The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  Lassie sat watching him.

  ‘Fuck it, Tom, lots of different things could happen, we’ve got to just do it. I’ve got your back, remember?’

  Tom agreed, told Lassie to wait and watch, picked up his bag and walked over. There were signs with numbers on the sides of the lockers and he soon worked out where 1601 was. He took a deep breath and stepped forward confidently. Instantly he was grabbed on the arm, which made him recoil and consider screaming. He spun round to confront the aggressor, praying that it wasn’t the police. Hanging on to his arm was a young lad with a small dog.

  ‘Need a locker, friend? I can help you.’

  No thanks, I’ve got one cheers.’

  ‘Where is it friend? Can I help you find it?’

  Tom needed this kid to fuck off. The last thing he wanted was someone looking over his shoulder.

  He took out a ten guilder note and showed it to the kid. He then leant over to him and whispered into his ear, ‘I need you to fuck off now, mate.’

  The kid took his cue as if that was his whole blag. He’d probably seen loads of similar stuff going on if he was here every day. The locker was on the bottom row in the middle of a bank of about five rows, he placed the key in the slot and turned it. The door popped open and he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder. No one seemed to taking any notice of him so he unzipped his bag. He put in hand into it and felt for the carrier bag that held the cash. In one swift movement he took the bag from his holdall and got it into the locker. He quickly closed the door and zipped up his own bag.

  Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and froze. ‘Bang to rights’ they call it he remembered. ‘Honey trap’ also careered across his brain. He turned to see who it was.

  ‘Have you finished with this locker?’ a female voice said innocently.

  He struggled for air as he looked into the face of the young backpacker. ‘Sorry, I’m still using it,’ he gasped

  Minutes later he slumped back down back in the café, his heart pounding.

  ‘What did she say?’ Lassie asked.

  Tom couldn’t even speak. He needed a lie down.

  ‘Give me the locker key,’ Lassie said. ‘I’ll drop it back where I found it. You wait here. Have a rest.’ Lassie headed off to the car park. Tom sat in solitary silence. He rubbed his eyes as if to make sure it was all real, fuck me he thought, it’s not even the weekend…

  2.10 Battered

  Gary Sparks couldn’t sleep and he fancied a beer. He contemplated knocking on the George’s cabin door but he decided to leave him snoring and have a wander around the ship and see what was going on. Things had been a little quiet since hearing about the crash on the radio. It seemed George was even more hell-bent on revenge now. The bar was open and so he thought he might as well have a pint as he had to drive later so the sooner he got pissed the better. After a brief reccy around the entertainment deck he settled in the livelier part of the boat and stood waiting for service. No sooner had the first been placed on the bar than he was ordering a second. He had a third and then a fourth, all in the space of twenty minutes. He was feeling a lot more relaxed.

  He was glad to have gotten away from George Meachen for a while. The man was intense as fuck. He fancied a change of scenery and decided to have another walk about. On his second walk through the Duty Free shop he stumbled upon what he thought must be the biggest Toblerone he had ever seen. He thought about buying one but then thought what the fuck would he do with a Toblerone that big? He imagined trying to kill someone with a Toblerone and decided that with that thing it was probably possible. He found himself in the rear bar, where there were a few more people and a bit of music playing. He stood at the bar waiting to be served and became hypnotised by the machine in front of him. Hotdogs, on spikes, swirled around a glass case. Round and round they went, it was making his mouth water and when he left the bar with a pint, he also had two Dutch hotdogs, smothered in mustard and ketchup. The fifth beer came and went, along with the hotdogs. The seventh and eighth were not long after. He could feel it by the time the ninth went down and by his tenth he felt perfectly relaxed. It was at this point that he joined a Hen party travelling from Harwich for a long weekend.

  He introduced himself with a round of drinks, and was duly entered into a game of spoof. The loser of which had to down a shot or take a forfeit. The Hens sat around, calling the total number of coins in all hands and slowly, by the process of elimination the game was reduced to two players, of which Gary became a regular fixture. After losing [or rather being cheated out of winning] for the fifth time he began to feel quite nauseous. He held up one of his big fighting mitts and declared he would take a forfeit. The girls hooted with laughter, rubbing his head and putting their arms around him. The forfeit arrived in the form of a pair of knickers and a bra. Luckily one of the Hens was on the large side and he thought he might actually get into them. He wandered off to the gents and returned five minutes later to reveal his new lingerie, to the screams of laughter from the Hens and other punters in the bar.

  The game continued, with the loser now necking a shot of the winner’s choice. He was feeling a little better after avoiding the play-offs for a couple of games and thought he may well have got a second wind. He then lost again, stood up and called the girls a bunch of cheating cunts.

  ‘OK, OK, darling, calm down, calm down. We won’t play anymore and we’ll just sit and chat. Eh, girls?’

  The girls cheered their approval; the poor fella was smashed after all and was beginning to get arsey. However, one insisted that Gary must honour his final forfeit. He accepted, tore down the shot banged the glass down and exclaimed, ‘Who wants to take my knickers off with her teeth?’

  There were no takers. Some suggested they were going for a fag, others to sleep it off, and others for something to eat.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘Fuck you all then!’ and sat on his own, legless in the back bar. He began to doze and then began to feel a bit funny. He managed to order another pint at the bar where a little check in the mirror confirmed that he had been spiked and was chewing his face off. He went back to his seat swearing that he would fucking kill them if he saw them again. He necked his lager and decided to try to sleep through it, but that wasn’t going to be easy.

  George woke from a formidable sleeping session. He got down from the top bunk and grabbed a plastic glass and filled it from the sink. He’d had a decent kip and hoped Gary had too. Though he imagined he’d be in the bar, probably too pissed to drive.

  He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t feel much sorrow for Kevin and Graham; he’d seen too many go to be that bothered. But what had happened to the money? If John Law had retrieved it his chances of getting it back were fair. He had countless coppers in his back pocket. Everyone had a weakness, and he was the best at finding those weaknesses and pushing those buttons. An even better result would be if they had met their grisly end after dropping off the cash before heading into the city.

  He showered and shaved as he mulled over his thoughts. He dried his armpits and balls with the handy hair dryer, taking his time. He then plucked some unsightly hair from his nose and cut his nails. He put on his last clean top, thinking that he’d have to go shopping and get the rest washed. Goodness knew what Sparksy would do, he wasn’t even sure he had a change of clothes with him. The announcement came that they would be docking shortly and that there were light snacks and a full breakfast available in the restaurant. George felt hungry but there was still no sign of Gary so he decided to grab a bite to eat. He made his way to the restaurant where he tucked into a full English and a cup of tea, just what he needed. He bought a bottle of water to take in the car. He felt good. He guessed, by the lack of contact, that Gary Sparks didn’t.

  He decided to walk anti clockwise around the deck with the bars, shops and eateries. He passed the Duty Free, the arcade and shop and finally got to the bar area at the back of the boat. There, in front of him, was a cleaner gamely trying to rouse what resembled Gary Sparks from wh
at looked like a self-induced coma.

  ‘Fuck me,’ George said. He gathered his pace, waved off the little cleaner, undid the top of his bottle of water and began to pour it over Gary Sparks’ head. He woke startled, jumped up and put up his fists.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he said, spitting water out of his mouth.

  ‘You fucking tell me,’ George said.

  George marched Gary down to his cabin and said ‘Right, you fucking idiot, you have fifteen minutes to get in there, sort yourself out, get back out here and off this fucking boat. I imagine I’m going to have to fucking drive too, eh?’

  ‘Sorry, George –’

  ‘Don’t even start with that shit, just fucking get on with it!’

  They made their way down the endless stairs towards the car deck, Gary feeling faint at every turn. They soon passed through immigration and had navigated themselves onto the road to Amsterdam.

  ‘Have a kip, you useless cunt,’ said George, putting his foot down. The Astra responded like a mobility scooter. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he moaned to himself.

  2.11 Amsterdam

  Tom and Lassie walked out into the mid-morning Amsterdam sun. Tom had called the UK, all concerned were happy, and as they stood looking at the trams, an old beaten up Red Ford Capri drove past and gave them a beep.

  ‘They must have been watching us all the time, Lass. Fucking hell, it might have even been them who spoke to me?’

  ‘Who cares? Everybody’s happy. Now our, sorry, your, work begins.’

  ‘I need a fucking rest, Lass,’ Tom pleaded.

  Lassie already had the Amsterdam city guide out and had bent a couple of corners. ‘Let’s find a hotel, eh? Then we’ll see. We’ll go to Rembrandt Square, I’ve stayed there before, it’s OK and near a nice little area away from the madness. Well, nearly.’ Lassie recalled the pub he had fallen out of years ago caked on acid. It wasn’t a good memory, although he was convinced he had entertained a madding crowd…

  ‘What if they don’t have a room?’ Tom didn’t think he could cope with the prospect of not having a bed to lie on within the hour.

  Lassie said there were loads of hotels in that area and it would just be a process of elimination until they found one. They hailed a cab, knowing full well they would get their arse felt hailing a cab outside the main station in any city, anywhere in the world. They felt ready for it though and grinned as a cab pulled up, the driver clearly thinking this was the only fare he’d need that day.

  The taxi crept slowly through the narrow canal-side streets. The townhouses stretched high into the morning clouds, looking coy about the second use most of the basement and first floor windows were put to as dusk settled in and the tourists came out in force.

  The Taxi soon pulled into the square and stopped outside the Old Bell. Tom handed the driver a twenty guilder note, thanked him and told him to keep the change.

  They headed for the entrance to a small hotel next to the pub to enquire about a room.

  ‘A twin will do us won’t it, fella? Anything we get up to we won’t be bringing back here eh?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Lassie he agreed.

  They were in luck. A twin room with a view of the square was available. Room 401 was quite small and up in the gods but clean enough. They put their bags down and flopped on their beds. It had been a fraught and emotional journey so far, to say the least.

  ‘I’m gonna have a shower, Lass, then let’s grab a burger somewhere and plan what the fuck we’re going to do with three grand worth of forged twenty pound notes, eh?’

  Tom realised he was talking to himself as Lassie had crashed out the moment his head had touched the pillow. Tom then grabbed his wash bag and headed to the bathroom. The shower was warm and he considered beasting himself, but he thought it would be rude, as Lassie would probably want to use the room immediately after him. He wondered what the girls were up to. Probably forgotten them by now he thought, though Abi seemed to quite fancy Lassie. They could ring them later, after he’d got his head round this whole forgery thing. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. Opened the door and called to Lassie to wake up.

  ‘It’s all yours. squire! Just try not to slip on my man oyster eh?’

  Lassie rubbed his eyes and made a gagging sound. ‘You didn’t, did you? You dirty bastard.’

  Tom laughed, ‘I considered it, but decided it just wasn’t tennis, young man.’

  ‘Good fucking job.’ Lassie stood up and retrieved his wash bag from his holdall.

  ‘I’m gonna fucking check before I put my fucking feet anywhere.’

  Tom laughed. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’ve got as long as I need,’ Lassie said before locking the bathroom door and turning on the shower.

  Tom sat down on the bed, opened his bag and took out the forgeries. He wondered how this part was going to turn out. He wasn’t even sure how good they were, and where he was going to try to change them. The whole thing was mental he told himself, and he’d had it, no more after this. If he could get out of this there would be no more stupid ideas, no more dealing, no more dodgy friends, no staying out all weekend. Things would change.

  Lassie exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, still cleaning his teeth. He’d been thinking along the same lines as Tom.

  ‘What’s the plan with the notes then, mate? I’ve got absolutely no idea, not my thing if it’s not green and smokable. We don’t even know how good they are do we?’ He looked at Tom, who looked desperate, like a man on the edge. He considered a funny one liner about it not being the end of the world but then remembered the whack on the nose he’d taken from those psychotic arseholes who were probably looking for them as they spoke.

  ‘I suppose it has to be the Bureau de Change then, lad?’

  ‘Mmm.’ The reply was curt and suggested that Tom had already had arrived at that conclusion.

  ‘Just trying to help.’

  ‘Sorry mate, I know you’re just trying to help, I was just thinking. We can’t use our own ID because when it comes up bent the money will be traced back to us through our passports.’ Tom had felt his heart drop when he had realised this as Lassie showered. He was dead again. He’d escaped the Scousers, thought he’d had a touch and had now been mugged off again. He should have known or at least considered they would need ID to change any money. Now they were stuck in fucking Holland with enough cash for 2 days and tickets back to Harwich in three days. He felt like someone had dropped a waterlogged blanket on him, his shoulders dropped and he felt himself physically shrink.

  Lassie saw Tom’s eyes begin to well-up and said, ‘Get it together, Tom, we can sort this out, we’ll find a way. Hey, don’t hotels usually change cash?’

  ‘Hotels take an imprint of your passport too, Lass.’

  ‘Sorry mate, wasn’t thinking…’ Lassie decided he would have to do something to save Tom, he could see him sliding towards defeat and that wasn’t like him at all. It had been a fucked-up week though, and if he were Tom he would probably feel like every man and his dog was trying to fuck him with a lamp-post. ‘Let’s find a bar, get a beer and have a think.’

  2.12 Jamaica

  Smokies was dark and very smoky, with little corners like caves dug into the walls to afford the punters a little privacy. Bob Marley wailed out tunes and various Rasta flags and scarves reminded them of Jah and the drug of choice for the practicing Rastafarians. Neon signs advertising Amstel, Heineken, Grolsch and Budweiser lit up the bar area and lit the way to the toilets. Tom and Lassie ordered two Amstel, with which they retreated into the darkness to discuss their impending fate. Two more beers came and went and they had made no headway. If fact both were feeling a little drowsy from the passive intake of the smoke that was drifting around the bar.

  ‘No real need to buy anything to smoke, eh, Tomo?’ Lassie smiled.

  ‘Indeed not, Tom answered, in fact, I feel a little hungry.’ They both laughed for the first time in what seemed ages to both of
them.

  ‘I’ll go and get some more beers.’

  While ordering the beers Lassie spied a British looking lad eating a huge plate of nachos. The lad nodded at the nachos and put both thumbs up with a big smile. Lassie decided to order some for him and Tom.

  ‘Cheers for the heads up, fella,’ Lassie said to the lad as he headed back to where Tom was sitting. As he sat down and gave Tom his beer he realised that the lad had followed him back the table and was directly behind him.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Mind if I join up for a bit? I’m a bit bored with sitting on my own.’

  ‘No problem,’ both replied and Tom gestured to a chair.

  He introduced himself as Aky. He was a self-confessed ‘massive stoner’ and regularly came over to Holland from Tollesbury.

  Tom wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend any of his afternoon with this bloke. He was clearly off his nut and probably flying solo and looking to hitch a ride with them, which he could do without. ‘Yeah, I know Tollesbury, nice little place on the way to Maldon. So, are you over with some mates?’

  ‘Well, this is it chaps, you wouldn’t fucking believe this!’

  ‘I imagine we won’t,’ Lassie laughed. Tom nodded in agreement.

  ‘Go on then, what happened?’

  They sat back, beer in hand and listened to Aky explain why he was on his own at the moment.

  ‘Well, a friend was giving us a lift from Tollesbury to Harwich and we stopped on the way for a few beers and a smoke and so on. Everything was fine and she dropped us off at Harwich and we finished off everything in the car park before we got on the boat.’ He stopped for a mouthful of beer as Tom and Lassie’s nachos turned up. They both tucked in as he began again.