The Comedown
Page 26
He sat on the bottom bunk, his arse nearly hit the floor. This place was an absolute shithole. He was pretty sure it had been used to film ‘Porridge’ with Ronnie Barker. He wondered what decade the sitcom had been set in… things hadn’t changed much… Grateful to still be in his own clothes, he changed position to the small chair by the table. Permission to remain in civvies was a minor consolation of being on remand, that and having the place to himself. He needed to sort that fucking bunk out.
Razor’s letter had confused things. He didn’t blame him; he was dead after all… Did he give a fuck he was dead? Did he give a fuck about his nephew and the Stones boys? Had his decision to batter Razor’s folks put him in this pickle? He felt no remorse for anything that had happened. Those soft lads had started the ball rolling. After that everything that had happened was entirely down to their own stupidity. Loyalty would have saved them. Honour would have saved them. Respect would have saved them. They had failed. Therefore, they paid the ultimate price... fuck them all.
He did, however, blame himself for becoming obsessed with that no-mark Adams. Even now, as he entered his thoughts, a dark, uncontrollable urge to smash up the desolate cell surged around his body. The veins in his neck swelling like sausage meat pulsing into fresh skins. ‘Calm down’, there was nothing he could do in this moment. The situation wasn’t unsalvageable though. Eyes closed, it was time to focus as he began to piece his new jigsaw together. He couldn’t spend any amount of time rotting here in Chelmsford or he would lose everything that he had worked for. He knew large amounts of the Old Bill’s evidence was circumstantial and based on witness statements, the key would be to find out who had made these statements and then he could go to work. He mentally flagged that as the 1st point of order.
***
Gary Sparks stood (unbeknown to him), in pretty much the same spot as Razor and Paddy Wherry had stood a little over week ago. The only difference being he was going the opposite way and intended never to return. He had plans. He was out. The last fortnight had taken its toll on him, and with George on remand in Essex, he knew this would be his only real chance to get away and leave the ‘game’ behind him in Liverpool. He had a few quid stashed and reliable lads to step up and keep control of the clubs and doors they controlled in town. George would be back and in his wake ignite some kind of hell fire campaign against a young kid from Essex who had done nothing but display an uncanny knack for survival against the odds. He knew George was that type of sociopath who wouldn’t rest until he thought he had got the better of the situation, and Gary wanted fuck all to do with it.
His thoughts had led him unconsciously onto the train. He found a seat, opened a packet of Frazzles and hoped that they sold them in Cambodia…
***
Lassie couldn’t speak. Neither could Tom. Uncontrollable laughter prevailed as Lassie crawled absent-mindedly across the floor of the front room towards the TV. Tom was hunched up in a ball ludicrously shaking, and waving a remote control in Lassie’s direction.
‘What am I doing over here Tom?’ he questioned.
Tom, perplexed, first tried to work out the initial question and then a possible answer. When neither were forthcoming he paused, the colour drained from his face in a momentary reality check before the howls of laughter erupted and left him unable to do anything but seek safety in the foetal position. ‘It’s fucking hurting Lass; this has got to stop!’
The last few days had been a mission to forget. Surrounded by records, films, pizza boxes, various alcohol bottles, and the remnants of a ‘special’ cake, a reward for a job well done. This ‘special’ cake had consequently ruined the two boys for the last 5 hours and was showing no signs of letting up.
British bank notes totalling around 6k sat proudly in an old Yahtzee box, looking for their next opportunity for fun…
About the Author
Martin Doohan was born in Essex in 1970 to Thomas and June. At this point in time, he works in Education.
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ISBN 978-1-78623-355-4 in electronic format
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