird that works in the bar in the Cliff, Lass?’ There was no answer so he continued with his questioning. ‘Do you want toast with your tea?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Well fucking well answer the first part of the question, you twat.’

  Lassie laboured a reply, ‘Nice girl, blonde hair, early twenties?’

  ‘That’s the kiddie.’

  ‘No fuckin idea, lad, two pieces of toast please and lots of…’

  ‘Milk. Yeah I know.’

  The kettle boiled and bread was thrown in the toaster. Tom stood in the kitchen looked at an official looking letter addressed to him. He took a knife and slowly cut along the top. He knew it was bad news, mainly because he never got good new through the post. No one did. Ever. He pulled the letter out and saw ‘North East Essex Magistrates Court’. Fuck he thought and opened the letter. RE: Non-payment of fines.

  ‘Fucking Jesus H cunting Christ’ he shouted. ‘What a bastard.’

  Lassie was halfway down the stairs by now and was making all sorts of weird noises. Grunting like an old man reading a dirty magazine. ‘What’s up fella?’

  They sat for the next half hour eating toast and discussing the situation. Tom, still on his first slice of toast and severely struggling, had forgotten to pay his fines from an earlier small indiscretion. The letter asked him to surrender himself to his local Police Station where he would be dealt with. Probably, they both agreed, by an appearance for non-payment in the local court and more fines or more community service.

  ‘This is all I need, I want to go on holiday, son, and I need to get dressed.’

  The phone rang and he went to answer it. He knew instantly who it was and he didn’t really know how he felt about it.

  ‘Eh, lad,’ Paddy shot down the phone, ‘You only just out of bed? Me and the Razor have been up a while, had breakfast and a walk on the beach. We wondered what you were up to today.’

  Tom tried to get a word in, ‘Err…’

  ‘Well we thought we’d like to buy some new gear, jeans and that, maybe hire a car, grab the tickets to Holland, get some food, have a laugh, a few beers,’ Paddy went on.

  Tom considered his options. He really didn’t fancy getting on it and he guessed that with these two there was always that possibility. Paddy went on, telling him they needed a guide and he was ‘their man in the south’. He was flattered and said he would meet them at the hotel, being mindful not to let them know where he lived.

  ‘What the fuck was all that about?’ asked Lassie.

  After more toast and tea, Lassie was laughing his head off at the scrapes his mate seemed to always end up in. ‘So you’re telling me that in one day, you had the lads tripping out in court, saw a girl with a Moet bottle in her fanny, met a girl you’ve shagged whose name you can’t remember and met a pair of Scouse cowboys who made you snort E until your nose bled. Fuck me, you are one unlucky bloke...’

  ‘You coming to meet these freaks then?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Lassie. ‘Ring me if anything exciting happens though and I’ll come out.’

  Tom wandered along the beach, it was a nice day, sun out and no need for a jumper. His thoughts jumped around inside his head switching between the non-payment of fines letter and the community service. His thoughts then turned to the two lads, Paddy and Razor. He didn’t know anything about them really. Last night was a good laugh but even when they were all off their heads something wasn’t right, lots of tentative glances and pauses. It had also turned out they hadn’t bought their tickets for the Dam yet, which was really weird. He glanced up and saw the two lads ahead of him, looking out over the sea.

  ‘Alright, chaps? Just what is it that you want to do today?’

  ‘Well, we wanna get a bit of new gear for the trip – yer know, look a bit smart for the ladies.’

  ‘No fucking need to look smart for hookers, boys, all you need is to have the readies and the knickers come down faster than a dwarf’s tent.’

  The Scousers both laughed.

  ‘Good one la, but really, we need some new gear anyway,’ said Paddy. ‘Like, how much are those Timberland shoes you got on there lad?’

  Tom looked down at his shoes, ‘A tonne.’

  Razor stared at the shoes, ‘Them fecking shoes, one hundred fecking pound? Fuck me. In Liverpool they would be a score and I would get to choose my colour and size, and I could order the cunts in the fucking pub!’

  ‘Razor, if were gonna pull this off we need to look the fucking part too.’

  It was this slip that Tom had bet himself would happen, something was up and he would need to be at least half-way in the loop if he was even going to consider spending any time with this pair of shysters.

  ‘What are you trying to pull off lads? What is going on? You in trouble?’ The boys were pensive, to say the least. They looked like they’d crumble on questioning from a dinner lady.... ‘In your own time lads,’ he ventured. ‘I might even be able to help.’

  Paddy said, ‘You can help right now mate if you want, we wanna hire a car, have a drive about, check out a few places, and be fucking tourists!’

  Tom led the lads along the seafront and down into town. They stopped at Rowe Sports and twenty minutes later both of them were decked out in new trainers where the really not so old ones went in the bin. This provided great amusement to the dreadlocked, ageing hippy, Man U supporting owner who even gave the lads a ten percent discount.

  ‘Sound lad him,’ Paddy said.

  ‘Fucking Manc though,’ Razor replied.

  One word, well two actually, Shaun Ryder. He a fucking Manc.’

  Razor, put his hands in the air and moaned, ‘He’s allowed, I know he’s a Manc but the Mondays are massive, he’s allowed.’

  Tom butted into the conversation ‘He’s not a true Manc though, the lad in the shop. I remember when he was a mad Goth and into the Sisters of Mercy and The Mission. He’s a good lad though. The car hire place will be open now.’

  The man serving them was pleasant, if somewhat on edge about Paddy’s accent. He read aloud to himself, cross-checking the names on the passport and the driving licence. ‘Patrick Wherry. No convictions,’ he looked at the address and back at Paddy. ‘How long would you like the car for, sir?’

  They pulled out of the compound in a brand new dark blue Ford Orion.

  Tom asked, ‘Where do you want to go then lads? Colchester or Ipswich are both OK. Colchester probably better for shopping. Chelmsford even more so but a little further.’

  ‘What’s so good about the shopping in Chelmsford then, la?’

  ‘In all honesty there is one decent shop in Chelmsford, but it’s the place to go if you two scallies wanna look the part and smell the ladies.’

  The Orion blazed a trail towards Chelmsford.

  Paddy turned on the radio and was quiet. What were they thinking in Liverpool? Did they know yet? His back was wet against the seat and he loo
ked forward to buying some new clothes. He smiled at the thought of spending the money and then remembered the state of the barman, and barmaid in the Leek & Whistle. George had nearly murdered them. If Razor knew he would want to go home, he was sure of that, but he knew that they had come too far now. They either made it or they fucked it. The thing was he had to make it work; he fucking hated them and what they did. You can’t hit a girl with a hammer, perhaps the lad deserved it, he didn’t know what he’d done, but the girl?

  ‘Keep on going, shag.’

  Razor had nodded off in the back of the car.

  ‘What the fuck does shag mean?’

  Tom laughed, ‘Don’t know, mate, my Dad says it sometimes.’

  ‘Do you mean keep going up the feckin road like?’

  ‘Yup, follow the signs to Chelmsford. What’s the situation then, squire? What have you done?

  Paddy looked in the rear-view at Razor, sleeping like a drunken hippopotamus, and mulled over telling Tom. ‘It’s a feckin long story, la, and it’s only just started and it’s fucking scary dangerous and Razor doesn’t know the half of it the poor cunt. So, if I do tell you, I’ll point out the bits he doesn’t need to know.’

  ‘Will I want you to stop the car at the next railway station and get out?’

  ‘Very feckin likely, lad, very feckin likely.

  ‘Go for it, it sounds like you could do with getting it off your chest.’

  Five minutes later the two lads were sitting in the blue Orion waiting in a queue on the A120 toward Chelmsford. Tom was almost beyond speech.

  ‘Fuck me, mate. Jesus. £40,000, fuck.’

  Paddy was happy he’d told him, he felt better, even relieved.

  ‘Well it’s not quite £40,000 now, we’ve spent about £800, hahahahaha!’

  The three lads parked and were led to the town centre by Tom, who was trying to piece together what he had just been told while the BFG was asleep. Basically, he had managed to get himself caught up with two scallies he knew fuck all about who had robbed a family member of 40K. To compound the problem, he was now hanging out with them and at this moment was acting as their personal shopper. What the fuck?

  While Tom was lost in thought, Paddy turned and quietly asked Ray about his mood.

  ‘I’m worried, fella.’

  At that point Paddy wanted to blurt out that he was shitting himself too but held back, knowing Ray would melt if he heard the truth.

  ‘It’ll all be fuckin fine, soft lad, just think sun and beaches. We can get far enough for them not to care. There’s too much cash to be made at home for them to spend their time running after us. It’ll be on-top for a month or so then it’ll all be OK.’

  Razor smiled as Paddy gave him a little punch on the arm and Tom brought the merry march to a halt outside a clothes shop that looked maybe a bit too posh for them and said, ‘Fuck it, in for a penny…’

  Tom led them into the shop and nodded at the two lads and the girl working there. He explained that his friends had had an accumulator come in at the bookies and want to celebrate with some new gear. An hour and fourteen minutes later, the three left the store laden with bags and headed for a pub.

  Paddy had offered to buy Tom a top he had tried on, but Tom declined. He liked the lads, but 40K without any comeback? He seriously didn’t think so. Something was going to happen, he could feel it in his water…

  ‘You look like a pair of Essex casuals now – as long as you keep your mouths shut,’ Tom laughed. ‘Come on, we’ll have a bite to eat and a beer to celebrate releasing you from your shellsuits and perms you pair of scally cunts.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ was the curt response.

  He laughed, perhaps it would be OK, he’d sort out Paddy and Razor. Get them on the boat and get back to normal. No more Mushies, Hoovers or Triple X’s.

  1.13 The Brothers

  The Brothers Grim were pushed back into their seats as George floored the BMW at the sight of the sign saying M1 South. Not much had been said since they left the Wilkins’ house. They had stopped to collect a handful of tools and to fill the petrol tank and then were on their way.

  People had to fucking know the score. His own fucking family. There was no way back for the little fucker and his old man agreed.

  There was going to be a lot of pain.

  1.13 Tuesday

  Tuesday seems to be panning out OK thought Tom. The Scousers, even Razor, seemed happier, especially after their shopping trip. Tom had to admit to himself that he’d be a little fucking pensive if he was in their position. He was beginning to mull over saying his goodbyes and getting shot of them.

  There was a travel agent opposite the pub they were drinking in and Tom suggested they get their tickets for the ferry there; it would be easier and save time at Harwich.

  ‘Come with us Tom?’ Paddy had been thinking about this all day, it made sense. Tom seemed a nice lad and knew the ground. He wasn’t a ponce and hadn’t asked for a penny of the cash they had been throwing around.

  ‘Come on,’ Razor echoed, ‘you’re part of this now.’

  Tom felt a slight twinge at this remark and stopped Ray in his tracks.

  ‘Hang about, I am not fucking part of this crazy scheme of yours Razor, so please don’t suggest that I am.’

  Sensing a slight change in mood Paddy stepped in and calmed everyone down. It was agreed, especially as Tom didn’t have his passport with him that he couldn’t go with them, though the offer was open. A round of drinks were shared and the boys’ final destination discussed in depth, with Thailand coming out tops and Vietnam a close second.

  Tom listened to the boys talk; he wondered just how far the 40K would get them, and even if they would get that far without either being killed or robbed or both. How would they physically move this cash? He kept his own counsel and crossed his fingers that at the very least they would get out of England.

  ‘Tell you what, if you make it to Thailand and get set up, I’ll come out.’ He then went on to suggest that the idea of setting up a motorbike hire business.

  Paddy said, ‘See Tom, you think beyond next week, that’s what we need.’

  Tom realised he’d done it again. ‘Just get there first, eh, you pair of fools,’ and raised a glass for good luck.

  ‘I think I’d miss my friends, and definitely miss the football being on at the right time,’ Tom said with a sigh before asking the boys “What will you two miss the most?’

  Razor looked confused. ‘The football won’t be on at three o’clock?’

  Tom laughed, ‘No! You lemon, Thailand’s about six or seven hours ahead of us.’

  ‘Oh, OK. Right.’ He still looked confused.

  ‘I’d miss my Mum too,’ he then turned to Paddy who had drifted off. ‘She said to say hi to you Paddy.’

  Paddy looked up from the Daily Star he was reading, looking startled.

  ‘Lost a bit of colour there, Paddy,’ Tom said, ‘You OK?’

  ‘Did you say then that you had spoken to your Mum, Razor?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  Paddy lent in and asked Razor exactly what he’s said in the conversation with his mother. Razor explained that he told her he was going away for a bit and that he would ring her when he got there. ‘I didn’t tell her where we were going though, Paddy, so we’re OK on that score.’

  Tom Adams felt his arse go at this point, Paddy, the brains behind the duo, looked utterly terrified. What was happening? He sensed the day was taking a turn for the worse. Paddy seemed somewhat buoyed by the last bit of information and congratulated Razor.

  ‘I did say we were in Essex though.’

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…’ Paddy got louder and louder until Tom had to tell them both to calm down. ‘Come on lads,’ Tom pleaded. ‘It’s not bad. You have loads of time, you’re hours ahead, relax.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about time, for fucks sake!’ Paddy laid out the paper on the table in front of him. On page 15, a small piece in one of the smaller columns was headlined ‘Old Coup
le Viciously Attacked in Liverpool – Police have no leads’. Razor grabbed the paper and after seeing the surname Wilkins in the first paragraph could read no further. He jumped to his feet and grabbed Paddy, arms flaying, spit and chips flying everywhere.

  ‘This is all your fucking fault,’ he screamed pushing and shoving Paddy and Tom as they attempted to calm him down, ‘I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you!’

  Within seconds all three were outside the pub, unceremoniously bounced out and told not to bother for a month or two. All Tom could think about now was getting rid of these two jokers as soon as humanly possible.

  Razor sat down on the edge of a plant pot and began to cry. He was inconsolable. ‘I have to ring them Paddy, I have to, what if they are dead or still in hospital mate. Should I go home?’

  All Paddy could think about was what Paddy’s parents had told George and whether he was already on his way. ‘Mate,’ Paddy whispered, ‘You gotta concentrate now and remember exactly what you told your Ma.’

  Razor said he’d just mentioned he was in Essex, he hadn’t said where he was going but said it was abroad on holiday. He wanted to go home.

  Someone had basically smashed Razor’s parents to pieces and frankly, if they knew anything you could guarantee that the people who did it knew too. The look on Tom’s face told Paddy that he thought the same thing.

  Tom put a hand on Razor’s shoulder and motioned to Paddy, ‘Come on, let’s get the fuck out of dodge.’

  Back at the Orion, bags were thrown into the boot; the fun of the shopping spree with someone else’s money had worn off. Paddy was low and Razor inconsolable. Paddy felt terrible. This had been his doing, his idea, and his psycho brother-in-law was his family, no one else’s. Nothing to do with his bezzie mate, and now he could well have sentenced the two of them to a serious beating at the very least. And he was sure George would shoot/stab/kill Tom if he found him in their company. He knew George, he’d see this as all pre- planned with Tom as the organiser… Tom’s skin to save his and Razor’s? No brainer. Sorry, Tom.