The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Fuck you will, Paddy thought, but that’s your choice. George has the bit between his teeth now and he won’t let go. He’ll fucking terrorise this town.

  ‘OK, let’s get me to the port and on the boat tonight. I wanna get the fuck out of here.’

  Tom parked the Orion at the side of the Cliff Hotel where the boys had stayed. They had a look at the damage. The back of the car was pretty much OK, apart from a dent where Razor had been but it was parked so it wasn’t easily seen.

  Paddy went in alone to collect his stuff. Tom didn’t want to them to seen together. A little too late for all that, Paddy thought as he climbed the stairs to his room.

  The room had been cleaned but everything was in its place. He changed into his new clothes and binned the old ones. Reminding himself not to rush, he peeled back the carpet and lifted the floorboard, he tied a knot in the bin liner and stuffed it into the holdall. He decided to leave Razor’s stuff in the room. He shuddered as the door clicked shut behind him. He paced the hall to reception and paid his bill, thanking the staff for their hospitality and got a ‘Goodbye and hope to see you again, Sir!’

  He waved and walked down the stairs and back to the Orion.

  ‘Sorted?’ Tom asked.

  Paddy patted the holdall and Tom pulled away. They drove to Parkeston Quay in silence and Tom pulled up the car at the entrance.

  ‘Looking smart there, chief.’

  ‘Cheers, la.’ Paddy felt smart but was feeling loose and alone. Did he want Tom to come with him? Two’s better than one he thought, but he’d made his mind up and Paddy wasn’t going to beg.

  ‘Straight up the stairs, left and left again. Good luck, mate and you have my phone number. Get settled and get in touch. I’ll get over and have another smash up with you. It’s been a wild two days!’ Tom leant in and hugged Paddy, who returned the gesture.

  ‘Cheers.’

  And with that, Paddy got out of the Ford Orion, walked up the stairs and towards the booking hall for the ferry for Holland without looking back.

  Tom sighed with relief, turned the car around and headed for the station to drop off the car. As he turned into Station Road he passed a Vauxhall Astra coming the other way, barely missing it. He put it down to tiredness. He was fucked and wanted to sleep this one off. He backed the Orion against the wall, posted the keys into the key bin, walked across the road, ordered a kebab and a taxi home. He was knackered and he had college tomorrow. Presently, he was lying in bed, post kebab, with a beer. What a fucking two days.

  There was a knock at the door, he looked at his watch, getting late, who the fuck could this be? He wandered down stairs and turned on the light. He thought he could see two shadows and immediately thought about not opening it and calling the police. No, it can’t be he thought… really? He opened the door and bam, a party popper went off in his face. Lassie was on the doorstep, pissed and stoned.

  ‘Fuck me, Lass, you scared the fucking shit out of me!’

  Lassie didn’t seem fazed by Tom’s negative observation on his joviality. ‘Look what I’ve brought you, Tom,’ he said, standing aside to reveal the girl with No Name from the Cliff. ‘Just met her walking up the road and she said she missed you the other night, so I thought…’

  Tom’s eyes rolled as he let them in. Within ten minutes Lassie was asleep. Tom took hold of No Name and led her upstairs with the promise of an episode of Cracker and a Carlsberg.

  ‘It’s only a small TV though… and the Carlsberg… well… you make up your own mind, eh?’

  1.18 Stakeout

  George, Kevin, the concussed Graham and Razor were in the lay-by when an ambulance, the police and a recovery vehicle showed up. Graham’s nose was clearly broken. Razor was in agony and was quietly moaning on the ground.

  Before the emergency services had arrived they had agreed their story: the Sierra had been nicked by a joyrider – Razor. Razor had been dumping the car in the lay-by when he’d been caught between the two cars when the BMW’s brakes failed. Razor was happy to go along with this, especially when George had stopped prodding a protruding bone with a Bic biro.

  George, was furious. His BMW was undrivable; they’d had to bury all the tools but one handgun, which he insisted on hiding under the spare wheel; and he’s lost the main prize.

  Their statements taken, all of them were given seven days to produce their driving licenses at a police station (the local constabulary were bemused by the fact that none of them had any ID on them). Razor was cautioned and loaded into the ambulance to be taken to Colchester General, along with Graham, who had fainted while assuring the paramedics that he was fine.

  George, Kevin and the BMW got a lift into Colchester in the recovery vehicle whose driver was able to arrange an out of hours hire car for them.

  ‘Right, let’s fuck off and do some re-thinking.’ They followed the signs out of Colchester and towards Harwich, stopping on the way in a small business park for George to vent his anger on a parked car when he realised he’d forgotten to retrieve the Glock from the BMW. Kevin was just relieved he didn’t take it out on him.

  They arrived in Harwich at 19.50 and drove around the streets, both men remarking what a shit hole the place was. They pulled up behind a taxi, outside a takeaway near a small station for Kevin to get some food; he was starving. He came out, food in hand, to find the car empty.

  George soon climbed out of the taxi with a smile on his face. ‘Cliff Hotel. Now.’ He grabbed Kevin’s food threw it towards a bin and pointed to where he wanted to go: ‘It’s up on the seafront apparently.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, George,’ Kevin began, but seeing the look in his eyes he got in and turned the car toward he seafront.

  On the way, George explained that the taxi driver had picked up a couple of Scouse lads on Monday night and dropped them at the Cliff Hotel. He picked up some darts players the same evening and they’d seen the lads chatting with a local lad called Tom Adams. He later picked up the Adams lad and dropped him home. George seemed excited now, ‘So, the pair of cunts must be staying at this hotel – let’s fucking do this!’

  Kevin took a deep breath, ‘George?’

  ‘Yes lad?’

  ‘One thing.’

  ‘Go on,’ George could feel himself winding up. He was within touching distance again and this prick was going to put a dampener on it all.

  ‘This is a small town, people talk. If we go in guns blazing it could bring all manner of trouble. Specially with the crash and me brother and Razor in the hospital.’

  George stared at Kevin, considered punching him in the face and then calmly said, ‘Good point, Kev, and we don’t need to get pinched down here. We’ll say err, run away cousin. Fucking good idea, lad.’

  Kevin breathed a sigh of relief, he wanted it clean. In, out and home. Graham could sort Razor out. The hotel was on the seafront, high above the beach with an amazing view out to sea. The sun was going down and the horizon was a deep orange.

  ‘Beautiful, eh, George. Really relaxing.’

  ‘Come on, you soft cunt. We’ve got work to do.’

  They entered the foyer of the hotel to a squawk from a huge grey parrot in a massive cage. A young girl greeted them and directed them to the manager. They explained the problem to him: their impressionable young nephew had run away and they had reason to believe that he and a friend had been staying in the hotel. The manager confirmed it.

  ‘Superb! Can we see the room please? Let’s not call them down, they might make another run for it,’ George was trying his hardest but he just wanted to slap this twat, run up the stairs and batter the little cunt in his room.

  The manager told them that unfortunately, the boys had already checked out.

  George took himself off to vent his fury out on the board advertising afternoon teas while Kevin thanked the manager for his time and then followed his boss outside.

  ‘Cunt, cunt, fucking cunt. He’s slipped us again. That fucking Adams bloke is helpi
ng him, and helping himself to our fucking cash probably, cunt. I’ll lynch the southern cunt when I get my hands on him. Where have they gone?’

  Kevin went back into the hotel and came out minutes later looking at the ferry timetable, ‘They could have left for Holland tonight, George.’

  ‘Harwich, Holland or fucking Mongolia, I’m gonna fucking grab hold of those cunts. Razor is bloody lucky that he’s already in hospital.’

  At this point the friendly hotel manager came out with a full bin bag and explained that one of the boys had left some clothes behind and asked if would they like to take them. Kevin acted quickly, realising correctly that George was about to fist the innocent man, and told him to give them to a local charity.

  They drove off, leaving the manager with a bemused look on his face and a bag of very expensive clothes. They followed the signs to the port only to see the huge Stena Line boat sailing out of the quay.

  George decided that they’d need to buy tickets for the evening crossing the next day while they were there so they parked up and headed in to the sales desk to find a long queue of people complaining about the delay.

  ‘Hang about,’ said George, ‘what delay?’ Looking up to the head of the queue they saw a board with a message apologising for the delayed running of the Harwich to Hook of Holland ferry. ‘We may be in luck, Kev,’ said George, stalking towards the departure area with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  1.19 No Name

  Tom opened his eyes and stared into No Name’s eyes. He also felt her hand slowly rubbing his cock. He’d fallen asleep almost instantly last night – what a guest pleaser he was, eh, building an excellent reputation. No Name was still rubbing his shaft and had moved towards him, he put his arm around her and pulled her closer, mmm, still in her knickers, no bra though. He rubbed his hands across her breasts and pondered on a nipple…

  Even closer, and she stopped rubbing him, gave him a light kiss on his cheek and whispered into his ear, ‘Go and clean your teeth.’

  Within seconds Tom was up, into some pants and in the bathroom, scrubbing his teeth, taking good care to brush inside the back ones. His mind drifted back to the last two days but he told it to fuck off, he just wanted to dive in to breakfast with No Name.

  Back in bed, her kisses were a welcome sensual feeling after the mania of the last couple days. She was lovely. Just as he was settling into enjoying himself, she pulled him on top of her.

  ‘Put it in me now Tom, please,’ she purred. ‘I’m ready.’

  Wow, Tom couldn’t believe it, her pussy was really wet. He was a fucking Adonis!

  ‘Wow, you’re so wet,’ he couldn’t help but remark, hoping to tee up an ego boosting remark in return.

  ‘I know,’ she moaned. ‘I’ve been strumming all morning waiting for you to wake up.’

  Not the reply Tom had expected, but as she pulled on his hips and he almost fell in to her, it had the same effect. He put his arm under her and pulled her tight into him.

  She moaned, ‘Just fuck me hard and come inside me, Tom. Fuck me hard.’

  Tom didn’t need much prompting and they were soon lying on their backs, hand in hand, post coitus. Wondering if all men were the same, Tom’s thoughts immediately jumped to what he had to do today, while No Name just wanted to lie there and cuddle for a while.

  ‘I can’t, sorry,’ Tom said, ‘I have college today.’ Tom leant over and grabbed his watch which told him it was 7.45! His lift to Colchester left at 8.05.

  ‘Fuck, gotta run, baby!’

  Tom rushed into the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later. He was doing OK for time. He chose his clothes for the day while No Name watched him. He could laugh college off and spend the day fucking, walking, drinking and laughing, he thought – if only he knew her fucking name. Jesus, if she knew he’d never get another sniff of that, ever! He glanced at the clock as he pushed his feet into his Timberlands, 8.01.

  ‘One question before I go. Have we done this before, baby?’ Tom leant in to kiss No Name goodbye.

  ‘No! You idiot!’ You came to mine to watch The lost boys, fell asleep on the sofa and left at six in the morning. We did kiss a little though.’

  Embarrassing, Tom thought as he went for the door. He laughed, smiled and told her to stay as long as she liked, grab some breakfast if there was anything to eat, and he’d get in touch when he was back.

  ‘Write down your phone number in my little address book and I’ll ring you.’ He kissed her on the head and ran down the stairs. He grinned as he realised that she would have to put her name in the book with her number. Bonus he thought, as he picked up his bag and opened the door.

  Tom left the house at lightning speed and bolted for the little alley that ran down the side of the house that brought him out by some shops where Bad Monkey was sitting, in his Red Seat Ibiza, waiting patiently. Tom jumped in, apologised and they sped off.

  Neither of them noticed the lumbering bulk of a menacingly angry Liverpudlian bursting out of the lane.

  1.20 It’s not the Ritz

  At 8:02 (according the clock on the dash board), the door of the house they were watching flew open and a lad came rushing out carrying a fucking holdall. He did a swift right turn and fled down a lane. After an initial shock, both men got out of the car and ran after the holdall.

  Kevin followed their quarry down the lane. How the fuck did he clock us watching the place? Smart little cunt, Kev thought, and decided he didn’t give a fuck if George snapped the little prick’s neck in half. Kevin stopped running as he came out on to the road and saw the lad disappear up the road in a Red Seat Ibiza. He walked slowly back to the Astra where George stood, aghast at the mornings events so far.

  ‘Fucking little cunt. Little fucker must have my cash in that holdall. How the fuck did he know we were here? I don’t fucking get it, I just don’t fucking get it.’

  ‘Nor do I, George.’

  ‘Ahh fuck off, Kev, I don’t pay you to get it. Come on.’

  They made for the door from which Tom Adams had catapulted himself just minutes earlier. At the third knock, the door was opened by a sweet looking girl in knickers and a Secret Affair t-shirt. As she began to ask if she could help them, George swept her aside and stepped into the small hallway. Scared, she tried to ask again what they wanted but this time Kevin Stones’ leather-clad hand clamped across her mouth and stopped her. Petrified, she fell silent as she felt something warm running down her legs.

  Kevin closed the door quietly behind them and George ushered them into the front room where Kevin sat the girl down opposite another character who was sleeping on the sofa next to some empty Strongbow cans and Supertramp’s album, Breakfast In America, covered with tobacco papers and a bag of weed. George bent over and picked up a half-full can off the floor and proceeded to pour the warm cider over the sleeping Lassie until he was roused from his sleep.

  ‘Wow, man, what the fuck is… who the fuck is…. Can I smell piss?’

  George, also in leather gloves leant over and grabbed Lassie by the face. ‘Listen, you measly little stone head fuck. I’m going to ask you some questions about your friend Tom. And you are going to concentrate on answering them to the best of your ability, because if you don’t, I’m going to rape your pretty friend over there with the Wellington boot standing outside your front door, and then I’m going to instruct my friend over there, to rape her arse with a rolling pin which I’m sure we’ll find in your kitchen. Understand?’

  Lassie nodded and looked across the room at the now wide-eyed girl he’d met on the way home last night.

  ‘Firstly, you have never seen me or my associate. Any contact with the law will mean we find her, not you or Tom, her. OK?’

  Lassie nodded desperately trying to work out what was going on. Was it a prank of some weird sort?

  ‘We are looking for Tom. We know he knows some lads from Liverpool. And we believe that he may have something that belongs to us. We want it back. So, young man, what I need to know where has he gone? When wi
ll he be back? And crucially, what do you know?’

  ‘George, the girl has pissed herself, and it’s all over my fucking shoes.’

  ‘Take her into the kitchen and get her a towel or something. Oh, and maybe have a fucking look for some fucking air freshener?’

  ‘You know, I might just fuck her myself, I bet you have some condoms laying around don’t you?’ He winked at Lassie who looked back, worried. He released Lassie’s jaw and gestured for him to start speaking.

  ‘Man, I know fuck all… honestly.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  George decided to go straight for the kill and shouted to Kevin. In no time at the sobbing girl was bent over, her hands tied to her ankles with football socks, and another sock in her mouth while Kevin brandished a rolling pin. Lassie also in tears, was pleading with George.

  ‘I don’t know anything! Leave her alone! He’s been out with your friends since Monday, I don’t fucking know where they are now. Tom has gone to college in Colchester. He gets a lift off a lad with ginger hair and glasses. I don’t even know his name. That’s fucking it man, that’s fucking it!’ He wanted to fucking kill these two cunts, get his football socks off No Name girl’s ankles and give her a hug.

  ‘If I find out you haven’t told us everything…’

  ‘I know, I know, you’ll kill us, I’ve seen it in the movies…’

  Seeing this as a flippant remark, George grabs Lassie by the face and punches him, then punches him again, on the third punch he is out cold. Raging, George turns to the record and CD collection and starts kicking them all over the floor. After smashing up half of Lassie’s vinyl he finally calms, tells Kevin to release the girl and stands staring at her. She is petrified, sobbing, shaking and crying uncontrollably.

  ‘Now come on love,’ he whispers, mockingly, ‘try not to piss yourself again, eh?’ George then pulled her in close and squeezed her arse. Pressing a piece of paper into her sweating hand he said, ‘Tell Tom that if he wants to live he needs to ring this number and make amends, got that?’