The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  ‘We were all off our fucking heads by this point and were trying very hard to keep it together. We got into the departures hall and ordered a beer and a shot to try and level us out. It was still early so we had a few more beers and shots until some wanker said they wouldn’t let us on board if we carried on drinking, so we stopped and queued up. We managed to get onto the boat but that’s when it all got a bit trippy. Those fucking corridors with the cabins on all look the fucking same, don’t they?’

  Tom and Lassie nodded in total agreement at this.

  ‘So, I was floating about looking for my cabin. Some bloke tried to help me but I was fucking hammered so he just pointed me in the right direction and off I toddled. Twenty minutes later I ended up in this lounge full of truckers. I don’t know how and I’d be fucked if I could find it again! Anyway, I was battered and sat down next to this fella, a big Dutch guy who offered me a drink.’

  ‘Oi oi!’ said both Tom and Lassie.

  ‘Nothing like that lads, just a nice fella, anyway, we ended up on deck smoking a massive doobie before going back into the lounge This thing wiped the floor with me and I was all over the place. I said I was so fucked I was just gonna crash in the lounge and he said that if I wanted, I could have a lift to Amsterdam in the morning. Turned out he drove a fucking huge flower lorry. So, he gave me a lift, dropped me off at Leidsplein Tram Station and sorted me out with this –‘ Aky produced something that resembled a dung beetle’s creation and rolled it to Tom who immediately gestured to Lassie.

  ‘He’s the smoker in this outfit!’

  ‘That’s Nepalese Temple Ball that is, what some?’

  ‘Lassie gave the ball back and replied, ‘I’ve got Nachos to eat here, but thanks.’

  ‘What a fucking legend, eh?’

  Tom nodded and said, ‘Absolutely, a total legend. Why are you on Rembrandtplein then?’

  ‘Ahh, that’s where we are staying, at a hostel just around the corner.’

  Tom and Lassie watched as Aky built a substantial spliff.

  ‘Fuck me, you feeding the five thousand with that bad boy?’

  Impressed by the size of the spliff and the quantity of Temple Ball it contained Lassie motioned to Aky to pass it over for inspection. Aky followed it with a lighter and the offer that Lassie could sparked it up.

  Lassie felt a kick in the shins as he began to raise the spliff towards his mouth. Tom was staring at him across the table with a mouthful of nachos…

  ‘Not a good idea mate… things to do.’

  ‘These must be important things you have to do my friends. After all, this here doobie is Nepalese Temple Ball. The stuff of legend my friends!’

  Tom explained they had met some lovely girls on the boat and they had arranged to meet them later, so wanted to remain on an even keel, at least until they could all get shot away together.

  Aky had lit up while listening to Tom’s excuse and had concluded that they were probably a bit scared of the Temple Ball. He spoke from behind a huge cloud of white smoke. ‘Good plan, dudes, good plan. You don’t want to be wasted if you’ve already pulled. Great work. Essex rules!’

  Tom and Lassie watched Aky’s high-speed deterioration in awe. In no time at all he had turned into a bumbling mess who was struggling to get himself to the toilet. As he finally disappeared behind the curtain they laughed at his demise.

  ‘That is what the Dam can do to a man,’ Tom spoke in a rough Jamaican patois, laughed and looked toward Lassie for agreement, which he didn’t. Lassie was holding a wallet and staring at it.

  ‘I wonder,’ he said out loud, ‘I wonder.’

  ‘You wonder what Lass?’

  Lassie worked quickly, without even asking Tom what he thought. He glanced up at the curtain, which concealed the entrance to the toilets. Seeing nothing stirring, he opened the wallet, sifted through it and with a smile, pulled out a driving licence.

  Tom wasn’t sure about taking the lad’s licence and Lassie sensed it. ‘Listen, Tom, you’re desperate, mate, and we’ll make sure the lad gets his licence back. We can post it to him. It’s just that I’ve got an idea.’

  Tom realised that desperate times led to desperate measures! It was too late to back out now anyway, he realized, as the lad had just swept the curtain aside and was zig zagging his way back towards the table. Aky reached the table and slumped into his seat. Instantly both boys turned their noses up at the smell coming off the lad from Tollesbury.

  ‘Is that piss I can smell, Lass?’

  Lassie nodded in agreement. ‘Yup, he’s had an accident!’

  They grinned at each other.

  ‘We’ve got to help him, Lass, let’s try and get him back to his hostel, shall we?’

  Aky couldn’t speak but he’d had the sense to put a card from the hostel he was staying in into his wallet and the barman was able to tell them where it was. Tom and Lassie hoisted Aky up between them and began the 300-metre journey to the Happy Hostel where Aky was due to meet his friends. Half-way up the road they found themselves having their picture taken by a group of other pissed up Brits. All they could do was smile and carry on, embarrassed to be seen carrying a man who had a big wet patch on the front of his jeans at lunchtime in a packed tourist square in one of the most fashionable capital cities in Europe. They found the hostel which had a nice little patio area outside.

  ‘He goes there, I’m not carrying this fucking mess into the hostel, they’ll probably ring the law…’

  Lassie agreed and helped Tom guide Aky through the little picket gate where they lay him down on a wooden bench. They had begun to retreat when Tom had a change of heart. ‘We can’t leave him there, Lass, we have to let someone know he is there, don’t we?’ Tom found a scruffy looking character who was sitting at a small desk with an old PC and an even older phone on it. He explained that he had parked a drug casualty on a bench outside the hostel and he was leaving the fella to it.

  ‘I feel better for that, we couldn’t have left him there, especially given the circumstances, eh?’

  Lassie smiled, ‘Of course not, lad, after all, that young man has potentially been an enormous help.’

  2.13 Kerching!

  They stopped at the top of the road. It was early afternoon and they could see Rembrandt Square beginning to come to life. In the middle of the square was a small fair with rides and stalls, the music was starting to pump and small groups of Dutch youths in wild coloured European issue Nike and Adidas trainer, tight jeans and gilets were starting to mill around. They found a bench in the square, sat down and began to plan their afternoon.

  The plan they came up with was simple. They would approach the money exchange outlets and attempt to change some money without any ID at all. If asked for some ID they would offer the driving licence, and explain that their passport, was safe in the hotel. If the licence wasn’t accepted as ID they wouldn’t push the situation. They’d just shrug and say, no worries, thank you and off to the next. They would also try to change odd numbers of notes, like £120 or £90. Anything up to, and including £190. He tossed a coin for who would go first, Lassie lost.

  ‘OK,’ he said to Tom, smiling. ‘Let’s see if this is a goer, eh?’

  Tom shifted in his seat. Lassie had already saved his sorry arse too many times this trip. In fact he would probably be six foot under if he weren’t with him today. He put out his arm and grabbed Lassie. ‘No, Lass, this is a stretch too far, this is my coffin mate. I’m gonna do the first pitch.’

  Lassie shrugged and nodded. It was Tom’s thing, but he was in the fucking thing up to his neck too. It didn’t really matter anymore… ‘Your call, Mr. Adams.’

  Lassie sat back on the bench and looked up into the warm Amsterdam afternoon sun. This was it. Do or die. He couldn’t help but search around in the pocket of his jeans for the remnants of a spliff.

  Tom walked off, leaving Lassie to relax on the bench. They agreed that he would try to stay in eye contact, just in case anything happened. Tom saw the bureau de change in
front of him and gulped. Behind the glass screen sat a calm bloke who didn’t look much older than Tom himself. Beside him was the display with the price of the currencies available.

  He couldn’t help but be surprised by how calm he was. He realised that this was, essentially, a piece of cake after the week he’d had. The worst that could happen was that the guy would say was sorry and he would require some more ID. Surely it was a matter of just plugging away until someone either trusted his face or didn’t give a shit? He was pleased there was no queue as he approached the window.

  ‘Good afternoon, mate,’ Tom said, looking interested in what the signs were telling him and looking as bona fide as he possibly could. ‘Do you speak English?’

  ‘Of course, Sir,’ he replied, ‘this is the Netherlands.’

  ‘Of course, you lot are amazing!’ Tom stepped forward confidently and leant forward with one arm resting on the chrome shelf in front of him. ‘Can I get some guilders please, fella?’ Tom didn’t wait for an answer, he just carried on talking. ‘Only been here three days and I’ve done all the guilders I brought with me. You know what it’s like. I’d like to change the rest of the English money I have with me and hope it bloody lasts five minutes!’

  ‘This is no problem, Sir, how much would you like?’

  Tom had prepared a crumpled wad of 190 GBP, which he removed from his wallet and placed onto the counter in front of him. ‘Cheers.’

  The cashier took the English money and dragged it onto the counter below where Tom couldn’t see what he was doing. He smiled and looked up at Tom. Tom was attempting to remain calm but he could feel the inside of his legs sweating. He reminded himself that at the very least he could probably do a runner. He could feel the heat of the early afternoon sun on his back. He could do with a hat, he thought.

  The cashier smiled and spoke to Tom, ‘That will be fine, Sir. It will be 360 Dutch guilders. Do you have any identification to support your transaction?’

  Tom tried to look natural as he took his wallet out again and said ‘Err… I’ve just realised my passport is back at the hotel, but I have my driving licence, would that be OK?’

  ‘That should be fine, Sir.’ He began to process the transaction, with Tom looking on. Tom had begun to feel better when the cashier leant forward and pushed a piece of paper through the screen and asked Tom to sign the receipt. Thank fuck Lassie had insisted that he should practice the signature on the driving licence. He took the pen and, as confidently as he could, signed the name. He returned the pen with a smile. The signature was inspected with a glancing look and the transaction finalised. A minute later Tom was walking back into the square where he winked at Lassie and nodded at him to follow as he turned the corner away from the kiosk.

  It was like taking sweets from a baby Tom assured Lassie. They toured central Amsterdam carefully selecting the cambios with staff who looked young, friendly, or even stoned. Which, to their amazement and joy, they found in abundance. They really couldn’t believe how easy it all was. Each time Tom played out the same ruse, looked a little desperate, acted a little stupid and made it clear he was getting robbed by this wonderful, picturesque and friendly city. In the course of the afternoon only one cashier insisted on the need for a passport.

  They stopped at the hotel and deposited a fair quantity of crisp Dutch guilders in their room. Lassie carefully stashed the cash in different pairs of socks which, he insisted, would fool any robbers who decided to try it on. ‘After all, lad,’ he said, ‘who in his right mind would steal someone else’s fucking socks?’

  They then made their way towards Anne Frank’s house, which they both knew of from school and were both interested to see. Money changed on the way, they moved on to the Sex Museum, which they both thought was a bit leftfield after the bleakness of Anne Frank’s house, but it also had lots of cambios nearby. A double back toward the Bulldog cafe and the red light district gave them access to a new raft of bureau de change and presently they found themselves just outside a smokers’ paradise of a shop called Old Man Head Supplies.

  Tom was exhausted, happy and relieved. He grabbed hold of Lassie and gave him a hug. ‘We’ve only got to do one more Lass, one more and we’ve gone and done three grand in a day.’

  They had done fourteen cambios in just under four hours. They sat down outside a café and presently a nice young girl came out, took their order and returned shortly with two coffees and two slices of apple pie with cream. They both steamed into the pie without hesitation and then laid back in their chairs, taking in the early evening ambience of the Dutch capital.

  Tom looked at Lassie, put his hand in his pocket and passed over the driving license and a small wad of purple notes. ‘There you go, lad, you fancied it earlier, you can do the last one and you can keep the guilders you get.’

  Lassie, laughing, pushed the ID and cash back into Tom Adams hands, melted back into his chair and took a sip of his coffee. ‘No way, mate, you’re on a roll. It would be a stupid man who broke such a winning streak, and anyway, I like being the wingman. I don’t wanna go confusing my job role so late in the day.’

  Tom vigorously shook Lassie’s hand and reminded his best mate that this wouldn’t have been possible without him.

  ‘Come on mate, I’ll buy you dinner.’ Tom stood up, leaving a twenty guilder note on the table and nodding to the waitress.

  Lassie pointed to a cambio sign across the road, ‘Last one my friend?’ and then at another sign further along for Burger King. ‘I’m a cheap date.’

  Tom pondered the cambio, then turned to Lassie, ‘I’m gonna laugh off the last one, Lass. Quit when I’m ahead.’ As he said this he put his hand in his pocket and gave the beggar sitting on the floor next to them a crisp twenty-pound note. ‘It’s British, mate,’ he said.

  The reply was in English too, ‘I know,’ said the happy beggar as he scuttled of into the night.

  Lassie smiled, ‘You soft twat.’

  ‘Only because he was wearing an Arsenal beanie, Lass. Come on.’ Tom opened the door of the restaurant and they went in and lined up for a burger.

  2.14 Vanessa Paradis

  They got their meal and sat down opposite two girls.

  ‘I honestly don’t think it could have gone any better, Lass, we’ve had a right result. That’s why I decided to laugh off the last one.’

  At this he took out the remaining British notes. ‘Thought I’d quit while I was ahead! Now all we’ve got to do is have a good time with the girls. We’re bound to be in there and Pascale even said we could stay with them.’

  ‘Fuck yeah, we’ve had it right off. Well pleased for you, Tom,’ said Lassie vaguely.

  Tom realized that Lassie was looking over his shoulder and nodding towards the two. One had clearly seen the cash Tom had been brandishing earlier and was smiling sweetly towards him. When she both boys were looking she slowly opened her legs a fraction and pushed her toes together, while biting her bottom lip.

  The boys were transfixed.

  ‘She looks like Vanessa Paradis,’ Lassie whispered to Tom.

  In a soft voice with a light Dutch accent the girl said, ‘I can hear you… and yes, my friends say that too.’

  At that point her friend chimed in with, ‘And she’ll give you the best blow job you’ve ever had for 50 guilders.’

  Tom and Lassie were both mesmerised but Tom knew instantly what he wanted to do. ‘Where?’ He stuttered like a fifteen-year-old school boy.

  ‘In the toilet, upstairs,’ the friend said nodding the way.

  ‘Do you take English money?’

  The girls both laughed and nodded.

  Tom then mustered all the backbone he could, reached into his trouser pocket and took out £60. He beckoned to Vanessa Paradis and said ‘I’ll give you all of this if you make it truly amazing.’

  She giggled and smiled, opening her big wide eyes. ‘I’ll try my hardest,’ she said.

  At this, regretting it even as he did it, he turned to Lassie, handed him the £60 and
said, ‘Go on, Lass. You deserve it!’

  It took a few seconds for Lassie to register what Tom had said, but when he had he didn’t hesitate. ‘Cheers, mate!’ he said as he got up and followed Vanessa upstairs.

  On the way upstairs she explained they would have to both stand outside the toilets, under the pretense of needing to use them. She would wait in in the Women’s until there was no one about and then she would beckon him in. She had clearly done this before. Barely two minutes passed until the door opened and she pulled him in to the toilet cubicle and told him to stand. She was sitting on the toilet and within seconds had unzipped him and was going up and down his shaft like a piston on a John Deere combine harvester. He was in heaven. She had beautiful long hair she had swept to one side and he stroked the soft skin of her neck that was usually covered by her hair while trying to think about cricket, or Margaret Thatcher, anything to prolong his enjoyment. Unfortunately, watching her work was far too much for Lassie and it wasn’t long before he could feel himself swelling up for a controlled explosion.

  ‘Where do you want it?’ he said desperately.

  She just carried on going, clearly giving him the OK, and his back arched as his pelvis bucked and he lost himself in Vanessa Paradis. She greedily took it all and nonchalantly took a piece of toilet paper to wipe both him and her mouth. He felt quite faint and could only muster a thank you, as she stood up and motioned that they should leave discreetly. Lassie let her leave first, mainly because his legs had turned to jelly.

  He finally got his shit together and went into the Men’s to sort himself out and presently went back downstairs. Tom looked at him and gave him a double Roger Moore which he returned. Tom felt insanely jealous. While Lassie was upstairs he pondered getting her number and having a go himself before they left, especially as it was essentially free with dodgy UK currency.