The Comedown

by Martin Doohan

  Razor wanted to jump up and scream. Surely this was all lies?

  ‘Fuck off.’

  He’d bitten and the cops knew it, though worse was to follow as one of them stood up and began to lay out pictures of his mum and dad, all of which were horrific and soon instigated a tide of bodily fluid into a hastily gathered pillow. Razor had known he was fucked, but Mum and Dad? What the fuck was going on?

  ‘George Meachen was seen leaving your Mum and Dad’s on either Monday or Tuesday morning, the witness was unsure which. Your dad has confirmed it was him. We also have reason to believe that your friend, Patrick Wherry, is dead.’

  Razor felt numb. Number than both his legs had all week. Mum and Dad? Paddy? They’d killed him? He fought with everything he had to remind himself that they had surely played all their cards now and were waiting for him for break. All he wanted to do was see his parents, and of course find out the truth about what the fuck was going on. He took a deep breath and mustered all the courage he had, looked up and spoke. ‘Are you charging me with anything?’

  ‘No, Razor, nothing at all, yet.’

  ‘Well, I’m tired, so can you leave me alone?’

  ‘Let’s speak soon Razor,’ one of the policeman said as he laid his card on the cupboard beside the bed.

  Razor’s gaze followed the backs of the departing policemen as far as was possible before refocusing on the ward around him and down towards his smashed and broken legs. He was trapped, helpless and wanted more information. He looked at the card, was instantly sick again. He groped around, found and hit the button for assistance, some painkillers and some clean sheets. While waiting for the nurse to arrive he began to sob.

  By the time the nurse got to his bed Razor needed the support of another nurse who then rang for the Chaplain. Razor was inconsolable and crying uncontrollably. He could hear them talking about the possibility of sedating him but he couldn’t stop crying. He wanted out…

  2.17 This Twisted City

  The day had gone well for Tom and Lassie, but there was still the itching terror of what that bloke could do to them. He had the cash pretty much covered, which was honestly more than he thought they’d have achieved by now. He wasn’t yet in a hole in the ground in Liverpool, and he had to keep reminding himself that it must be possible to get out of this with perhaps a severe hiding. They just had to remain out of the clutches of the two psychos he had seen missing the boat Harwich. They would have caught the next one and so could conceivably be in Amsterdam now, looking for them. He had considered getting off straight away to Rotterdam or Eindhoven, guessing that his knowledge of Holland was better than theirs. Meeting the girls had changed that though and even though he realised that his little head was now ruling his big head they were going to stay, for at least for another day… They would spend it with the girls, and ask them to show them the ‘off the beaten track’ Amsterdam.

  Tom did wonder how they would get the cash to them, the last thing he wanted was to get fucking kidnapped and dragged back up north, or even smashed up and left for dead in a ditch somewhere outside Leighton Buzzard. It would have to be proper cloak and dagger stuff when he got back, and he was pretty sure that if they wanted to find him again it would be easy, unless he disappeared from Harwich forever, which he wasn’t quite prepared to do just yet. If he could get the cash to them safely they might decide they had had a little holiday, made a little earner, got their big money back and just fuck off home leaving him and Lassie to get on with their lives. That was maybe a pipe dream but that’s all he had the moment.

  They were soon back in their hotel room, Lassie sitting on the bed and Tom on an easy chair looking out of the window across the square. Tom told Lassie about seeing the two Scousers at Harwich and that they were probably in Amsterdam now.

  ‘Fuck this. We should go to Rotterdam, Tom, it’s the sensible thing to do. If we get caught here anything could happen!’

  ‘I disagree, Lass, Amsterdam is fucking huge. We will be with the girls and I honestly don’t think they’ve thought it through. What will happen if they try anything here? There are plain clothes Tourist Police all over the place. We’ll be OK, trust me. We’ll get back to Harwich and sort it out there. We’ll be on our own turf then too and have a better view of the whole thing, don’t you think?’

  ‘I think you’re fucking mad, mate. I mean, if they weren’t serious why the fuck would they bother chasing us over here, just for a fucking mini- break? Get a fucking grip…’

  ‘Come on, Lass, trust me. The girls are switched on and we’ll just chill with them, in safety. If we did decide to move they could be watching the train station or the airport, don’t you think? I’m sure we’re better off in the eye of the storm.’

  He could tell Lassie wasn’t even slightly convinced.

  ‘Let’s just get dressed, phone Pascale and arrange to meet them later and see how we go, eh? We’ve done the main thing – we have the cash. We just need to relax, have a bit of fun and work out our next move when we get back.’

  Lassie stood, grabbed his wash bag and walked toward the bathroom. ‘Your move next, Tom. But I retire on arrival at Parkeston Quay.’ He smiled, closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower.

  Tom began to rifle through his bag for something to wear tonight. It seemed odd with all that had gone on over that week that they were now going on a fucking date! He laughed to himself, imagining Cilla saying, ‘here’s our Graham with a quick reminder’, and then went cold at the thought of the Scouse accent.

  On the bedside table was the phone number the girls had given them when they had split earlier. They’d ring them in a bit, it was barely seven in the evening and he knew that the evening was still very young indeed. The sound of the shower dying spurred him into action and he grabbed a towel from the bed and waited for Lassie to exit. Lassie walked out rubbing his hair, exclaiming how much better he felt and Tom hoped for the same outcome as he turned the shower back on. It took seconds to reheat and he was soon under the hot water, scrubbing away the day. He was enjoying the shower until he heard the door of the room bang shut on its mechanism. The room went quiet.

  ‘Lass?’ he shouted. ‘Lassie?’ There was no answer and he immediately panicked. He left the shower running and as quietly as he could have slipped out, put a towel around himself, put his T-shirt back on over his wet top half and crept toward the door. At the door he stood and listened. There wasn’t a sound. He could feel his heart rate increasing as his ears strained for any sound of movement. He took a deep breath and jumped out into the room…

  ‘Lassie?’ There was no one in the room and he felt enormous relief as he realised the fact. This, however, was short lived as he then realised that neither Lassie nor any of his stuff was in the room. His heart began to race again. He hadn’t heard any scuffles or shouting. All he could think was he’d had enough and fucked off somewhere, maybe even home? Tom sat on the end of the bed. He was gutted. He got up and checked his bag, the cash was still there, as he’d thought it would be, Lassie wouldn’t do anything like that to him, and he found it hard to blame him for wanting out. The bang and scream sent Tom’s heart racing and towel flying as he frantically reached out for something, anything, to use as a weapon, as Lassie jumped at him out of the wardrobe…

  ‘You fucking cunt,’ was all Tom Adams could squeeze out of his mouth as he collapsed back onto the bed. ‘You fucking cunt!’

  Lassie was in pissing himself with laughter on the floor; Tom was still trying to get his breath back, his chest heaving.

  ‘What the fuck made you think that was a good idea, Lass?’ he wheezed through his tight chest.

  ‘Thought it would cheer you up, mate,’ Lassie answered. ‘You looked like you needed it!’

  ‘You gave me a mild fucking heart attack, you fucking prick.’

  ‘Come on, you lemon, turn off the shower and get yourself sorted. I’ll go and ring the girls if you like. I’m into it now.’

  Still panting, Tom wrapped his towel back a
round himself. ‘You’ve changed your fucking tune, lad.’

  Lassie shrugged, picked up the piece of paper and waved it at Tom. A nod told him he had the right one. He also grabbed the city map as he went through the hotel foyer. Directly opposite the hotel was a small nest of phone boxes. It took him three attempts before he worked out how to use it, but then, ‘Hello?’ A familiar voice said.

  Lassie and Pascale talked for a few minutes and planned a meeting, Lassie referring to the map he had taken with him to make sure he knew where to go. He’d told her they wanted somewhere you wouldn’t see many Brits or tourists and she’d agreed. She said that two unhinged Brits was more than enough to contend with. As he walked back to the hotel Lassie felt happy at the thought of seeing the girls again, but edgy at the possibility of being kidnapped at any moment by those two psychopaths who were hunting them, well Tom, down. He allowed himself the hope of not getting a battering to enter his mind, but the image of Razor between the two cars and his feel of his own chipped tooth soon put paid to that.

  He found Tom sitting on the bed, doing up his trainers.

  ‘Alright mate, all good?’

  ‘I Spoke to Pascale. We’re meeting them in a bar called Feelgoods in Leidsplein in about an hour. She said it was more of a Dutch place and there were little bars all around it where we could sit and relax and then head out later.’

  ‘Sounds good, Lass.’

  They decided to walk to the bar, relying on Lassie’s tourist map for directions. The June evening sun was still high in the sky and it felt warm.

  Tom squinted in the sunlight and found himself stepping on the back the heels of the man in front of him. As he looked around at tom the giant in question cast a huge shadow over the boys. Tom looked up to apologise but only managed a stuttered, ‘Fuck. Oh Jesus fuck!’

  Lassie had stopped too but was quicker to recover. He stepped in next to Tom, pulled out his city map and said, in his best English, ‘Michael Jordan! Could I possibly have your autograph please?’

  2.18 Fifty guilders

  With Gary Sparks safely tucked up in bed George wandered back along the canal. It was a beautiful summer evening and he fancied a bit of time to consider the whole situation. He chose a small bar and sat outside. A petite, blonde girl in a little apron approached and asked him if he would like anything, he couldn’t help but wonder whether everything in Amsterdam had a suggestive edge to it. The girl, probably in her late twenties, had a lovely set of tits on her and a beautifully pretty face. George didn’t like to talk about his age, but was happy to let people guess at anything around the early fifties. He still looked good though, he thought, and was always well turned out. He looked her slowly up and down, taking in the full pleasure of her knowing what he was thinking about. Even better then, when he noticed her slight blush as his eyes reached her face. ‘I’ll have one of your blondes please.’

  She looked at him with what he was sure was a pitiful look at his suggestive line about the beer, touched her own blonde hair and asked, ‘A large blonde beer, sir, or a small?’

  Obviously rebuffed, he instantly felt like punching her in the face and throwing her in the canal. The cheeky little flirting cunt. Probably just after a tip. He felt himself simmering over and told himself to calm down. Clearly this was just her job, and there wasn’t exactly a shortage of slags about.

  ‘I’ll have a large please,’ he said smiling as he gave her a large note and told her to keep the change.

  Calmer with a beer inside him, George leant back in his chair and relaxed. He sat and watched the world go by while he finished his beer. The people here were truly, to a man, off their heads. No one seemed to give a fuck either. And it struck him that it wasn’t just the tourists that were having a good time, the locals seemed to be enjoying themselves even more. And why not? They lived in a twenty-four-hour party zone that was also a very nice earner.

  He smiled. He was really enjoying himself for the first time in years! It was a beautiful city too. He sat and watched as numerous tourist boats cut through the city on the canals, some it seemed, had bars on them. Some, he thought were probably floating whorehouses. The place was rife with it. This thought stirred him into action and, thanking the lesbian who had served him, he left the bar and went out to explore. It didn’t take very long for something to grab his attention. The street-level windows, which earlier had had their curtains pulled in a show of non-working unity, were now fully open for business, and some of the girls were truly magnificent. His pace slowed and his heart rate quickened as he looked into each window as he passed. At some he had to use his height advantage to peer over little groups of adoring crowds peering lustfully into the window at the smiling females. The women sat on little chairs, they were on display exactly as though they were in a shop window. And they were all for sale. George decided that he would jump in straight away if he saw something he particularly liked. After all, leaving it may well allow some dirty pervert to muddy the waters and he didn’t like the idea of stirring someone else’s porridge. He wandered on up the street and then off to his right he saw a small alleyway that men and boys were pouring in and out of like a busy colony of ants. Some were drunk already; some were in groups. One, he thought looked like he had high blood pressure and was about to keel over, he’d obviously just lost his dirty water George thought and laughed to himself. He squeezed into the alleyway and found himself in whore paradise. The windows were only a metre or so across at some points and there were male ‘ants’ running in and out, some stopping or negotiating on the doorstep. Easy prey, George thought, as he watched the packs of sixteen and seventeen-year-old boys. Most would work themselves into such a frenzy that once inside a crafty handjob, a little kiss on the end and a couple of strokes would see off most of them. A decent pro would be able to make a barrow load of cash on a good night with these teenage virgins. He wandered on, the voyeur in him lapping up the spectacle of seeing the human butcher’s shop open for business. His gaze was caught by one girl who met it with an innocent smile that almost had him, she’d practiced that he thought, and although she was gorgeous he wasn’t looking for a beauty. No, he was looking for something different tonight. Something to satisfy the hidden pleasures that he kept in his locker. He smiled and walked on. He came to the end of the alleyway. There was a bar on his right and a kind of sex arcade directly in front of him. He steered to the left and kept on walking. The pedestrianised road was wider but still had interesting little alleys drawing the punters in and out. The road bent round and as he looked towards where it was taking him he heard a tap, tap, tap on the window. He turned toward the direction of the noise and saw, sitting in a doorway, a woman beckoning him to come closer. She waved again, and again and motioned for him to approach her doorway. She was probably early forties George thought, with a South East Asian look about her, maybe Thai. She sat half on, half off her chair and out of one side of her mouth hung a lit cigarette. He walked up to her and she started talking. George was surprised to hear that she he had the voice of miner who had been feasting on gravel alone, and she accentuated the rasping sound of her voice by talking exclusively out of the side of her mouth so that she didn’t have to remove the cigarette, which hung out of the other side. It was not very attractive.

  ‘You are coming in then?’ She said, dropping ash on the floor in front of him. ‘It’s early. You can do whatever you want for fifty guilders.’

  George was repulsed by the thing in front of him but intrigued too. The thought of doing anything with the thing in front of him made his cock recoil in horror into his groin. This horrible, dirty, disgusting old filthy slag thing was up for anything. He stepped in closer to the window and spoke to her.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Tits, arse, face, hair, mouth. Anywhere you want, baby.’

  She opened the door for George to step in but he remained outside looking into his wallet. He looked back at her with the fifty guilders in his hand. He then slowly screwed up the note and threw it into the doorway.


  ‘Get a bath, you fucking manky old slag,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  He heard her shouting obscenities at him as he walked off. She looked on the way out. The money he’d thrown at her would probably be best spent on an overdose. He carried on walking and found that the road bent around and brought him back onto the main street by the canal. He repeated the circuit, this time going into some of the alleys he’d missed on his first walk round.

  A young black girl caught his eye and he stopped to have a more lingering look. A look that unfortunately lasted a little too long, and before he knew it he was inside the small room, the curtain pulled across, his jacket on a hook and his cock in the small sink, being gently washed by the attentive ebony beauty. They agreed the price and that there was no kissing or anal, before he was told to lie down on the bed. Hands lightly dosed with some sort of lube she began to massage around his balls before sliding a condom on him. She continued to massage his shaft and then sunk his cock into her mouth as he began to rise to the occasion. She was a fine practitioner of her profession and he was soon standing to full attention. She deftly spun around and offered herself to him from behind. Thinking he’d probably explode if he went in from that angle, he pulled her back round and lay her on her back before edging himself to her front door. At this point he stopped, looked her in the eyes and then plunged in right up to the balls. She gasped with what he thought were great acting skills and made out she was enjoying herself, which he was pleased about. He had no illusions about what was happening, it was a physical contract that would be over after he had blown his muck into the top of the cock balloon, which didn’t take him long.

  ‘You OK, baby?’ she asked, as she replaced the used towels and began to take quick glances in the mirror, considering what she may have to touch up before her next customer.