The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  ‘Ray, I’ll find out what’s happening all right? No need to do anything drastic, right? If you go back, I’m pretty sure we’ll both end up in the Mersey as bait for shopping baskets and shoes. Come on, lad.’

  ‘I want to go home Paddy,’ Razor was sobbing like a child. ‘I need to say sorry. This was a stupid idea.’

  ‘We can’t, la. We just can’t. We’ve come too far. Remember what we said, Ray? An end to our lives as they were. That was only a few hours ago, this is one set back. If we go back now they’ll have us dead or stitch us up with a run across that’ll see us in jail on a twenty-year stretch as punishment. We have to cut the cords now Razor, and for better or worse this is us.’

  Tom wanted these lads out of his own hair and away to Holland ASAP. They were becoming seriously toxic. This George bloke sounded like the Devil and he did not want to meet him. It was definitely time to go. Paddy and Razor were both still flapping so Tom offered to drive.

  They pulled up at a service station so Paddy could use the payphone. He would talk to them, he said, as it may be too distressing for Razor – and he didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut. Tom and Razor watched as Paddy approached the phone box and stood waiting in the 2-man queue to use the telephone.

  ‘So,’ asked Tom, ‘what’s this brother-in-law like then? Doesn’t seem like he should be on the streets.’

  ‘He’s a fucking maniac, Tom, and we’ve stolen forty grand from him.’

  Razor was falling apart in front of Tom’s eyes and it was giving him the willies.

  ‘What are you going to do? You can’t really go home.’

  Tom felt genuinely sorry for Razor, he’d been talked into this and his parents had suffered terribly for it. Did Paddy actually give a fuck? He thought so.

  ‘My advice is to get out of England on that boat tonight. Both of you; get to Holland. Amsterdam, or even Rotterdam or Eindhoven? Perhaps don’t be too obvious? Keep your heads down, change the money to Guilders and then some into Thai Baht and get the fuck out of there. That’s the way to do it.’ Tom wasn’t entirely convinced by this himself but it sounded good and it would get them out of his town. He checked himself – being selfish, then reminded himself of what the lad had done to Razor’s parents. No time for loyalty here he thought, this was now a survival mission.

  Paddy got back into the car, with some sandwiches.

  ‘So?’ Razor asked.

  Will this be lies or a crock of shit? Tom thought as he listened to the outcome of the call.

  ‘They are OK, still in hospital getting their burns treated but they should be out later this evening. I just spoke to the next-door neighbour who was round clearing up the mess. Everything will be OK Razor. We’ll ring again when we’re in Holland but don’t do it alone. We have to make sure it’s safe, OK?’

  Razor seemed placated by this and they began to focus on getting to Holland.

  ‘So, what city are you going to head for, lads?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I think it’s best if you don’t know, la, if you know what I mean.’

  Tom instantly knew what he meant and it made his arse go again. These two do a runner, if psycho finds out where they have travelled from he could still get dragged into this mess. Jesus fucking bollocks he thought, I might have to go with them, which is not ideal at all. He tentatively suggested that they could maybe try to reconcile their differences with this George. That would, at the very least, save his own skin.

  ‘Not a cat in hell’s chance, la, we’re fucking dead men, standing right in front of you if we stay.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go.’ Tom turned the key in the ignition, half expecting the car to explode like a professional hit. He spared a quick glance for the white Lamborghini that was pulling into the forecourt as he drove away.

  In the passenger seat next to him sat Paddy, a lad he’d known for two days, cocksure and confident. In the back of the Orion, lay Razor, deep in thought, in fact, shallow in thought he laughed to himself. The whole thing reminded him of a book he’d read at school, Of Mice and Men, though he wasn’t sure which of these boys would be the one who squeezed the puppies to death.

  1.14 More Travel

  The BMW was making good time but George had just noticed they needed petrol. ‘We’ll take a quick piss break in eight miles, boys, fill the tank and head on. This one’s all about the getting there.’

  ‘What’s the plan from there then, fella?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘You got to remember boys, this thing is highly fucking personal to me. They must be punished severely along with anyone else they are in this with. It should be simple though. It’s a matter of finding them, and hopefully before they get out of the fucking country or spend too much of my fucking money!’

  As he pulled into the garage George said, ‘Remember lads, be quick and best behaviour. No bother OK?’

  ‘Fuck me!’ Graham exclaimed as he got out of the BMW. ‘Take a look at that fucking car!’

  George ignored the excitement of the two brothers as they admired the brand new white Lamborghini that was just across the forecourt and, the blonde woman in the passenger seat. George was irritated with them, fucking unprofessional. Cunts. He could feel his anger rising and gritted his teeth as he filled the tank. ‘Aye, I thought youse two were having a quick piss then we were off. When the car’s fucking full, I’m paying and fucking off. You had better be in the fucking car by then, you daft cunts.’

  The Stones brothers heed the warning and are back in the car by the time George returns from the kiosk and guns the ignition.

  ‘Next stop, Harwich.’

  The Lamborghini pulls away at the same time and the driver waves the BMW ahead with a smile.

  ‘What the fucking hell are you smiling, at you cunt?’

  The driver of the Lamborghini looks confused and laughs, gesturing them forward again.

  George gets out of the car and walks up to the window of the Lamborghini shouting something about his tinted windows. As he walks away he runs a key down the side of the driver’s door panel and cutely waves them out, before returning to the BMW.

  ‘Take the fucking piss out of my tinted glass, you cunt?’

  The brothers cast a quick glance at each other. George is in a foul mood and there may well be murders.

  1.5 Shades

  Tom Adams was nervous. He felt better that he was approaching home and hopefully would soon be sending the two lads on their merry way.

  ‘Nice shades.’ He offered the compliment, thinking that he did actually like them and may well get a pair exactly the same. It wouldn’t matter as he probably wouldn’t see Paddy again and so wouldn’t be accused of copying someone else’s style.

  ‘Cheers, my Thailand sunnies, la,’ Paddy answered gleefully.

  False enthusiasm, Tom thought. He began dreaming of what he might do when he’d jettisoned the hazardous load he was transporting. A few beers with Lassie, maybe an Indian. Maybe a trip to the cinema in Colchester, a mild attempt to get his head straight.

  ‘About 10 minutes, lads,’ the relief was tangible in Tom’s voice, at least to Tom.

  The mild snoring that been emanating from the back seats stopped as Razor woke up, rubbed his eyes and exclaimed, ‘I’m dying for a piss, la.’

  Tom looked back at Razor in the rear view mirror. There was a lay-by coming up and he’d stop there and let him drain his weasel.

  Paddy, meanwhile was going through the plan they had discussed earlier. They would drive to Harwich, check out of the hotel and then Tom would drive them to the ferry terminal where they would board the boat to Holland. Tom would then drop the hire car off and post the keys, everything was paid for and everyone had the right documents. They had Tom’s phone number and would ring when they were settled and would send some money for Tom to come and visit them in Thailand.

  ‘You don’t have to do that lads.’ Tom wasn’t sure he wanted to get in any further with these two. He played along though, and after much haggling agreed that if, and when, they were s
et up in Thailand he would travel over and help them with their motorbike hire business.

  Tom pulled over into a large trucker’s layby and Razor immediately jumped out of the car and ran back up the layby toward a little path that led to some bushes that would give him a little privacy.

  ‘Never give up the chance to take a piss my granddad always says.’

  ‘Never waste a fucking hard-on, la, that’s what my granddad always says.’

  Tom and Paddy both laughed as they got out, both deciding to piss at either end of the Orion instead of following Razor into the bushes, which they both agreed, would look fucking odd to any passing motorists. Razor was done and was walking back toward the car protecting his eyes from the glare of the evening sun.

  ‘Gis a go of your sunnies, lad.’

  ‘You’ve got a pair in the fucking boot, you soft twat.’ Sometimes Razor’s stupidity pissed Paddy off but sometimes it just made him laugh.

  Tom popped the boot and thirty seconds later he was laughing at Razor doing the Bez dance in a fucking layby. At least these boys were funny.

  1.16 Cuts and Bruises

  George’s fingers drummed methodically on the steering wheel, his eyes stared dead ahead, blinking at every sign, taking them in and processing them, especially the ones showing distance to destination. Two other sets of eyes looked out into the Essex countryside, amazed at the flatness and colour of it all. It was calming and they both felt very calm considering that they could possibly be in work mode in less than an hour. George had made steady time since the departure from Liverpool and they were all thinking about what may happen when they caught up with the thieving little fuckers. The fingers drummed to an unknown beat.

  George was sure that everyone back at home knew. The embarrassment of it made his piss boil, he wanted to crush their little fucking heads in vices until their little fucking skulls popped and their tiny little brains seeped out onto the floor. He had to remain calm. One was family, and family in his game was important. They would be hurt he promised himself, but the ultimate punishment he would dream up would be deserved and would also serve a purpose that would potentially open up difficult markets that he was finding it hard to crack, at least in any volume. His idea was simple. Once caught and delivered home, bruised and beaten to within an inch of their fucking useless little fucking lives they would be put to work, with the possibility of regaining trust and respect.

  He would send them on a trip to Dublin. They had done it before and knew the ground. He’d set up a meet a week or so after he’d got them back, let the trip play out as normal for a while and then tip off the bizzies. The little fucking thieving no-marks would get at least three to five years for the weight they’d be carrying. It would cost him a bit but the gear would be knocked to fuck. Punishment administered and a couple of junior scag dealers in the nick to sell for him. He smiled, for the first time in a while and congratulated himself on fucking up those little cunts and still having an earner from it.

  The Stones brothers had been watching George closely since the incident with the Lamborghini and had both seen the eerie smile spread across George’s lips. They both knew what he was capable of and neither of them wanted a loose George, as it could end up in a bloodbath. The smile had unsettled them both.

  ‘What’s the craic, George?’ Graham asked from the back seat.

  ‘Nothing, lads, nothing at all. A little plan, but nothing flies unless we get our hands on those little cunts.’

  Kevin Stones, who had been examining the road map for much of the journey, closed the book and leant back in the passenger seat. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem as long as they haven’t left the country, boss, it can really only be Harwich they are heading for and there is fuck all there. Those two little pricks will have stuck out like a… he stumbled, like a pair of thieving little cunts with 40K in a bin bag.’

  This drew a smile from all of them and George floored the BMW in a sign of approval. He would, it seemed, at least get one shot at getting his spade-like hands round the throats of those little cunts. George Meachen focused, he leant forward and fiddled with the stereo, the radio station had dropped off and the static was winding him up. He carried on hitting buttons while driving, and then began shouting at the stereo and then smashing it with the palm of one of his hands. ‘Fucking, cunting, fucking, bastard fucking thing,’ he shouted as he dragged the car with one hand round a bend in the road at over 100 miles per hour. The Stones brothers braced themselves, without letting George see them brace themselves. The car began to swerve as George began to brake, shouting, ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.’

  The car carried on swerving toward the left, confusing the Stones brothers – all they could see ahead was a layby which they were approaching at break-neck speed with George repeating ‘fuck me’ over and over again.

  In the layby were two cars, and between the two parked cars was a young man of about twenty, dancing around in a pair of black sunglasses. He was being watched by two other lads of a similar age who were laughing. George had recognised his nephew.

  The Stones brothers were confused as George cried out ‘The little fucking cunt,’ and could barely speak as he dragged the speeding vehicle towards the layby much too fast and largely out of control. Realising his speed, George slammed on the brakes and the car began to skid, depositing dark black lines of rubber on the concrete. George could do nothing except try to hold the car in as straight a line as possible but the BMW was going too fast. All three passengers looked towards the first parked car, it was a black Ford Sierra and just as they made that out they slammed into the back of it with a dull thud. The Sierra was then shunted into the Orion which had parked in front of the Sierra, creating another dull thud. It was essentially a three-car pile-up in a lay by.

  Graham Stones, who had been observing the whole thing from the back was propelled through the middle of the two front seats, and continued forwards, smashing his face on the windscreen and rear view mirror, partially knocking himself out. There was a deathly silence, broken almost immediately by shrill screaming outside. The two front seat passengers were dazed and confused, but essentially unhurt apart from cuts and bruises.

  1.16 The Getaway

  The boys heard the screech of tyres and looked up, helpless to do anything but watch.

  The black BMW lurched into the layby and Paddy saw his life flash before his eyes. He knew who it was instantly, he’d spotted the blacked out windows and, considering the speed, assumed the worst. Tom stood to the side, rooted to the spot, staring and trying to decide whether he could move or should just start crying. Razor was standing behind the Orion as the Sierra lurched forward with a sickening thud and pinned him between the two cars. He let out a deafening scream. The Orion was then shunted forward leaving Razor lying on the ground between the two cars crying and screaming for help. Tom and Paddy ran to him and saw that both his legs were clearly broken.

  This was bad, really fucking bad. Tom looked at the BMW but couldn’t see any movement yet. ‘Are you OK Razor?’ He immediately realised what a cunt he sounded, of course he wasn’t all right. He looked up and pointed to the emergency phone in the layby, Paddy ran to it to get call for help.

  Razor was whimpering and crying, Tom took him in his arms and said, ‘Hang on, fella, help’s coming. Paddy’s calling an ambulance. Hang fucking in there, mate.’

  Razor’s was trying to feel his legs and his hands were now covered in thick blood that was pumping out of what looked to Tom like a wound you’d see on a war documentary.

  ‘You two need to fuck off now…’ Razor’s voice wobbled. He was half in, half out of consciousness but was peering into Tom’s face with an intensity that made Tom take notice. Tom knew he was right… “Get the fuck out of here, he’ll kill both of you, I’ll be OK. He thinks I’m feckin stupid.”

  Tom saw the driver’s door on the BMW being prised open and looked up to see Paddy heading back.

  ‘We’ve got to fuck off, Paddy, and fucking now. Razor will b
e OK. Did you dial 999?’

  ‘Fuck it, Tom,’ Paddy was almost crying, ‘I can’t leave him.’

  The decision was made for them by the sight of George Meachen climbing free of the bent up BMW and shouting, ‘You cunts have got my fucking money and I want it fucking back, now!’

  Paddy looked down at Razor and told him how sorry he was and that he had to go.

  ‘Fuck off, quick you daft cunt!’ Razor shouted, before the two remaining boys, realising he was right, jumped into the Orion and turned the key, by this point Kevin Stones has also got out of the car, had retrieved a wheel jack from the boot and was approaching, luckily in a zig zag kind of manner, the passenger side door of the Orion.

  ‘Fucking go go go go’ Paddy screamed as Kevin Stones attempted to smash the Orion’s window. Tom floored it, and the car leapt towards the road. It was still screaming in second as they got back on to main road, miraculously without anyone having else seen the scene they had just fled. Neither had much to say as they headed into Harwich. They just sat in silence, hearts beating at and panting like a pair of bull terriers in season.

  ‘You OK?’ Tom asked Paddy.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK, just fucking worried about Razor. They might fucking kill him!’

  Tom could feel the fear that now coursed through his limbs. He was now under no illusions that these were serious people, and they now knew what he looked like, this made him feel sick and he had to fight the urge to pull over and throw up. Paddy seemed to have lost a bit of his balls after that incident and he really couldn’t blame the lad. They were now a band of two, but he really needed it to be one as soon as possible. ‘You’ve got to get out of here ASAP.’

  ‘What about you?’ Paddy wasn’t sure about this whole thing on his own now. It was meant to be him and Razor, Tom was OK but he wasn’t sure he trusted him. He was doing his bit now though so fair play to the lad, he had balls.