The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  He listened as the nurse went about her work. He sensed the rush and realised she’d given him a little early morning boost of morphine. He felt his resistance erode and he began to mutter loose words.

  2.7 Karma and cable ties

  The Stones brothers sat quietly, slowly devouring the food in front of them. The car was parked in a quiet spot at the end of the car park. They had considered the lorry park but Kevin had pointed out that HGV drivers were more on the ball which could lead to unneeded and unwanted ‘work’.

  Graham finished his burger and did a massive fart. ‘Better out than in.’

  ‘That’s a burp, Graham,’ Kevin said.

  ‘I feel bad, brother. That lad has been in the back of a car for over 24 hours now. He stinks, he’s covered in his own mess, and out of his tree on pills. We’re fucking gangsters, Graham, not fucking torturers. He could fucking die in there before we hit the city limits. Fuck, I’d rather shoot him now wouldn’t you?’

  Graham peered up from chasing a cold chip around his brown plastic tray pointed at his older brother. ‘No fucking way.’

  ‘Be a fucking human, Graham, eh? He’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘And where do you want him to go Kevin? Fuck right off, Kev. Right fucking off…’

  Kevin had been troubled by the inhumanity of this latest mission. He saw himself as a stand-up guy, an American gangster type. Honour-driven and righteous. Fuck George and fuck Graham…

  ‘It’s my call, George, and I’ve got an idea.’ Kevin got up and walked off to the WHSmith directly opposite the restaurant they had just finished eating in.

  Graham grudgingly shifted his bulk out of the static seating and followed his brother. He didn’t enter the shop though, he wasn’t interested in Kevin’s idea.

  Ten minutes later Graham was still swearing and telling Kevin he wouldn’t have any part in his idea. ‘Humanitarian bollocks!’

  ‘George,’ Kevin refused to plead, ‘I’m in charge and I want no part in torture unless I’m doing it. Die with dignity I reckon, don’t you?’

  Graham gave his brother the finger, opened the door of the car and got in.

  Thirty minutes later Graham stood watching as his brother led Paddy towards a small secluded lake the brothers had once fished in with their uncle. It was surrounded by trees and offered a privacy that was demanded of the current situation. George was amazed Kevin even remembered it until Kevin had admitted he had buried some guns there a few months back. Kevin stood watching Paddy as he undressed.

  Paddy was a mess, bruised, cut and stinking. Paddy was George Meachen’s brother-in-law. Kevin couldn’t quite get his head around how cruel George was being to his own family. He truly felt sorry for him. He stepped forward and pushed Paddy to the edge of the lake and spoke quietly to him. ‘Look Pat, get washed and sorted. All I could get as clean clothes was this stupid Spiderman suit but it’s better than the boot covered in shit, eh? Against orders so no fucking about or I’ll top you myself. OK?

  Paddy smiled, then cried. He couldn’t speak. The tranquilisers had ruined him and his eyes squinted at the light. He winced as Kevin Stones cut the cable ties and he stepped into the lake and squatted so the cold water reached his shoulders. He slowly washed himself while continuing to cry. He hoped Razor was OK, and Razor’s Mum and Dad. This was all his fault and he sensed this was only the start of George’s retribution.

  ‘He’s not sitting in the back, Kev,’ George shouted down to the now dressed Spiderman and his brother. ‘He could do all sorts in the back.’

  ‘He’ll have to ride up top with me. I’ve got more cable ties. It’ll be fine.’

  Re-tied and dressed as his favourite Marvel superhero Paddy was unceremoniously sat in the front seat of the car. Graham sat on the diagonal in the back, watching him. Kevin then took up his position in the driver’s seat and signalled the all clear.

  ‘Thank you.’ Paddy struggled to get the words out through dried and chapped lips.

  ‘Just no fucking about, eh?’ Kevin started the car and edged it back up the lane towards the main road. ‘Probably two more hours and home, boys.’

  Paddy drifted off into a tranquillised dream state. He was, at that point, quite comfortable and grateful to be out of the boot. His thoughts began to wander and he felt pangs of guilt about the mess he had landed everyone in, even Tom, the poor cunt. Tom had helped them and got shafted for his troubles. Perhaps this was his comeuppance. If Jesus was watching he’d be shouting at him, do unto others as you would have them do unto you… Fuck, what was it called again… Karma. He looked across at Kevin and then down at his cable-tied hands. Could he just yank the steering wheel and run the car off the road? Did he have the strength? Probably not. He flinched as he saw the signs for the M62, they were close. He wondered how long he had until George turned up, or was he already there, hammer in hand? He looked again at the steering wheel and then his hands. He suddenly lurched forward towards the wheel, opening his arms and trying wrap them over the wheel.

  His sudden movement was met with a crack as Kevin’s elbow hit his nose. The crunch and pain, followed by the warm feeling of blood running down his face made it clear to Paddy that his attempt at self-destruction had failed, miserably.

  ‘Little fucking cunt tried to kill us all, Kev! Little fucker eh?’

  Kevin was angry and felt betrayed. “My mistake, Graham, and the little shit is going to pay for it too… clean Spidey up, brother.’

  Graham leant across to clean up Spiderman in the front seat as Paddy began to struggle. Blood splattered onto the driver’s side window and the dash, Graham was failing to control Paddy and both brothers began to shout at Paddy, as Graham began punching him in the side of the face from the back seat. Paddy tried to protect himself, raising cable-tied arms to shield his face and head.

  None of this escaped the attention of the Firearms Officers travelling in an unmarked police car at it pulled alongside them. Kevin’s mouth dropped as he saw the four officers staring into the car watching his brother pummelling a young boy who was cable tied at the wrists and dressed in a Spiderman costume that was clearly too small for him. The blues and twos came on, accompanied by a magnetic blue light that the passenger had just plonked on the roof.

  ‘Graham,’ Kevin shouted, ‘stop punching that twat, we’re all fucked.’

  With that, Kevin floored the accelerator, happy that Gary drove a BMW M3.

  2.8 Sleep

  George Meachen was standing in the foyer of the hotel sorting out the bill. It was 4.45 and they had to be in Harwich ASAP to get on the ferry. He suddenly tuned in as he heard a story on the radio which grabbed his attention:

  ‘There was a fatal car crash on the M62 into Liverpool yesterday evening, involving a BMW M3. Three people were confirmed dead at the scene. Only one of the victims has been identified, as a man who had been discharged from a hospital in Essex yesterday afternoon. One of the victims appears to have been in the car under duress. It is believed that the car had been involved in a high-speed pursuit and left the road just outside of Liverpool. Police are appealing for witnesses and any information to help them with their inquiries.’

  ‘Can I use your phone please?’ George asked the receptionist.

  George replaced the receiver, thanked the receptionist, picked up his bag and walked out with Gary behind him. Gary was worried. He was sure he’d just seen a tear in George’s eye.

  In the car, George told Gary what he had heard on the radio.

  ‘I think it was the Stones and Wherry, Gaz. I can feel it.’

  Both sat in stunned silence. Fuck thought Gary. What now? ‘Do we go back, George?’

  ‘Fuck no, we carry on as agreed. I don’t give a fuck that they’re dead, it’s the game you play. The thing I do give a fuck about is WHERE IS THE FUCKING MONEY!’

  ‘And where is it, George? We gave it to Kev to run it back, you reckon the old bill have it?’

  ‘The Stones were meant to drop it before they got back, so hopefully the
bin liner full of my fucking money wasn’t in the fucking car. Fuck, fuck, faaaack!’

  ‘What are we gonna do then, George?’

  ‘Well, Gary, first, someone has to pay their debts. And then if I find out the old bill have had a summer bonus we are going to fucking war my friend!’

  George glared ahead and Gary, sensing the mood, floored the Astra in the direction of the ferry in Harwich making a mental note not to trivialise the deaths by moaning about his pride and joy that was clearly now in a breakers yard somewhere near Warrington. He sighed and pointed the car east.

  The men boarded and ate a quiet breakfast.

  ‘What if he’s not in Amsterdam, George?’

  ‘Then we’ll have a nice fucking holiday, Gary, I feel like I fucking need one. Anyway, he’ll be there. He’s on a mission so it has to be Amsterdam, and I have a feeling these Harwich boys have probably done this before and may well even have contacts there. We’ll see eh? I’ve got a cabin down there, you’re next to me. I’m going to catch up on some sleep.’

  2.9 The Ship

  Tom awoke to the sound of someone having a shower, quickly followed by the ship’s tannoy system announcing that breakfast was being served and disembarkation would begin in thirty minutes. The thought of Pascale in the shower made him smile and he lay back on his bunk, hoping to catch a glance as she exited. The door opened and Lassie stepped out, rubbing his balls with a towel.

  ‘Morning. You were out cold when I came back. Pascale said to say bye and she’d see you soon hopefully’

  Rude, Tom thought. Just rude.

  ‘So, how did you get on?’ Lassie enquired with a big grin on his face, clearly itching to unload his story as soon as humanly possible.

  ‘I’m not that type of…’

  ‘Balls,’ screamed Lassie. ‘Spill it you slag!’

  Tom told him there’d been a bit of snogging and then a sly hand-job, with the promise of more if they saw each other again.

  ‘How odd,’ said Lassie. ‘Pretty much exactly the same happened to me, apart from the fact that we snogged to the point where she had stubble rash on her top and bottom lip! Magic though, she even had a pencil and pad in her bag so she could write things down. She’s brilliant!’

  ‘Oh no, in love…?’

  Lassie dismissed that, but said it was true that he liked her. She’d made him laugh despite being deaf – brilliance in his book. And she was as fit as a butcher’s dog.

  ‘Right, let’s find these girls, get off this boat and make it to Amsterdam. Do you know where their cabin is?’ Tom grabbed his bag, had a quick glance to make sure hadn’t left anything and burst out of the cabin. ‘Come on, you daft cunt, let’s chip.’

  Their cabin was empty. In a controlled panic, they ran up the stairs and started looking around at the passengers waiting to disembark, the sisters were nowhere to be seen.

  With Lassie’s face covered in bruises, albeit subsiding, and him covered in sweat induced by the thought of getting through the formalities, they would be an obvious flag for customs. He had obviously enjoyed the girls’ company and wanted to see them again, but they may well help to ease the transit through customs, too. For a second Tom contemplated rushing up to the deck and throwing his bag over the side and maybe himself too. ‘We could do without this, Lass.’

  Then, from close by they heard a voice. ‘Ahh, look, they’ve come to say goodbye…’

  The sisters were sitting down on their bags having a coffee. Tom made a mental note that Pascale looked even better when he was not off his face.

  ‘Well, you did disappear, we thought we might escort you off the ship like gentlemen from England should do. After all, you’ve both been so kind to us.’

  The girls giggled and Abi signed to Pascale and both boys looked on waiting for the translation. ‘She said, “Chill, it was only a snog and a handjob!”’

  At this point an elderly couple got up and decided to wait elsewhere. Which amused the Dutch and embarrassed the English.

  Disembarkation was announced and the four wandered together toward passport control. As they approached the desk, Pascale slipped her arm into Tom’s which he thought was a great idea. Their passports having been checked and stamped they made their way to customs. Tom could feel a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead and he turned and smiled at Pascale as they funnelled through, Abi and Lassie breezed through. Then a hand came out and stopped Pascale and Tom.

  ‘Step to the side please, Sir,’ the Dutch Customs Officer said. ‘What is the purpose of your journey?’

  ‘Tourism,’ Tom replied, ‘and I also have recently acquired a Dutch girlfriend.’ His attempt at humour failed as the Officer looked at Pascale as though she was some kind of traitor.

  He was fucked he thought, this truly was the end, importing forged currency, he’d rot in a Dutch jail for years. He could feel himself breaking. He’d also just dragged an innocent Pascale into all this too.

  ‘Is this your bag, Sir, and did you pack it yourself?’

  He couldn’t look, he gathered himself together and stared at the man, go out proud he thought. Fuck you all…

  ‘Yes and Yes,’ Tom replied, staring at him.

  He heard the bag unzip and the officer begin to rummage around in it. Tom kept his eyes fixed ahead. The officer then stood back and said, ‘Is this yours, Sir?’

  Tom looked down to see the Customs Officer holding a copy of Fiesta.

  ‘Err, Yes,’ Tom replied, grasping what had just happened.

  ‘Then your new Dutch girlfriend may well have some important questions to ask herself,’ he said, as he smiled, zipped up the bag and wished them a nice stay in Holland.

  Tom smiled and said thank you. As they left he saw Lassie, the relief on his face indescribable. Tom glared a ‘keep it together’ look and gave his mate a hug.

  ‘Jesus you lemon, you picked up my bag, I nearly got done for having a copy of Fiesta in there you fucking pervert!’

  Pascale, taking instructions from Abi interrupted, ‘Abi says Dutch porn is far superior to your English jazz mags.’

  The boys DRM’d and they all walked off in the direction of a café.

  In the café, Tom excused himself, went to the toilets and stood starring into the mirror. He then leant over and bathed his face in cold water. He stared into the mirror for a couple more moments before turning to the cubicle, running in and throwing up. Had Lassie swapped bags on purpose? If so the man was a fucking legend, and if not someone was looking down on him. Either way, it was another step toward the ultimate goal.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Loads, mate. Amsterdam here we come!’

  The girls’ Dad had organised a lift for them from the Hook to Amsterdam and invited the boys to join them so they could save themselves the train journey and fare. This sounded ideal but Tom needed some time to think, so he told them that he really loved trains and wanted to go on a Dutch one. This worked. Both girls thought that was very English and very cute.

  The girls did insist on escorting them to the train station and showed them how to purchase their tickets and told them where to change for Amsterdam. Kisses were exchanged and Tom said they would ring them later in the day. They said their goodbyes and they watched as the girls jumped into a big black Mercedes and sped off towards the motorway.

  ‘Looks like their mum and dad aren’t short of a few bob, eh?

  Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He needed some headspace and the constant lying had been making his brain ache. They stood on the platform across from the ferry and spotted a pub called the Harwich Bar. Tom considered sitting in it all day if it was open, but he knew they couldn’t. The train pulled in and they boarded. When they were settled, and their bags safely stowed Tom looked Lassie in the eye and asked him to tell the truth, ‘Did you take my bag on purpose, Lass?’

  Lassie looked right back and said, ‘You’ll never know, fella, because either way you’ll call me a fucking idiot so I’ll suffer in silence eh? We made it,
and that’s all that matters. Let’s just get this done and then go for a pizza, if you catch my drift.’

  Tom smiled ‘Thank you, whichever one it was. You saved my life. I hope I can do the same for you one day.’

  Lassie snorted, ‘I fucking hope not!’

  The train shunted forward as it took on more carriages and five minutes later they pulled away from the port. They had a change at Schiedam for the Amsterdam train and would arrive just before 9 a.m. local time. Both boys fell asleep until thankfully, a Dutchman woke them, telling them they had to change if they were going to Amsterdam. They thanked him and got onto the other train without incident.

  Lassie again crashed straight away but Tom stayed awake as they approached Amsterdam, impressed by the graffiti and street art he saw on the buildings they travelled past. It was all very simple now. Get there, find the Capri, deposit the cash and do their own thing. It was easy to say it, much more difficult to deliver. The train tannoy spoke to him, first in Dutch and then English, announcing that they were now approaching their destination. Tom leant over and shook Lassie.

  ‘We’re here. Let’s get our shit together.’

  ‘I’ve been dreaming of deaf girls,’ Lassie said, smiling.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Fuck off, cunt.’

  They both laughed as they grabbed their bags.

  They walked out of the station and into the morning air. Tom followed the yellow and blue signs until they found themselves outside a huge car park.

  The trick, Lassie suggested, was to walk like you meant it. Like they had a car in there. Not to look vague.

  ‘Fucking do it then, Robert Downey Junior,’ Tom said, ‘I’ll look after the fucking bags!’

  ‘OK,’ said Lassie, ‘you wait here,’ and off he sauntered into the car park. Not long after he walked back out smiling. Tom couldn’t help but admire his mate. He had balls the size of Wales.

  ‘Sorted,’ he said. ‘Let’s find a café.’

  They found a little coffee shop nearly opposite the lockers in the station and surveyed the scene. It seemed simple. In his hand Tom held the key to locker number 1601. He had to open that locker, take the 100k in forged notes out of his bag and deposit them in the locker and walk away. It seemed easy enough but he kept working angles for himself. Do the Dutch police monitor the lockers for drug traffickers? Do they use that new Closed Circuit TV that they keep banging on about on Crimewatch? Is there an angle for Taff stitching him up?